Mononucleosis

This goes out to all my peeps suffering from bad living situation mono.


If you come home to a room full of drunken idiots, you have a roommate problem.

If you sit out in the hall for a few hours to avoid getting written up for an alcohol violation, you have a roommate problem.

If you retreat to a friend's dorm at midnight in the hopes that your roommate will pass out by the time you get back, you have a roommate problem.

If your arm drapes over the side of your bed and spills a giant beer can, you have a roommate problem.

If your desk is littered with homework papers and empty chasers, you have a roommate problem.

If your recycling bin overflows every week even though you never buy bottled beverages, you have a roommate problem.

If you deposit said recycling into the floor below's receptacles so no one can trace the beer cans to your room, you have a roommate problem.

If you are woken up at 3 in the morning by a gaggle of giggling girls who your roommate doesn't even know, you have a roommate problem.

If those boozed up bimbos bump your roommate from the premises, you have a roommate problem.

If you wake up at 4 in the morning to the murmurs of a romantic skype conversation, you have a roommate problem.

If on another drunken escapade your roommate makes out with a picture of the girl he shares these romantic, late-night colloquies with, you have a roommate problem.

If you huddle at the base of the bathroom door to make sure your roommate is still breathing, you have a roommate problem.

If you can't see the floor because apparently laundry is an ancient, mysterious art, you have a roommate problem.

If you feign sleep in an attempt to make your roommate and his talking-at-a-perfectly-audible-decibel friend leave because it's 1 in the morning and you have an 8am class (which you have every day except Friday), you have a roommate problem.

If conversely you have to go about your daily activities silently because hangovers produce nocturnal creatures, you have a roommate problem.

If while cleaning the bathroom you find your sink is clogged by an indistinct goop that strangely resembles your roommate's facial cream, you have a roommate problem.

If after your roommate has attended the live version of alcohol EDU you open the fridge to find a massive beer can of which you have no idea where he keeps getting these abnormally sized things, you have a roommate problem.

If you waste inordinate amounts of time complaining about your roommate to sympathetic friends who are nonetheless tired of hearing about it, you have a roommate problem.

If your roommate transfers, you have a roommate problem... solved.

#roommateproblems

Thank goodness my other roommate is quiet.

Hoping the replacement is just as wonderful as this one,
Jamin

A Jewish Night to Remember

Sunday night before finals week, Curtis and I had tickets for "Jackie Hoffman's A Chanukkah Carol". For those of you who are unfamiliar, Jackie Hoffman is currently playing the grandma in "The Addams Family" musical. She is Jewish, a veteran stage actress, and really bitter.

So we arrive at the theater and start descending the steps to our seats. We're 11 rows from the front and about 6 from the back. We arrive at what we think is our row but our view is obstructed slightly by an unusually tall man with huge limbs. Sitting comfortably, his arms fully cover the arm rest and therefore obscure the lettering denoting the row number. He looks oddly familiar to me. I have a thought about who he is but suppress it for the moment. I lean in front of him to see if the empty seats beyond him and his two compatriots are ours. Upon confirming this my eyes are startled by the most amazing sight. NATHAN. LANE.

The voice of Timone, the star of The Producers, A Funny Thing Happened..., and a hundred other things, the Theater Hall of Fame inductee, one of the few male musical theater stars of his generation, the comic genius is sitting right next to us. My suspicions are confirmed and I realize that the small fry and giant are respectively Pugsley and Lurch from "The Addams Family". For some reason, I am completely calm. I ask the big guy if we could get by him to our seats. They all stand. We brush by them and in my head I'm thinking "OMGIBRUSHEDNATHANLANEHESTOODUPFORMEAAAH".

Curtis is evidently oblivious to the greatness we are so near so I pull out my phone and start typing in the text message composer "Do you realize who's sitting next to us?!" Curtis jerks his head back to see and I exclaim, "Curtis! Subtlety!" He realizes who's sitting next to us. Quiet outbursts of awe and amazement ensue.

The show commences and it is an absolute laugh riot. As Curtis put it, enjoying a show next to Nathan Lane is surreal. He's a good audience member with a generous chuckle and he golf claps for his favorite sections. At one point, Jackie did impersonations of people in her synagogue asking about Nathan Lane. Our heads turn to make sure Nathan is laughing at jokes about Nathan. Nathan deems it appropriate to laugh at himself. We join in. Thank goodness Nathan has a sense of humor.

Needless to say, laughing at a show with a comic icon multiplies the pleasure of the experience. Several larger outbursts occurred post-show when it was safe to act like maniacal fans who just met their idol. As Steph put it in his comment to my facebook update:

Merry Christmas! Here's your present!

~God


I love New York,
Jamin

Moments- You'd Never Know You Had One

"Life happens wherever you are, whether you make it or not."- Uncle Iroh

New York City. One of the most famous cities on Earth. A little island packed with buildings, industry, theater, mental disorders, ethnicity, wealth, tourism, miscellany, vandalism, bridges, dreams, rats, pomp, prestige, parks, people, life. Many flock to the neon-lit gates of cultural heaven hoping to become the next big artist, performer, CEO, writer, headhunter, innovator, professor, TV Producer, social worker, diplomat, lawyer, celebrity, person. It's true, New York is brimming with opportunity. It's the lazy man's portal for entertainment, the hyperactive man's satiation. But living there a semester made me realize that life's lessons were just as accessible a continent away.

New York as well as the other big metropolises around the globe offer life on an "accelerated" level. The grandiosity is appealing. Perhaps the biggest reason we admire people who make their pilgrimage there is because we think they'll forge some part of the new world,. The knowledge and expertise they'll receive will allow them to become the movers and shakers, the icons from which the rest of the world draws its example. For some this becomes reality. But even if great influence comes within your grasp, the power to enjoy it doesn't necessarily come with it.

Indeed, I've met a strange and wonderful assortment of people. They're the sort of people you might find anywhere. They dream, they struggle, they hope, they breakdown, they create, they try to live. They, like me, came pursuing a dream. In that pursuit, it's easy to lose ourselves to that dream and forget to live the moments in between. I sometimes wonder if people going to college in remote locations are gaining more than kids here. However brilliant or talented my peers, the living embodiment of their dreams comes in their orbit so much they forget that years of discipline separate them and their counterparts. The ultimate manifestation of their crafts exists so close that they try wring wisdom from them as desperately as a killer strangles his victim. But the best wisdom always springs from within yourself. Maybe it takes a change of perspective or maybe you really do need the buzz of the city. However, the making of a wise man requires a mirror not binoculars.

We all hide. The city dwellers hide in the vastness, the home dwellers in the possibility. What both can sometimes miss is the opportunity for life. You have to believe in what you're doing, not where it's taking you, but the exact moment you are doing it in. You have to love your friends and family. Who cares about the relationships other people have? They can't enrich your life. These are the faces that color your journey and that will aid you through it. And finally, you have to realize there is no unreality. You're alive every second. Even if it's not "out in the real world" or measured in facebook posts, each moment is just as important as the ones you capsulize in your memory.

Life happens. It doesn't happen forever. So make it happen well.

Merry Christmas.

Love,
Jamin

Blue Flower Needs A Green Thumb

Ok, here is example #2 of good production, bad piece.

Half a century. Two continents. The two worst wars the world has ever seen. Four star-crossed lovers. Treachery. Death. Rebellion. Revolutionaries. Horror. Heartbreak. Ex-patriotism. Regret.

This is essentially how Second Stage Theatre sold The Blue Flower...along with name dropping Stephen Schwartz as the producer. Sounds pretty exciting right? I thought so too. So much so that I wanted to see this show since it was in its American Repertory Theatre run. Alas, what Stephen Schwartz deemed to be "the most creative and original piece of musical theater that I have ever encountered in my [his] life" turned out to be one of the least accessible pieces of musical theater that I have ever seen in my life.

The description above should give you a pretty good idea of the subject matter. It's a World War story filled with the many tragedies typical of that time: lost love, lost country, lost freedom, lost opportunity. The Blue Flower centers on historical figures Max Beckmann, Franz Marc, Hannah Hoch, and Marie Curie. If you want to know about them , read a book or check Wikipedia because after seeing the show, I know little more about them than I did before the show despite the barrage of expository information I received during their frequent breaks from character to act as narrators. From what I could tell though, these people led really interesting lives deserving of a musical...just not this one.

As Stephen Schwartz said, this was definitely "creative". A screen behind the actors continuously streamed images, either to aid the narration with artifact-like clippings, provide a backdrop, or service a character within a scene (ex: a lecture board from Max's time as a professor). The actors switched from playing characters to narrating with every change of stage direction. The music was ethereal and gave a sense of unreality. The house shook with the sounds of war, lights flashed, actors crawled; clearly you were supposed to feel the anguish.

But despite the attempt at a visceral stage experience, one crucial element was overlooked in the making of this show: investment in the story. Maybe I'm a mainstream whore, but I would loved this show had it been told in a more traditional format. The screen was distracting and I wasn't sure whether to watch it or the actors. Not to mention it hurt my poor aging eyes. I really wanted to care about the characters, but their dual purpose as historians and dramatists undermined the few immersed emotional moments that were present. The music's devotion to mood setting as opposed to story expansion made the songs boring and indistinguishable from one another. The stage flare didn't excite you because you weren't entirely sure what was going on.

