Pennies from Heaven

I found a penny today. It was heads up, lying at the base of an escalator. It was shiny and gleaming. It was calling to me. I bent down to pick it up, and the folds of my long skirt almost got caught in the moving stairs in the process… But I risked it. For a penny. Yep, I’m a genius. (That was sarcasm… I know it doesn’t always come across in print.)

The penny was not attractive because of its monetary value. It had a value that I placed on it. Mostly, the value had to do with the fact that I’m magnetically drawn to shiny objects (and it is a lovely, bright, 2007 penny). But, I must admit, it was at least a little because of the element of luck.

Find a penny, pick it up,
All the day you'll have good luck.

I don't even really believe that. I did when I was a kid. Picking up pennies now is more out of habit than anything else.

I don’t really believe in attaching luck to objects. If luck exists, it has existed far longer than pennies have. How could something that humans have created suddenly become lucky? It just doesn’t make sense. Luck is older than wishbones and horseshoes. It’s older than black cats, ladders, and 8-balls. It’s like the Force. It just is. (Although I suppose that even in Star Wars luck exists… Leia did kiss Luke on the cheek and say it was “for luck” before he propelled them from one platform to another mid-chase sequence.) And some of the things good or bad luck is assigned to are so bizarre. Shooting stars? Four-leaf clovers? The numbers 7 & 13? And honestly, how in the world did a rabbit’s foot become associated with good luck? It obviously wasn’t lucky enough for the rabbit.

There is a weird cultural divide in the world when it comes to luck. In the USA, we attribute our successes to good work and our failures to bad luck. In Asia, they say that success is a result of good fortune, and failure only occurs if you didn’t work hard enough. I feel like using luck as a form of reasoning is like cheating. You’re obviously not acknowledging the other factors at play. And in the USA, it’s an excuse.

I generally only mention luck as a method of deflecting compliments. When I take a good picture, it’s because I shot it at a lucky angle, or I got lucky with the lighting. When my hair looks good, it’s pure luck. When my numbers were good at my job, I told my coworkers that I had gotten lucky with the projects I’d been handling. When I do well at a sport, it is only luck and will surely never happen again.

I think it’s funny that luck is personified as a woman. How did Lady Luck get invented? She even had a counterpart in Roman mythology: the goddess Fortuna. Why is it a she? Perhaps it’s because of how seductive the possibility of luck can be. It’s such a simple solution to a variety of problems. All you need to get through this is a little bit of luck. The only reason that failed was luck. Good luck. Bad luck. Dumb luck.

I’m not one for superstition. I don’t believe in things like magic, ghosts, curses, and luck. But I do believe in miracles, angels, blessings, and God… So I guess I shouldn’t bash them too much.

There are a great many superstitions attached to the theatre. A famous one is saying the name "Macbeth” while in a performance space, which supposedly brings horrible luck. For some reason, people take it really seriously. I’ve heard of people being kicked out of a theatre for it, and having to do ridiculous things (such as recite a line from Hamlet, turn around counter-clockwise three times, spit, knock on the door and ask to be allowed back in) to make up for it. But I believe there are logical explanations for the bad things that happened in the past because of it.

Theatres that were about to close down used to perform Macbeth frequently. It’s a huge name play with few set requirements and the possibility to do pyrotechnics and sword-fighting. In other words, you can get an audience without having to spend a fortune. And there is also a high level of risk. Many theatres burned to the ground during performances (mind you, they probably weren’t up to code anyway, and also had shoddy fireworks going off mid-show). Many actors have been hurt doing it (thanks to ill-prepared stage combat). And now, there’s a stigma attached to the name.

Honestly, I’ve never worked on a show in which there weren’t horrible things that went wrong. I’ve been injured in most of the productions I’ve been in. Large set pieces have broken (including an enormous styrofoam cross in an opera I worked on… and I maintain that it was NOT my fault). Actors have fallen into the pit. Light cues have gotten erased on opening night. It happens regardless of whether someone says the M-word… But as soon as someone says it, suddenly there’s an explanation for the rotten things that have happened. There is something (and someone) to blame.

I resort to the common device of calling it “The Scottish Play”, so that whoever believes in this superstition will not be offended or go all batty on me. I, personally, am not a believer. I think it’s a powerful play, but not to that extent. Shakespeare, great as he was, could not control luck.

