What’s in a name? Donald Trump sitting next to Obama

 

In the classes that I teach, the students are required to select an English name. It has been fascinating to see what people of varying age ranges have selected as their English names, and has been a great indicator of what people know about the English speaking world- what names have they heard? What would they want to call themselves?  They are usually selected on the spot, without much consideration.

In Middle School Spanish class there was a certain excitement to getting to select several names to put on my nametag to set on my desk. I wanted to pick the coolest, most exotic name that sounded like it could have been from a fantasy novel. I settled on Andalucia Rosa, and I bet she was a total badass. I struggle slightly with the concept now- that adults have to select and be referred to with a different title in another language. I would be happy to learn their actual names, and struggle myself with learning some correct pronunciation in Vietnamese.

For little kids, the results are charming and endearing. I have taught students called “No Name”, “Normal”, “Destroy”, “Naruto”, “Pokemon”, “Minion”, “Batman”, “Spiderman”, “B-Boy” and a plethora of “Anna”s and “Elsa”s. Some of these names are just cool words, and some are pop cultural references that are popular in Vietnam. They like to ask me if I know the cartoons they are from, or have seen the movies. (Duh, of course I have.) The conversations that these names lead to are enjoyable, we find common ground in the movies, anime or comic books we have all read- I draw a picture of a character on the board, I show them my Supergirl notebook, I sing Let it Go, we all have a great time.

So, what names have the adults been exposed to that they would select for themselves? I’ve taught a lot of “Mary”s, “David”s, “Michael”s, “Sue”,s and the like but in almost every class I have a “Donald Trump” (sometimes just “Trump”) and/or an “Obama”. I admittedly cringe.

The implications of these names have varied vastly. Most of the time- students have just heard these names, with little concept of who the person is other than their position as President. I write the name on the board- we move past it.

But every now and then, with more advanced students, I get asked the questions- the questions that are touchy, the questions that I was not really sure to answer at first, but ended up deciding just to tell the honest truth. But even that had to be truncated so much into a very narrow selection of vocabulary words that would be comprehended.

“Have you ever met Obama?” “Have you ever met Donald Trump?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Do you like Obama?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought he was a smart, kind, President. Do you like Obama?”

“Yes! He is very cool.”

That’s about it- some students have expressed interest in visiting the United States for the sole purpose of meeting Obama. No one has ever explained any policies of his that they fancied in particular- but just expressed a general positive outlook.

“Do you like Donald Trump?”

I used to take a moment of silence here, really more for the fact that I didn’t want anything to be lost in translation, that I didn’t want my hapless student who had selected the name Donald Trump to think that I was about to say I did not like him, but that I held an immeasurable disdain for the originator of the title.

“No, no I don’t.” And I try to keep a neutral face when I say it, but I never can. My nose wrinkes and the corners of my mouth turn down like I just ate something that I thought was candy but was actually just garbage. Usually, the students laugh. I leave it at that, and almost always, the students get it.

“I do not like him either- he is crazy and not smart.”

I have not once had a student, or any Vietnamese person that I have spoken to, tell me that they like Donald Trump. Whether this is because they want to agree with me and avoid any conflict of interest, or if this is an honest opinion from my very small survey remains unanswered.

“If you don’t like Donald Trump, why did you pick that for your name?”

“He is President and has a lot of money.”

Well, they aren’t wrong.

I would never have chosen a President or political figure to name myself after if I had the choice.  (Okay, well maybe Hamilton or Burr…or Lafayette but, whatever.)

***

This name thing, I point out because I think it is interesting, but it is also a small lesson in top of intelligence- something we pull from while improvising.  We have to play expert when we are put into scenes and situations that we know close to nothing about.

I don’t know shit about cars but you can bet I will use words like “carborator” and “diesel engine” when called upon to do a scene about them.  I don’t really know what it means, but skimming my limited knowledge- this is what I dredge up, and I will try and say it with as much confidence as I can.

These names are top of intelligence- pulled from the internationally collective ether of communication.  TV shows, music, media and Presidents- these are the initial references that halfway across the world have been collected and attributed to English.

***

 

Okay but, also- this did not happen to me, but was a report from another foreign teacher that she did, in fact have a Trump, Obama and Putin all in the same class and that was almost too much for me.

