25 Life Lessons from MFA I

I finished my first MFA year in June, and then took several months to process the experience - hence my long break from blogging.  But, I'm back!  And, here are some of the new lessons I learned - or old lessons I rediscovered - after year #1 of acting school.

UCSD MFA Class of 2013 

(photo credit: Manny Rotenberg)

1. A good friend told me once that one of the worst things in the world is to feel insignificant...true.  And one of the worst things to DO to someone else is to make him/her feel insignificant...also true.  And yet, the truest thing is, in the larger scheme, we are all terribly insignificant. 
2. To some kids, wheelchairs are entertaining playground equipment that transport fascinating passengers.  To some adults, they are scary, inexplicable, dangerous impediments that elicit recoiling uncertainty or emotional walls.  To OTHER adults that allow themselves a child-like expansion of the mind, wheelchairs are engineering delights, movement marvels, interpersonal architecture, and endless sources of intrigue.
3. The corner-dweller on the freeway off-ramp holding a sign that says "SMILE!" may just be the most enlightened genius of us all.
4. Sometimes people just need a bit of space to be pissy.  And, it's helpful when they have the ability to communicate that they need some space to be pissy, rather than letting you wonder if it's about you.
5. It's not about you.  Really.  Don't take it so personally. (Oh, and if it IS about you, it's up to them to tell you.  But, again, it's not.)
6. There are two choices with bullshit that arises in life: address it, or let it go.  Okay, I guess three, because you can also address it and then let it go.
7. Beauty, talent, and sanity are contextual.  So, if you're feeling like you're not beautiful, or not talented, or not sane, maybe you're just in the wrong environment.  Go somewhere else and be with someone different - you'll feel better.
8. Frozen yogurt shops that put toppings UNDERNEATH yogurt rather than on top are not just selling a gimmick...they are promoting a genius strategy of enhancing frozen-artificially-flavored-milk-water that leaves the consumer talking endlessly about "what a great idea it is!" while enjoying a mess-free lap or table area.
9. Even with abounding technology that supposedly helps us to stay connected to other people, it really is difficult to stay truly connected to someone in the absence of semi-regular human-to-human in-person contact.  (Hmmm...I sense a lesson here about social networking...)
10. There is no absolute definition of "good" acting.  My present opinion is that "good" acting requires a strong sense of self, a willingness to share oneself honestly, and being lucky enough to material that suits you.
11. People are different.  Period.  Some like to get naked.  Some prefer sleep over food.  Some enjoy In 'N Out over Five Guys.  Some speak Chinese.  Some leave social situations abruptly and inexplicably.  Some run at midnight.  Some detest playing board games.  Some like the elephant-like texture and intricacies of aged skin.  Some love Disney.  Some hear harmony before lyrics.  Some are obsessed with football, others like horror movies, others thrive on intellectual sparring, and still others enjoy design concepts of food plating.  All DIFFERENT.  And it's okay for everyone to be different as long as we respect others' differences.  Different strokes for different folks.
12. Humans in the first years of their lives are brilliant and awesome, and those of us who have lived multiple decades should make it a point to garner wisdom from the "newbies" on a regular basis.
13. We should also garner wisdom from humans in the final years of their lives. 
14. Yet, being old, famous, or accomplished shouldn't necessarily give you license to be verbose, conceited, or patronizing...we all have more to learn, no matter our age.
15. It's okay to NOT like something...you can still respect its existence and learn from it.
16. People from Denver can be "smiley," which makes it harder to form long, open "ahh"-like vowels in speech.  Still, I'm happy to be smiley. :-)
17. You can know people so deeply and intimately that you can predict their emotions, and yet simultaneously know them so little that you're unaware of where they grew up or how many siblings they have.  Weird.
18. Even the most solid, refined, and sacred life truths have the potential to be challenged and refuted.
19. Life is like one big improvisational theatre game, and perhaps we should live it with the improvisational philosophy of "yes, and...", and just go with the flow.
20. Science and art are on the same quest: to create, discover, or assign meaning to the inexplicable elements of life.  They just embark on the quest using different languages.
21. SO many challenges in life are largely based on people's reluctance to communicate openly and honestly.  If people would just get their junk on the table, minimize their egos, and talk it out with love and respect, I bet would could achieve the greatest of feats (including getting more people with disabilities into entertainment, and world peace).
22. Meerkats - as well as other animals - naturally embody the principles of Alexander technique (whole body, lengthen and widen, letting go) that human performers strive for years to attain.  Fascinating.
23. Start with #1: care for yourself so you can care for others.  And, hold yourself accountable before you move to hold others accountable. 
24. Baby steps.
25. I'm alive, and therefore I can.

I think 25 lessons is plenty, even though I could write 1,000.  There are more to come.

The Threepenny Opera (UCSD, 2011)

(photo credit: Jim Carmody) 

Thanks, as always, for reading.

The "right" medicine?

I was in Chicago this past weekend to celebrate my sister's graduation from Northwestern medical school - a momentous occasion during which I was able to vicariously experience the payoff of four years of grueling work, competition, self-doubt, clinical triumphs, and soul searching experienced by med students like my sibling.  So, a big congratulations to her, and all of the other medical students who recently graduated and now begin lives of serving people, all amidst a complicated national system of health that often cuts the best of doctors a raw deal.

Coincidentally, while I was in Chicago I was fortunate enough to see Chicago Shakespeare Theatre's production of The Madness of George III, a brilliant production in which my UCSD professor Jamie Newcomb and my old friend Erik Hellman strutted their acting stuff.  I say "coincidentally" because the production (which is the same story as the film The Madness of King George) revolves around the doctors (who treated George III, Britain's king during the American Revolution) during bouts of "madness."  The king's condition would likely be classified today as the enzyme disorder porphyria, which causes skin problems and neurological complications.  But back in the 18th century, the king's symptoms baffled doctors and led them to believe he was simply insane.

