Monday, November 26, 2012

Proselytize

Was it the late great Harry Hamlet who said:  “To Proselytize or Not To Proselytize”?

“To proselytize or not to proselytize” – It shouldn’t be the question but how often it is.

What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine as well.

From the dictionary:

Proselytize
Convert or attempt to convert (someone) from one religion, belief, or opinion to another.

When a person reads the dictionary’s definition of the word “proselytize,” it really doesn’t come across as anything that bad, does it? For most of us the word’s meaning, according to the dictionary, and the way we use it in our society isn’t quite the same, is it?

The vast majority of today’s folks aren’t the least bit troubled by what some consider being outright stealing. In the world of professional sports, the term “proselytize” takes on the most detrimental of meanings. While the agreements between the owners and those who supervise the professional league’s business don’t refer to it as stealing, they nevertheless have very strong and clear verbiage regarding talking to any employee under contract to another league owner without first getting written permission to do so.

In other words, stay way from another man’s people unless that man gives you permission to talk to them with the possible intent of hiring them. And, as is the case with most business organizations, all employees are required to sign non-disclosure clauses.

Using the sport of football as an example, you might be able to fathom the impact it would have if a team got their hands on an opponent’s game plan for an upcoming encounter. The bottom line, without question, is that proselytizing is not a nice thing to be doing. It’s definitely dishonest.

What if you’re invited to dinner…. You’re enjoying the host’s cooking and experiencing great pleasure over the ingredients chosen for your repast, so much so that you decide – without asking for your host’s permission – to empty out their pantry clandestinely. (The fools turned their backs on you.) That’s called STEALING or as another word, the now well-explained: proselytizing.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Wiggle Room


Good bad or indifferent, there are always those who seek out wiggle room in all they attempt to accomplish in life, or in any pursuits of the good life, or even a slightly better life than fate has bestowed upon them.

Here are some personal definitions I’ve developed along my way. 


·      I prefer jeans to fit snuggly, no wiggle room.

·      As a child I felt comfort in the way my Dad held my hand while we crossed a street together, certainly no wiggle room.

·      People who set an appointment saying they’ll be there at a time they add an “ish” to – as in sevenish or eightish. If you’re running a company or if you’re in a management position never put an “isher” in charge of anything; you’ll go broke.

·      Stay away from those folks who use the words “typically” or “assumed.” The only way the word assume is typically a good choice or has an acceptable usage is in the sentence, “Typically, those who assume anything are more often than not incorrect in their assumptions.”

·      Tomorrow will do. The person who delivers that assumption is absolutely wrong to begin with. What tomorrow brings is secret. There is no wiggle room. If you can do it today, do it today. 

“I’ll get to it tomorrow chief,” he said assuredly. My God, he thought, it will only take me a few hours; that’s plenty of wiggle room. He never showed up for work the next day. It seems a hurricane hit his town. The incident became part of the man’s history, permanently, without wiggle room.


“This, A Short Biographical Teaching”

There was this lady named Lizzy
Lizzy, always late, always in a tizzy
Contemplation was her thing, whether slow or busy.
Each and every item, which came her way
Always destined for extensive decision-making,
God give me an hour or two extra she’d pray
Rarely did it happen that way.
The simplest was placed on her list of things to do.
But her list got longer,
There was always something new.

Then notes.
Then notes about the notes,
About the notes.
And more notes,
You guessed it,
About all those notes!

But all was never to be lost,
Lizzy hired more help.
All the old sacraments
Would certainly be tossed.
This new helper, however
Did come with a problem,
She was an “isher”
And a tomorrow seeker.
Poor Lizzy, so distraught
The extra help for naught.
Her situation was weaker
Her helper it turned out,
Also a seeker.

Then entering
Neat as a pin, his looks and sound
Shear bravado when this guy was around.
He did all he could today,
Nothing left for tomorrow.
No piles of stuff ever to be found.
Smiling, and dancing, he forever clowned.
Daring deeds along with those of minor account
Never left undone,
No minute amount would mount.
One goal only, a chosen populous to astound. 


These, the sounds that reverberate within my skull
As I prepare to exude my latest creative vibe.
I just got the idea I’ve been searching for
All these many years.
When others waste valuable time,
Mine are meaningful and yes, sublime.

Unlike Lizzy
Wondering,
Mind wandering
Searching for an insightful ending.
Then shouting out:
Oh manure, I’ve forgotten what I was thinking about
When I began my explanation of how I think
About things beginning or ending.
Where are my notes?
I should have made more notes.
All those historical quotes.
If only I was more like her.
If only I made some notes.

They sat there together,
Beneath the mounds of paper.
He had brought her a gift,
A brand new shredder,
This would surely elate her.
Not so was the case,
Insinuation written on his face,
Try making some notes
Maybe it would fill your brain’s empty space.

You may have surmised
A compromise was devised.
She kept her notes in a new room,
Just hers alone,
Free from scorn, no worry about time
While he, on the other hand
Used her notes,
Somehow making them rhyme.

They stood watching a sunset,
Sipping and celebrating their tidings divine.
Her notes became his stories.
They filled both their spaces
Never again rushing to save time.

