my one political post

I have thus far avoided any political opinion posts on my facebook,* but I'm writing now, before my opinion becomes moot. 

I sincerely dislike politics. 

The very word "Politics" has negative connotations, bringing to mind a sense of falseness, duplicity, acting. I work with actors. they are very good at making you believe whatever they want. And that is what our political forums have turned into: an act. 

An Oxford professor, Dr. Peter Hacker, recently gave a small lecture at BYU. He stated eloquently that the standard of awareness and real news has been corrupted by mass media communication. We have corrupted the practice of real citizen involvement and discussion. We cannot have serious debates any more because all of our politicians are pre-packedged and pre-programmed. 

To the average voter, to most of Americans, there is no real discussion on what the real problems are, and what real potential solutions might be. There are no conversations, no compromises, and as far as I can tell, there are very few facts. 

Negative campaign ads that take statistics out of context, or commercials that blow up one line from a an entire speech, and ignorant, polarized commentary everywhere, even among my own friends and family.

I would never claim to be an expert on politics, I don't consider myself even politically aware, so that is why some of my experiences drove further the point of my frustration. I worked on both campaigns. Albeit for a short amount of time, I was involved in campaigning for both Romney and Obama in this election, in hopes, both times, to become more educated and aware of the scene. And both sides were as ignorant and closed-minded as the other. A main focus, as far as I could tell, was to villainize the opponent. No one--on either side--mentioned the other candidate's policies, except to remark plainly how insane or awful they were. 

These campaigns have created a necessity to vote, not discuss. They need to motivate voters by rousing passions, providing a sense of urgency; each side is assailing us with a feeling of desperation that the other candidate will destroy our nation--nay, the world. I feel slightly manipulated because of such extremist thinking. 

Also, people tend to jump to conclusions, in order to sound more convincing. (Let's be honest, we've all done that when writing persuasive essays--right?)  

But in their passions, they sometimes skip over some logic. 

A very intelligent, politically active friend of a friend of mine said something to this effect: 

• To my friends who 'say' you believe in women's rights...You're voting for Romney because of his economic abilities? Well look me in the eye and tell me that your take-home pay is more important than your fundamental civil rights, dignity as a citizen of this country... the mental welfare and emotional well-being of your youth, and your very personhood.

And on the other side, we've all heard the argument somewhere along the lines of:

• If you don't want this country to get dragged down to hell by this incompetent, socialist who's ashamed of America, we need to get Obama OUT of the white house! 

What logical fallacies! Romney is not going to take away women's rights. Also, just because he doesn't believe in gay marriage does not mean that the dignity and emotional and mental well-being of our youth is under attack. And need I remind the country that Obama has ALREADY been president for four years? Yes, we have problems, but we are not stuck in hell, and we certainly do not have an incompetent leader. 

They raised upwards of $900 million EACH for this campaign. Obviously both of these men got where they are by having outrageous amounts of support. Neither of them are idiots. Please stop insulting my own intelligence by telling me to vote for one because the other is awful and crazy and incompetent. 

Because he's not. 

Good luck to both of these men. 

Maybe some day, one of these politicians will acknowledge that his opponent had a good idea? Wouldn't that be interesting. 

I'll keep dreaming.  

To my politically-active friends: please tell me what I am missing here. 

*The one facebook post about politics I wrote was to announce that first-time colorado voters need to attach a copy of their license in an absentee ballot. But it was a non-partisan announcement, and turned out to be false anyway. (If they sent you an absentee ballot, they already had your registered license number). 

to every awkward seventh-grade girl: there is hope.

Normally our show travels to elementary schools, but one show of the whole touring run, we performed in front of a middle school audience.

When some of the cast said that we really did not love middle school, my director warned us that we might panic slightly when back in a middle school setting.  I laughed off the thought! But she gave us some mantras to say, just in case. "Talk yourself down: 'I have friends. I am a grown up. I am cool. I am cooler than seventh-graders. I've kissed boys. I'm in a main stage show at BYU.'" The cast just giggled. ya ya, sure. we'd be fine.

Then we stepped inside the middle school building.

Suddenly I was the gangly, acne-covered, braces-clad, big-nosed, awkward being that I was in seventh grade. 

My brain started to get fuzzy.

I was back in the hellish existence that was my adolescence.

"Oh No. Did I put on those stupid jeans again? the ones that only go to my ankle bone? Am I wearing that old pooh bear sweatshirt again?! Are my socks the right length?!"