Watching the production with my newly-anointed-doctor-sister in the audience was a joy, partly because the show was a beautiful example of the way in which theatre functions to expose human beings to extraordinary lives and worlds beyond those which they know.  I was proud that my discipline, one seemingly disparate from my sister's, was serving the noble purpose of sharing the complicated experiences of those who have come before her in the medical profession.  It was a lovely intersection of the passions of two siblings.

And it made me think about the challenging reality of medicine - that doctors do the best they can with the information and knowledge they possess at a given time, even though the most inspiring ideas or rational practices can later be realized as mistakes.  In the play, the doctors, confounded by the king's unfamiliar condition, prescribe solutions such as skin blistering, bloodletting, and denial of human interaction for the ailing king.  While these practices perhaps seem ghastly given our contemporary medical knowledge, the play does a good job of presenting the ambiguity of the doctors' intentions, behaviors, and morality as they struggle to maintain their godlike status in the society of their day while attempting to treat a condition they do not understand.

It begged a question about our contemporary medical practices: what treatments or solutions that we use today will we someday look back on as "mistakes"?  As infallible as we may consider modern medicine to be (particularly with the extensive research that now bolsters common medical practice), didn't the doctors of the 18th century consider their practices to be infallible as well?  Isn't it likely that as we continue to gain knowledge about the human condition and the medical technology we now use, we'll make discoveries that make us think, "Wow, how could we ever have thought THAT was a good idea?!"

I can think of cases where this kind of re-consideration has already occurred with somewhat recent theoretical approaches or practices, particularly when it comes to health and wellness fads.  For instance, think of the 1990s no-fat food craze during which throngs of people (this girl included) pumped their bodies full of tasteless, nutrition-less "food" items with the understanding that "fat was bad."  It made sense at the time, although now it seems silly that we would have thought it wise to fill up on manufactured, chemically-altered, sugar-laden substances with the aim of being "healthier."

So, what will we retroactively reproach ourselves for in the future?  Will we look back and say, "Why did we ever think it was a good idea to pop pills and fill up on energy-enhancing substances when we felt tired?  Why didn't we just sleep?!"  Like the bloodletting practices of centuries ago, will there be practices we look back on and think, "How did we ever NOT realize that (fill in the blank) was doing more harm than good, and maybe killing us?!"  Will it be ritalin?  Radiation therapies?  Cosmetic enhancement surgeries?  All of the above?

I particularly wonder about the areas in which we're so eager to find solutions, and where the desire to have bodies, conditions, and problems fixed rapidly may cloud our judgment of potential "solutions" that are proposed.  In this regard, one example that relates to my own situation came to my mind.

You may have heard recently about the "exoskeleton" system that has enabled various folks with paralysis to walk.  (If you haven't, here's an article) This is just one of many exciting initiatives that engineers, doctors, and scientists have been working on recently to improve the lives of people living with paralysis (other projects include electrical stimulation implants, stem cell therapies and more).  As I've heard and read about these various projects and solutions, I feel conflicted.  On one hand, I couldn't be more thrilled that these technologies are being developed, and could one day make the experience of living with a disability less challenging, or even nonexistent.  As a person who has experienced firsthand the psychological, emotional, physical, and environmental difficulties of adapting to life after a spinal cord injury, I know how difficult it is.  There have certainly been times when I've wished for something like an exoskeleton to enable me to hike with my family, or walk on the beach, or simply reach a high shelf in the grocery store.

And yet, I also can't deny a feeling of discomfort that forms in my gut when I read about these technologies.  Now, let me clarify that it's not because I equate an exoskeleton with bloodletting, or because I doubt that these technologies would alleviate a great deal of suffering for individuals who have dealt with devastating disabling conditions.  But I sometimes use my mind powers to laser beam myself 100 years into the future to think about the repercussions of these medical technologies and solutions.  And, I suppose the biggest question that arises for me is, are we focusing on the right thing?  The "right" kind of medicine?

Going back to the play about George III, it's important to keep in mind that the king's condition (as far as it can now be deduced) was a a real medical disorder, and one that would be treatable today thanks to the medical technology that has developed over the past couple of centuries.  Still, one of the most devastating parts of the story is that the doctors were so focused on treating his condition and figuring out a solution to his most obvious ailments that they disregarded less overt potential causes of his condition, and were oblivious to the physical, psychological, and emotional pain they were causing him as they experimented with different treatments.

In thinking about a condition like spinal cord injury, it begs the question, is an exoskeleton really the answer?  I've often felt that many people who have never experienced spinal cord injury or paralysis assume that the inability to walk is the paramount difficulty with such a condition.  Now, walking and standing are certainly important, particularly when we live in a world that is mostly built for two-legged standing people.  But there are a host of other complications that come with spinal cord injury that, in my mind, are more important to address than the non-walking piece.  To name a few: bladder and bowel sensation and function, sexual function, sensation of pain, circulation, bone degeneration, or the ability to engage certain muscles that are paralyzed (such as arm muscles for quadriplegics, or core muscles for paraplegics).  When I think of the challenges related to some of these areas, I think walking schmalking!

The struggle to walk is more visible than other challenges faced by those with conditions like paralysis, which is why I think it often gets more attention.  It's almost as though if we can make a paralyzed person walk again (or even just assume the appearance of walking, as with the exoskeleton contraption, even if their body isn't actually contributing something to the act of walking), then we can pretend like they're healed and go about our business without worrying about them. 

I admit that I am somewhat biased when it comes to considering possibilities that would enable a person to walk again after paralysis, largely because I have spent years working to reach a place where I'm confident and happy with who I am, AS I am.  Therefore, encountering technologies that suggest that my current way of being is in some way imperfect, damaged, or in need of fixing is hard for me.  But, it's also this: when I think of all the amazing things I can still do in all my paralyzed splendor - acting, singing, sports, and leading a healthy and productive life filled with joy - it pains me to think of other people missing out on all the wonderful things that life has to offer because they spend so much time and energy on trying to get back to something they WERE, rather than moving forward and embracing the new possibilities that exist in who they ARE.  I know folks who spend copious amounts of time and money in therapy programs, research trials, and other initiatives trying to reform their bodies to pre-injury states of being, and then end up devastated when these possibilities don't achieve the kind of results they seek.  Moreover, they end up behind the eight ball in learning to cope because they live in denial of the reality of their new situations.

