Archive for the ‘Prescient observations’ Category
Performance, Music, and Nerves
Folks, I started thinking about one of the sentences I’ve thrown into several of my articles about sports stars, but mostly with regards to figure skating stars as often, only one or at most two people are on the ice at the same time. That sentence is, “(X) can really be something, if (he/she) can learn to control (his/her) nerves.”
Now, why is it that I keep saying this?
I’m a musician, and have been since I was eleven years old. So I know a great deal about performance anxiety. I’ve also played many solos in front of bands and orchestras, as well as within the band and orchestra as a featured performer; that’s why I do know how it feels to be out there, all by yourself, wondering if everything’s going to work right today and waiting to see how well the performance comes off.
Consider that in music, we have many things that aren’t under our control. How fast is the conductor taking the music? Will one of the saxophone’s pads fall off? (Brass players worry about similar things related to pistons sticking or the like.) Will my reed continue to work, or will it do something idiosyncratic at the last possible minute after I’ve committed to the solo and can’t change it?
Well, figure skaters have to worry about their skates; not just their skate blades, but whether or not their laces will break. (This happened to Nobunari Oda at the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver.) Will there be ruts in the ice that can’t be avoided? (This happened to Johnny Weir during his second combination spin at the 2010 Olympics and stopped his spin dead.) How well did the competitor do beforehand? (This is important because people throw stuffed animals on the ice and it can take a while to clear them off, plus as the next competitor, you have to stay away from them before they’re all cleared.)
So all you can do, as a performer in whatever discipline, is control what you can control. That’s tough to learn. (I know I didn’t really learn it until I was close to thirty.) And worrying about it beforehand is counterproductive, yet if you’ve had past difficulties, it’s very human. (We all do it.)
The solution, if there is one, is to not take it all so seriously. (This can be very tough to do in a business where how well you audition is vital, but it’s necessary.) And to remember that no matter how badly you may play today, you’ll play well tomorrow and the next day and the day after that — because you’ve done everything you can do by rehearsing for untold, uncounted hours beforehand.
That’s why, despite how casual it may seem when I throw that one sentence in there about such-and-such “controlling his (or her) nerves,” it’s not a casual thing at all. It’s a long-held belief that’s been borne out by many things I’ve lived through as a performer. And it’s why I have empathy for someone who really has talent, like Jeremy Abbott, who uncharacteristically falters (as Abbott did during his 2010 Olympic short program; Abbott performed much better in the long program to finish in ninth place overall, but even his long program wasn’t really up to his best), because I know he (or she) can do much better if he’ll only learn to trust himself along the way.
One more thing to consider is this: when you perform for a living (or for even part of your living), you start thinking you’re only as good as your last performance. I’d like to tell all performers of all types one, simple thing: Please, do not do this.
Instead, what you as a performer need to do is to remember that you have prepared well for whatever it is you’re about to do. That you’ve dedicated yourself to learn your craft. And that you’re going to do your level best; that’s all anyone can expect of you, and it’s all you should expect out of yourself.
You also should try — and I know this is very, very hard — not to let the dictates of how you perform take over your life. Who you are as a person has very little to do with how you may perform any given day, though how you prepare for the performance, and what you put into the performance — your “sweat equity” — has a great deal to do with you and your perseverance and your personal character.
That’s why I write blog posts about perseverance, because I feel that’s the main difference between a person who ultimately succeeds and one who doesn’t. You must refuse to give up on yourself and your talents, because that’s literally the only way to lose in the game of life — no matter how well, or how badly, you may perform on any given day.
My late husband Michael used to tell me, “If you can’t do it today, you will assuredly do it tomorrow. I know you; I know you don’t give up. ‘Quit’ is not part of your vocabulary.” And then I get back after it tomorrow, because I know he was — and still is (wherever he is now in Eternity) — right.
Or to distill this message down to its essence: your only true competition is yourself. So do yourself a favor, and keep utilizing your talents as long as humanly possible. Don’t give up.
