I Can't Believe I'm Going to Post This Story on the Internet

Third in a five part series recounting significant experiences during David's time at BYU. For the earlier installments, please see parts one and two.

Give us a kiss.
(From Road Show by Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman)


So, my sophomore year of college, I was in a student-directed production of "The Rivers and Ravines." It was more or less the worst acting I've ever done. It took me a good while to get back into the swing of acting and what not post-mission. But that's not the point of this story.

At the climax of the show, a girl kills herself (sorry, that was a spoiler. Too late.) In the production, it was a pretty theatrical moment, where she fell backwards off the podium and kind of disappeared/floated into the wings. This required a couple of us males to be backstage and catch her. You know how it works. I catch this side of her legs, he catches this side of her legs, two people for her back, etc. Anyways, Jacob (not Jacob Call, the other Jacob) and I were in charge of her legs if I remember. One time rehearsing it, we went out to catch her too quickly, moved forward and in to each other too far and too fast. So what happened?

Our faces hit right into each other. And we accidentally kissed each other. Right there, in rehearsal, in D341. Our lips went right up against each other. Yup. Pretty much the most embarrassing moment of my life. It was obviously a really, really quick thing, an accidental peck. But Jacob teased a lot about it and so did the rest of the cast. I was told that I was quite bright red immediately following the event. For months after, anytime Jacob would see me on campus, he'd make sure he'd get the attention of everyone within ear shot's attention, point to me and declare, "Hey, I've kissed him."

Finally, after months of embarrassment all over campus, I saw HIM on campus and said to whoever was with me, "Hey, Jacob there is the first person I kissed after I got home from my mission." And then the harassment stopped.

And that, my friends, is why I'm so screwed up in the head.

At a Glance: The Alchemist

Rivers belong where they can ramble
Eagles belong where they can fly
I've got to be where my spirit can run free
Gotta find my corner of the sky.
(From Pippin by Stephen Schwartz)


Warning: If you haven't read Paulo Coelho's "The Alchemist", don't read past this first part. Spoilers will follow.

Several Christmases ago, Laura gave me this book and I finally read it these last two weeks. Realistically, it's a book that could be read in a day or two but I can't devote all of that time to reading a book that quickly. Anyways, I'm not going to focus too much on my "rating" of the book. To put it simply, I think the book is enjoyable, part-fable, part-parable, too didactic and obvious really to be an allegory. For better or worse, the moral is stated outright in the very beginning, which frustrated me initially, but ultimately gave a good frame for the book. I got a little tired of the wisdom of sages and prophets (note: I believe in prophets but don't know if they make for a good narrative device.) If you've got some time for a short, it's worth it. There are a lot of beautiful moments within the Picaresque structure and its biblical references are nice (though Mormons'll probably react with the same shock I did when Melchizedek and the Urim and Thummim show up.) It's a good reminder that we each have a purpose in this life and that everything we do is either leading us to it or from it.

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The book opens with a variation on the Narcissus legend. In this version, Narcissus still drowns in the lake where he admires himself, but this time the lake weeps, not for Narcissus' fate, but for her own:

I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected.

This places the idea of finding and pursuing one's "Personal Legend" in an interesting context. Let's examine the idea of pursuing your own purpose in the context of the traditional Narcissus legend. This is something that I feel we focus on a lot in our society. It's Machiavellian in its own way. Pursue what you want for you and you alone. You're the only one that can make you happy. You are beautiful and inspirational and you can conquer anything. Is there anything wrong with that philosophy?

Well, maybe not. But, I think all the self-esteem assemblies in elementary school have backfired on us. Now, we have a society who has mistaken the journey for the destination, who have taken the "joy in the journey" principle and turned it into a ruthless adventure to take whatever we can get on our road to death. It's lead to that blasted sense of entitlement that our generation is killing itself with.

But, what if we follow the ideology of this neo-Narcissus legend. What if our own beauty, if our purposes, are found within each other? This is perhaps the most beautiful idea the book espouses. At times, it's easy to think that Santiago, in his efforts to fulfill his dream of seeing the Pyramids, is acting selfishly to the embarrassmenth degree. But, a closer examination shows that the story isn't about an individual, it's about the ways the world depends on itself. This boy could not have made it to the Pyramids without the advice of Melchizedek, the training of the Alchemist, the fate of the Englishman, the time with the crystal maker. And ultimately, each of them were enriched by his presence. This idea is given further evidence in the concluding pages as the alchemist tells the story of a Roman who became dependent on Christ's healing.