So, I wonder, will we look back in 100 years and think, why were we spending millions of dollars to develop a $15,000 exoskeleton rather than spending a fraction of the cost to improve wheelchair technology?  Or make airplanes more accessible to wheelchair-using travelers?  Or pay for more people with disabilities to attend college?  Or provide more support to the Paralympics?  Or ensure that people with disabilities have appropriate durable medical equipment?  Or expanding accessible public transportation?  Maybe getting a fleet of taxis in New York that is actually wheelchair accessible?  And, instead of trying to mold everyone back into some physical conception of what a human being is supposed to be, why didn't we spend more time and energy on expanding our understanding and acceptance of the differences and diversities that humans can - and inevitably will -  embody? 

Don't get me wrong...hope is good.  So is progress.  And, I believe that science and medicine will likely produce some amazing possibilities for improvement of conditions like spinal cord injury over the next few decades.  I also realize that there are people whose perspectives are different from my own, and they would rather offer their lives up to science and medicine in pursuit of a possibility to, say, walk again, rather than finding a way to be content with their bodies as they are.  I just propose that a balance should be maintained.  Don't spend every waking minute in a therapy lab trying to walk and therefore miss out on meaningful relationships with family and friends.  Don't put so much emphasis on trying to achieve a certain type of physical embodiment that it prevents you from seeing the value in people and bodies who don't - and never will - attain such an embodiment.  Don't focus so much on the solution that you forget to think about why there's a problem in the first place.   

In the end, I suppose it's important to remember what one of the speakers at my sister's medical school graduation asserted: that medicine is in many ways more an art than a science.  It's sometimes difficult to tell what the "right" type of medicine or technology or treatment is in the moment.  And, different people will have different ideas of what the "right" thing is...some will want an exoskeleton to help them walk, and others will be content to stay sitting, as long as it's in a wheelchair that endures the barrage of daily life.  And, who knows what 100 years of advancement in medicine will yield...there's no way to know right now.  So, doctors do the best they can with what they have.  They are not gods, but they ARE extraordinary human beings who do their best to serve each patient they encounter in the best possible way. 

So for now, I'll just say that I'm proud of my sister, who has put so much of herself into helping others and will do so for years to come.  And, I'm grateful for the doctors that came before her who made it possible for me to be here to enjoy each new glorious day on this earth. 

Showcases and Sonnets and Sidesplitters

What's been keeping me from posting?  Here's a little segment on Regan's MFA grad school week in review:

Sunday - travel to LA to assist with the showcase of the 3rd year actors in my program; mind blown by Werner Herzog's new movie Cave of Forgotten Dreams at the Arclight in Hollywood; get to see my good friend and former East High head boy TJ Miller do stand-up at the LA Comedy Store.

Monday - 3rd year showcase presentation for agents, managers, and other industry folks (people like Tony Shaloub, Camryn Manheim, and other interesting folks are in attendance to see UCSD, NYU, and Yale do their stuff...and Regan is part of shuttling some of them to the theatre in her van when they have to park a few blocks away)

Tuesday - Back to school in San Diego - create a finger play in movement class that is then translated into a staged film noir-esque presentation with black hoods over our faces; continue Shakespeare scansion and sonnets (see end of post for one of Regan's creations); learn and practice liquid "ju"s in speech (as in a word like "music"...the yeeeuuuuww sound...oh, it's too fun); blow the roof off our building when our 1st year class learns some incredible Crosby, Stills, and Nash harmonies in singing.  No evening rehearsal or class - woo!

Wednesday - Yoga; practice an emotional monologue from disabled playwright John Belluso's "A Nervous Smile" and work on avoiding vocal strain amidst intense delivery; discuss the intersection of Shakespeare and disability with the masterful Jim Winker over lunch; rehearse a comedic scene from His Girl Friday for acting class and marvel at the comedic talent of actors like Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant (who started out as a circus man, by the way.  Check out some of the brilliance in this clip); evening collaboration project with 1st year actors, directors, designers, dancers, and playwrights

Thursday - More movement, skills, and speech, with an evening filled with callbacks for the fall UCSD shows - The Dybbuk (a Jewish exorcism story) and The Storm (a Russian drama about love and death) - succeed in making the auditions great fun (including turning one of the audition monologues into an interpretive movement piece); host a Cinco de Mayo celebration

Friday - More yoga, more acting and critiquing fellow actors in scenes, more rehearsing of monologues and phonetic scansion of Shakespeare; mildly interrogated by a nice old man at the bank who questions me in an indistinguishable European accent about why I'm using a wheelchair and whether someone did spinal surgery on me and messed up...I assure him that the surgery was actually the successful part! I think he gets it by the time I have to leave the line and go to the teller.  Evening Mexican food in Coronado and a short exploration of the Hotel Del Coronado beneath a beautiful evening sky. (By the way, those who are not in California may not know that restaurants are required to put caloric content on menus out here...and I just have to say, I don't really care about seeing how many thousands of calories I'm consuming when I ingest tortilla chips and margaritas...if there's a measurement of the amount of deep-soul happiness I gain from eating a basket of chips, feel free to put that on the menu.  Heh heh.)