I think four-leaf clovers are only considered lucky because they’re hard to find. And they’re only hard to find because people pick them whenever they find them, and the genetic anomaly can therefore not be reproduced. It’s just a matter of logic.

Walking under ladders isn’t bad luck, but it is stupid. That’s just dangerous, especially if the ladder is just leaning against a wall. People leave things on top of ladders (despite the warning labels that state that you should not do this), and those objects could fall on your head. Or someone might be ignoring the other warning label that says what step you should not climb atop, lose their balance, and crush you. If that ever happens, it’s not because you’re unlucky. It’s because you’re a moron for walking under a ladder, and the other person was a moron for not heeding the warning. You both screwed up.

The fellow I’m dating says that whenever he hears an ambulance or a fire truck siren, his first thought is, “somebody screwed up.” Maybe there was a fire because someone left the iron on. Maybe someone was running around with scissors and now has a nasty puncture wound. He says even if someone had a heart attack, that’s from years of unhealthy living. So in any case, he believes that someone must have screwed up in order for this emergency vehicle to be racing to the scene.

I have a different instinct. Whenever I hear a siren, I pray. I pray that everyone involved is safe. I pray that the police officers catch the bad guy. I pray that if there was a misunderstanding, the person gets off without any problems. I pray that the fire goes out. I pray that the victim survives. I don’t know if it does any good, but it certainly can’t hurt. And I have a feeling that prayer does more than a lucky penny could.

So I don’t believe in luck, but I do believe somewhat in karma. Actually, I’m misusing that word, as I’ve been told that karma refers to how what you do in this life will change what happens to you in the next life. When I say karma I mean, “What goes around comes around.” I honestly think that what you put out into the world comes back to you.

Whenever I have pennies on me, I will often stop to put them on the ground, face up. I don’t assign luck to them, but I know that other people do. I feel like it’s a little touch of happiness that I’m sending out into the cosmos. And I know that somehow, I’ll get it back.

Then again, who knows? My life tends to keep to a sort of balance. There was an episode of Seinfeld in which Jerry realized that life had a way of “evening out” for him. Whenever something bad happened, something good happened of equal weight, and vice versa. I like to think that my life is like that. Whenever something bad happens, it’s easier to take if you think that something good is right around the corner.

I also believe that everything happens for a reason. It’s just not always easy to see what the reason is until long after something happens. If I had gotten one role I wanted, I would’ve missed out completely on auditioning for a different show that turned out to be far more beneficial. If my partner hadn’t dropped out of my Shakespeare class, I wouldn’t have been able to go to the Bangles concert (and I wouldn’t have gotten a fabulous Equity actor as a replacement scene partner).

When my dad was younger, he planned to go on a road trip with three of his friends. His mother wouldn’t let him go. While on the road, his friends got into a horrible accident in which an 18-wheeler pinned their car against a lamppost. They all died. And my dad survived because his mother prevented him from going.

A coworker of mine argues adamantly against this idea that everything happens for a reason. He’ll say things like, “how did the Holocaust fit into God’s plan? What was the reason for that?” I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t know why unspeakable tragedies occur. I just know that if I don’t have my faith, then I don’t have hope. And without hope, what is life?

I never fully understood the Greek myth of Pandora. Her curiosity makes her open a box and release all evils onto the world on accident (much like Eve with the apple… it’s interesting how much Genesis aligns with different creation myths from around the world). She tries to close the box, but only one thing is left inside it: hope. Here’s what I don’t understand… Why didn’t she release hope out into the world as well? Wouldn’t that be a good thing? I like the idea of hope having wings and being able to fly out of the box, up into the sky, and all over the planet.

I think the idea is that evil is all around, and that you have to keep hope with you in order to handle it all. That’s the best I’ve been able to figure it. I’m still rather unsatisfied with that answer, but the Ancient Greeks had some far stranger inconsistencies in their myths than that, so I guess I should let it go.

I rather like the image of a box full of hope, actually. I’d like to give one to the world as a present. Who would turn that down? It would easily be the best gift ever. Well, except for maybe the Felix Felicis (“liquid luck”) that Harry Potter wins in Half-Blood Prince. That might be even better. (Wow, I'm a dork.)