Whither Iowa? Thoughts on the 2012 Iowa Caucuses
If you watch politics on television as much as I do, you probably have seen a great deal of hoopla surrounding the 2012 Iowa Caucuses. This is the first test of several Republican candidates** who’ve had their moments in the sun — including Michele Bachmann (who won the Ames Straw Poll last year), Newt Gingrich (ahead in the polls in Iowa in early December), Rick Perry (ahead in the polls in mid-September), Ron Paul (ahead in some Iowa polls as little as two weeks ago), the hard-charging Rick Santorum (who could actually win tonight) and, of course, well-heeled frontrunner Mitt Romney, who ran in 2008 and whose support seems to run a steady 25% whether he campaigns hard — or doesn’t — in Iowa.
But the question remains, “Why does what the people in Iowa think of these candidates matter so much year after year?”
There’s an easy answer that goes like this: “Well, c’mon, Barb! These Iowans see the candidates every four years. They’re less likely to glom onto a candidate who’s all talk and no action — that goes without saying!”
But that’s a facetious answer. The real reason Iowans matter so much is because most of ’em are middle-income folks and below. These are as close to “real people” as the candidates on both sides are likely to see; between Iowa and New Hampshire, ordinary citizens get to have more dialogues with candidates than anywhere else. And this may give campaigns like Romney’s a better idea of what middle-income people want out of their government, especially as the words “Romney” and “middle-income” go together about as well as a bullwhip and iced tea.
As a long-time political watcher, I’ve seen candidates do well in Iowa but flash-and-fade otherwise (2008 Republican winner Mike Huckabee comes to mind, here; so does 1980 Presidential candidate George H.W. Bush). I’ve seen some candidates, like Barack Obama, do very well — surprisingly so — in Iowa, which helps them overall, yet others who’ve done well in Iowa, like Howard Dean and/or John Edwards, aren’t able to maximize their opportunities down the road and end up with that flash-and-fade effect, which looks the same regardless of party.
See, some of the candidates just peak too soon, that’s all. Newt Gingrich seems to be one example of this, though he may well rally as he’s an intelligent, highly-seasoned political operative and if anyone can do it, he can. Rick Perry is yet another one, though in Perry’s case he’s been his own worst enemy in the debates and that has definitely hurt him.
Over time, what the Iowa caucuses have shown is this: if a politician is smart, and can rally from this experience (whatever it may be), he or she will do well. But you must learn from whatever it is the Iowans are telling you; if they’re saying, as I believe they are to Rick Perry, “Rick, we really like you, but you don’t have the gravitas. You need to go work on your public speaking, develop a foreign policy, and come back in four to eight years,” the best thing Perry could do going forward is give himself a crash course in foreign policy, do his best to look like a statesman, and study up before he goes into another debate lest he have another one of those “oops!” moments.
Or if they say to Ron Paul, “Ron, we really like your energy. You’re a breath of fresh air and we wish that more Republicans were like you in speaking their minds,” Paul needs to realize that what they’re saying, while gratifying personally, may not translate to electoral success in other states. I’ll be interested to see if Paul can indeed follow up what I’m sure will be a very strong showing tonight — top four, easily, and he could possibly win the state as Romney isn’t beloved in Iowa — with a good showing in New Hampshire and a halfway decent one in South Carolina. If he can do that, then he has real potential nationally.
And the guy with the most to gain — or lose — is obviously Rick Santorum. The pundits have claimed for the past several days that Santorum will win, or come in second or maybe a close third, but that Santorum will definitely be a major factor.
As I see it, Santorum could gain much if he wins Iowa; he’ll have instant national attention, a bigger flow of money toward him (as many people back a winner, but fewer flock to those who are seen to lose unless they’re super-committed — and those, in this crowd, mostly go for Paul or Gingrich, not Santorum), and more media types reporting on what he does every day, thus an easier way to get on free TV and make a bigger difference nationally.
But what he loses if he doesn’t come in the top four (assuming the top four will be nearly evenly split) is breathtaking, considering how far the expectations for his campaign have been ratcheted up.