Saturday - Swimming and fundraising at the 1st UCSD-hosted Swim With Mike event (my director friends Josh and Larissa end up winning the kayak jousting competition); attend Anna Deavere Smith's Let Me Down Easy at San Diego Rep, and get to see behind the scenes of the entire theatre building, garage, and more due to the fact that the one elevator to the theatre is broken (but, love the show!); enjoy a night watching a movie with cupcakes and avoiding homework :-)

Sunday - Brunch and sightseeing with a good friend from Denver - Mount Soledad, seals at La Jolla Cove, and Balboa Park (get to sit on the stage next to the Spreckels Organ for the weekly concert because it's raining...what an awesome experience to hear full organ blasting next to your head!); visit the United Nations gift shop; read a play, do some scansion, meet up with 1st year actors to welcome new residents to our building, and prep for a week of Shakespeare, comedy, film noir, emotional monologues, a visit from Anna Deavere Smith, songwriting, a Beckett project, grantwriting, and plenty more!

So, this is a pretty typical week (although I left a few things out).  But, just a taste of what this experience is like!

And, I thought I would share one of the many sonnets I have now composed in my Shakespeare skills class.  We were to write about a character we played at some point in our past, and I chose Little Becky Two Shoes from Urinetown - The Musical.  For those who may be interested but have perhaps forgotten since high school English class, a sonnet is typically 3 quatrains of rhyming verse with a couplet on the end, written in iambic pentameter (look it up if you're curious).  This one follows that structure, with a few syllabic irregularities for effect (see if you can spot spondaic, pyrrhic, and trochaic feet, feminine endings, and syllabic compression or expansion).

Little Becky

By Regs

Your bladder must be bursting; yet, you swig 

That flask you’re clutching like the ‘lixer ‘f life! 

A pregnant belly looms ‘neath the fat twig 

Of t’bacca’ hanging limp ‘tween lips so rife 

With soot and muck, it makes me gag.  Which chap

Should take the blame for bunning your smut oven?

You’d prob’ly call the devil to your lap

In ‘xchange for bubbling monkey smack a-shovin’

Deep through your veins.   Multitudes of gross           

And grime entwine your soul; but gravitate

I do toward the loathsome stench that close

Behind you trails.  The ire you fabricate

For fellow good-for-nothings reeks of sass,

But how I loved embodying your ass.

Almost at the end of my first school year out here...holy moly!  I'll be working at the La Jolla Playhouse in their youth theatre programs this summer, followed by potential trips to Denver, Chicago, Michigan, and London.  So, those of you blog readers that exist in those cities, hope to see you!

Tune in...

Following a much-too-long break from updates, I'm back today with a short comment on...TUNING.

Currently, I'm in my 3rd quarter of grad school at UCSD, and one of my eight classes (yes, eight) is Singing.  Now, anyone who knows me, or has seen me in a PHAMALY show, or knew me at East High or USC, or saw a Beatles show show in which I performed, or has simply been in a bathroom stall next to me, is likely aware of the fact that I'm a singer.  I sing, and I love it.  I sing all the time, every day, everywhere - in my car, in bathrooms, in hallways, on stages, etc.  And, I enjoy singing WITH people even more so, largely because I love harmony.

Now, I speak of harmony here in the literal music sense - the harmony that is created when musical notes of specific frequencies line up with one another and create resonances, overtones, and other fancy products about which I might be able to speak more eloquently if I could still remember the my lessons from high school physics.  Nevertheless, harmony...it's great.

And disharmony is a bitch.  We've all experienced it in countless ways.  A woeful music note that's slightly flat or sharp and not in tune with others - it grates one's ears.  Or, in other areas of our lives, disharmony might present itself in the form of a fight with a friend; a difficult working relationship with a fellow actor, employee, volunteer, ____(fill in the blank); a story about someone or something despicable that doesn't fit into our optimistic worldview; the frustrating bullheadedness of politicians who can't agree on a national budget; or...you get the idea.  There's disharmony everywhere.  And it's frustrating.

For me, there have been moments in grad school when I experience disharmony, even when I sometimes can't put my finger on exactly what's out of sorts.  Sometimes it's feeling out of sync with a fellow actor in a scene, or feeling like I can't quite get the essence of a character I'm playing.  Sometimes it's related to my disability, and feeling like I'm living in a world that is built and structured around bodies that are completely different from my own...it's enough to make me want to burst.  And it's cumulative...once ONE thing is out of harmony, suddenly it seems that everything else in the universe is upended as well.

I actually often address the universe directly when it happens, as my family knows.  Example: I drop a hair brush, and in picking up the brush I cause my wheelchair to roll slightly, which makes it hit a wall, which causes the drink between my legs to spill, and of course it spills all over the book I had positioned on the other side of my lap...the very same book I had borrowed from a professor who said, "It's the most important book in my collection...please take care of it."  I think, REALLY, UNIVERSE?!?  REALLY?!?!  By the way, this type of scenario happens more than I like to admit.

Anyhow, the point is, disharmony occurs.  It's inevitable.  And it's uncomfortable.  You think of all of the vibrations and frequencies and bits of matter and energy that are flowing in, around, throughout, and between our bodies all the time (ooh, crossing into high school biology here, too), and disruption of it can be pretty awful (even in parts of us don't "feel" the same way, such as the parts of my body that are paralyzed...our bodies still experience it, and deal with ramifications of it.)

However, I was reminded in singing class the other day of the close proximity of disharmony and harmony.  In music, it can be a simple microtone, or a fraction of a musical note, that throws an entire group of notes or singers out of whack.  In our lives, it's often a much smaller step than we sometimes think to get ourselves out of the uncomfortable mess and muck and back into the sweet spot.  And, just like in singing, once we are aware of where we are out of tune, we often have complete control of putting a chord - or ourselves and our lives and the world - back into harmony.