I'm keeping my penny next to my computer. I hope it will inspire me to create my own luck, but I have faith that I will be fine without it.

May your life be filled with hope and faith… and maybe a little bit of luck.

~A~

Guilty Pleasures & Deadly Sins

I love bad movies. Some of my favorite movies are ones that I am completely willing to admit are terrible. I own Teen Witch. I own Win a Date with Tad Hamilton (although that one was a gift… but I’ve watched it more than once). I own To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar (I haven’t watched it in the last two years since buying it at a Wal-Mart for $5. Mostly, I bought it because I thought it was funny that Wal-Mart was selling it). I own Grease 2 (which I think I actually prefer to Grease… I hope that’s not blasphemous to my musical theatre buddies who might be reading this). And I own and love the movie “America’s Sweethearts” (highly underrated. It’s actually very funny).

Here’s the thing… I don’t think of these movies as “guilty pleasures” at all. I don’t feel guilty about them. If I owned Showgirls, then I might feel guilty about it (I watch it whenever it’s on television), but that’s because of both horrid acting and also the fact that it’s basically soft-core porn. Really, I think I just don’t understand the concept of guilty pleasures. To quote Sheryl Crow (oh no… WHY am I quoting Sheryl Crow?), “if it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.”

I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine regarding his newfound love of the Disney Channel. He says that it’s filled with happy material, and that it has a positive impact on his life. I don’t watch the Disney channel (which is in some part due to the fact that I don’t presently own a television), but I respect that. It makes him happy. Who am I to judge?

I got into a fairly heated argument with someone last winter about my love of the television show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. She said it was self-important, and just a vehicle for Aaron Sorkin (the show’s creator) to vent about his political agenda. Here’s what I don’t get: why on earth would you go off unprompted on a tirade against something that I clearly love? Isn’t that just a whole string of comments that could easily be left unsaid?

I also don’t feel guilty about my preferences in music, which have recently come under scrutiny by some of my friends. I like Corinne Bailey Rae, Mandy Moore, and the occasional piece of Fefe Dobson or Aqua. I listen to Basement Jaxx, Fastball, Fountains of Wayne, Motion City Soundtrack, Jewel, Liz Phair, Semisonic, Something Corporate, and many other artists that others might scoff at for a variety of reasons. At this very moment, I’m listening to the song “Hang on, Little Tomato” by Pink Martini, which I find to be particularly lovely. And I don’t think I should have to be ashamed of that. That music cheers me. And a cheerful me is something that you should be encouraging. I’m quite fun to be around when I’m cheerful… not so much when I’m defensive. I’m just saying…

Also, take note: if you EVER say a negative thing about Natalie Imbruglia in my presence, I will most likely be unable to continue speaking with you. I’ve already told the fellow in my life that if he ever commits such a heinous act, it would surely be just cause for a break-up. My music is something that I wear close to my heart, and when people diss it and dismiss it, they might as well be putting down something that I have created myself. It breaks me down from the inside. I am offended to a point that seems almost irrational. Almost.

Anyway. I see nothing wrong with liking movies of questionable caliber, frivolous music, self-important television, and the like. And I hate it when people feel the need to change my opinions on those things, or try to make me feel bad about liking them. So please, if you are ever considering such a thing, don’t. Even if you’re just teasing.

As it turns out, I don’t take teasing very well. I don’t understand it. I was raised in a house where making fun of other people got you in trouble. I survived a childhood of constant mocking and oceans of tears. I don’t think it’s funny when people tease me. It just seems hurtful.

I will never understand how some people think that teasing is a good way to flirt. If a guy starts off teasing me, I assume he’s a jack-hole, and I don’t feel the need to ever speak with him again. Not a good way to start things off. Before we started dating, my ex-boyfriend started making fun of Canada (knowing full well that I have a great love for our neighbors to the North… I started watching Degrassi” back in the 80s when it came on after Ramona, and I’ve loved Canada ever since). He thought it was a good way to rile me up. All it did was piss me off (my mother hates it when I use that phrase… she says it isn’t ladylike. But sometimes, it’s just the right way to explain my emotional state. So forgive me if I’ve somehow ruined your opinion of me by saying something crass). It made me want to keep my distance from him.