My prediction, for what it’s worth, is that Romney, Paul, Santorum and Gingrich will all have around 15% of the vote (or a bit more). I think it’s more likely than not that Paul will win Iowa because his voters are passionate, committed, will caucus, will stay as long as is necessary and are vocal about their support. But I have a sneaky suspicion that Gingrich will do better than he’s polled, too, because the folks who are backing Gingrich do it for these reasons: he’s smart. He has good answers in the debates. He’s a wily, resilient old pol in the best sense of that word; he knows how to roll with the punches. And best of all for Gingrich’s supporters, Gingrich is the only one of the lot who seems to understand that to become President someday, you must turn your liabilities into strengths. (I’m not totally sold on whether or not Gingrich has actually done this. But I can see that he’s really tried to do so and that attempt matters.)
And I believe that Santorum, at the end of tonight, will either be ecstatic — in that he’s greatly exceeded expectations — or crushed. I’m unwilling to say at this time which is more likely.
———–
Note: As President Obama is running unopposed in the Democratic caucuses, those are expected to be far more quiet — and far less well attended — than the Republican caucuses. (As you might expect.)**
Powerball Execs Stupidly Raise Price to $2 per Line — Hello, Bad Economy, Anyone?
Remember how I said a few days ago that I was having trouble coming up with meaningful blog subjects?
Well, forget that, because today’s blog subject is so easy I’m surprised no one else has taken a whack at it.
Put succinctly: who came up with the idea that Powerball should cost $2 per line rather than $1 in this terrible economy? And why hasn’t that person been fired by now due to this atrocious idea, rather than Powerball being about to institute their new $2-per-line “fee schedule” on January 15, 2012?
As of that date, Powerball will raise its opening jackpot to $40 million (meaning you can never win less than this if you take the multi-year option prize) and will guarantee that you’ll win $1,000,000 if you match five of five numbers (rather than the current $200,000). And they’re touting that the “overall odds” to win a prize will be better — I don’t see it, but whatever — which must be the reasoning they used.
But that is not enough to justify raising the price from $1 to $2 per line, especially as the popular “multiplier” feature is not included — it’s still separate. So if you want to “multiply” your prize, you’ll now have to pay $3 per line rather than $2. While this isn’t as big a jump — because the multiplier feature has remained the same at $1 per line — this is still a jump and most people won’t bother.
Now, as to the reality of why people play Powerball and other lottery games of chance? It’s because we all want to hope for better, and Powerball plays off that in its advertising. The typical Powerball ad says, “With one dollar, you can buy a ticket — and a dream.” And that’s pretty much what you’re buying with regards to Powerball, as the overall odds aren’t that great (view current odds here).
Anyone with half a brain knows that playing the lottery is a fool’s game. You’re better off, really, to bury your dollar in the backyard than you are to play the lottery, yet many people — including myself — do play the lottery mostly because they want to dream about something better. And hey, there’s lots of ways to waste a dollar — so why not?
But when you’re talking about putting $2 down for each ticket rather than only $1, things change. Suddenly, you’re having to pay double the amount of money and that doesn’t seem reasonable — especially as the economy remains awful in many parts of the country, including my own Wisconsin.
Which is why this is such a stupid idea that I really don’t understand why anyone would want to roll this out just past the New Year, especially considering how many people are struggling just to pay for the basics, much less optional luxuries like a lottery ticket.
Here’s what’s likely to happen with regards to Powerball as of 1/15/2012; sales will plummet. Those who have a dollar and a dream will play MegaMillions instead (which draws on Tuesdays and Fridays in many states and has kept its price, sensibly, at $1 per line), or will play their own state’s lottery, or will maybe just save it and bury it in the backyard.
And the reason Powerball sales will plummet is this: the economy is bad. It is brutal. And in the Midwest, where money is at a premium, lottery sales have already gone down — so why do the Powerball execs want to make it even worse?