I'll share a quick story of another way in which I was reminded of the small distance between harmony and disharmony.  Throughout this graduate acting program, I've come across numerous situations where my wheelchair has functioned as somewhat of a challenging element, throwing me out of harmony with the given circumstances.  Once instance came up recently involving an activity in movement class.  We often play a ball game that requires multiple skills including agility, strategy, speed, dexterity, maneuverability, and the ability to multitask with various body parts (e.g. run fast on quickly-changing trajectories while catching and throwing a ball).  For numerous reasons (one being the fact that I have to use my hands in my mobility to push my wheelchair and cannot multitask with them as I move across the floor), the game was hard for me, and I was a pretty ineffective player.  Not because I don't have the skills mentioned above, but because the context and combination in which they were required in the game didn't work for my situation.  I didn't initially realize how much it started to make me feel pretty out of sync with my classmates, professor, and the class...I just thought I didn't love the game.  However, after a particularly challenging session a couple of weeks ago, I realized what was going on, and acknowledged how crappily disharmonious it was making me feel.  Once I was aware, I talked to my professor, and we came up with solutions that we presented to the class and attempted this week in the game.  Ultimately, even though there was some hesitation expressed towards changing the game rules and structure, it ended up improving the game for everybody.

It served as a great reminder of how difficulties can often build up in our heads and become bigger than they are.  If we're just honest with ourselves about a situation, then it's easier to realize that the necessary action for getting things back on track is often smaller than we expect.  Have a conversation, make a couple changes, and voila!  Getting back on the same frequency isn't so difficult.

This relates to a fascinating blog post our music professor sent us about the human frequency, and how it can be easily - and minutely - disrupted.  The theory posits that Josef Goebbels manipulated the human frequency during World War II as a means of disrupting the entirety of humanity. - definitely worth a read:http://www.elephantjournal.com/2011/02/the-human-body-is-tuned-to-musical-vibrations/

So, the point is this: yes, we get out of harmony.  But getting back into harmony doesn't actually require as big a shift as we might think.  And, the shift back into harmony is WORTH it, even if it requires a small sacrifice.

There's a reason people like me love singing, and music, and musical harmony.  It puts us IN TUNE - literally - with other humans, and with the world.  And, one of the joyous discoveries I've made is that an injury like the one I had - a spinal cord injury that left me paralyzed - may have the power to disrupt a life, or a body, and throw it into disharmony for a bit.  But, ultimately, I believe that the inexplicable force that tends us toward harmony with other living beings - and with ourselves - is too powerful.  Things will right, if we just pay attention, and perhaps make a few minor adjustments here and there.  And even a body that's paralyzed, or injured, or ailing, or hurting, or different in some way, doesn't lose the ability to achieve some measure of harmony and stasis.

Even when I can't explain it, I know what I feel when I sing, particularly when I harmonize with other people.  It's the sweet spot of joy, intensity, soul, depth, and it pulses and tingles throughout my entire body, even the parts I can't "feel."  It's a rush, and it reminds me that my legs, my feet, my toes, my hips, my stomach are all still alive and bursting with energy and possibility.  They might just be on a slightly different wavelength for the time being.

Moral: Keep singing.  Tune in.  And if you feel out of tune, know that it's just a baby step to get right back into that sweet spot of harmony.

And just in case you haven't seen it (from Playing for Change)...a reminder that you can even be in harmony with people half a world away. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xjPODksI08&feature=relmfu

A thought on "social networking"

I watched the movie The Social Network tonight (to continue my catch-up on the popular media I've missed over the last few months), and my overall opinion?  It was good, because it made me feel a wee bit nauseous.

After watching, I happened to find something I had written at the bottom of my desktop "To Do" list at some point during the last few weeks.  I'm not sure when I wrote it, or what spurred me to jot down this particular stream of consciousness.  I don't know if it was a rumination in support of theatre in its most essential form (just human beings and stories), or perhaps in reaction to a class experience that made me feel strongly connected to someone else.  But, I thought it kind of fit with my internal reaction to the film.  So, I thought I would share it, unrefined as it is, for whatever it's worth.  (Ironically, on this electronic blog.  Hm.)

*  *  *

I lament that we’ve reached a point in time when we’re numbing ourselves.  Separating.  Not feeling or interacting fully and regularly with other human beings.  Often based on understandable reasons.  Interaction can be hurt.  Embarrassment.  Uncertainty.  Scary.  Unpredictable.  Violent.  Awkward.  And difficult.  But it’s real.  And rather that sinking into our technology and secluding ourselves from something tangible and full, let’s be real.  Think of a time when you’ve had one of your best laughs with people you love, or your best lovemaking, or your deepest cry, and your biggest fight.  Ahhh, that’s life.  We need those opportunities to stay real.  We need good stories that expand our horizons and force us to continue to question and explore and grow.  It’s my belief that if you live fully every day, utilizing every moment, emotion, opportunity that each second of life has to offer, things will get better by default.  If you live in a state of gratitude, then the world will respond in kind and show its gratitude for you.

Priceless

Comparison always helps with perspective...here are a few from my experiences over the past few weeks:

Full price adult ticket to UCSD's Threepenny Opera that wrapped last weekend and featured yours truly as the Street Singer: $20
Seeing the satisfaction on the director's face when he found out that a couple had left the theatre due to sexual content in the play: Priceless.

Small Indonesian-made wall tapestry purchased at the United Nations gift shop after watching the free outdoor organ concert with my parents at Balboa Park (while eating Girl Scout cookies...mmm): $27
Having the following quote as a constant reminder on my bedroom wall: "We are what we think.  All that we are arises with our thoughts.  With our thoughts, we make the world." -Buddha: Priceless.

Leftover Super Bowl pizza at fellow actor Scott's apartment last Monday: complimentary
Spending the 1-hour lunchtime with my fellow actors to watch the PBS version of "Les Miserables" and sing through our secret musical obsessions with Les Mis, Phantom, and RENT: Priceless.

Copy of Dr. Seuss classic The Lorax: $10-ish
Piecing together a theatrical telling of the book with my fellow 1st-years in speech class to be performed for Audrey Geisel at the birthday celebration of her late husband, and using our MFA skills to embody snurggly Whispermaphones, Barbaloots, and Thneeds: Priceless.