If I could steal the rights and reproduce this show, I would. There was a great story dying to be told, literally. I would move Schwartz from his producing position to his more usual role of composer and thereby create another Grammy-winning, show-stopping soundtrack. While I was at it, I would hire Winnie Holzman to write the book. I would rehire the entire cast of Broadway veterans to realize these characters in a production that actually highlighted their talents instead of theatrical experimentation. And finally, I would pump it full of cash and a chorus and give it some edgy dance numbers. That's as "creative" as it needs to be. A great story told well needs no special tinkering.

Dreaming of Becoming an All-Powerful Theater Tycoon,
Jamin

Lysistrata Jones is No Sondheim

New York is where bad theater goes to be expensively produced... and die. For all the amazing stage magic, the innovative works, the re-imagined classics, the celebrities, the divas, the industry greats who uphold the integrity of live theater, the process of finding theatrical gems is still a messy one. Maybe in readings people have a harder time discerning the quality of material. Perhaps they think the theatricality of a piece can't be totally explored until it's a fully fleshed production. If this is the case, finding good art has long burned through the pocketbooks of hopeful producers and interested audiences.

The first of two posts in which I will explore this concept of good production, bad piece will focus on Lysistrata Jones. First, let's start with the facts. Lysistrata Jones is a modern musical retelling of the Aristophanes play Lysistrata. The concept translates thus: Lysistrata persuades the women of Greece to withhold sexual privileges from their husbands in order to force them to negotiate peace and end the Peloponnesian War= Lysistrata Jones, so named by her hippie parents, wants to do something with her life and decides she wants to end the Athens University basketball team's losing streak by not "giving it up" along with her fellow cheerleaders (on a cheer team she created by the way). Sounds like a simple enough idea modification. Could be a nice vehicle for exploring sexuality in the modern collegiate environment or perhaps activism in youth or even just a nice throwback to ancient Grecian playwriting.....It was none of these things.

Lysistrata Jones was, what the kids would call, a hot mess. The best thing that can be said about this show is that it was an exercise in duality. Here, in list form, are the many ways in which Lysistrata Jones was stratified:

1) Romp vs. Real- Lysistrata Jones couldn't decide if she was a farcical romp simply wishing to entertain or if she was a show with depth that explored real issues. The songs' lyrics were vague enough to give a dance jam feel but scene set up suggested that the power ballads were meant to be taken as serious character drama. This indecisiveness left the show as bare as the cast members during the locker room scenes.

2) Character vs. Characterization- Similarly, the characters were at times trying to be real people struggling to find themselves outside of the roles they've been forced to play...but mostly, the actors were trying to find characters in the grossly over-stereotyped mess of lines that was their motivation. Lysistrata and her friends came across as what old people think of college kids: dumb, hyper-emotional, vain, and somehow not a real person yet. Maybe this wasn't the greatest situation to explore young adult angst, but seriously, go sit in the quad of a college campus and do some in-person research. We are not soulless blots of human beings waiting for adult fulfillment. I cannot stress this enough, THESE CHARACTERS ARE THE WORST CARICATURES EVER.

3) Sexy or Sexy Not- For a show about withholding sex, the topic rarely came up. As I mentioned earlier, among the things Lysistrata Jones could have been, a meditation on late adolescent sexuality it was not. For a while it sounded like they skirted around the subject in an attempt to be a family friendly show (Psh, yeah right). But a few swear words and exposed genitalia later, it was clear this was not the case. Once you've crossed this line, why not go all the way (hehe)? Such subject matter is going to turn parents away anyway. Make this delve into the real issues people in their late teens are facing like what sex says about identity or the excessive interdependence in modern budding relationships. Or, if you expose your toned, young cast at all, make it count. The little skin we were shown was more awkward than sexy. Fail. Broadway dancers know sexy. Give them sexy back.

Remember when I queried that perhaps creatives couldn't tell if a show was good or not until they fleshed it out? Well, this show having already gone through out-of-town tryouts and an Off-Broadway run would have seemingly been through the goodness filter. The results should have yielded BAD. Maybe other people like this show, but for my taste the question I then imagine the producers asking themselves is "I wonder if other theatrical elements will cover up our book and score?" The reason I think this is because the hip-hop dancing was definitely the highlight of the show. Oh, and the busty black narrator who, like the other elements of her show, couldn't decide which sense of the word "muse" she was, story teller or gentlemen's play thing.

Maybe audiences will get distracted by the zingy one-liners or the indiscriminately high belting or the biggest rack to ever be bedecked in a golden leotard, but for theater's sake, I hope not. Here, let me do something hip and modern cuz I'm an edgy blogger. Hashtags! Ooooo #cantbelievebonnie&clydeisclosingbeforethismess

In the words of Russell Brand, "Doesn't matter how much you tart up a corpse. You could be the world's finest embalmist; I would not be swayed." Yes, I just compared a musical to a corpse. Too much? Maybe. Do I want you to see this regardless? No.

Tune in tomorrow when I rip The Blue Flower petal by petal,
Jamin

Thank You Heavenly Father/A Mini Discount Guide

Your heart pounds excitedly. You relevé to see above the other couple hundred heads in the crowd. After years of dreaming about seeing Broadway shows on the regular, you're living in New York and can take the ACE line 6 stops uptown to play the lottery. Tickets used to drain your parents' wallet, but now, with your residency you can afford a weekend gamble because, after all, you can just come up and play next week.

You turn nervous and jittery to your friend Steph. This is his first time playing the lotto, this your second. You recall the last time you played lotto, how very many people there were and how even with three people, none of your names were called. You dial down your expectations realizing there's probably twice as many people here vying for coveted front row and box seats to the year's biggest blockbuster. Still you can't help but be hopeful and pray to Heavenly Father that you'll get to enjoy this most delightful of delights.

The man with the megaphone begins calling names. You clap as lucky patrons scream with joy even though a little monster inside you gets increasingly bitter and worrisome as seats disappear. States are shouted out: California! Indiana! Massachusetts! Minnesota! New Jersey...(The great state of no-smiles always gets a groan.) You wonder to yourself if it helps that you put WA down instead of NY. Maybe they're nicer to out-of-towners; people from far reaches of the globe may only get to see this show once. Your suspicions are suddenly confirmed as places like Japan and Israel are called. (Seriously, how many people from Israel are at this lottery?) This game has got to be rigged. Somehow they sort through the whole pile of cards in under a minute seeking the candidates most likely never to return. You rue the day you moved to New York. Even though you put WA down on your card, somehow they know you live here and will come back religiously until you get a ticket. You'll never win lottery now.

The front row is completely gone. Only 8 seats left which means only 4 names called since most everyone asks for 2 tickets. Just as you tilt your head to the ground swearing you'll never convert to Mormonism, you hear, "From the great state of Washington, Ben Bartels!" An uncharacteristically manly grunt of "YES" is emitted from your ecstatic larynx. Steph pats you on the back as you worm your way through the crowd to the doors leading inside the theater. You can't believe it. You can practically feel the gleeful hormones surging through your body. You make a mental note to ask one of your Mormon friends back home to convert you. Hopefully it's not too late to go on a mission.

The rest of the day you run on essence of whimsy. Life is beautiful and everything laughable. Jealous texts from friends reading "FU****!!!!" or "F*** YOOOOOUUUU!!!" help you appreciate what a blessing it is to see this show for such a low price. The world's a divine miracle. The show is fabulous. People are literally 15 feet away from your face. Some ensemble members glance up at you from time to time. The speakers are right in front of your face but you don't care; by the time you're 60, doctors will probably be able to repair eardrums. The giddiness lasts for the rest of the week. After the haze is over, you wonder if you'll ever be able to win the lottery again...

To your amazement, next week, it happens again! Your friend Nik wins the Wicked lotto and your friend Steph graciously allows you to see it with him as you've been long anticipating the day you could see Teal Wicks in person. You revel in the amazingness that is winning the lottery again and seeing a long-running Broadway show front row with someone you admire playing the lead. You think your luck has probably run out.

But then you and your friend Haylin decide you wanted a gay night out so you chance playing the Priscilla lottery. You win and are then witness to the gayest thing you've ever seen on stage. Your luck is uncanny. Your status update is met with a long line of angry comments. You think this is probably the last time this'll happen.

Well, you were sort of right. Colleen and you went lottery hopping and ended up at Godspell which plays half an hour later than the other lotteries. The lottery has all been called so you go to the front to ask if they have standing room tickets. The ticket woman tells you to "Hold on a sec" and proceeds to usher the winners inside. To your surprise and bewilderment, she realized she forgot to give away the last pair of seats so she unceremoniously hands over the ticket slips proclaiming "Winners". You see Godspell up close and on cushions. Spit flies into your face. Colleen is actually pulled on stage by a very hot Jesus to play pictionary! You start to think fate really likes you or maybe God is once again trying to tell you something...