So if I can see this new “fee schedule” as a non-starter as a regular lottery player who’s spent more than her share of cash on the Powerball over the years, why can’t the Powerball execs?
Oh, yeah. They must not have been hit by the horrible economy, so they actually think there’s enough money out there to do something like this.
I have news for you, Powerball execs: think again. Or watch your business go south. Way south.
Music, Remembrance, and Observations
Folks, this is a difficult blog to write, mostly because I’ve been struggling with my grief process over the loss of my good friend, Jeff Wilson, all week long. (Well, really since he died, but this week it hit hard and fast, and just hasn’t really let up for very long.) Couple that with the holidays, and with missing my late husband Michael something fierce, well . . . let’s just say that I haven’t really had an enjoyable few weeks and save steps, shall we? (The sinus infection I’ve been dealing with hasn’t helped, either.)
What keeps me going despite these difficult and frustrating times? My music, that’s what. Music has a profound resonance for me, partly because I’ve spent most of my life studying it, and partly because I think better in music than words. (Strange, but true.)
Next Tuesday, I’ll play the first concert since making a bit of a comeback as a musician out at the University of Wisconsin-Parkside in Kenosha. The UW-Parkside Wind Ensemble and Community Band will perform, both singly and together; as first chair alto saxophone in the Community Band, I will be playing an extended solo in a piece called “Roma.” I’m looking forward to the concert, and I hope those of my friends and family who attend will enjoy it.
That being said, it feels very strange to me to be playing a concert at this time. I’m not one hundred percent right, not physically (even without the sinus infection, my hands continue to give me fits due to my carpal tunnel syndrome), and certainly not emotionally due to the recent loss of my friend Jeff. But that’s not any sort of excuse to keep me from doing whatever I can; I refuse to sit on the sidelines just because I am not in the musical shape I’d rather be in, or the physical shape, either.
The last time I played a concert, it was before I had met my late husband Michael — while Michael heard me practice many times, he never got a chance to hear me play in a concert, something I will always regret. Now, Jeff is also gone; while he was there encouraging me through both rounds of occupational therapy in the last year, which helped me regain enough of my abilities to again be able to play my saxophone (and play reasonably well), he is no longer able to hear me tell him how things are going, much less get a chance to hear a recording of the concert itself. (With his health issues the last five weeks of his life, that would’ve been the only way for him to hear me play unless I’d been able to get out there and play for him in person. Which of course I also wanted to do.)
So the two people who were the most important to me in this life are gone. I can’t do anything about that, other than wish with all my heart and soul that they were still here . . . and that’s not enough. (I’m sorry. I wish it was, but it really isn’t.)
What I’m going to try to do, therefore, is play and hope that wherever they are, they’ll hear it and know I’m doing everything in my power to regain my musical abilities. That meant a lot to them, and I’m sure that wherever they are now, it still does — so for the moment, all I can do is save up my experiences and hope that down the line, I’ll again be able to share with them how I felt about what I was doing in some sort of meaningful way (even if it has to be in the positive afterlife, not here).
Music, ’tis said, is a great healer. All I know is, it helps me to be able to play right now, even though nothing is going to be able to take this pain away because I miss my husband. I miss my good friend. And I wish very much that they were still with me in this life, because I really would’ve liked to see their faces after I finished, triumphantly, playing my solo in “Roma.”
Migraine today . . . and Story Ideas
Folks, I suffer from migraines, as my late husband Michael also did . . . and what I’ve found over time is that out of my migraine-induced haze, I often get some really interesting story ideas out of it.
Take ELFY, for example. I had been reading an anthology the night before and someone had been describing the worst of the urban fantasy genre — the mincing Faeries that seemed like human courtiers rather than anything alien or Other, that humans always outwitted these lesser-minded sorts, and so on and so forth — and all of that mixed up in my mind while under the influence of my migraine.