The alchemist said, "No matter what he does, every person on earth plays a central role in the history of the world. And normally he doesn't know it."

If we are going to make "the journey the destination," if we are going to live a "joy in the journey" existence, that's the way to do it. I'm a little weary of the "Bucket List" mentality. They seem so aimless and nihilistic. Yes, there are things we should accomplish in this life. But, really, does skydiving have to be one of them? Of course not. Unless, skydiving is part of the greater objective, unless it becomes part of the goal to interact with other human beings and to learn about the world and yourself in the process. Hit the points you need to hit to reach your super-objective. But you can't go it alone. Move forward and let others see their beauty in you in the process.

Remember When I Wasn't The Most Boring Person You Knew?

Second part in a five part series recounting significant experiences during David's time at BYU. To see part one, click here.

What's the time? Well it's gotta be close to midnight My body's talking to me It says, 'Time for danger'
(From RENT by Jonathan Larson)

My freshman year was filled with lots of great experiences. First year away from home, meeting all kinds of great friends. A few of them I'm still close with. Seeing the best collegiate choirs in the country in person (I wasn't a part of Men's Chorus yet) was a dream come true. Taking classes from teachers who actually cared about the success of their students was something I had rarely experienced. Now, I was somewhere where I felt every teacher actually cared (which is something I generally felt during all four of my years at BYU.) I had fun at dances, laughed like a mad man during my adjustments to Utah culture, had experiences too sacred to share, had my first class from Dean Duncan...It was a year not without its problems (particularly in the roommate department) but a good year.

But something I experienced during that year that managed to disappear in the later years at BYU was spontaneity. I became more and more rigid during college while those around me seemed to maintain some level of spontaneity. Tis a pity.

The very first day of student orientation a group of us used our newly bought UTA Bus Passes to head towards some place called Spanish Fork. We didn't make it all the way. Once we realized how far it was we realized we were being stupid and headed back.

There were nights on DT field eating Triscuits. Just jumping on a bus and catching a movie, by myself, because I wanted to. Exploring new realms around campus with friends to be delighted by how...Utah they were (some of my arrogance regarding Utah eventually disappeared.) Discussions in the MoA about deeper meanings (not to mention saving up money to feel like kings eating at the MoA!) Sitting on the floor and watching movies on laptops propped up on beds. Rolling down that hill by the 1st floor windows of the HBLL, only to be harrassed by the police. Asking the magic air vent questions about our futures. Having friends live on every inch of space available in my tiny dorm room. Secret conversations - wow, remember when those were still part of life? It seems my personality has been replaced by conversations about ethics and the arts. I've lost the skill to talk about me somewhere in the last few years. But I can talk about theatre!

This idea of spontaneity was probably best shown by the trip to Heber. A group of us, we all just got up and drove to Heber one night. For those of you who don't know, Heber's a-not-so-close-not-so-happenin' town about 35 miles outside of Provo. There's not much there besides a couple of fast food joints and a train station. But we did our research and found that there was a movie theatre with one screen playing "Home on the Range" (which, in case you missed, is just as bad as everyone said it is.) I can't remember the reasoning but we were late. We sat and enjoyed ourselves immensely. Not because the movie was good (again, it wasn't) but because we were in Heber together. We had gotten up and left a town with more than one major movieplex to a town with one screen to watch a third-rate animated film. Because we could. I don't have a ton of detailed memories of that night. Just a lot of images. But when I think back to fun times during freshman year, it's one of the main events that comes to mind (that and watching BYU police practice police brutality against people at a dance who were dancing too closely.)

Those of you who knew me pre-BYU knew that kind of thing was part of my daily life. Be it creating a choir student of the week board just so I could post pictures of myself on the wall or playing the kissing game with Emily Powell, spontaneity was a common thing. I guess there were moments like it later on, just a few months ago I made a similar trip to Heber...But somewhere along the line, school and career became everything. I passed up several spontaneous invitations from friends and roommates so I could sit at home and read about structuralism. Planning and scheduling have become monsters that rule my every move. And don't give me garbage about growing up. I won't hear it.

Some people will tell you the best way to learn about theatre is to watch the best shows or read the best plays and articles. Lies. The best way to learn how to make good theatre is to have a life. And I passed up on too many educational opportunities I think.

Still - when it was good it was fantastic. Trip to Heber, anyone?