Without poetizing what was hers,
He scrambled within.
If we marry, he quipped
What’s hers will become mine.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Veteran to Veteran

For most of us, Veterans Day comes once each year and its scheduled on a calendar date allowing banks, and schools to observe it. As an example, this year Veterans Day falls on a Sunday so it will be observed on Monday, the first workday of the week. The once-a-year observance has been going on since the Veterans Day designation began.

November 11, 1918, is generally regarded as the end of “the war to end all wars.” In November 1919, President Wilson proclaimed November 11 as the first commemoration of Armistice Day. The original concept for the celebration was for a day observed with parades and public meetings and a brief suspension of business beginning at 11:00 a.m. At the urging of the veterans service organizations, the government amended the Act of 1938 by striking out the word "Armistice" and inserting in its place the word "Veterans." With the approval of this legislation (Public Law 380) on June 1, 1954, November 11th became a day to honor American veterans of all wars. Later that same year, on October 8th, President Dwight D. Eisenhower issued the first "Veterans Day Proclamation.”

At first, the holiday was less a celebration, and more a somber prayer day in memory of those who lost their lives serving the country during World War I - the war to end all wars, as it was known. Today, Veterans Day represents a time in which whole communities get together for parades, barbecues, and a good-time-was-had-by-all event. It’s almost a direct resemblance to what takes place during our Fourth of July festivities. But ride by a veterans’ cemetery on this day of earned observance and without words spoken you will emotionally experience camaraderie with the millions of veterans who have served.

And for those of us who belong to the uncomfortably huge club known as American Veterans, the remembrances are and will remain everlasting. I don my Veterans cap proudly this once each year and usually without words salute those who have done the same. It’s a big club we’re in. We don’t pay dues; we’re all paid up for a lifetime. There is no voting for leadership, we’re all the same. There will not be campaigning or heralding of virtue, merely a hello, a salute, and perhaps a thank you for a job unselfishly done is all that is needed.

Have a healthy and happy Veterans Day everyone. And, oh yes, there is one more thing to be said. The reason our big club exists is here for all to share. God bless these United States of America and all the veterans who have helped to make it stand.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Blind Date


My favorite game is not my favorite actual happening. I’m referring to a game we played in an acting class way back when I was a teenager. The teacher who introduced us to the game used it as a stream of consciousness drill. It worked out so well, and we all became so proficient at it that our teacher had us perform it for a larger group of students than just those taking her particular class. We thought we were hysterically funny; we weren’t.

Years have gone by and the game is still being played all over the country. Truth be told, “Blind Date” is far more suitable as a workout drill for adults than it is for teenagers. But then again, anything requiring a degree of reflection is better suited to those with some real life experiences to draw on, either through their own eyes or the eyes of another.

Our acting class had thirty of us in it. The mix of boys and girls was pretty equal. About 60 percent of the students were wasps and the balance was a rainbow society. It was the very early 50s; the racial divide was just what the name implies. 

As a reference, it was just four years after Jackie Robinson became the first Negro to enter the rarified air of Major League racism.

I doubt if Southern California felt the heat of separatism as much as many other parts of the United Sates; we were certainly a far removed society from that of the Deep South.

By now, you most likely are wondering what baseball, Jackie Robinson, and integration has to do with a high school acting class. The answer summed up in one word: everything!

We students were in for an awakening. Our brilliant teacher, a gorgeous strawberry blonde woman named M.L. Jones, was as much a life teacher as she was an acting mentor.

Miss Jones, an aspiring actress herself, was intelligent enough to get her teaching degree early on as a backup as she made the daily rounds trying to break-in to a world she had dreamed about since childhood. Like so many acting teachers before and after her, not every dream comes true. M.L. Jones was one of those teachers who was absolutely adored by her students. She had a way of making us all, without exception, feel good about ourselves. She always made time to go the extra step it takes to make a teacher an exceptional teacher. What I was about to learn from M.L. was a slice of endearing and not so endearing life. In her own way, she was far in front of the so-called pundits whose responsibility in society, they thought, was to explain to everyone what was right and wrong with people.

Miss Jones lived at a time when her leadership was unnoticed by most around her. She toasted our differences and found alternative directions for most of us by pointing out our individual areas of excellence. I can remember one Monday morning showing up for a Theater Arts workshop she was conducting. I had just had my hair cut so short that I looked like a drowning rat. It was the baseball season and short hair was the thing to do. I really looked disgustingly bad. There was no hiding it. All of my classmates had either the giggles or something demeaning to say when they caught site of me, everyone except M.L..

We were standing at the side of the stage when I caught site of her holding a pencil up as she squinted and looked at my head as if she was a surveyor of a building location. When I looked at her with a question in my eyes about what she was up to, Miss Jones pointed out to me what a marvelous head shape I had. She sure had her ways about her. Can you imagine, almost bald, gaunt and unattractive, and this woman tells me what a great head shape I have. It took me forever to figure out she couldn’t have been serious. Anyway, it made me feel good, at a time when I needed to feel good. Can you dig it?