I hope you enjoyed my second-person account of my first lottery win!...and the subsequent slew of shudder-inducing, murder-inciting wins. (Maybe I should play the real lottery.) In case you couldn't tell, I won box seats for The Book of Mormon on Broadway with my friend Steph. And by the way, that was our first week in the city... After that I won all the other Broadway lotteries. Boo-ya bitches. Yes, I'm gloating. Yes, it was phenomenal. Yes, you should reconsider being my friend, either to partake of my amazing luck or to forever upturn your nose at me. Now here comes the usual explicating.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the New York theatre scene, and may someday want to visit there, here's the rundown on discount tickets. There are lots of discount seats. You can check out a number of sites including playbill.com, groupon.com, studentrush.org, or tkts.org. (There are several other ones depending on the occasion.) The easiest discount tickets to get are the rush seats which become available the day of a performance when the box office opens. There are a limited number of seats and the prices hover around the $25-$40 area. Most shows do general rush (available to all the public) but some only allow student rush. If a show is sold-out, you can pay about $30 to rent a little space in the back of the house; this is called standing room only.

The lottery, which I described above, is something only the really popular shows do. Basically, they make so much money and sell so many seats that they can afford to sell the front row for about $32 a pop. Currently there are 5 lotteries that I'm aware of: Wicked, Godspell, Rent, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, and The Book of Mormon. The lottery is open to the public two and a half hours before the show starts and closes two hours prior. At this time, they pull names at random and the lucky winners can either request 1 or 2 seats at the discount price as long as they have cash (some allow credit) and relevant ID. Oh, the no-brainer: YOU HAVE TO SHOW UP TO HEAR YOUR NAME CALLED. (Honestly, I don't know why you would go to the trouble to enter your name and then leave. Stupid.)

And that is the very truncated guide to Broadway show hopping! If you would like more details, feel free to ask, provided you know who I am and how to reach me. (In later posts I will give more details on show tix and such. Stay tuned.) I promise I was just as excited as you would've been had you played these lotteries.

By the way, another blog post is coming later today. You should read it. Tell your friends.

Devilishly,
Jamin

The Challenge/Is This Home?

Dear Neglected Readers (You've doubled in number since the last time I addressed you this way),

Ironically, when your life is really rich with experience you have less time to write about it. So for this holiday season I'll give you a present: a whirlwind walk through of my life this fall. Lucky you.

I endeavor to write at least one post a day until the end of this year. In that time you should be duly informed on every minuscule detail of my life and will not feel the need to talk to me ever again. So starts the challenge.

Post 1:

Is this home?

The first year away from your parents is a huge transitional period for any college student. Most people long to go home at least once in their first semester. Many did in fact make the venture for Thanksgiving or various weekend excursions. I did not return until this break for practical purposes; a journey across the country is more time-consuming than is worth two days of rest. But I don't think I wanted to return anyway. For me, in the quiet moments (and by quiet I mean there's still honking, the sound of an old radiator clanking and screaming hall mates next door) sitting alone in my dorm room, my yearning to be home was subdued by the knowledge that I would no longer return to the house I had grown up in.

The old brick rancher had many faults. Years of remodeling consisted of replacing two bathrooms, tearing up pee-soaked, skin-irritating carpet, removing the entryway pillars, re-flooring the kitchen, a new heating system, dishwasher, laundry machine, sink, refrigerator, basement light, basement bedroom, and windows, more shades of paint than on an entire season of Bravo's Top Design, and more furniture shifting than a household that frequently suffers earthquakes. The yard weathered tumultuous seasons, a trampoline, two swing-sets, a grave, two hot-tubs, several birthday parties, a family of 12 Russians, gaggles of teenagers, golf-swing tread-marks, a pig roast, and years of doo-doo from a revolving doggie door that brought us a Dalmatian, a Labrador, a beloved Dachshund named Munchie, and our two current dogs Rudy and Celine. But after all the remodels and the outdoor apparel, that house became beautiful, even if you could scratch your head on the ceiling or still find ants crawling out of the top step to the basement.

It had what every house inevitably gains: the feeling of home. Years of life become embedded in the floor. Every passage through your hallway is a reminder of the many nights you spent with friends who vomited from drinking too much water of all things, who vomited from trying alcohol (a little more typical), who surprised you on your sixteenth birthday by pelting you with water balloons, who ate, slept, and laughed with you until 5 in the morning and begrudgingly left four hours later. Sitting at your dining room table for dinner you recall decorating for the many holiday seasons, coming home to a burnt spot on that table and a house full of drunken, costumed adults, dancing with a Jamaican man who randomly hopped the fence of your backyard, playing Quelf, Loaded Questions and other board games, sitting with your grandparents to fill them in on the news of the day. Walking into your bedroom you remember all the feelings of angst, all the nights lying awake worrying how you'd fare at the next music competition or how you'd be seen at school, all the nightmares falling into the abyss, all the pleasant dreams about friends you miss, all the happy nights when adrenaline kept you awake, and the creepy vision of the old man you watched die in that very room. And your couch. Oh your couch. Endless hours spent mindlessly watching television or napping or just plain doing nothing to decompress from the wild life you live outside your house.

But, everything that's good feels painful to lose so I guess it's a testament to the childhood I lived in that house that I miss the fluorescent-lit Bionicle Battles in my basement and the movie nights with cast mates. And however much I miss that house, I'm oddly freed by returning to a place I've never lived in. There's a sense of continuity, that this time of my life is resolutely about self-discovery, that I'm a floater, not quite ready to settle.

Separation makes you appreciate everything you loved about your corner of the world even if it had nothing going for it EXCEPT that it was your corner of the world. The familiarity, the intimate knowledge you have of its inner life, the peers you first learned how to be a friend for, the teachers you thought knew everything, the town you couldn't wait to get out of but also secretly cherished. It's at home where you don't feel guilty doing nothing but sit on your couch for hours on end. It's at home you feel like you can become invisible. It's at home where you remember your dreams and the gap that still exists between who you are and who you want to be.

For me, though, home isn't as fixed as I imagined it. I discovered truth to the phrase "home is where the heart is". I feel that inexplicable aura of comfort here in this new house. I felt it the moment my dogs licked my face in recognition of my scent after months away. My parents have filled their energy in this house and I can be safe here. But, I'm also sure now that I've spread this aura back on the other side of the continent. It was born of my parents but didn't come from them. I created my own home with my new friends in New York, who have taken this journey with me into the cliched but essential step into adulthood. We've tested the bounds of our late-night sanity, the balance between work and play, the tolerance of less than likable people, shouldered the burdens of each other's emotional baggage, discovered what's vitally important to us when no one else is acting as our conscience. It's with these people now that home is forming. It's not a home of accumulated history or square footage (No, definitely not square footage. I'm basically living in a closet.). It's arcane but we're starting to get a sense of place.

I may one day find another house that is a home. But for now, I don't need it. The illimitable power of friends and family presses itself upon me both here and there, and I am content.

Jamin

For My Mother and Grandfather: What He Left

Packages with seaweed and tea leaves. Letters that no one could properly translate. Black and white photographs of a family she couldn’t remember. These attempts at reconciliation were sent in the mail every few years. Traces of a family my mother could have had. But the young boys seated on her father’s lap did not bear familiar faces or even have names. They were just that, traces.

Finally, earlier this year my mom receives a message on facebook from a man claiming to be her half-brother. Eventually we verify that he and the rest of his family are indeed related to us. We scour his profile for photos. There’s an album of my cousin’s recent marriage, the perfect place to see all our lost family. While we’re unsure who is a sister or a brother and so on, the old man is unmistakably my mother’s father, the man who walked out on her life.

He had attained a great age and in the subsequent scramble of communication, it was heavily implied that my mom return to Korea to see him before he passed. A combination of finances, practicality and indignation prevented us from flying her over immediately. We at least agreed that the journey should wait until this coming spring. So we contented ourselves with befriending the younger members of our lost family.

But now he has passed. Now there will be no more chance to see him. And yet, I do not feel grief. His blood runs through my veins, but it is his mistakes that have meant more to our family than his heritage.

If he had not been an alcoholic and driven my grandmother away, she might not have been homeless, might not have been desperate enough to seek a refuge for her daughter. My mother would not have been sent to America to forge a new life, that came with its own challenges, but a better life. She would not have the spirit of competition or the inner ferocity that allowed her to succeed despite being the only Asian of her generation to grace a small beat-nick town. She would not have been able to pay her own way through college. Might not have met my dad at that college. Might not have married him and had a child. Might not have sought to create a happier, stabler family than the one she left behind or was raised in. Might not have been my mother.

On the night I heard the news, my mother said she could not stop crying. I wasn’t sure what spawned her tears. Love? Perhaps not. More like lost opportunity. A sense of unresolved tension. A chance to fill the void left. A chance to forgive, to leave the homeless little girl behind.

So grandfather, I cannot love you, but I am grateful to you. You gave my mother a life. You paid with thousands of miles separating you and your kin and years of mild resentment mingled with longing curiosity. We spoke of your role in our family as only a missing piece of the family tree. But at least for me, you were an outgrowth of a branch, a canker on the branches that really rooted me to the ground: my adopted grandparents. They were the faces I saw every day after school in childhood. They were the loving embraces I knew meant safety. Theirs are the scents I recognize from around the corner. They’ll be the ones I mourn when they pass.