Camp

With a voice of singing
Declare ye this and let it be heard
Alleluia
Declare ye this and let it be heard
Alleluia...
O sing praises to the honor of His name
Make His praise to be glorious...

Do you wanna know the real reason I went to BYU? It wasn't cause of my scholarship, it wasn't cause I couldn't afford the other schools that accepted me, it wasn't cause the theatre department was making offers I just couldn't refuse. But there was a reason. You're not going to believe me when I say it, so hang with me here and let me explain:

Tunnel singing.

Yup, tunnel singing is the reason I chose to come to BYU. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this BYU tradition, let me explain: Every Sunday night at 10:00 PM in a tunnel near the Marriott Center (think BYU equivalent of the Thomas and Mack) a very large group of BYU students, many of them freshmen, gather with hymnbooks and flashlights. And there, for an hour, everyone sings hymns. Mission calls are announced and cheers are made. It's all a cappella (with the assistance of pitch pipes.)

How'd you discover this before you GOT to BYU?

Great question. In 1999, I had my first stay at BYU. I was there for EFY, Especially for Youth, a popular and exhausting Church-oriented-youth-weeklong-extravaganza. I loved it there. I met lots of really cool people (and a few not so cool), had spiritual experiences that I'll remember for the rest of my life and there, slowly began to piece together an identity for myself. But, when it was time to sign up for the next year's camp, it didn't feel right. Time for EFY was over. So, I tried what I like to call "a mistake." What it's actually called is "Young Ambassadors Singing Entertainers" camp or some hogwash like that. Those of you who know me well can only imagine who well I handled hundreds of 15-year-old YA wannabes (for those of you who don't know, read: terribly.) That was a mistake I would never make again.

So, it's 2001 now. I choose the camp that would ultimately change my life: Young Musicians' Summerfest. This camp changed everything for me. My experiences with the school of music saved me in ways that could never be described. I made friends (Sam, Riley, Elizabeth, Sky) that I still keep in at least relative contact with today (Riley's still a good friend.) But it was that first night that changed everything.

Summerfest began on Sunday evenings and ended on Saturday afternoons. That Sunday night, after the opening fireside and devotional, our counselor took me and a few others to the tunnel to experience tunnel singing. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. What I was feeling. Here were dozens upon dozens of people outside singing church hymns the way they should be sung. Nobody was sitting there just staring at the page. Nobody was singing half-heartedly. Good singer or bad, it didn't matter. Everyone sang and cheered and laughed at the top of their lungs. It felt like home. And for the most part, people didn't know each other. It didn't matter that we were 16-year-olds. We were taken in with the rest of them and were having a good time with complete strangers.

There was a unique spirit there. "Fellowship of the saints" or something like that, isn't that what Paul calls it? It was there. In public, unashamed of their beliefs or the way that were practicing it. It sealed the deal. I would apply to other schools and seriously consider them but in the back of my mind was this symbol of a culture I greatly admired.

When I got to BYU I went tunnel singing fairly regularly at first. It was great fun. We laughed at the bad singing (really, you expected me to turn of the critic in me) and cheered and sang and laughed. It was wonderful. But eventually, Eden disappeared. Tunnel singing started involving hurt feelings, awkward situations, and the magic started to fade. Eventually the person causing those feelings faded as well but by then I lived south of campus and it was just too far to walk at that late of night. There were always intentions to go again and if I'm in Provo on a Sunday, I would simply die to go again.

It's easy to mock the tradition and label it as a silly freshman activity. But it shows an appreciation for the hymns of the Church and it shows that there are people who genuinely want spiritually-based interactions outside of the formal setting. Later on, I discovered Sunday home evenings, which were similarly amazing and necessary, but tunnel singing never came back for me.

Anyways, that's how I chose my university. Some look to awards, scholarships, or statistics. I looked for a group of people singing badly with flashlights.

Welcome "Home"

And you think of all of the things you've seen

And you wish that you could live in between

And you're back again - only different than before...

(From Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine)

After eating a mediocre continental breakfast at the hotel (accompanied by mediocre journalism courtesy of FoxNews), we hit the road. The speakers worked better today, allowing me to enjoy two mix c.d.'s and the Jersey Boys cast album.

Not long after we got to Provo and established ourselves at my grandparents' house, I headed up to campus to get my graduation gear (request: someone to tell me the history and significance of these silly robes) and take care of a wide variety of errands around campus. Once, I finished up, I wandered the galleries of the MoA (the ones that were actually open).