Copy of Paul Schmidt's translation of the plays of Anton Chekhov to be used for acting process class: $15.99 (before tax and shipping)
Spending hours in class combing through the deepest emotional recesses of my soul to discover that the obsession, angst, insanity, and passion of characters from a turn-of-the-20th-century Russian play actually DO exist within me (and everyone): Priceless.   

Albums "The Velvet Underground and Nico" and "Blood on the Tracks" purchased on iTunes: $20
Having to choreograph a personal narrative piece with a lacrosse ball for which I have reason to rediscover, sit for hours intently listening to, and be inspired by the lyrical and musical genius of amazing artists like The Velvet Underground, Bob Dylan, and The Doors: Priceless.

Regan's Quickie Ti Wheelchair: $5000 (probably less now due to depreciation and use)
Being safely launched out of the wheelchair by a fellow student onto a crash pad during stage combat class: Priceless. (See video.)

Glass of 2 Buck Chuck wine at student-run happy hour in the design offices on Friday afternoon: complimentary
Witnessing a Nerf dart game, eating red velvet birthday cake, discussing contact improv with a dancer, processing the triumphs and challenges of casting decisions for the new play festival, and planning a music jam session with fellow actors for later in the evening, all to wrap up a long week of classes: Priceless.

Single student rush ticket to The Tragedy of the Commons at Cygnet Theatre: $15
Spending a Saturday afternoon rolling around historic Old Town San Diego while listening to live Peruvian music, watching fighter jets fly through the 75-degree February sky, and then getting to see a play in which my spring quarter Shakespeare professor kicks some acting ass: Priceless.

Valentine's cards, candies, gifts, and chocolates that I wanted to send to all of the amazing people that matter to me: $$$$thousands
Knowing that all of the people that matter to me are so amazing that they will continue to love me regardless of whether I sent individual Valentine's goodies: Priceless.  

And finally...

Full-price ticket to the extended run of Denver's PHAMALY Theatre Company production of The Diviners (Feb 24-27), which I will unfortunately miss when it plays at the Arvada Center in CO: $26.
The extent to which, as I move through UCSD's MFA acting program, I am continually reminded of what an extraordinary entity PHAMALY is, not only because of the talent embodied in the award-winning actors, designers, and theatre professionals who are part of the company, but more so because of how its inclusion of people with disabilities (who are too often kept at the fringes of society) augments the overall intention, experience, and effectiveness of the art form of theatre: Priceless.
(So, go see it!)

Letting Go Like a Black Swan

Tonight I went to see Black Swan, the new movie by Darren Aronofsky.  Now, let me preface the following thoughts by saying that I wasn't wild about seeing the movie.  Not that I don't enjoy Aronofsky's films, but I sometimes feel that he has a penchant for simple shocks - that is, employing themes, images, or elements that are overtly uncomfortable (think Requiem for a Dream's electroshock therapy, infected needle arm, and sex scenes), and therefore understandably elicit a strong reaction from the audience, sometimes too easily (in my opinion).  Instead of allowing the audience to examine themselves and delve deeper into potential questioning and wrestling with thematic content that elicits a strong yet ambiguous response that must be processed by each individual, Aronofsky's simple shocks sometimes have left me thinking, "Really?!  Okay, sure, fine, do the easiest possible thing to get me to a place of sobbing and vomiting at the same time."

I'm also not a huge Natalie Portman fan (which, I know, often leaves people with a wide-eyed "why?!?" expression), but it has to do with something similar to Aronofsky....it sometimes feels like Nat is trying to prove something, and therefore employs her easiest tricks (for example, her cutesy smile and girlish voice juxtaposed with a stripper scene or intense emotional breakdown) in order to show that there's something more to her.   I suppose with both of them, it sometimes feels like they're just trying too hard.

But, the movie tonight was a different story.   Aronofsky and Portman provided me with a swell cinematic experience that encapsulated one of the themes/questions/concepts I've been wrestling with quite a bit since starting this whole MFA acting program thing: letting go.  (I suppose it was still amidst a few simple shocks and an air of schizophrenic confusion, but hey, it's Aronofsky's trademark, so you gotta let him get a few kicks.)

Let me switch gears for a second and just say that this idea of letting go has been one of my primary meditations, daydreams, or late-night-lying-in-my-bed-ruminating topics as of late, since it's come up a lot in the work I've been doing at UCSD.  Now, I thought I was all about letting go when I came to UCSD.  After all, I had trained in yoga and discovered the concept of maintaining form in a yoga pose while attempting to let go of self-judgment and find one's own expression of the pose.  I had worked long and hard on letting go of a pre-disability concept of myself, and felt that I had embraced my new wheelchair-user self, para-belly and all.  I had even let go of some of my childhood tendencies towards perfectionism, and allowed myself to half-ass some school assignments, have a few drinks, or be less than ideal in quite a few ways.  

But little did I know how much I still try to keep it all together.  As I've moved through various class exercises and social experiences since starting at UCSD, I've been floored by the myriad of areas in which I - and we all - still attempt to maintain control in our lives.  We tense and sculpt our muscles to attain perfect physiques, even though it prevents us from being able to flow or undulate in our movements.  We manipulate our voices - often in response to some childhood experience in which we were told that that our voices were too loud, too quiet, too high, too low, too girly, too manly - and prevent our truest voice from making its way out to the world.  We stifle our breath, often as a reactionary self-preservation response to get through scary or difficult experiences.  We inhibit emotion so that we won't be seen as "too emotional" or "crazy" or "out of control" (particularly as females).  We force ourselves into a certain conception of who we think we should be according to parents, horoscopes, childhood teachers, personality tests, or social measures of "success," even when our souls are sometimes crying out to do something entirely different.  We continue, end, or avoid relationships because it's easier than confronting the reality of what they've become.  We hold onto definitive conceptions of others and the world because it's easier than having to continually re-assess our own belief systems, and face a world and a human race that is unpredictable and inexplicable.  And we continue trying to meet expectations of ourselves, even when we are fully aware that they are unrealistic and absurd.