How strange it is then that when I think on you, I cry. I think, it’s not for you. It’s for my mother. For what she thinks she could have recovered by meeting you. Or whatever it is that makes her sad. All I know is that your passing means just this to me: I love my mother and my family. You gave us that and you needn’t have given anything else. I won’t look back in regret of a missed opportunity. But I hope you find peace.

Mini-Skirt

Today I will be brief.

A man may never feel freer than when he wears a dress.

Lesson: shake your booty with impunity and you will feel better.

Goodbye

A Tribute to Steve Jobs

“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."- Steve Jobs, 2005

Today as we honor the passing of a visionary, I am reminded to always live my life with vivacity and integrity. This is not an easy pursuit but the struggles associated with these goals are overcome with the dignity that arises from being continually spirited and honest. Let us seize the day with every fiber of our being knowing that those days are limited. Let us create with the hope there's always something new to discover. And let us find inspiration, rather than sadness, in the passing of great men to forge a future built upon their legacies.

Rest in Peace Steve Jobs

Just Another Day

In just one day of living in NYC you may see:

A mass of people swaying awkwardly around a drum corps

A dealer not so subtly offer you drugs

A piano in the middle of the park

A homeless man curled up on a bench for an afternoon nap

A 99¢ pizza place

A ghetto bootie that does not belong to a female

A strap-on on and fake boobs on a manequin

A pigeon flitting fearlessly a foot away from your face

A jazz combo playing Afro Blue on the walkway

A huddle of theater kids dancing inappropriately to the music in the air

A few same-sex couples walking happily together unimpeded

A pair of kids practicing Capoeira on a raised platform

A line at Starbucks wrapping three times around the interior of the store

A little person not sanctioned by the university shouting at passersby as if he were traffic control

A quartet of semi-intoxicated friends (two guys, two girls) converge on a single point in the air to make out. All at once. Like literally four set of lips interacting inclusively.

A Broadway star buying a meal at the same chicken joint as you

A beautiful purple sky created by smog and light pollution

A high skyline blinking with bright lights, the biggest reminder that you're in one of the greatest cities on Earth- a city so steeped in history, so full of energy, so industrial and yet so beautiful.

Enjoying his bite of the Big Apple,

Jamin

Another National Anthem

9/11

A day that will be emblazoned into this generation's brains like the Kennedy assassination and the Atom Bomb dropping were seared into generations previous. A day that changed the character of the past decade. A day in which many were disavowed of the notion that America was eternally and completely "the land of the free": that being here meant you were safe from the outside world. A day we look back on in remembrance, reverence, and caution. Ladies and gentlemen, on a day like today so steeped in history, so pungent with loss, it is important to not let ourselves become stagnant.

Ten years ago, our country suffered a great loss. We lost innocent men and women and symbols of our strength. Now, although these monuments are resurrected, we can never recover our valuable citizenry or the notion that we are somehow unlike everyone else- vulnerable. But instead of being defeated by these wounds, we can let them make us stronger. A loss of innocence doesn't just have to be a calamity: it can awaken you to the totality of life.

So, ten years after that horrible day, I urge you to take a good look at the world around you and the life you lead. While I will never condone the use of terrorism or think a nation deserves to suffer so terribly, the current state of the world and particularly our foreign affairs is a direct result of our nation's own decisions. Whatever you believe politically, I urge you now to not just let 9/11 be a bad memory. I urge you to let it galvanize your deepest potential as a thinker, worker, human being. What you choose to do with your released potential is up to you but that day shadowed some of the very things that made our nation great, and this day can be the turning point in which we recover it. If we want to truly honor those lost, what we can do is choose to uphold the national identity that makes us who we are. We can be strong, resilient, productive, and free.

NYC!!! I'm HERE

If you can find me, I'M HEEEEEEEEEERE!!! Hello friends, family, neighbors, random people in Malaysia (Yes, I do have an international following, albeit a small one)! I haven't written all summer, but I will blog about it soon. Today, I just want to share with you my first week at NYU! It has been so fun. It feels like I've lived two months in a week. I don't remember exactly what happened when so this timeline may be inaccurate. Whatever. I just want to tell you what happened. Here we go!

Sunday- The original move in day was postponed due to the hurricane. Instead, my mom, grandma and I hauled up in our hotel watching movies. We did manage to snap some photos of deserted intersections and closed-down shops, but because the city was still in flux, it was a mostly uneventful day.

Monday- Move in! Lugging all my possessions around makes me want to run away to a Buddhist temple and give up on materialism. Just kidding, but it was still a challenge to move 4 suitcases up to the 14th floor and then aid my room mate, Nick, accomplish the same feat. After traversing 14 flights with luggage, we decided it was not unreasonable to climb them without at least once a day as an exercise in fitness and wellness.

After getting unpacked and making one last convenience item trip to Bed Bath & Beyond, I met up with some friends for the evening. A few hours of aimless trekking later we ran a gauntlet of Welcome Week High Fives from the student staff into the Skirball Center for Performing to catch Hypnotist Michael C. Anthony. Given the spontaneity, I had no idea what to expect. What I got was the most I've ever laughed in the space of an hour ever in my life. Highlights: People dropping to the floor in a dreary sleep upon contact with the hypnotist, a row of men experiencing the miracle of birth (or rather the pain of it), the extermination of the number six, sexy poses on a beach, the hero who saved his fellow hypnotics from a snake belt, a boy who cried a little too much and a sassy Bobby rechristened Cha-Cha. Hysterical? Yes. Real? Steph doubts it. Who cares? No one really as long as people embarrass themselves.

Wednesday- The freshmen had vocal diagnostics to pair us with voice teachers and get the faculty familiar with us. Unfortunately we were not allowed to watch each other so later in the week a reasonable amount of facebook video-stalking ensued.

Thursday- Throughout the morning we met with the program head to receive the results of our diagnostic. Besides getting our voice teacher assignments, us classmates bonded in the hall. It was the first time some of us had seen each other outside of facebook so naturally we freaked out at the sight of real people. Not really what happened, but you get the idea. Later that night we had a mixer with the ENTIRE program and I happily found them to be just as friendly and awesome as my class. The cast of Sweet Smell of Success even performed a preview for us to give us a taste of exactly the kind of work we'd be doing here. After the formal mixer it was off to a party where the socializing continued more freely but with less air-conditioning. I guess, if you can make friends with someone in a crowded room hemorrhaging with sweat, you can make friends anywhere.

Friday- My room mate, Nick, and I went to a jazz restaurant to hear some live music and eat some very overpriced salad. After, some friends convened in Steph and Nik's room for hours of rambunctious laughter. It wasn't this night but I know we capped our late-night-conversation time at 5:00 am at some point.

Saturday- Movie night at Kaylee's! A revolving door of attendants watched Little Miss Sunshine and were then privy to a private concert courtesy of Nik and Steph, two very fierce singer/songwriter performers. It's nice to hear random music in Washington Square Park, but it's even better to hear your friends.

Sunday- While riding with Steph on the subway up to the theater district, I spotted Andrew Ranells from the Book of Mormon. Exciting but bound to happen in this city. We get off and run into the Brazil Day festival. This creates a decent amount of road obstacles which delay us from arriving at the Catch Me If You Can box office to attempt student rush. Shrugging it off, we play the Book of Mormon lottery. I WIN!!! Steph texts fellow program buds reporting the news. Among the responses were "F***er!!!!", "F*** You!!!", and "I hate you!!". We eat at a grocery store. We see Book of Mormon. We laugh. A lot. Lanz makes me briefly ponder the odd coincidence that I saw Andrew Rannells the same day I won Book of Mormon tickets. We have a discourse on the inalienability of human rights, female mutilation and moral obligations in a global community. We meet up with some friends, John, Juliet, Nik, Brian, and "Room mate" legally named Nick. (Not to be confused with my room mate Nick. This Nick is John's room mate.) We eat at a diner. Steph and Nik unsuccessfully attempt to get Netflix to work. We bask in the glow of the day anyway.

This brings me to today where I went to a BBQ secretly organized by a Christian group on campus. Word of advice, if you're trying to recruit people for anything don't make them angry by walking them to a distant location at lunchtime when they're expecting food and make them wait for 2 hours only to receive pizza instead. As payback I filled out my survey with an alias but gave them enough real information to try and hunt down a nonexistent Jarome Speizer for a while. After that, I skyped with my parents, then my good friend Liz and shared it all with you!

This week has been so amazing. You know it must have been because normally I would try to think of a spicier word than amazing to describe my feelings. I've met some wonderful people, had great conversations, experienced a little of the city, and got super pumped for beginning actual classes.

The Adventure Will Continue,
Jamin

Adultolescence

Today, according to U.S. law, I am an adult. A few days ago I was hired at a grocery store but couldn't sign some paperwork because I was underage. So today, I went in to officially become an employee and sign away a few liberties while I was at it. As most people feel at this age, I feel a vague sense of psychological renewal but mostly an ambiguous blot of development. My new boss told me that I could now sign the papers because I am "of my own mind". So, today is as good as any to impart to you my thoughts on the transition to adulthood.