The next day (or maybe evening), I realized I had a character in my head: Bruno the Elfy. He liked to wear black, unlike his compatriots who wore all sorts of wild colors; he didn’t like to rhyme, unlike the rest of the Elfys. And he was stuck in the Human Realm — our Earth — because he’d been told one thing but the truth was something else again. Unraveling what the truth was took me a good year’s worth of work and a whole lot of conversations and editing done by my late husband and co-conspirator, Michael, before we had a completed book.
So even though I really don’t enjoy migraines, I do sometimes receive ideas of worth and value . . . and I look at it like this: make lemonade from whatever lemons you might be handed, if at all possible. (Sometimes it’s not.)
At any rate, am I all alone in this phenomenon? Or has anyone else come up with a good story idea or two on the way back out of a migraine headache?
Jeff Wilson: An Elegiac Portrait
I’ve been asked to describe my good friend, Jeff Wilson, to those who never got a chance to meet him. Here’s my best take, which I know will be inadequate.
Jeff was a very kind, compassionate person. He deplored the evils of this world, most particularly selfishness, greed and stupidity, but refrained from passing judgment on anyone. (More people should be like this.)
Jeff loved animals, and kept several cats (or maybe they kept him; I’m not sure). His cats were extremely important to him, and he treated them with respect and dignity — but don’t take that to mean he didn’t enjoy them, because he did. They often made him laugh, and he viewed this as an unalloyed blessing (which indeed, it was).
Jeff was an excellent friend. He was always there whenever he was needed, and he’d do whatever he could to help. He was an excellent listener; more to the point, he understood what he heard, which was a rare and special quality.
Jeff had very strong principles and an intrinsic sense of balance. Perhaps this was due to his appreciation of Eastern religious thought, most particularly the words of Confucius and Gautama Buddha; maybe it was just something about him that would’ve been there even without that, though studying those tenets certainly helped refine these excellent qualities.
Jeff searched for excellence in all things. He rarely found it, but when he did, he was as delighted as a child unwrapping just the toy he or she had wanted at Christmas.
Jeff appreciated classical music because it brought him closer to the Divine. His favorite composer was probably Ludwig van Beethoven; his favorite piece was Gustav Holst’s The Planets.
Jeff read everything, but he had a particular love for two different and disparate styles of writing: science fiction and fantasy on the one hand, and the highly structured and mannered novels of Jane Austen and her imitators on the other. He loved the former because they opened up new worlds and ways of thought to him; he loved the latter because they proved that even in a highly mannered world (now lost), people often acted rashly, badly, and without forethought — but how they got out of trouble in the end and found worthy pursuits was very similar to our own time. (In other words, Jeff found the commonality of human experience to be worthy, regardless of genre.)
Jeff was a nonmaterialist, a nonconformist, was an autodidact (meaning he taught himself many things he’d never learned in school and could absorb almost anything), a writer, an artist, dabbled with poetry but was rarely satisfied with his efforts (which to my mind, would make him a poet; not to his, though). He loved life, talking with people about anything and everything, and wanted to know all that was knowable.
I will miss him profoundly.
Life, the Universe, and the Unexpected
Sometimes, life throws you something you really didn’t expect.
Take my good friend Jeff, for example. About a month ago, he felt ill but had no idea what was going on; he was taken to the hospital, where he was found to have a massive infection. He nearly died, as he had to have open-heart surgery due to the infection being too well-rooted in his heart (the antibiotics started to kill it everywhere else, but not in his heart); at the age of only forty-seven, he came way too close to death.
Fortunately, he has survived that. And he sounds like he’s on the mend, though the road back from this is likely to be a long and difficult one. But I have hope that he will fully recover, as his mind, voice, and most of his memories are intact. (More about this below.)
A health crisis like this was completely unexpected — who would ever think something like this would happen? And having gone through something like this, except worse, with my late husband’s Michael’s sudden passing seven years ago didn’t make this any easier from my perspective; I really wanted to be there for Jeff as I care very much about him, I wasn’t able to get there (he lives several states away), and he nearly died.
