Poor Judd

There is a huge difference of opinion in the realm of American musical theatre scholars which was the beginning of the contemporary musical theatre form. we know and love today. In one corner, you will find the statement with absolute conviction that there are two kinds of musicals: the ones before Showboat and the ones after Showboat. In the other corner, the more modern lovers of classic musical theatre will turn to the much-lauded "Rogers and Hammerstein miracle" which was inaugurated with the opening of Oklahoma! a musical of such proportion that it's title is not complete without an exclamation mark. Both were huge landmarks in the evolution of the genre that serves as a medium for my life and both will always be favorites of mine, but, upon serious reflection, I have to concede victory to Oklahoma! for its sophistication and truth. The veritas of Oklahoma! is unique, not because of its care to paint a realistic picture of life on the territory at the beginning of the twentieth century (though I enjoy it all the same), but because of its consideration to give the villain some dimension beyond that of "the bad guy".
I remember being asked in my high school literature class when we were reading The Merchant of Venice if I held any sympathy for Shylock, the antagonist who ended up losing everything. My initial answer was a decided "no".  What good is a villain if you have to feel sorry for him? Furthermore, how can you cheer for the protagonist if you know that said protagonist's victory will be at the expense of someone with whom you sympathize? Those questions were my answer, and it made sense at the time, but Shuler Hensley's (freaking brilliant!) portrayal of Judd Fry made it all too clear to me that it's not so simple.
As actors, we have to remember that every character is his own protagonist and no realistic portrayal will be completely self-deprecating. To the popular gang lead by Antonio and Bassanio, Shylock is the greedy Jew (Jews are bad) who deserves no more consideration than a dog, but to himself, he's just a man; a man whose malice has been nurtured by cruelty at the hands of his neighbors and whose capacity for affection has been stunted by his rejection at the hands of his offspring. Should we, the audience, forget all that he's been through just because he threatens our heroes? Should we ignore his entreaties to see him as a human being because he's spoken of badly by the others? Should we be happy that he falls because it makes the other characters happy? Or should we remember the misery that garnering a happy ending entailed? Amongst all the catchy tunes and cheerful dancing, Oklahoma! reminds us that every comedy is at least one person's tragedy.
In some ways, Judd Fry's situation in the opening is more pitiable than Shylock's because he didn't even have the comfort of indulging in material things. Where Shylock put what was left of himself into prosperity, the only investment Judd could make is with his heart. Lonely man though he is, he reconizes that his ill treatment and poverty would be remedied if he could just acquire that one companion. It's just his dumb luck that the girl he sets his eyes on to be that companion is afraid of him. Laurie doesn't understand that the pictures he buys and his aggression are his only means of defense against the complete dispair that isolation can bring.  He discards the hopes of finding joy in trinkets when he shouts at the peddlar man "I want real things!" but he can't let go of the anger that comes when he doesn't get what he wants any more than he can let go of her. He makes threats about if Laurie changes her mind about going to the box social with him, but it's in retaliation to the threat that he feels when Curly says that he'll take her. Curly himself is handsome and charming and has no inhibitions in his life. He has everything that Judd wants and still insists on taking this one last thing. Is it any surprise that the poor man snaps? Is it any wonder that a man, ridiculed and ostracized by every society he's encountered hits a point where he decides that enough is enough and he'll take what the world has refused to give? All I heard about Judd when I watched Okalahoma! was his growly disposition. All I saw was his pain.
I don't know what Oscar Hammerstein was thinking when he came up with Poor Judd Is Daid, but I can't imagine a better way to show the audience the tragic nature of Judd's situation. There is nothing more pathetic than looking forward to your own funeral in hopes that people will appreciate you more in death than they did in life (perhaps these high profile suicides make more sense after all...). There is nothing more unfortunate that a loveable character letting his darkest colors seep through as he mocks a man consumed enough by his loneliness to listen to the funeral's description with pleasure. In the end, when poor Judd actually does die, there is no lamenting the way they treated him in his life. The tears shed are only for the inconvenience of having to deal with his death and any recognition of his humanity is put off in order to celebrate the happiness of the people who shunned him. Our hero kills a man with no remorse and the world doesn't even bother to make him go through the justice system. The happy ending had the stench of a rotting corpse over it and no one noticed. They celebrated for Curly and Laurie. I weep for Judd.