In regards to my boss' comment (which was meant jokingly not demeaningly), mentally I feel exactly the same. Obviously. It's only been a few hours since my last conscious interaction with the world. It's not like I was suddenly thrown out on the street, forced to find an apprenticeship or else beg for food and lodging. My day today and the next few months will be the same as they always have been.

The truth is, being an adult to me is more than assuming the major responsibilities that naturally come with continued life. Everyone has to pay taxes, most people have to work for a living and anyone can make a baby. For a lot of people the responsibiltiies of finance and childcare are simply thrust upon them. For these kinds of people, life is lived rather begrdugingly. No, despite my aunt's retort "you'll change your mind when you start paying taxes!" adulthood for me is more than workforce subservience and childrearing.

My criteria for an adult are temperament and ethical duty. I believe an adult is someone who has a realistic sense of their place in the world, aspirationally and relationally. They should know about how achievable their ideal self actually is and who is emotionally important to them. If you are assured of these two things, you should be able to take life in stride. My second criterion means you should uphold a moral code of conduct. This is to preserve your own integrity and happiness and that of your greater community. For my personal ethic, I think this conduct should include a continued accrument of knowledge and active participation in the government. These tasks prevent stagnation, keeping you a relevant and involved citizen. After all, if you sympathize with my aunt and paying into the government constitutes being an adult, you might as well actually use your right to vote which I consider the main privilege of adult life.

None of this will happen over night. I think most people are ill-groomed to perform the duties I consider quintessential to maturity. Most of the people I encounter are in a state of prolonged adolescence, still trying to fill self esteem needs. Particularly in America this is a sociological trend. Our culture promotes infantilism so products are cross generational and consumerism can flourish. In addition, our improved quality of life has created a general sense of entitlement. Not to mention the failings of our education system which is supposed to create an intellectually vibrant citizenry but currently has less influence on our intellectual interests than youtube.

So, I will journey into the adult world and try to set the example I want to see. It won't be easy. Like I said, your hangups of 18 years won't go away over night. You're still essentially the person you were when you go to college. It's just a change of setting and responsibility. However, every day I will strive to be someone who expects more from himself than he does from the world.

Yours Truly,
Jamin

The World Has Ended...

Well, we're all still here. I wonder how the people who believed in the rapture are feeling right now. Probably full of existential angst. Or maybe forsaken because God didn't take them up to heaven with him. As many thorough readers of the Bible have pointed out, only God is supposed to know when the end of days is to happen. If you're like me, you think humanity is going to be its own extinction through one environmentally induced disaster or another. Along with us will die all notions of divinity. But it was nice to dream!

So now that you've survived an apocalypse, I hope you enjoy what remains of your life with a sweetened sense of purpose. For tips on wellness in my previous post, click here

Happy end times!

Jamin

Terrorism...My Conversation Filler

Today I leave you with a really dry explanation of terrorism and various problems with defining and pinpointing it as a national threat. I've been wanting to post for a while now but couldn't think of anything so today you just get a republished paper from one of my politcal science classes. Lucky you.

There are a few problems with defining terrorism. In the vernacular it has become misconstrued by emotional ties to recent terrorist activity. A more objective definition of terrorism is: a method by which nongovernmental actors use violence to achieve political ends by inspiring fear of further violence. Even excluding popular input, this definition raises issues. The first issue is recognizing that terrorism is a method not a political ideology. A clear distinction can be made when examining who employs terrorism. Terrorism can be used by groups anywhere, "For example, the Irish Republican Army (IRA) bombed innocent civilians in British cities to raise the cost of British control of Northern Ireland. Al Qaeda commits its attacks in order to raise the cost of various policies it opposes" (D'Anieri 228). It is clear terrorism is a method because it transcends nationalities; however that doesn't mean there's not a particular type of international player that uses it. The second issue with defining it is distinguishing terrorists’ actions from other uses of violence. D'Anieri states that "it is important not only what is done and to whom, but by whom it is done" (228). States are not considered "terrorists" if they bomb another country because "only states can use force legitimately, in the generally accepted view" (D'Anieri 229). The reason for this is that states are supposed to govern public matters and have deterrents like public welfare and values. Terrorists are private players taking part in public matters and cannot be deterred the same way.

While there are many theorized causes to terrorism, none of them can be definitively proven. One explanation for terrorism is rational choice theory, in which the terrorist is left with no other option and terrorism is the only rational way to achieve their desired end. However, Islamic extremist groups that employ terrorism to establish a region-wide Islamic government don't fit this criterion. D'Anieri states "it does not appear useful in achieving positive goods such as control of a territory or of a government" (232). Poverty is offered as another explanation because poverty stricken people may be more willing to adopt extreme beliefs and a desire to overthrow the current system. There is, however, no direct link between the two since "a significant number of terrorists come from relatively wealthy backgrounds" (D'Anieri 233). This includes Al Qaeda leader Osama Bin Laden who came from a family of millionaires. Finally, some think Islam is the source of terrorism because of beliefs like jihad, or holy war, which are used to justify terrorist actions. This is a really faulty explanation for a few reasons. One, jihad is not a widespread belief. Two, other extremists have used religious justification for their actions. For example "Hindu hardliners in India and Jewish extremists in Israel make similar claims, as did Christian Crusaders for centuries" (D'Anieri 234). Lastly, "much terrorism throughout history has not been religiously motivated" (D'Anieri 234). It was only recently that Islam came to the forefront. Other extremist actions throughout history have been fueled by nationalism and whatever was popular at the time. There is really no clear cause of terrorism yet.

For next time, would you rather have an essay on how to dissect literature or Osama Bin Laden? I was thinking the latter but I'm pretty sure we're all tired of hearing about his death the possible political significance of it.

Blah,
Jamin

Goodness Flows From You Like A Fountain

Today my friends I wish to celebrate the goodness of life.

Sometimes, you just have so much to be thankful for you can't help but walk around with an aura of sickening glee. But it's not an unusual frequency of those rare times that make a happy person. After all, you can't really count on things working out in your favor. The goodness of your life isn't measured in the blessings you receive, but rather in the happiness you find in yourself and the life you have.

So make a resolution today, and tomorrow, and the next day to just be happy. Smiling often helps. Your body doesn't know the difference between fake stimulants and real ones. That's how Mormonism works I think...they smile so much and watch so many joyous, Disneyfied-version-of-reality movies that they can't help but be happy! More seriously, most of them have a daily practice of grateful revelling, whether it be at seminary, church, youth group, or family night. This simple daily reminder of what's important to them as people, I think, makes all the difference in the world.

If it helps you, make a "daily bible". It doesn't have to be fancy- just a list of things that make you warm inside and thankful you have a life at all. Most people don't achieve their life's ambitions or amass great wealth or have an unnaturally cheery disposition. And even if someone does get granted all the things that are supposed to make them happy, the happiness is then contingent on the continued prescence of those things.

As they say, "do something for yourself", but don't go out and indulge in that chocolate cake you've been craving all week. Instead, let your brain give your body a chemical uplift. Meditate on why you like living. Bring purpose to your life. Give YOURSELF happiness. The most beautiful thing is you get to decide for yourself. All the pain and ambiguity in the world is there so you can make something personally meaningful out of it...which may just be a chocolate cake at the end of the week.

Happily Yours,
Jamin

One Night Stand

If you read a post of mine in February, I said that I had lots of drafts waiting to be edited and published. This is still true. There they are. Just sitting there. Neglected, collecting cyber dust, jealous of their counterparts that sit adjacent to them polished and published. The thing is, as attractive as those pieces are, I've discovered blog posts are like one night stands for me. I have to do it quickly, vigorously, and excitedly, but after that, it should only be remembered pleasantly every once in a while when the sting of loneliness kicks in. Maybe I'll rekindle the flames by reading about more current events.

Learning to have long-term relationships with his blog posts,
Jamin

A Plea For Americans

It's no secret that our political environment is toxic and has been for a while. Growing up in the late 90s and early 2000s I never got to witness for myself winning strokes in political history. The image of my first president was tainted by a sex scandal. My first memory of the voting process was littered with doubt about its legitimacy. My second president spoke less articulately than most of my classmates. The national crisis I lived through was used as a tool to begin an everlasting war justified by false evidence, vague notions of a world ruled by democracy, and thinly veiled economic interests. The first president I believed in, while projecting an earnest image, seems caught in the same agenda that propelled us eastward in the first place. Aspersions are cast about his credentials and citizenship by a man with hair implants and a woman who can't be bothered to be more informed than the average citizen. The intellectualism and honesty of the conservative party is all but gone. The bravery and push for change of the liberal party seems misplaced.

I write to you today not to complain about the state of our political system. I'm sure every generation when they're my age feels like their world's falling apart and great things were only accomplished in some long-forgotten era of political triumph. I could probably make a case for an ailing nation in every decade. What I want to remind you of today is the importance of the people. While practically we can do little, our voice can still shift America's attitude.