I actually got into a rather heated discussion with a coworker a couple of weeks ago when he started teasing me about being a Shakespeare geek. You just shouldn’t do that. Honestly. I will never understand the thought process behind it. I didn’t understand it in elementary school when a boy would yank on a girl’s pigtail because he liked her, and I don’t understand this verbal equivalent to it. It just seems counterintuitive to me.

Shakespeare, by the way, is most certainly not a guilty pleasure. His work is really rather brilliant, and not overrated. Shakespeare is, in fact, one of a handful of topics that I could speak on for hours, if allowed. Other subjects that fall under that elite heading include Harry Potter, mythology (especially Greek and Roman), musical theatre, and names (I actually started writing a book on names once, but everything I wrote was lost. Apparently, I have horrible luck when it comes to things I’ve written suddenly disappearing. Anyway, I was never able to talk myself into starting it all over again). None of these subjects are things I feel guilty about. It’s not like they’re vices.

Why aren’t vices considered to be guilty pleasures? If ever you should feel guilty about something, shouldn’t it be drinking, or smoking, or gambling, or drugs, or what have you? Those all seem like things one might feel guilty over. I have had a couple of friends with serious pornography addictions. If that doesn’t sound like what a “guilty pleasure” should be, then I don’t know what does. Surely, wanting to watch Die, Mommy, Die is a far less noteworthy event. It’s not like it’s a deadly sin.

Speaking of which, did you know that Dante invented the seven deadly sins? They’re not actually in the Bible or anything. I mean, they are technically all in the Bible as things you should not do, but not in list form. And yet, somehow they’ve been adopted into general Christian dogma. It’s actually rather strange that something like that occurred, but I blame people for being stupid and confusing fiction with religion (a la Scientology. Or Jedi-ism. I hope I didn’t offend any Jedi with that. I’m certain that I offended Scientologists). But it is a tremendous list. I can certainly ascertain a connection from each item on it to fire and brimstone.

Let’s see how guilty I am…
Envy: Of course. I’m envious of other people’s appearances a great deal. Occasionally, I envy their talents (especially if they can play an instrument with brilliance). I don’t care as much about their possessions, but those can make me jealous every now and again as well.
Greed: Not too bad. It is a part of my life, but obviously not a big one, as I can’t even come up with an example.
Gluttony: I took four pieces of pizza at a work function on Wednesday, even though I usually only eat two. Why? Because they were free. Subsequently, I became ill (after only eating two and a half pieces… I saved the untouched piece and ate it for breakfast the next morning). My eyes were definitely bigger than my stomach.
Lust : The temptation exists, but I don’t really act on this one… But that deserves a blog entry all to itself. I will not be writing that tonight.
Pride: Check. I have a blog, which I think is proof enough that I’m prideful. After all, I think my writing deserves to be read. And I take pictures of myself a lot.
Sloth: I’m one of the world’s best procrastinators (I say “best” because I’m successful at it… I get my stuff done, I just do it at the last minute). That comes from my lazy streak, and also the fact that I work better under pressure (the pressure of a deadline seems to work especially well).
Wrath: I have my moments. Who doesn’t? It’s hard to be a passionate person without having wrath. My words can get downright violent. And I stay bitter about certain things for years. The way I think on it, bitterness falls under wrath.

In general, though, I’m not a big “vice” person. I’ve never picked up a cigarette. I’ve never touched drugs. I didn’t start going out and drinking until after I was 21 (well, 22, actually). I like to think that the D.A.R.E. program worked on me (if D.A.R.E. needs a spokesperson, I’m there). When I asked a friend recently if I had any vices, he answered by suggesting “chocolate?” But really, I don’t even eat chocolate very often (except when it’s in ice cream… like chocolate chip cookie dough… mmmm). Um, does cuddling count as a vice? Because I’m all over that one. Otherwise, I’m hard-pressed to come up with something.

Maybe that’s pathetic a little bit. Maybe innocence is a form of emptiness. I worry about that sometimes. Am I not living my life to the fullest because there are so many activities that I refrain from? I try not to dwell on it, as it could get depressing. Luckily, I have The Monkees, The Beach Boys, and Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass to cheer me up. And I don’t feel one iota of guilt about that.

May your days be guilt-free and bright.

Much love,

~A~