I’m very glad he survived. (This is an extremely basic way to put it, of course, and I wish I had a better one. But sometimes, the plainest words speak best.) I will do whatever I can to help him in the difficult journey that lies ahead . . . wishing I had better words than this to explain what’s going on, but that’s the best I can do.
Jeff’s near-brush with death has shaken my own faith rather badly. I realize that in no valid religion or spiritual practice will it ever say that good people should survive such terrible things; Michael didn’t survive, though he fought harder than anyone I’ve ever seen to do so, and he was by far the best person I have ever known. (I’m sure he went to the Good Place (TM), too, or wherever it is wonderful people go after this life ends.) But for Jeff to first suffer the vagaries of this horrible economy, then have this happen to him and me having no way to get to him to even try to help, seems to add insult to injury. (Not to me. To my friend.) And that he’s going to have to work like the dickens just to get back to where he was . . . well, that he has the chance to do so is what I’d prayed for, so I’m glad of that. But it seems . . . unjust, at best.
Of course, no one ever promised that life would be fair, even to good people like my friend. But does life have to be this unfair?
I know, I know. We don’t have all the answers. Sometimes we can’t even ask the right questions. Being able to persevere is what makes the difference, to my mind, between a successful person and an unsuccessful one. And I know Jeff will persevere, because I view him as a successful person (I always have), no matter what’s going on all around him externally.
Jeff’s mind has returned to him, thankfully, but not all of his memories have. I’m happy he remembered I am a saxophonist; when I told him that I’ve been playing, and am now in a symphonic band, he was very congratulatory and he meant it. But he’s forgotten all about his favorite of my unfinished novels, CHANGING FACES — the one I’m working on for NaNo right now — though he remembers the Elfyverse (the completed and looking for a home novel ELFY, the in-progress AN ELFY ABROAD and the prequel, KEISHA’S VOW), which I found out when I mentioned the latter novel.
When I told him that he’s been asking me for the past two-plus years to please finish CHANGING FACES and be done with it, I got no reaction from him; then I explained how long I’ve been working on it, and that I’d written 6000-plus words into chapter 20 and have 600-plus in chapter 21 after it being stalled out for nearly one and a half years. He recognized that as an achievement, and congratulated me on it, but it didn’t really mean much to him because he can’t remember the plotline, at all.
That the main reason I started working on CHANGING FACES as my NaNo project is because I wanted to do something, no matter how tangential, that I felt Jeff would appreciate as my way to honor him and what he was going through. Maybe it sounds silly that this was my motivation for re-opening this MSS, but there it is.
I wanted to write something that I felt Jeff would like to read down the road, when he’s again capable of reading well (right now, he isn’t, and this is a skill he’ll have to work hard to regain). So writing this newest chapter of CHANGING FACES was my way to express to my friend Jeff, without words, “I believe you have a future, and I want you to read this in that future.” But I wasn’t able to explain this well to him tonight. At all. (Though of course I’ll try again tomorrow, providing I’m able to reach him.)
Jeff is a very spiritual person, with a strong grasp of what’s going on in this world; to my mind, he nearly personifies the phrase “down to Earth.” He’s an intelligent, funny, interesting person with a great many gifts and talents, who’s been hampered by a pitiful economy and a less than stellar personal situation that was all of a sudden made much worse due to his health crisis. Jeff is a writer, a Webmaster, and is very hard-working in his own idiosyncratic way; I’m very grateful that he’s doing so much better, and I believe his strong will and deep faith will sustain him over time.
All that being said, I wish this hadn’t happened to him. Because he truly doesn’t deserve it.
Performances, Chaz Bono, and DWTS
This week on “Dancing with the Stars,” it was Broadway Week — meaning every star had to do a ballroom dance of some sort to a Broadway song and also put some “Broadway inflection” into his or her routine. Chaz Bono and his professional partner, Lacey Schwimmer, drew the tango — not an easy thing to dance to a Broadway tune — and the theme to Phantom of the Opera.