***

“OK all of you, settle down, we’re about to do our Blind Date drill. Now that you’re all seniors, I’ve decided to add a little spice to the drill.”

At this point I got the wrong idea, as did many of the other students, especially the guys. We thought this was going to be a time M.L. was going to heavily touch on sexual overtones as the main ingredient of our scenes.

NOTE: Here’s the way the “Blind Date” drill works.

The teacher chooses two students – a man and a woman – to go up on stage and take a seat facing each other either at a table, on a bench, or at whatever is available. They might also begin their scene while standing as if they just came upon each other at a prescribed meeting place.

The premise is they are meeting for the first time on a blind date.

They do not begin until the teacher calls out what their attitude and mental attributes, positive or negative, are for the scene. The teacher is, in essence, functioning as a profiler by describing the characteristics of the people our two actors will portray.

As an example, the teacher could say to the guy – he is taken and almost overcome nervously when he sees how attractive the gal is. The gal might be told she is deeply disappointed at the way the guy is dressed.

Neither actor is allowed to speak to each other. Instead, their individual emotions are verbalized as stream of consciousness when they turn and tell their story to the audience. Each actor speaks until receiving a change signal from the teacher.
The teacher may change the required attitude for either one or both of the actors as the scene plays out. At any prescribed moment, the teacher signals either one or both actors to switch from stream of consciousness to dialogue, keeping the same attributes in place as part of the scene.

Without exception, each scene takes on an almost completely different flavor when we change from the internalizing of emotion to the dialogue between two people meeting for the first time. During the two full school semesters playing the “Blind Date” drill was a never-ending challenge and reward sequence. None of us ever knew what the outcome of a scene might be.

***

It came at a time just a month or so prior to graduation. Most of our classes had been academically wrapped up. It was the best of times, going to school totally void of pressure. It was baseball and a seemingly endless variety of fun and games. Time skipped right along – the senior prom, grad night, and then back to the serious business of baseball.

The last weeks of our contemporary theater class were upon us. We all looked forward to a last crack at the “Blind Date” game, not only because of the fun and games aspect but because Miss M.L. Jones alerted us to be expecting a little different approach this time around – something to take with us. In the classroom, we all anticipated a last shot at laughs all the way around. We were in for a well-planned surprise.

M.L. Jones began the class with a serious countenance, which in itself was a surprise.

“What’s happening out there?” She asked us.

(No response, not even a whisper was heard).

“Well maybe you haven’t noticed but the University of Tennessee admitted its first black student.”

Again the classroom became quiet, not out of surprise or shock but simply because none of us knew what to do with M.L.’s announcement.

“Okay then, let’s get right to Blind Date.”

I think a student or two asked about what the surprise she had planned was but the request was ignored.

“For today’s first blind date, the first couple up will have recently graduated from a southern university; that university is the University of Tennessee. Both of you are extremely confident people. Both are good students and both are articulate. I’ll give you the rest of the background after you have taken your places on stage.”

It once again grew quiet in the theater when M.L. called out the two participants. The two she chose were well-known and popular around campus. The girl was white, the boy was black.

“The year is 2002. There have been many social changes in our country. When you say hello to one another you are outside the restaurant the two of you have decided to have coffee at. Your mood is pleasant, but this will be the first time either of you have dated outside of your ethnicity. As you begin to internalize you share all of your true emotions, everything from within, including fear.”

What the first couple did with it was enlightening to experience. We had grown up somewhat and M.L. Jones was aware of who we had become. It came out as her gift to us although at the time it is doubtful if any of us understood the depth of our teacher’s ability to teach.

The next couple to take the stage was cast in reverse. The girl was black, the boy was white. The time period was current times. If they did date regularly the consequences could be of extreme proportions, especially compared to what the first couple was asked to portray. The meeting place was an out-of-the-way bowling alley, extremely noisy and crowded. They were to meet at the front reception desk.

The two began to play the scene and all of us were enthralled with the reality of their presence. After a few moments, M.L. signaled them to stop as she simultaneously offered an additional instruction to them. They were now to play the scene as if they were seated at a park bench. They’d been dating for two months.

Surprisingly, the two of them play the improvised scene as if it was being lived in the moment. They talked of their struggles with most people not accepting their ongoing relationship. Then, the girl became solemn as she spoke of her Father’s displeasure. Miss Jones brought the scene to an end, and announced who the next team would be.

She used the term “team” and we got that the mixed couple premise had come to an end for the day.

I can’t recall how I was feeling in that moment. I do know a new adult form had been introduced. The power of the substance would take years before a truer form was there for me to grasp hold of.

***

Senior Prom night, one final item to relate. There they were the second couple from class. It became clear to me why the scene was so unbelievably real. They were actually a couple. It may have been improvisation at a high level of performance, but I wonder if the two of them could have really pulled it off with such great believability if they had truly been meeting on a “Blind Date.”

M.L. Jones had found a way to help them, as she found a way to help every one of her students. Stanislavsky maybe a driving force for me, but when it comes to improv my thoughts often drift back to M.L. Jones. 

What a difference a few decades make.