Now, obviously, there are reasons we attempt to maintain control.  We can't abandon all control, or all tension, or everything would fall apart.  (I think there's a physics principle in here somewhere, but it escapes me at the moment).  In yoga or tai chi, for example, you have to obviously maintain some measure of tension and control, or your body will become jelly and lose its form, or hell, you'll die.  It's the same with the world - without some measure of control, structure, and tension, all would be chaos.  (It's fascinating, by the way, to take one moment the next time you're driving on a freeway full of cars to reflect on the extent to which our societies really do maintain control and stasis to a great extent, even in periods of difficulty or unrest.  Each car, with its own set of internal workings, operated by an individual human, each with his or her own complicated bodily processes and life circumstances, all working amidst speed and unpredictability of external forces and elements...and yet, for the most part, each car stays in the lines and gets where it needs to go...pretty amazing.)

But I think we often try to maintain control without balancing it with a healthy amount of relinquishment.  After all, relinquishing control is hard, and terrifying.

Think for a second about one of the most difficult experiences you've had in your life.  Say, a nasty breakup, or facing a physical illness, or getting laid off, or something similar.  I would imagine that whatever it is, it probably involved some lack of control on your part, which is what made it particularly challenging and full of hurt. 

Moreover, when we relinquish control, we venture into the unknown, and set ourselves up for experiences we can't anticipate.  It kind of goes against tried and true messages that are drilled into many of our heads.  In soccer it was "anticipate the ball."  In Girl and Boy Scouts it's "be prepared."  In debate, it's prepping for whatever kind of rebuttal the opposition might offer.  We spend so much time preparing ourselves for all possible scenarios so that we won't find ourselves in a vulnerable situation that could leave us damaged, embarrassed, confused, or behaving unpredictably. (Makes me think of atomic bomb drills in elementary school...although, not sure that hiding under the desk really would have saved me.)  And yet, despite our human attempts to harness and protect and control, the fact is that nature is unpredictable and often beyond human control. 

Perhaps there is power in relinquishing some control and honoring the unknown.  Kind of like a sherpa's view of Everest: working WITH the mountain rather than conquering it.

Oddly enough, this brings me to theatre, and the artist, and myself, and Black Swan.  One of my friends and mentors always says, "Theatre is hard work."  Now, some left-brainers out there might beg to differ, particularly based on the widespread characterization of popular "entertainers" in the media as spoiled, self-indulgent buttheads.  Some would undoubtedly argue that theatre and the arts are not as "difficult" as, say, business, or science, or other disciplines.  Now, these are obviously all very different (or, perhaps they all attempt to answer the same question, but through different means...but that's for another blog.)  But the uniquely difficult work of artistic disciplines, and theatre in particular, is painfully obvious for anyone who has been through an MFA acting program.  In essence, it's constantly pushing yourself to let go and give up control...to honor the unpredictability of the human condition (the actor's Everest).

In every one of my current classes, I am pushed to let go in some regard.  In movement, it's about pushing physical limits, and challenging the learned impulses of my body to move rigidly to maintain balance and not fall out of my chair during a high speed movement activity, or to move against the momentum of my body in my wheelchair in order to give the illusion of colliding with a solid object without having an actual collision.  To maintain form, but let go within the form.

In voice, it's about releasing your body to find a natural breath that carries your vocalization to amazing heights, even if it means inflating your belly, relaxing your jaw and tongue, and vocalizing in a way that may have gotten you teased or scolded at some point in life, or that feels unnatural, or unattractive, or scary.

In stage combat, it's about turning over your control of a weapon to the weapon, and trusting the implement to guide your movement, rather than the other way around.

In speech, it's about allowing yourself to make mistakes and sound completely unintelligible so that you can retrain your mouth to form words in ways that aren't native to you, and honestly identify the ways in which your natural speech might be atypical or impeded.

In singing, it's about letting go of your voice and risking being off-key or imperfect so you can find your musical strength, and letting a song infiltrate every part of your being even if it makes you look odd while singing it (think Mick Jagger, or the askew jaws of Barbra Streisand or John Mayer).

In acting process, it's about challenging - and letting go of - everything you've ever known as a person or an actor; relinquishing all control over your emotions, and letting yourself be unpredictable; risking that you might have to delve into the most painful personal experiences, or defy the most ingrained inhibitions, in order to reach the true emotional essence of a character you're playing; it's about being vulnerable, and turning over the most sacred parts of yourself to be used like tools in the building of a transformative experience for your audience.

Side tangent: When I got my master's in social work, I was enlightened to the incredibly difficult task faced by social workers to be self-effacing.  Great social workers must attain a high level of self awareness, and be comfortable with deconstructing themselves to enough of an extent that they can acknowledge the ways in which systems - social, institutional, cultural, familial, relational, personal, internal, and spiritual - have made them who they are, and then can step away from their own complicated bullshit to help another person.  They have to let go of preconceptions or judgments they have formed through their personal experiences, and approach each case anew with empathy and a beginner's mind.  Essentially, step away from themselves, and utilize their practitioner skills to be a resource for others.

In a similar way, actors have to know their selves - their instruments - so fully that they can efface or employ different aspects of their instruments in crafting a character.  A primary difference, though, between social workers and actors is that social workers are instructed to maintain boundaries...actors are encouraged to break through them.

Which brings me back to Black Swan.  For me, the most compelling element of the film was the idea that artists (like the dancer in the film, or like Natalie Portman as the actor portraying the dancer in the film) have to push themselves to the brink - physically, psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually - to access the most compelling niches of the human condition.  In order to provide audiences with the most transformative experiences, actors must delve into extremes - of love, hate, obsession, sorrow, madness, fear - and yet somehow not lose themselves in the process.