Now, I’ve written before about my liking for Chaz Bono before; I believe what he’s doing, in being open about his past gender identity struggles and being the first transsexual contestant ever on DWTS, is a very good and empowering thing. I also think that as a heavier person, he dances well and shows that it’s a complete myth that “big people can’t dance.”
His routine tonight to “Phantom” was a tough one; his partner, Lacey Schwimmer, told him early on that he’d have to “step it up” and do more difficult choreography — that the “super-basic” routines he had learned up until now wouldn’t work. (Note that last week’s samba routine was not all that easy; what I think Schwimmer was referring to was the rhumba routine and some of the routines before that, which were at the most basic level.) I think this was difficult for Bono to hear, but he handled it, learned his routine, and performed it well.
Then came the judges, who were more critical than Bono had anticipated (they were about what Lacey Schwimmer expected, though of course I’m sure she’d hoped for better); they said that the role of the Phantom “did not suit” Bono (both head judge Len Goodman and judge Bruno Tonioli said this pretty much word-for-word, while judge Carrie-Ann Inaba said it in a slightly kinder way, referring to the “challenge” of acting a character that is not your own), that the dance of the tango wasn’t fiery enough or precise enough, and that Bono altogether “lacked the sense of menace” that a dance like this requires (Goodman, again). No mention was made of the fact that Bono danced most of the dance in the half-mask of the Phantom; no mention was made that Bono’s movements were sharper and crisper than they’ve ever been, and that the form of the dance was preserved throughout.
As a performer myself (though not a dancer or actor), I’ve been there. So I have some words for Chaz Bono that I hope he’ll heed tonight: “Mr. Bono, please, do not listen to the harshness of these critics. You have to understand that as a performer, not everyone is going to appreciate what you do, and you can’t do anything about that. You can only control what you can do — which you did, as you danced the best I have ever seen you on the entire season of ‘Dancing with the Stars.'”
Or, in other words — I think the critics, while they’re certainly correct about the forms of the dance and maybe had a point about being more emphatic in your movements (the only way you could possibly have been more “menacing,” it seems to me, behind the Phantom’s half-mask, is to be very direct, cutting, and emphatic), are flat wrong about how you danced.
Look. Your partner, Ms. Schwimmer, is correct about the way the judges will act. This is just what they do; some of it is for effect, because they want to make a better show — and some of it is just how they are overall.
Schwimmer knows this; she’s been dealing with these same judges now for several years. All of her training is meant to help you withstand their criticism; she is an exacting teacher, yes, but also a kind and honest one. She isn’t known for cursing or being upset with her pupils, in the main; she’s known for being able to teach anyone — including Steve-O of “Jackass” fame while he was just “getting clean” after finishing up some rehab for alcohol and drug addiction — to the point that her partners actually learn the dances, rather than just the routines.
Do you know what that means? You’ll remember how to rhumba years from now. You’ll know how to do the cha cha cha. You’ll understand the tango, and be able to do it again once you’re off the show — that’s because she does teach the “super-basics” as well as the flourishes a show like “Dancing” requires, because she wants you to understand the dance as well as perform it.
The upshot of all of this, Mr. Bono, is this — it was very hard for me, as a viewer, to watch your face fall once you’d performed your routine to “Phantom of the Opera.” I didn’t like seeing that, because that made me think that you’ve forgotten the most important person in the equation — you — and are basing your opinion of yourself on what other people think rather than what you think about yourself.
Granted, this can be very tough to do as a performing artist. I have been there (I once had someone criticize my oboe playing who had listened to three hundred clarinets in a solo-ensemble music contest; it was the one and only year I didn’t go to the state contest in high school — I was the only oboist this judge heard all day, too, which made it all the more unfair) and I know how difficult it is.
Here’s another example for you: I once had a saxophone lesson when I was going for my Master’s degree where I asked my professor, “Did I do anything right today?”