My mother's voice rang through my thoughts,
"It doesn't matter if those silly kids think you look dorky, honey. Sneakers are so much more practical. You could start the trend! You could make tennis shoes a cool thing!"

Panic set in, my awkward middle school posture came rushing over me.
My memory flashed back to my 7th-grade audition for "Bye Bye Birdie".

I complained about how awful "Put on a Happy Face" was as an audition song for Kim McAfee.

I could hear Kara Semrey's weasel-y little voice croak, "YOU think YOU could play KIM?!"
"Why not?!" "i'm the best singer in the class!" I thought.
"Well first of all, you're waaaaay too tall!"
"And second...?"
In response, she just laughed. An awful, nasal cackle, and she and her posse turned away.
"Good one, Kare Bear" I heard as they followed her down the hall of the tiny theater.


I got cast as "BOY #3". they didn't even register that I was a GIRL.



I had to call upon my director's mantras:
"I am a grown-up. I have friends. I am cool. I'm way cooler now than Kara Semrey ever was in seventh grade. I've kissed boys. I am in a main-stage show at Brigham Young University. Calm down!"

Hunched and fidgety, I felt these Jr. High Schoolers watch me; glaring little beady eyes, staring me down.

A typical day in sleepy hollow

I wake up at some awful hour of the morning. (Sometimes my call time is 6:15 am.) As I arrive at the school, and see another shadow disappearing into a building, I think, "What poor soul is on campus at THIS hour?!" then I chuckle at myself. because I'm here. Blegh.

I do my hair, and put on my makeup and costume.

But it's not quite that easy.
I put on gobs of makeup. corrector, cover-up, foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, highlight, shadow, mascara... All in an effort to look effortlessly, naturally beautiful.

I tease, spray, mold, and pin my hair into an arrangement of a bounty of cascading curls (attempting to capture my designer's vision).

I put on stockings, then bloomers, then a petticoat, then a huge skirt, then a bustle--the whole thing has my hips carrying an extra 7 pounds all on a very small clasp that is very tight around my waist. then i struggle into a custom-made jacket, where I avoid pulling one single hair out of place. I then velcro, then snap, and then finally lace a ribbon down the front of the bodice to put it all into place.

After all that time and configuring, to create an 1800's New Englander. I feel remarkably... comfortable. I feel like a 19th century ingenue. I feel naturally and effortlessly beautiful. It is quite a remarkable thing: under all of that, I feel very much myself.

Then I get the indescribable pleasure of doing the show. I am a narrator, an old woman, who is a marvelous cook; a mischievous school child; a choir singer with a lisp; and Katrina VanTassel: a sought-after duplicitous peach of a young woman.

I get to sing and dance and just PLAY for most of an hour.

After the show, when I take off my costume, I feel 15 pounds lighter. I wash of my thick makeup, unpin my hair, and feel like myself again. just in a slightly different way.

Sleepy Hollow Cinderella Story

I feel a little bit like a certain Disney princess these days.

Let me tell you a little bit about this Cinderella Story of mine:


When I saw my name on the cast list for Sleepy Hollow, I was in denial.  Shock and awe. Literally had NO expectation AT ALL that I would make the company. But by some divine intervention: I did!

We had a pre-show production meeting. We have a production TEAM. YES> A whole team of people working to make this touring company a successful venture.

We have a hair and make-up design team, a costume design team, and a tour coordinator. Not to mention the stage managers and technical crew for the run at BYU.

In the spring, I went to the basement of the arts building to get my costume, but I walked into the wrong room. You see, I've done student shows before, and I've been costumed, but turns out there is a GINORMOUS costume shop for main-stage productions

it was like stepping into NARNIA!

My costume!

The measured every inch they could possibly find on my body. I said, "You can't possibly use all of these measurements" (like, for example, the circumference of my forearm?). The cute girl with the measuring tape said, "You'd be surprised. When we make skin-tight spandex suits, we need every measurement we can get"

I didn't ask what they were making skin tight spandex suits for.


This is the custom designed, hand-made, specially tailored costume---->
Isn't it darling?!


 I am seriously the luckiest person in the world.


We are the BYU Young Company.

the cast with our incredible director

We travel to elementary (and middle) schools around Utah every Tuesday and Thursday. We do our funny, charming, imaginative, INTERACTIVE show, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." The show is brilliantly adapted from Washington Irving's classic short story by our Phenomenal Director into a fast-paced, multiple-charactered, two-person show. (well, 4. depending)

Black Eyes Part II.