It's actually interesting to think that actors, performers, entertainers, etc. often get chided for being egotistical or self-interested.  For one, they HAVE to be self-focused to some extent in order to hone their instrument in its entirety.  And two, the true benefit of their self-focus is the audience's.  The ultimate result is that they are up on a stage offering all of themselves up to be used for the audience's pleasure.  Think of a comedian.  Sure, he or she gets the attention while on stage, but ultimately everything that a comedian does on stage - make fun of themselves, recount embarrassing life stories, manipulate their bodies and voices to sound stupid, react instantaneously to the audience, craft intelligent puns and ironic situations - are all for the benefit of the audience.  Truly, great performers are hugely selfless - they have to be completely vulnerable, give every bit of themselves.

So as I move through this MFA program more and more, I am constantly faced with negotiating a balance, or a yin-yang-like interdependence, between turning myself over fully to the extremes of human nature, and maintaining a semblance of myself of Regan Linton.  How do I immerse myself in the actor process without becoming an egotistical headcase?  How do I go from throwing myself out of my wheelchair, or sobbing or laughing uncontrollably, or fighting someone in a fit of rage, back to just being Regan drinking her boba milk tea and watching Top Gun?  How do I push myself to the extent of my physical ability, but avoid really damaging myself?  How do I prevent the grief I dredge up for a Chekhov character from consuming me the rest of the day?  How do I access intense anger on stage, and yet not allow it to overtake my personality offstage?  How does one play the Black Swan without descending into masochistic madness? 

I suppose the answer of any great actor is...craft.  It's the job of an actor, it's why we train. 

But it's not easy.  To let go.  To be at the brink.  And to go there over and over again.  Even for people who train in it.  (After all, even with their training, actors are - first and foremost - human beings.)  But, again, theatre is hard.  And, as one of my professors has said, if you're not willing to go THERE, then don't do theatre.    

I suppose the moral is, appreciate the artists or other individuals in life who DO let go and push to the brink, who take the risks that many of us avoid.  And, perhaps by appreciating them and learning from them, each one of us can begin letting go in some way that enables us to live, and feel, and exist at a fuller capacity for all that life has to offer.  We can risk opening our hearts a bit more, or emoting a little more strongly, or giving up some small part of ourselves in order to grow a little.  And yes, it could result in falling flat on your face, or worst case scenario, having barbs poke through your skin as you become a black swan.  But hey, if we're all really going to do this whole life thing for a number of years, isn't it better to get to the end and be able to say that you at least gave a few things a try?

My Dubai Stream of Consciousness

A little summary of my trip to Dubai, in bits...and pieces.

Square toilets with hoses for washing off your backside ** Women with eyes made bigger by makeup ** Minor melancholy music chords...is there any jocularity in desert living? ** Boy, lots of men working here ** What is an Emirati? ** I flew over Baghdad while listening to "Bad Romance" on the plane, and that's probably the closest I'll come to the Iraqi war...I've got American privilege ** Alexander technique is helpful on long plane rides - lengthen and widen ** Spotless, crisp dishdashas and sweet-smelling, embroidered abayas ** Yes, souq merchants, I'm a blonde girl pushing myself in a wheelchair, and I absolutely DID just win that barter...boo-ya-ka-sha! ** Emiratis get stipends to live?! ** Dubai looks like Gotham city, or a wannabe Hong Kong ** So THIS is where all the fancy white SUVs are! ** Safe city, lowest crime, family court is sharia law ** Men walking hand in hand in brotherhood...hmm ** A plethora of unfinished buildings ** It's a challenge balancing progress and tradition ** My new congenial cabbie friend from Pakistan went to Syria for prayer ** More of a melting pot than New York - expat central ** Is this much extravagance actually possible? ** Good to know that Europeans are sometimes ignorant tourists, too ** Filipinos are hard workers ** It somehow makes sense, while I'm here, why some women would choose to wear a veil...yet, I don't know whether it was a choice for some of the women I see ** Joy in the simplicity of a bedouin existence ** $75 for a drink?!  No thanks, Burj Al Arab, even if you ARE pretty like a sailboat! ** Do paralyzed abdominal muscles put you at greater risk for falling off a camel? ** Indoor ski hills...according to the random Brit, they have them in the UK, too ** Wow, I've gone 10 days without a cell phone! But wait, we have three computers in one hotel room...doh ** How do I love transferring into high SUV cabs? Let me count the bruises ** The chips at Chili's in Dubai are the same as the chips at Chili's in Denver...how do they do that?! ** Note to self: keep tabs on wheelchair sideguards when going out drinking in Dubai, or else spend the final few days of your trip attempting to tie luggage straps and scarves tightly enough around your thighs to hold them in from the wheels without cutting off circulation or getting a skin sore ** Really, they sailed that dinky little dao all the way from India?  What a life that must be ** Sheiks plastered everywhere: buildings, billboards, car windows... ** Dubai Sports interrupts regularly scheduled programming for prayer time...regardless of your religious affiliation, you have to admire devotion ** PDA between men and women is a no-no ** Glass boat cruise ** Um, sir cabbie, are we REALLY driving to Bab Al Shams, a desert oasis, or are you taking us to Saudi Arabia? ** Sweet smelling hookah...everywhere (gag) ** They DELIVER McDonald's and Subway?! ** No photographs of the Sheik's miles-long estate ** Hazy desert sunsets are breathtaking ** "Of course it makes sense that they want you to say they're from a specific country, rather that 'the Middle East'...do you think Californians and Texans would appreciate being lumped together?" ** Thank you in Arabic: like a shoe, and a crumb of something tasty - shukram! ** My, the world is a wondrous, expansive orb, and there are a hell of a lot of people on it! ** Good handicapped parking spaces are nice, but it all equals out when you have to wait for the aisle chair and get off the plane dead last, and therefore get stuck at the back of the slow-moving US customs line after a 14-hour plane ride.  But, it's good to be home! :-)

More pics at http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/album.php?aid=2625575&id=3402738