His answer was, “Of course! But if I don’t tell you what you did wrong, how will you ever improve?” (Note that I was an “older” Master’s candidate, going for my Master’s past age thirty because I believed in myself and felt I still had a chance to improve my playing and perhaps work in my field. I still believe that if my hands co-operate, I will be able to once again get back to where I should be and I really wish to work in my field, which is performing, teaching, and composing music.)
This is why I have great sympathy for you doing something so far out of your “comfort zone,” because you obviously believe it’s the right thing to do.
I think what Lacey Schwimmer is doing by giving you criticism about how to improve your dancing and your overall performance is meant so you can take the criticism, incorporate it into your performance, and become a better dancer. It certainly is not meant to wound you (even though it hurts, and badly, at the time).
As a performing artist (no matter how long I’ve had to be idle due to my carpal tunnel syndrome and other issues), I know that when fifty people compliment you, but one is highly critical, you tend to remember the one person who was so critical like it’s a burr under your skin. I can only imagine what it must be like to hear yourself be criticized like that by three judges on national TV.
I know that I, as a viewer, saw both improvement and personality in your dance. And I believe that as a performer, you did your job, because you did the very best you possibly could — you lived up to everything your teacher asked of you — in the best way you possibly could do it.
So what I’d like most to tell you is this: keep on dancing, Mr. Bono. You’re doing a fine job; you’ve learned a lot; you’ve hung in there and you’ve done everything in your power to improve and you have, indeed, shown improvement. And while your overall likeability is one of your greatest strengths, do you know what your best strength is? Your perseverance.
So keep on keepin’ on, and non illegitimi carborundum.
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Oh, one other thing: if I listened to “the critics” regarding my saxophone playing (now that I can’t do as much as before, or at least as quickly as before), I’d not even be making the attempt to play. So yes, improvement must be taken into consideration here — which is why every single week, I’ve voted for Chaz Bono and Lacey Schwimmer and it’s why I plan to keep doing so.
Brewers Losing Game 5, but I Don’t Care
My Milwaukee Brewers are currently losing to the St. Louis Cardinals, 7-1 in the eighth inning . . . but I don’t care.
You might be wondering why this is so. Have I lost my love for the Brewers? (Um, no.) Have I decided that baseball isn’t that important? (Well, no . . . it’s still what it’s always been.)
Or is it that baseball isn’t as important as someone else’s life? (You’re on to something if you picked this option.)
Look. One of my best friends is in the hospital in Colorado, and I don’t have the financial wherewithal to go visit him. He has bacteria in his spine, brain and heart; I was contacted by a different friend who let me know what was going on.
I talked with my friend, very briefly, earlier this evening, and he sounds very ill. He’s been in the hospital for a week and it doesn’t sound like he’ll be getting out any time too soon, either.
Whatever’s gone so wrong for his health that he picked up a major bacterial infection and has landed in the hospital is such a terrible thing that it’s driving out much of anything else. I don’t have many details, not that they’d probably help if I did; I just know he’s ill, he’s too far away for me to visit, and I can’t do anything to help besides pray. (Which I am.)
Anyway, the Brewers still have Game 6 in Milwaukee, and can maybe win that. My brother has a ticket for Game 6 and I really do hope the Brewers will win and tie the series back up at 3-3.
But for now — just for this one game — I’m a lot more worried about my good friend than I am about the Brewers’ World Series hopes. Because the Brewers can always try again next year for the World Series if they miss it now (it’ll be tough to get there without Prince Fielder, who is assuredly going elsewhere as the Brewers cannot afford the huge contract Fielder wants, but at least it’ll be possible); my friend’s life, on the other hand, is in a real life and death struggle and I’m far more concentrated on that than I am about any sports team, no matter how much I appreciate them or the game of baseball in particular.
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Edited to add: I have added a tag with my friend’s name, Jeff Wilson, for those who knew him. I’ve had a number of people ask me what Jeff’s illness was; this is the main post where I discussed it.
I really wish I hadn’t felt the need to add the tag, though; it really stinks that Jeff is no longer alive to talk writing, politics, and the world at large with as he was a most excellent conversationalist. (And my best friend.)