I went on another date with this boy. Member THIS ONE, where I had mascara all over my face when I came home?

Well, I asked him casually (super smoothly) if he had happened to read my blog after our date.


"Ya, I did"
"YOU DID?! Did you notice??"
"uh. ya. I did"
"ok. why didn't you say anything?!"
"I didn't know what it was."

comforting.


so that's the closure for those of you following this story. I hope you found as much peace as I did.

two black eyes

As my date dropped me off at my doorstep, I opened the door to find my roommate sitting at the kitchen table. So I stood in the open doorway and faced my date to bid him goodnight.  He said, "This feels rather...formal"

"Why yes. it does." I replied in my most formal, cordial British accent, "Well, sir, I hope you enjoy a lovely rest of the evening"

"I hope you do as well, madam. And I dare say I hope to see you again"

"I shall wait with bated breath"

"Well, Goodnight!"

"Bye (insert date's name)! See 'ya later!"

I shut the door behind him and giggled at our cleverness. 

Abby said, "how was the date?"

I gushed in detail about the date:

How much fun I had just sitting and talking for much longer than expected. I relayed how impressed I was with his knowledge of American politics (because of his exotic Canadian upbringing). I told her that we met a waiter who knew a friend of ours. I expressed that I said the phrase, "the moral of the story" at least eight times. As I was starting into the tale of our giant chocolate truffle cake, I happened to catch a glance of myself in a small mirror, and to my horror, saw this:

I appeared to have had two black eyes. Rebellious eyeliner had plagued the top of my cheekbones with dark smudges. I looked like the end of a teary-break up, smeared with makeup. Or like I'd gotten caught in a coal mining accident. Or like a bad halloween costume of an over-worked witch. 

"Dear goodness!" I exclaimed to Abby.

"What?"

"How long do you think I looked like this?!"

"oh man..."

"How long has it been like that?! All night probably! Oh gosh! Why didn't he say anything?! maybe he didn't notice?"

Abby crinkled her nose, "Um... maybe..."

"Oh my gosh. He MUST have noticed. how could he NOT?"

Trying to console me, she optimistically pointed out that it was a lot less noticeable when I smiled, as the creases in the bags under my eyes were filled in, and only accented when I dropped the grin. "So you must have been smiling a lot...?" 

Note to self: 

If you buy new eyeliner before a first date, check the bags under your eyes in the mirror at least half way through. As to avoid him remembering you as the girl who's football game war-paint had gone terribly wrong. 

I know that I know you...?

I know this man. I've seen his face.
In the few moments I have before he sees me/recognizes me I have the opportunity to sort this out in my head:

OK.
 are you an old acquaintance ? from my home state? friend of a friend from church in colorado?
Did you once work tech on a show I was in? GAH! Were you IN a show that I was in...?

No. I hope that I would definitely remember his name if it were any of these... but alas I don't.

so I continue listing the options:

• did I once flirt with him in the library? or waiting in line to get food somewhere? 
• (not that this happens often, but it's a possibility)
• we were in a class together maybe?
• summer camp? summer program? EFY? Freshman year?
• did we once go on a date?
• were we once supposed to go on a date, so I stalked him on facebook?
• did my friend once go on a date... so I stalked him on facebook?
• did I just come across him stalking other people on facebook?
• I would really not like to admit to that being probable. but it is.
• did I see him in a show once, and thought he was great, and because I really connected to his character on stage, I remember his face like we were best friends?
• happens more than you'd think...

He's turning his gaze my direction. I have approximately 0.0763 seconds to decide the course of action. I could go two ways with this:

1) I could say, "HEEEY!" like we know each other. And if he was a victim of my stalking in any form or another, and actually never met me at all, I could seamlessly pretend like I was calling to someone behind him, or really quickly raise my phone to my ear, like I had been talking to someone on the phone...
or
2) I could pretend not to see him, pretend that I was busy with my phone, continue to walk past, avoid any awkward confrontation.

I turn my head, just enough as to prevent potential eye-contact. I keep walking.

Just as I take a breath of relief, (he must not have known me after all!)

I hear:"Averill!"

(that's when I know they really know me--they pronounce my name correctly.)

"Averill! hey! how are you?!"

oh no.





"HEEEY"