Many may not know it, but while the HFAC may be home, the MoA is my sanctuary. I have made monthly visits through the museum there for all of my four years at BYU. I could tell you what changes have been made in the permanent exhibitions in the last year, could tell you my personal favorites in each room...It's a place I hold close to my heart. 

There were moments of wandering around campus that were sad in a, "My time at BYU is over kind of way" but the greater sadnesses came from "This isn't my school, I don't belong here now" feelings.

My time in Provo isn't finished. I have a strong feeling I'm gonna end up working here again someday. But I felt...strange...self-aware. More so than usual. 

Road Show

This longing to be there
Is calling me there
It's stronger than words can tell
And once in home sweetness
I taste the love of heav'n.
(Going Home by Kenneth Cope.)

Started the trek to Provo today and all I can say is "Thank heaven." I'm homesick for the bubble, believe it or not. We got a rather late start. We didn't leave town until around 2:00. We took the van, which is a vehicle I pray will be stolen someday in my daily prayers. This time, the speakers in the midsection of the van weren't working which means I was able to hear about five notes of every song that came through the stereo. And I'm anti-headphones so that wasn't an option. Still, pondering time is good and what notes I was able to hear were all good.

We stopped in Cedar for the night to catch a show at Utah Shakes. This time we saw Foxfire, a 1980's Jessica Tandy vehicle. First off, the set was fantastic, one of my favorites in the last couple of years. Secondly, the show was quite good. Not perfect - the sound design was meh and there were a couple of whackado transitions. But, it was very, very moving. I would highly recommend it if you get a chance to see it.

The show centers around leaving an old home behind out of necessity, of choosing family over place. This deserting-of-home theme, it occurred to me tonight, is a common one in modern drama. Cherry Orchard, Follies, Fiddler on the Roof, and countless others are about leaving home. It also occurred to me that this leaving-the-home-pilgrimage theme seems to be a 20th century dilemma. Before the last century, people (with a few major exceptions) stayed where they were, they didn't move from job to job to job, from city to country and back. It's a new dilemma. I think it's opened doors for us to learn tons about the world around us but it's probably damaged opportunities for us to learn about ourselves. I don't know. Are there plays or books (besides the obvious pilgrim and pioneer stuff) before the 20th century about this kind of thing? If so, let me know.

Tomorrow, we hit the road for the remaining three hours to Provo!

"I'm on my way."

I Need a Little Christmas. Or a Little Meaning. Whatever.

"When's it gonna be Blooms' day?"
(Act One - Scene 4, The Producers, by Mel Brooks and Tom Meehan)

So, has this happened to anybody else? Have holidays somehow, somewhere kind of lost their meaning for anyone besides my family? Father's Day is nearly over and it's just not what it used to be. Even my dad, when we were lamenting our failure to really do much for the holiday said, shrugged it off saying it was a holiday invented by Hallmark. Come now, is this what we've come to?

Days need to mean something. Life needs to mean something. And the great thing about holidays that are properly observed is that they can remind us of meaning, they can revitalize us. The problem with every holiday becoming nothing but a three-day weekend is that they all lose their original meaning. I remember on my mission while studying the Old Testament being impressed by the celebrations and holidays set aside by the Lord. And they all were essentially established by Him for the same purpose: to help them (them usually being the Israelites) remember some event in their (or their progenitors') lives or to remember to be grateful for this or that. Holidays meant something.

And generally, growing up, they did in my household as well. The Christmas season was something magnificent, Easter consisted of spirit-filled meetings and letters, heck, I even remember us doing some dutch-oven in the backyard one Pioneer Day. Halloween, for all its secularness was at the least an excuse to just have lots of fun. But none of it really means anything anymore. Christmas, Birthdays, and the parental holidays are all just "open the gift" and call-it-that affairs now. As Sister Hall laments often, we Mormons don't prep very well for Easter (all though on my mission, I will never forget the Good Friday fireside we held at the Historic Liberty Jail.)

So, what do I do? Is it too late to establish traditions? Is it all found in the days leading up to the holiday? Or am I just caring too much? I think not. I think even the silly holidays have their place. We need special days. If we don't take time for the special, life becomes something by Beckett and, while I do love Endgame, it's not something I crave to be living. My Sabbath days have only gained significance - they're a vital part of my life and my worship and I live from Sunday to Sunday. But we're a little lacking in the holiday department. Help me out here.