What I want to ask is this: please, know your politicians and what they're up to. You don't have to understand the science of tactical manipulation to know when someone's not being forthcoming. However, if you let information only travel to you from the general public or propoganda, you deserve not to have an opinion. Please, don't accept the level of ignorance, inadequacy, and iniquity that's making its way into our seats of power. If someone is as imbecilic as Palin or Trump or as personally dubious as Edwards or Spitzer, don't stand for it. Our politicians SHOULD be held to higher standards of conduct and pedanticalness. Finally, please be courteous to your fellow citizens.

Dissatisfaction with the government crosses party lines. I suppose that's why people are especially obsessed with credulous conspiracies right now. They want the bad to have a source. The thing disuniting us as a people is where we apportion the blame. I posit to you that some of our current circumstances are driven by political forces beyond anyone's control. Some of them are caused by past failures in leadership. And some of them are caused by our unwillingness to compromise and make educated decisions as a people and as a nation. If we, the people, all promote an attitude of unity and intellectual perserverance in the face of hard times, our politicians may follow. If we ignore the problems most of the time, throw wild accusations across the room, and remain mostly misinformed, we give our leaders license to do so as well.

The Founding Fathers didn't give us freedom and democracy lightly. Originally, only land-owning, educated, white men could vote. Obviously we know now that race, class, and gender have little bearing on a person's competency, but what then becomes the great equalizer is knowledge or lack thereof. So please, don't squander your amazing right and don't poison the American image with more misplaced anger. Follow some news, talk with friends, talk with people with opposing views, be a good citizen and maybe the next generation can tell better stories of their political system.

All I Want for Christmas Are My Rights

Dear Readers,
After opening night of Assassins a parent voiced concern over the content of the show, specifically the violence. At our show last night a news crew from Krem2 came to film the first part of the performance. After some deliberation with the administration, the n word was struck from the show. While the initial scare of cancellation has died down, this controversy brings to light many important issues.

The first concern underlying this parent's, and other people's, sentiments is that teenagers should not and can't deal with obscenity, political complexities, psychopathy, and violence. This is simply not true. High schoolers are capable of dealing with sophisticated material. Assassins is a controversial show by nature but this uproar was rooted in doubts of "appropriateness". While many teenagers don't exhibit their finer qualities to the adults in their life, most kids have the intellectual and emotional prowess to not only understand darker issues, but have meaningful discourse on them as well.

You are laboring under delusions if you think teens are blissfully unaware of the atrocities committed by humanity. You are also mistaken in thinking that teens don't discuss sexuality, frustrations with the government, and all things obscene. Conversely, they tend to be major topics of discussion because during these formative years is when we gain enough knowledge and confidence to discover and form opinions on these matters. Just as English and History classes have to tackle the darkness of humanity, so too must theater. We would be denying parts of ourselves and our world if we didn't read books like Huckleberry Finn and Crime and Punishment (which are required reading and are centered on issues of racism and murder respectively), study the foundation of our nation or World War Two, and put on theater like Sweeney Todd and Assassins. All are essential for our growth as people and censoring them will potentially make our new generation socially stagnant.

I think much of the offense to this show stems from not understanding its message. This shows questions the negative effects of our nation's spirit on our citizens. But Assassins does not condone, support, or promote the use of violence to achieve what you want. It simply shows what happens upon the unfortunate marriage of falling short of the American Dream with psychopathy. In fact, through the assassins' examples, the audience gets to see that radical acts are only good for infamy and not effecting social change. At the end of the show none of the characters find fulfillment or assuage their discontent. Some people rise to glory and others must learn to live simply, but the beauty of our nation is that "EVERYONE is free to fail" which inversely means that everyone can succeed.

Assassins is more relevant to our lives than any other show I've been in. A new film was just released about John Wilkes Booth and his fellow conspirators. This year, another desperate man tried to change his world by shooting our US Representative Gabrielle Giffords. Now, just as ever, we need to challenge ourselves to tread morally murky waters IN THE EDUCATION SYSTEM to quell ignorance and radicalism.

Finally, a high school theater, and any theater for that matter, should be allowed to put on shows that are meaningful to them and true to historical context without censorship. If we don't stand up for our art we don't truly believe in free speech. When our teacher sets out to do pieces like this, she does so to provide our communities with something more than run-of-the-mill frivolous entertainment. She has taught us that art is often the best way to ponder some of the harsher aspects of ourselves and society. Together, we set out to educate and shape our world. But ultimately, art IS meant to entertain and we hope we've delivered a quality production that can do just that. If you as audience member don't like the content, don't go to the show.

Thank you for your time. I hope you will show your support by coming to Assassins at University High School!

Thinker. No Brainier.

Hello Friends,
It's been a while since my last post. Today I wanted to discuss the vastly inconsistent performance level of the human mind.

The past few days I feel I ventured about some of my intellectual peaks. I've had lengthy discussions on the existence of God and its supposed omnipotence being non-responsive to human interpretations of the universe, the need for religion anyway as long as it spreads compassion and fulfills people, and, similarly, the importance of seeing identifiable characters to yourself in pop culture to affirm the value of your life.
For you music people- at a rehearsal the keyboard was playing in the wrong key and I correctly identified that it was a step too high even though no one else, including the music director, had noticed.

In contrast to this, I walked past the first set of automatic doors at Rosauers and was halted by what was seemingly a very stubborn second set of doors. The glass would not open! It wasn't until I got a sneering look from a nearby employee that I realized I was standing in front of a solid piece of glass while the doors directly adjacent to me were opening and closing furiously at my stupidity.

The point: The human mind is at a stroke capable of great intellectual depth and ingenuity and at another one so inept that it paralyzes you to give grocery store workers an amusing respite from their mundane job.

Stupidly yours,
Jamin

Thoughts From The Road

On the road, the strangest things occur to you. So here is a collection of random tangents that popped into my head during my various travels for my college auditions presented in no particular order.

I guess it’s not a startling revelation, but actual chocolate in hot chocolate was delicious.

MLK day is marked with tolerance producing educational slaps in the face. But as a kid I and other members of my generation took for granted diversity and generosity of spirit regardless of color. There’s a danger in educating too much and then creating the racial hyper-awareness that is to be discouraged. I didn’t used to think in terms of race but now it factors into how amiably I approach people. Kindness in general even preferential kindness isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I liked it better when I could judge people without subconsciously questioning my racial tolerance.

When you get the wide sweep of things, big cities look like they were built with legos.

My friend Hailey was right- New Yorkers on the whole look a lot weirder than Bostonians.

Panera needs to become a west coast chain…Now.

Gentlemen’s clubs are not gentlemanly. This language seems sexist. I mean, why does an institution of debauchery get to sound like a sign of distinguishment? I suppose if there were ladies clubs where men peddled sexual services I might not insinuate the existence of these institutions promote misogyny, baseness, and iniquity. Then again, I think this idea crossed my mind because I just generally think such practices are inherently dissolute.

Speaking of sexualization of people, a lot of gay guys have a sense of entitlement during the courting process. They think just because they like something they can purchase it even though their own credit is bad. I don’t care if you want to buy a 2011 Bentley; your credit score only qualifies you for a used Nissan Stanza. You know what I’m sayin? No? Ok, I’ll admit this analogy was a stretch.

Pigeons have low proximity awareness in NYC- twice they’ve taken off and nearly flown into my face!

It’s such a relief to be done auditioning because at this point my admissions decision is out of my hands so I feel absolved of responsibility. Of course, the excitement and grueling hours of work begins again when I head off to college but who’s thinking about that?

Here's me crossing my fingers that I'll be able to go to college next year,
Jamin

I Am Really Misleading

I am number four. I am alien. I am being hunted. I am trippy orgasmic fit on the beach. I am soooo cover blown. I am need to do get the hell out of dodge. I am new name. I am John Frickin' Smith (as if that name wasn't gonna attract attention. Ding ding! Indian child molester or noble, but stupid, love interest depending on which version you watched.) I am in newly dubbed "Ironic, Ohio" (Ironic that I suggest a new town name that's quite literal much like the title of my film. I'm not sure I know what this word means. But pretty girl is stalking me with her camera so I play funny).

I am not knowing the meaning of surreptitious. I am friends with geek (who I probably beat up off camera). I am liking pretty girl. I am find out that I only love one girl for the rest of my life 'cause I am from sentimental alien plant. I am f@#$^d; she's a dumb blonde (oh wait, so am I). I am inexplicably endowed with super powers well into puberty so it must be for plot purposes. I am over an hour into the film and still in this crappy town. I am no longer worried aliens with gills on their face are going to sniff-I mean-snuff me? I am protector dead. I am he was killed by a spear in a truck. (Why was he assigned as my secret service when you could just stab him?)

I am is screwed. I am going back (predictably) for pretty girl. I am surrounded by police, my high school enemy, and villains no scarier than metal head biker gang (you know, the ones who try to scare away the world with shaved heads and tatoos 'cause they not so secretly have daddy issues?) I am is screwed so hardcore. I am had time to develop photos with pretty girl? I am is totally stupid. I am knowing now developing photos is bad idea because it gives semi-deranged alien enemies whose sole purpose is to kill me enough time to find and surround me. I am saved by pretty's girl's Australian sister. (Ow! Oh, sorry, you're not related?) I am also badass with amazing control over my super powers not to mention fast reflexes, parkour mastery, and unflappable hair. (On his death bed, protector told me I could do it without him. He was right. Why did I need him again? I should fought the alien dudes and then you could've lived you dumbass!)