The leap of faith thing...I'm still doin it.

I'm thinking about starting a blog that's just about Make It or Break It so that I can resolve my conflicting feelings about that show while it's in limbo without mixing it in with anecdotes about CUTCO and complaining about my life. That is not what this post is about, but I thought of a great example for the decision to do things that may have negative consequences from that show. Payson's parents don't want her to take endorsement money for fear of her not being able to pay for college and when they bring up their hesitation to gamble with their daughter's future, Alex points out that they are gambling with her life every time they let her do a trick or enter a competition. When your life is a big gamble, you shouldn't feel squeamish about making one wager.

I am a thespian. I decided to be an actor knowing how uncertain such an industry is. I decided to major in theatre with the full knowledge that there's nothing else you can do with a theatre degree and I decided to go to a school with a so-so program that doesn't have a reputation for turning out big names rather than stay close to home with a strong liberal arts house. I've pretty much guaranteed that my life will always be topsy turvy unless I switch to philosophy, go to law school and spend the rest of my life getting degrees that qualify me to talk down to people. I could make this a lot easier on myself but I haven't and I won't in those capacities, so what's keeping me from taking more minor leaps? By this point in my life, I shouldn't be held back for fear of falling; not when the life I've chosen requires me to fly.

And so here goes my time to jump in. Here I am in Tallahassee, hardly a booming metropolis, but a place with opportunities enough that those who seek them will find them. Yes, I paid for dance classes at two different facilities weeks before I will have an income and I currently can't afford to buy groceries but I had nice lines and I'm growing as an artist...and I could afford to cut back on my eats. No, I don't have another ride lined up for Quincy, but I had a great time at auditions and I anticipate lots of awesome people with cars being in the show and the majority of rehearsals are going to be in Tallahassee anyway. Admittedly, CUTCO is not the ideal job for an immobile youth with few connections, but I got through my first appointment and a decent set of recommendations and I have all summer to test out whatb they promise we'll all get if we just work at it. I'm...climbing. I'm not flying yet but I'm getting closer and getting stronger and every day that I remember what is not promised but can be, I have the opportunity to soar a little higher.

Getting out of bed is a gamble. Who's to say that this day will be as good as yesterday or not as bad? Every obstacle that existed yesterday is still there, sometimes higher and firmer. That's probably my biggest reason for sleeping in so often. It's a big scary world out there and my bed may not be the comfiest, but at least it's safe. Safe is alright. But life could be better. Life could be incredible. Life could be...good.

Jump!...or not

I really wanted to write an inspirational post about how taking a leap of faith is a good thing and it's all you have to do sometimes in order for things to work in your favor. I was going to have the perfect example. My handicapped stall, who said she'd call me back an never did is presumably not busy...either that or she's on facebook at work. I know this, because I am staring at the little green circle on her profile. I decided, against the rumbly in my tumbly, that it wouldn't hurt to give her a follow-up call. She probably forgot. She probably got caught up in something and doesn't know her schedule. She probably will be properly contrite at not calling me back like she said she would and then agree to make an appointment for 11:30 tomorrow morning. Okay, I thought, I'll do it.

There is typically more time than necessary between me deciding to do something I don't want to do and the action itself. In this case, I was strong enough to pick up the phone after only a few minutes with the help of The Book of Mormon playing in my head and an image of her daughter swimming. Between those two, I was only mildly nauseous as I punched her name in my phone. I braced myself for the bemused "Hello?" and...nothing. She didn't answer. She's closer to a computer than she is to her phone apparently, because it rang several times before going to voicemail. I hung up. I did not leave a message. I accomplished...nothing.

Well kids, what have we learned? Sometimes you jump and you just don't have the momentum to get over the cliff. Either because you're not ready or because the terrain isn't what you expected it to be, sometimes you end up neither falling to your doom nor reaching great heights. And sometimes you end up wondering if the mountains are even real. Sometimes it's right to stay in the same place for awhile. And even if it's not the best things, it isn't necessary to look at things in the worst light. Maybe I should've written about doing risky things before taking this particular risk. I wouldn't have been at a loss for reference points. Then again, maybe excluding a minor yet significant risk on my part would have been an act of cowardice sufficient to deem the whole post pointless. The phone call seems pointless. No one answered and no one knows why I called. Maybe she'll see the missed call in her log and remember that she was supposed to call me. Or maybe she'll be like me and only think the call mattered if there was a message. Maybe this trend of uncertainty is the problem I have with such situations...nah, that's a definite. Finally, a definite. I feel like I'm at the top of a very steep hill and I don't know where to go from here. On one hand, it's a beautiful place to be. On the other hand, I can't very well stay up here forever. Where do I go from here?

