Dearth of a Salesman

The job that seemed too good to be true, believe it or not, actually turned out to be too good to be true. Go figure.

So, throughout the month, I've been back in the old, familiar, grueling, messy task of applying for, following up on, and interviewing for several job opportunities. As I write this, nothing has yet panned out, though I'm waiting to hear back from a few different places.

I loathe this whole process. I abhor it mainly because I feel like I am forced to sell myself to the employer in my interview, and I detest sales.

When I'm in an interview with a potential new boss, I feel like there is a secret word, much like the secret word on "Pee-wee's Playhouse," that they're wanting to hear, and I have to make my best guess as to what that word may be. ("Passport"?) It's like I'm playing a game of "The $25,000 Pyramid," and I'm losing. No matter how impressive your résumé might be, you just don't qualify if you don't say that magic word.

Also, I am almost to the point at which I feel like I have to make up tall tales about myself and my previous work experience in order to land the sale. Making a sale is basically my least-favorite assignment at any job. Some of you are great at it, and pats on the back to you. But there are times when I do not feel like I could sell a life preserver to a drowning man.

It's all very frustrating. Yet it's a necessary evil.

The worst part about it is that no matter what you do, achieving success is completely out of your hands, in spite of your best efforts.

It almost reminds me of, dare I say it . . . dating.

Improvables: Sasquatch Cowboy

Prior to last Friday, I had been given the opportunity to perform improv with many of Utah's troupes. On Friday night, three performers from Sasquatch Cowboy, based in Ogden, came into town, and it was a pleasure both to meet them and to take the stage with them for the first time.

Erica, Parker, and Tanner rounded out the cast for the evening.

Snozzberries

For those of you living under a rock, actor and comedian Gene Wilder passed away today at age 83.

We're all Gene Wilder fans today. And well we should be. Let me tell you about my favorite moment of his as Willy Wonka in the "good" (nay, great)/non-Tim Burton version of the film.

Willy Wonka, introducing the kids to lickable wallpaper: "The strawberries taste like strawberries, and the snozzberries taste like snozzberries."
Veruca Salt: "Snozzberries? Who ever heard of a snozzberry?"
Willy Wonka (grabbing her mouth and pinching it a bit to hold it open): "We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."

What I learned as a kid from this upon multiple viewings of the film (on the Disney Channel, I believe) was that it was OK to be my weird self, to be different, to create, to do things, and to try things. There would always be those like Veruca Salt who would naysay and criticize your creativity; there always have been, and there always will be. But make music and dream dreams regardless.

Through the years, and with myriad results, I've drawn comic books and art; learned foreign languages; written articles, stories, blogs, and books; sung, played, and created music; made my own movies and acted in TV commercials; and performed live theater, both rehearsed and improvised.

I'd rather lick the snozzberries every time.

Improvables: Sidekicks, Kids' Edition

It's now been a couple of weeks (since when am I ever current in my posting?), but I recently had the opportunity to team-teach a beginning improv class for kids (ages 9 to 14, with a few exceptions) at the Clearfield Community Arts Center, with the much-needed and much-appreciated assistance of Erica, Jon, Liz, Melissa, and Richard. We had an enjoyable four days together and learned a lot from the experience.

The ability of kids these ages to let go, have fun, and try new things will never cease to amaze me.

Danny's Other First Birthday Party

Today was Daniel's actual first birthday, so in addition to the family party we held for him a couple of weeks ago, Summer arranged an additional gathering at the nearby North Foxboro park, adjacent to the splash pad.

It was a pleasant evening for an outdoor gathering, as far as summer nights go. We enjoyed cupcakes, but mostly we enjoyed each other's company.

The Opposite of Love

"Why does everyone want to go away? I love being home. But I don't like being left behind."
 -Beth, in Louisa May Alcott's Little Women

A few years ago, I attended a Sunday School class in which the teacher expressed the belief that the opposite of love isn't hate; it's indifference.

I have thought about that lesson a number of times since, and I think there is a great deal of truth to it. With hate, which we normally would think to be the emotion directly opposite of love, there is at least some feeling there for you, even if it is a negatively influenced one. With indifference, there is no real acknowledgement of any feeling at all. It is apathy; it is ignorance.

I didn't realize until recently, though, that the teacher was quoting Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor and 1986 Nobel Peace Prize winner, who just passed away last month:

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference."

Indifference, then, causes a whole host of problems. Lack of caring about or acknowledging a problem, let alone doing something about it, leads to disastrous consequences. Fortunately, we do not deal with issues today that are anywhere nearly as serious as the horrors Wiesel faced during World War II, and I'm not attempting to address anything anywhere near that deep tonight.

This is not to say, however, that indifference hasn't crept into our society in less-subtle ways. Indifference is still alive and well under our very eyes. I see it all around, and it often appears in the form of cliques.

Cliques are great for those who belong to them, and that's fine and dandy. But what inherently happens with them is not that people are included but that other people, by definition, are left out or are forgotten.

This issue means a great deal to me because I have often found myself on the outside at one point or another during nearly every age and stage in life. I've seen cliques in my neighborhood, at school, at church, in the workplace, in my extracurricular activities, and even as a missionary. I have also been bullied on multiple occasions, which may be the ultimate rejection or feeling of being left out of a group. Many people never actually grow out of cliques, for I see them all over the place today. For all I know, there will always be cliques; there may be cliques at PTA meetings or in the retirement home.

As a result of my experiences, I suppose life has fine-tuned me to feel and see the needs of those left behind, and though I have not always been able to include everyone in everything, I have made an honest effort, albeit not a perfect one, to include as many as I could. My life has, likewise, been greatly blessed by those wonderful individuals who have reached out the hand of fellowship to me and have lifted my hands and my spirit when they have hung low, whether due to chemical or other reasons.

How rare is the true friend who sticks around; whose interest in you is motivated by true concern, patience, and shared mutual interests; and who is there by not assignment nor motivated by convenience. There's a handful of you who fit this bill, and you are appreciated greatly.

If you currently find yourself in a clique, I invite you to consider someone who might not be there at your next gathering but whom you could invite to join you. Or look for someone different to sit by next time. I assure you that you won't have to look too far to find them, because they are all around, and they are longing for friends. If you're not currently part of a clique, I invite you to come and sit by me, and we'll make fun of the cliques together.

Seriously, though, and not to make this sound too much like a Sunday School lesson of my own, but I feel like this idea fits the theme of the Island of Misfit Toys, which is: "Each one bring one." As one of the counselors in the bishopric taught on this topic: "You all know who sits 'alone' even though they're surrounded by a lot of people."

My Dinner with Wenceslao

I've visited El Rocoto, my favorite local Peruvian restaurant, more than once over the past month. In addition to my recent lunch with the Torrejón family, I met up with my old friend Wenceslao Palomino for dinner a couple of weeks before that.

Wenceslao just sent the photos today, so here is the shot of us outside of the restaurant.