I am at the end of the movie with no idea what my alien origins are, a blonde female sidekick, a lapdog nerd friend with a missing father complex, and a vague sense that I need to "protect the world". I am Superman. I am, wait...there's 6 of us. I am f&*$ we're at the end of film and all we did was kill a small team Star Trek rip off, gun toting Emo cousins?

All kidding aside, this film wasn't THIS bad. But you now have a pretty good idea what the dialog was like. The scenes accompanying them though actually accomplished moving the plot with clear purpose. The thing that destroyed this film, other than the IQs of the characters, was the lack of set-up.

This film would've been much better had there been foreshadowing, clues for the characters to uncover, and BITS of back story about the characters revealed incrementally throughout the film. The grand slam approach this film seemed to unintentionally take revealed important facts about people and the story all at once without any audience anticipation. There was nothing holding our attention while the intervening dialog (which in itself is enough to make you want stab someone's eye out) was taking place. This was unfortunate because I feel like people still left the film able to talk clearly about what happened.

Alien planet was decimated by a power hungry rival alien race now seeking to enslave earth. The only serious opposition are these 9 aliens originally meant to protect their home planet and given their badassness at the end of the film it's easy to see why they'd want them removed from the picture first. Number 4 feels outcast, antsy, and hor-I mean prone to love. His geek friend finds meaning again through him because he vindicates his father's belief in aliens and represents potentially finding him again. Pretty girl likes him because he won't hold her to her old cheerleader identity that high school is shunning her for abandoning.

Sounds like a good movie with decent characters right? The action sequences were the best I've seen in years. I hate it when films have these super awesome heroes who only manage to flip a car. Come on, we're a spoiled viewing public. I Am Number Four at least knew to bring out the indulgent, creatively over-violent action! Other than that, this film was a good example of how plot without premise makes for a much less interesting movie. Oh, and before I let you go- the form taken at the top of the piece was partially to illustrate the stupidity of the title and dialog, but also to ask why does Alex Pettyfer speak like he's just had his tonsils pulled out? I mean, dude, I know you're British, but lesser Brits than you have pulled off an American accent. Are you just genuinely speech challenged?

Not Seeing the Sequels,
Jamin

Really Useless Blogging

Dear Friends,
I have many drafts of blog posts that have been sitting on my laptop for weeks now but just don't feel like editing them. So today's post will be composed of topics that under ordinary circumstances I would never muse about in public. Today you will be privy to a few of the private questions I ask in my head but don't merit intellectual expounding because they're factual and should therefore be looked up on google instead of pondered in a blog. However, since the answering of these questions won't fill a significant gap in my knowledge, I prefer to be left in the dark and make funny, useless queries. Lucky for you!

As I typed the last paragraph, my dog laid down on the ground and it appeared that his hind legs were sprawled directly behind him. This leads me to wonder are dogs' hind legs double jointed? Or maybe contortionist like flexibility is something unique to pure-bred silver-haired dapple dachshunds. Or maybe this is a completely unique genetic occurrence specific to our epileptic, mildy retarded, obese, socially maniacal, mistaken for a mut by his breeders dog. That or, since I have hitherto-for never witnessed completely back extended hind quarters on dogs and do not think it biologically probable, this is a trick of the light and there is a thoroughly unexciting reason that Rudolph Marik Bartels looks like a Costco pre-baked chicken when he sprawls for a mid-morning nap.

Another couple questions, this time regarding dog behavior:
Does the Dachshund mixed with Yorkshire Terrier mixed with Poodle inherently create a dog with cat like tendencies or is it just our weird prowling miniature raccoon?
Why do dogs like the damn floor?! It's disgusting, annoying, makes me worry about your mental state, and makes me much less sympathetic when you vomit afterwards. Got that dogs? I've actually looked up why dogs lick the ground and it turns out that's pretty typical of dogs with neurological deficiencies like ours...but these claims are unsubstantiated by lab testing and official veterinary publications so I still pose this question to the great wide internet anyway.

When building a house, what is the point of laying down hardwood floor and then a carpet on top of it? Surely the future homeowners would prefer gleaming wood to dust trapping, allergy inducing, stain-able carpet. And even if they don't, they can put the dumb carpet in themselves. Don't waste your time and money. Weird.

Are stop light coordinators sadists? That's not a factual inquiry. I just think it's asinine that instead of propelling traffic along in steady, continuous flows by staggering the lights, stoplights seem to turn green all at once and therefore turn red all at once. This consequently ushers cars about two blocks at a time in a little group that gets to know each other through many peeping glares and silent commiseration at the inadequate amount of distance traveled.

Also, what's the point of traffic cameras? If haven't seen or heard of anyone getting ticketed for running a red light after getting caught by those little, guilt producing devils. I seriously think they're like placebos. Only there as a psychological disciplinary tool...at least to those who care about traffic laws.

Why are there speed LIMITS? Why not just SPEEDS like in Europe? Stop kidding yourself America. The only people who regard those posted placards as the maximum acceptable traveling rate are grannies and OCD manifested in bitter attention to the rules. Even cops don't mind the "limit". (Hmmmmm irresponsible cop behavior warrants its own post.)

I could keep going, but somewhere along the way I stopped asking meaningless questions about purely factual matters that I was too lazy to look up myself. Maybe I'll try being stupid and forgetting that we live in an information age some other time. That leads me to one last question: Why bother asking a purely factual question when you can look it up on the internet? All the old people complain about how much our lives are consumed by the internet. At least prove their assumption wrong that it's making us stupider by showing them what an information mine it is. When you pose a question that is both irrelevant and useless to answer because there's no expert on geology in the room, either you momentarily halt a conversation or cause more idiots to waste time speculating when they really have no idea either. And that, like, you know, makes you look, like, retarded.

Happy Sunday!
Jamin (I realized I stopped putting this cheesy moniker at the bottom of my other posts so NOW IT'S BACK!!!)

Spider-Man: Turn on the Story

Spider-man the musical. After years of toiling to even get off the ground, it's finally here...and with lots of bad press. Despite the hitches, Spider-man has the potential for being a really good musical. There were, however, several thorns that need to be pruned for this show to be a critical and commercial success. Let's start with some positive things.

Reeve Carney, who plays Peter Parker/Spider-man is charming, just nerdy enough and likable. His voice is smooth and rapturous and hopefully this project coupled with the "Tempest" film launches his career. Jennifer Damiano was easy to watch as usual. Nothing spectacular about her performance or her songs but it was nice to see a familiar face. The rest of the cast was polished and enjoyable to watch performing acrobatic tricks, flying around the house, acting like nerds and hip-hop dancing bullies, and shoe-wearing spiders. The cast is dynamite. If only they had material where they could totally show off their chops...but more on that later.

Surprisingly, TV Carpio had a standout performance as the newly created character Arachne. It was nice to know she was an even better singer live and with other material besides reproduced Beatles numbers. What did confuse me about her character was the muddled half-proper/half-cockney British accent. And why is it that's the go to dialect for the more ominous characters?

Despite Carpio's performance, Arachne took valuable time and focus away from Peter's narrative. Her mystic, Greek origins don't fit within the science centered Spidey universe. At times I felt the show was more about her rather than the deepening of Spiderman's mythography. As much as I liked her concept- it wasn't Spiderman.

Going in, I was apprehensive about Bono and the Edge writing the music. However I saw why someone thought this would be a brilliant choice for a Spider-Man musical. The rock score was well suited for the action sequences and underscoring dialog. I thought it also communicated the right tone for the show. What it did not do was help the actors get to the heart of the characters. The problem with the composing pair (other than the fact it sounded like a Bono album)is that their music sets a mood for five minutes rather than starting with one objective and then propelling the character to another one. This was especially disappointing given how much I liked the cast. A few melodic tweaks that gave their songs climax and few moments of vocally showing off would've endeared the audience to them more fully.

The marriage of the power of Bono's music to a seasoned Broadway lyricist might have made this show great. As it is, it rests on shear spectacle and the ensuing horror stories that have generated the string of spoofs.