It sounds like you just want to be an actor.

I am a very ambitious person. I want to do many things with my life. I want to be rich enough to be considered a philanthropist. I want to perform in ridiculously expensive musicals in huge union houses that require true triple threat clout and star power. I want to snatch a seat in Congress and sponsor legislation that helps people who don't know what they can do to make their lives better. I want to travel. I want to write great books. I want to do great things. I want to be great things. I want I want I want. I want to be more than I am. My goals are lofty and childish and largely incompatible. Presumably, I would find more success if I focused on one thing, but it's hard to say if sticking to that one thing would leave me most fulfilled.

As the ticking on my biological clock becomes more and more ominous, the prospect of what I'll be when I grow up becomes more a fear than a hope. I knew I wanted to be an actress when I was six and I've more rejections than marks on my resume. I decided I would be a writer when I was seven and it's all I can do to beat out a coherent blog post. I haven't given up yet, but who's to say that, ten or twelve years from now, that decision will still be up to me? It's a staggering foretaste that my wanting too much will be the principle means of my acquiring so little. Because fear is so often my primary motivator, it's no surprise that my thoughts have steered toward what my principle occupation would be if it came to that.

There were times when, while I was working with one of my tutoring charges or trying to calm a large group of kids, I would think, "I can do this. I could spend the majority of my time doing this if I had to." I've found that I would be "okay" with being a teacher; sharing what I know with eager young whippersnappers on a daily basis and gaining insight into the progress of human nature. I've always been able to see myself in a courtroom. I love the theatrics of the court and relish the opportunity to make a case; to make a difference. I could be a lawyer and make barrels of money fighting or a go into politics and do pretty much the same thing, with a little pandering every four to six years. I could be...could I be a writer? When I was in single digits there was not question, but ever since my junior year in high school I've found myself doubting every time I put pen to paper. Maybe writing will only ever be something I like to do on the side. (But what good is writing if no one reads what you put out? This will require further reflection on another day.) Between my passion for the performing arts and my left-brained disposition, I could totally do theatre. Sure, performing depends on making directors and producers like you, but there's always stage managing and teching and administrative work. I could probably see to it that whatever I do serves theatre in some way. If I look at the things I would like to do, I would like to do them regardless of whether I can do something else. But if I look at the things I have to do...it gets tricky.

For the whole of my theatre education, it's been stressed to me how important it is to be able to do something besides act. Actors get famous, but techies get paid. Actors might not get a part for superficial reasons, but a stage manager's not going to be rejected for having the wrong look or age. It isn't sensible for an actor to be just one thing. Now all of a sudden, it seems it would serve me better to choose. I spoke about how musical theatre is my favorite in a talk with our guest director and, following my explanation, he responded that, "it sounds like you just want to be an actor." He ignored my earlier protestation that I love all aspects of theatre and continued to assure us as he went around the room that the other stuff would come. It was in our best interest, according to him, to find that one thing we wanted to do and do it. This was the thing I took from that workshop. Our teacher charged us before we began to find what came to us in this time that we could use immediately. His revelation came at my like a freight train, but it's been months and I still don't know what to do with it.

"I want to be an actor" makes so much more sense to me than "I just want to be an actor". I don't want to be "just" anything. Bill Gates isn't "just" the founder of Microsoft. Donald Trump isn't "just" a douchebag. People don't find success by deciding that they can only do one thing by not doing anything else. What would happen if I just majored in philosophy and just went to law school and just occasionally did theatre stuff when I found the time? What would happen if I just did my shows and sang my songs and auditioned all the time and just got a day job? What would happen if I just went to work for my mother and just moved up the ranks through leasing and just let my aspirations stop at Candler Road?