The script suffered from the same defects that many scripts do today- ideas without premise. The geek chorus, Arachne being the true origin of Spiderman, the villain fashion show, an apocalyptic Spidery villain team-up, flying over the audience, and moving set pillars with bright, animated action sequences, were all good ideas. They're not even that far from being connected in a single story. But as the show is currently written they only serve to make one element detract from the other.
For example:
1)It was unclear whether the geek chorus were fans telling the story or actually making it up. Their level of omniscience varied throughout the show. They could've actually been an interesting plot tool but right now they seem like time fillers to set up the action sequences.
2) Speaking of, the random pop-up like set pieces were cool to look at, but muddled the line between this being an actual story or a comic book brought to life. Either is a fine choice just pick one.
3) Arachne could've plausibly been inserted into the Spiderman origin story if she was not depicted as a being suspended in the astral plane. Perhaps she's the spider that bit Parker in the first place brought to life by another experiment gone wrong?
4) If you're going to go whole hog and spend 65 million on a show, why not go super, major over-the-top? Instead of simply computer images with stylized movement, why not entire filmed action scenes that bleed over into the live peoples' sequences above the audience?
5) When the villains made the Sinister Six and began terrorizing the world causing global blackouts, I was like "this would be a totally cool idea for a story!" And then it ended anticlimactically with Peter Parker punching them to smithereens in one blow each cause the whole thing was an...oh wait, that's a plot spoiler. Point being, this had epic awesomeness potential but ended quickly and the "actual" climax was severely less satisfying.
All these ideas were good but weren't executed to their fullest extent and not contextualized within a story that connected them together in a way that made a point about man and Spider-man.

The basic structure of a cliche story is there but for some reason, Julie Taymour and her book co-writer self consciously opted away from TELLING IT! This gave the plot a random outburst feel with things like "Will you marry me?" getting blurted out without any set-up. Look people, what makes Spiderman an enduring hero is his vulnerability, charm, and everyman persona. Don't avoid asking the basic questions that make his story real to people. Let him deal with the struggle to accept responsibility ON STAGE. Let the relationship with MJ blossom and crumble and come back to life again so the possibility of her death is more poignant and consequential. It's not fun to tear lovers apart if we didn't see them struggle to build something. Where was the romance? Where the identity crisis? Where was the "rise" of our hero? I promise you Taymour, a strong story COUPLED with visual phenomena will make us LOVE your musical. If we wanted only flashy light displays and loud, nonsensical music we can go to a Gaga concert.

Unlike other expensive visual spectacles Like Phantom, Wicked and Lion King (another Julie Taymour creation), Spider-Man doesn't have the staying power these shows do (though I would argue neither does Phantom but apparently the whole disagrees with me since its the longest running Broadway show in history). Connection, innovation, raw feeling, spectacle, and heart were there but clarity of story and accessible music was not. Unfortunately the negatives may trump the positives. I hope revisions will be made before the official opening. Hopefully egos aren't getting in the way of making this a GREAT show and a mainstay of Broadway.

PS
There were minor glitches at this performance but nothing as exciting as someone breaking their neck. Here they are:
1)A "weaver" at the beginning couldn't get unhooked from her wire. A crew member ran on stage and set her free in time to shimmy down to the floor in an ethereal manner.
2)Arachne was not hooked into the balcony wires in time for her entrance. This was the only time the whole show stopped. The actors were instructed to restart the scene so Carpio could make her dramatic entrance on the cue line.
3)The Osborne "green goblin" machine got stuck with the trap door open. The show was not stopped and the platform with the machine was lifted with plenty of time for Norman Osborne to enact the scene of his transformation.
4)Reeve Carney cracked towards the end of his last song. Small but noticeable.

Airport Security

Airport security is a joke. I have not been asked to go through the body scanner at any time when passing through security. I’m offended people don’t see my unassuming, slender, Asian, well-dressed persona as a threat. Seriously, I could mastermind a terrorist plot! More seriously, the fact that the selection process for body scans is arbitrary makes the whole idea pointless. Why have them if by chance someone smuggling advanced weaponry or drugs is lucky enough to bypass the screening?

Furthermore the airport security staff isn’t very intimidating. If I was a terrorist I would be not be deterred by the staff or the scanners. If I were really hell-bent on causing catastrophe and societal panic, my motivation would be greater than the possible fear factor meant to be created by the added levels of “security”. I don’t believe these or any added measures that don’t totally deprive us of our rights will ever scare terrorists away. Someone will always be angry and feel powerless enough to not only resort to terrorism, but be innovative enough to succeed.

On my way back, there were screens playing a video to remind us why we needed security. Can you say 1984, V for Vendetta, every dystopian world ever imagined? We can’t let our country move in this oppressive direction.

If we want to prove to terrorists that their acts of violence mean nothing then we must ignore them. Remember, terrorism works when the victims targeted give in to fear and wildly overreact to isolated incidents. Widespread hyperbolic fear of terrorism and these added security measures prove that terrorists have control over your minds. The national security standards can’t do much to ebb terrorism. National powers can only deal with other national powers. If we really wanted to combat terrorism we would either need to change the tyrannical, arrogant image of America that upsets terrorists or simply not acknowledge terrorists’ actions and try to enjoy the amazing convenience that are airplanes. And we must do so unabashedly with our full complement of rights and dignity, that we fight so hard for, still intact.

Trons, Swans and Automobiles

Hello Blogger World! I hope you had a nice holiday season. Soon I will reveal some of the posts I've been cooking up, but for now you get movie reviews! Because I saw so many this break, I've elected to discuss each of them in blurb form. Ready? Well too bad. I'm going anyway.

Tron: Legacy- A Missed Opportunity
What's more disappointing than a bad film? A bad film that was so close to being entertaining. Here is a littany of missed opportunites Tron had:

1) Your story is nothing new, so use all the conventions! Let the heroes fall in love, let the protagonist have his "daddy I missed you" moment, let there be pointless but cool fighting, let the grid make some lofty message about deeper humanity. If you use a story telling skeleton, at least put some meat on the bones.

2) Jeff Bridges is supposedly the best actor of his generation. Even though I hate him, you could at least give him a character with ONE major hangup whose intentions make sense front to back. And if you must, give him screen time to do his thing.

3) Speaking of talentless actors, your two leads may be awkward but they're pretty. Let them be declothed within visible range. It may be Disney, but even High School Musical had shirtless people. They've got good bodies and that's about all that's going for them. You can show them off...or let the actors flounder in the cheesy, nonsensical script. Your choice.

4) The movie actually tried to hit on an intriguing idea. Jeff Bridges, who created the grid, made a copy of himself, Clu, whose prerogative was to "make the world perfect". In this pursuit, Clu organizes a genocide of a foreign human like program and frees the rest of the programs from Jeff Bridges' "tyrannical rule". Jeff Bridges is interchangeably referred to as the creator and a user which gives him more power of the grid than programs (more on this later). This could have turned into an interesting creation myth, peoples' separation from their creator, the right a maker has over his creations, God complex kind of story. Instead, Bridges was a whiny, pseudo Zen dude who couldn't make up his mind. He ended it all by destroying the grid! They had their foot in the door...didn't quite step in it enough.

5) Going off that, Garrett Hedlund is his SON. Son of the creator is sent down the world in the aftermath of a genocide and a harsh gladiatorial feeling rule. Could we make some kind of metaphor with this set up? Savior complex to go with the God complex? No? Right then, I'll just sit in my corner reveling at your scintillating dialog which goes something like "Warm...uh, radiant...dip dee dur Cheesy and nonlinear."

6) Finally, the most astounding thing that Tron left out WAS ACTIIOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!!! What's the point of an expensive visual medium if you don't overuse it and stage epic fight sequences. The camera kept cutting away from kick ass moments or they were simply written out with a character changing their mind. WHAT??? I paid for stylized, under justified, 3D violence and you bailed at the "Luke I am your father" moment! Fail Tron. Fail.


Black Swan- A Swan of Too Many Personalities

First of all, let me tell you that Black Swan is not a dance film. It is a semi-horror, kind of drama, soft-core lesbian porn movie. I hoped that despite the horror feel to the previews, that the hype about Natalie Portman's performance was more representative of the film's tone. I was wrong. There was barely any dramatic material, more of a visceral experience than anything.

But the main problem? Natalie Portman's burgeoning double identity that reflected her role in Swan Lake, had more personalities than the United States of Tara. She was the White Swan to her mother, Lily (her competition), the director, and herself...and herself again. Hi Ben, I'm Victor. Don't see Black Swan unless you like being tense and watching amateur masturbation.


Now for a blitz. I realize I didn't watch any movies about cars, but these are so short and fast that maybe we can pretend that it has something to do with speeding vehicles? No? Stretching as much as Tron? Right...I'll move on.

Easy A- Fun, Witty, Cute, Honest, Worth Seeing 4 times in a row, better than Juno.

King's Speech- The biggest old people draw to the theater in a long time. I hope young people go as well. Sharp, Void of Dead Air, Great Actors, Inspiring, and somehow involving WWII...which means it'll nab lots of Oscar noms. When does a WWII film not?

True Grit- I didn't see this, but it's supposedly funny and shows off Jeff Bridges in the good way. Whatever.

Harry Potter- Yes it came out a long time ago but I need enough for a blitz! Um, faithful adaptation, more colorful than the last one (I mean this literally. Seriously, what happened to the color HP 6?), humorous, Steve Kloves is a genius (whoops did that slip in?), and na- ... hold on- HP has naked Harry and Hermione projections? What, you thought this was the last chance to show Emma Watson partially nude just because she's getting an education at an ivy league school and has been seriously considering leaving acting since the 5th film? Psh, don't be so desperate. Just tell the Tron cast to strip off...actually, Black Swan's got you covered.

And that was really long and annoying. Congratulations if you stayed the course.

Reaching,
Jamin