I would probably survive. I would probably be just fine. But it would definitely not be enough. I would not be enough. I really don't know how to live without somehow pursuing everything of significance to me. I don't want to survive. I want to live!

Why Did I Get Up?

This morning was my first official day as a CUTCO sales rep once more. I went to bed last night determined to be up and ready at seven this morning with my phone in hand and my "friend approach" ready, even though the people on my list had probably heard this approach about a zillion times. In anticipation of having to get up, my body actually chose to end my circadian cycle shortly after six and I found myself staring at my phone several times between then and seven waiting for phone time to come up. In the time that it took for my alarm to catch up with my biological clock, I had a chance to worry about things that had been hitherto pushed aside: namely, would anyone want to answer their phone at this hour? We were told to make call between seven fifteen and eight thirty to maximize chances of getting in tough with the average customer, but these weren't "average" people I was calling. These were theatre people who lived on nights and weekends and whose days varied one from another as much as the colors in a bag of skittles. My fear of bothering anyone led me to delay making any calls and, instead of killing time by reviewing numbers or going over my approach...I just stared at the phone some more. Probably not a good idea since, by the time I mustered the courage to call my first customer, I realized that I didn't actually have her phone number. I scanned my list over and over looking for her name and it was nowhere to be found. I couldn't believe it. I refused to believe it. I was so deep in denial that, rather than try to get in touch with her online, I trashed my room, sure that somehow ten numerals with her name beside them would magically appear if I only made a big enough mess...it didn't and I finally had the sense to email her asking for her number...then I waited. Despite my having wasted a good deal of time already, it was still within the recommended call time. I could've just gotten on the phone to see if I could make some other appointments in the meantime. Accept...you know how you get used to always going for the handicapped stall in the public restroom because it just feels right, and even though another stall is shown to be more sanitary, you really don't feel right not using the handicapped stall? Abby was my handicapped stall. So, rather than salvage the time I had with the few contacts I had, I went back and forth between facebook and my emails in hopes that she's one of those people who gets emails on her phone and replies right away. She didn't. I did eventually break down and try to call other people. None of them answered. It was after eight at this point and I had to wonder if these people hadn't answered because I'd called too early or called too late. In any case, by the time I went through my short list, I was out of time and had not even a complete call to show for my troubles.

This is what I got up for this morning. I got up to make phone calls and get in a couple of appointments to make my start. I got up so that I would be farther along this afternoon that I was this morning. I got up because I thought when I began my day that I would be able to make it a good day. My getting up was for naught, it seemed. I sat in my room with my phone in hand, my blue notebook ready, and wondered what I was supposed to do with myself now. I still had an entire day ahead of me and all I wanted to do was go to bed.

This morning was the earliest I've gotten up all summer. I sometimes wake up at odd hours, but this morning I woke up conscious of the time and place and chose to start my day before seven a.m. Granted, "start my day" ended up translating to "brushing my teeth and staring at the phone for a couple of hours", but I got out of bed with the expectation that I was doing so for a reason; the notion that getting up and doing something would work out better for me than rolling over and trying to go back to sleep. I thought wrong. I finally overcome my tendency to be lax and I end up holding a phone to my ear listening to another outgoing message, that CUTCO smile still frozen on my face in hopes that this positoovity kool aid they're selling will actually do me some good. Only a couple of hours into the day, I find myself questioning if getting to this place was really worth getting out of bed for and preferring a nap to the answer. Resigned, I set my alarm for 9:30, crawled back into bed and tried to disregard my disappointment for awhile. When I got up again, rather than hopeful prospects to check, I had my trashy room to deal with and my growling tummy to satisfy. Of course I had other things to do. There are always other things to do. But my day was no longer made of what I would make out of it. It was reduced to a series of obligations and a countdown until I could go back to bed with the hopes that tomorrow would be better.

It's days like this that make it so hard for me not to want that extra fifteen minutes after my alarm goes off. With all the drudgery and disappointment that today tends to bring, I'd much prefer to hide out until tomorrow. What is it that makes most of us get up every morning? Is it anticipation of a particular event, like a dance class, or a necessity to accomplish a task, like making a series of phone calls? Or is it like mine was today: a grudging acceptance that leaving the bed is necessary to survival? I wish it were more. I hope for a time that what I look forward to is today.