MopCo Improv Theatre

Hey!

I talk a lot about this “improv” thing- and if you happen to be curious (which you totally should be) or, if you know this lingo and already love improv- check out the beautiful link up top to the MopCo Improv Theatre.

It would be best if you happen to live in the Capital District of New York- as that way you have access to the real thing- the shows, classes and workshops but if not, there’s still access to some great resources to watch and listen to.

You’d be really surprised how positively applicable the skills you hone during improv are!

So like, if you don’t want to click the link up top – here it is again – The MopCo Improv Theatre.

 

PLEASE DON’T TAG ME – I JUST NEED LAUNDRY DETERGENT

 

Every actor, at some point, has thought about what it would be like if somehow they made it. Got famous. Did it. Superstar. And every actor definitely, on some level loves to receive attention and accolades. Despite my general inclination towards introversion and annihilating self criticism, my need for validation may be the only force more overwhelming. This belies a certain challenge to the true integrity of any creative output- but that’s another matter entirely.

The point being- I desperately want people to like me and tell me I am good. I also want to be pretty. As long as these compliments are said in a way that I can brush off and find a way to weasle out of actually accepting.

A foreigner in Vinh City receives a lot of attention- there are no more than ten foreigners that actually live in the city at any time and tourism is almost non-existent. I am the only blonde in the city. I can’t hide anywhere. In general, people are extremely kind. They want to say “Hello” to you, they want to know your name, where you are from, shake your hand, know if you can sing- and take a picture with you, or of you.

It is very charming to walk into a classroom of young students, and have them all gasp- and tell me I am pretty and look like Elsa from Frozen. Of course I want to look like a Disney character. Although, most of them do not know that I play Anna at home- and not Elsa, I do not correct them.

No one know’s how much I really want to be a princess.

 

It is very sweet that on my walk to work, there is a little boy who always screams “Hello!” from the other side of the street. He yells it maybe 6 or 7 times, and I have to respond everytime because he is just so excited and passionate about the greeting.

It is very endearing that there is a little old man who always wants to say “Hello” to us, and then have us say “Xin Chao” back to him. It delights him and it delights me.

I have a certain allottment of energy for these sorts of interactions. The same sort of energy that I use for modeling, improv, teaching and acting. I feel like I have to open myself so much- as there are a lot of people around me who need my energy in these situations and I need to be flexible, and completely turn off my self-doubt. I need to put on my human suit and act like I am totally cool at doing this. Totally confident. I got this.

And I can do that! But after that- it’s shut down time. It’s time to walk home in silence and not say anything to anyone for a long time. Time to sit on the roof and open a beer and let all the stimuli go- time to reasses the embarassing situations that I ignored while in performance mode. Time to recharge.

New York City taught me a bit about the sanctity of silent travel. Many people, myself included love to ignore the outside world during the commute. That’s your time to have your headphones in and prepare for your day.

This is such an odd thing to have negative feedback about- and I never thought that I of all people would be driven to this point but- there is such thing as too much attention. There is a point where you really want to ask people to leave you alone, but you can’t because you will be labeled as rude. I don’t need to be known as the rude blonde girl, because there’s no one to confuse me with.

I do not like when people take my photograph without asking. I’m a good model. I can give you a pose and the right angle on my face, but that photo of me with one eye open eating a cucumber really does not need to be seen by the internet. In fact, I don’t really want any photos of me eating. When my students take out their phones and very clearly take pictures of me while teaching, I know that angle is horrible. When I just want to go to the grocery store, I don’t want to see a group of women laughing and taking my picture with their phones as I desperately try to figure out how to read nutrition facts. I don’t always want to wear a full face of makeup.

 

Lookin’ good, Steph.  Please hire me.

It is not as though I really care in particular if half of Vinh City has horribly unflattering photos of me- but I would rather that they ask me. If someone wants a photo with me, I will always oblige them- even if I don’t really want to, just because I appreciate that they actually asked me.

Having a group of people with a camera laughing at you just does not feel good. Many times, I have had people translate that it is just that they think I am pretty, or they like my hair or eyes but no matter how much reassurance I receive, I am always a million percent sure that they are making fun of me and taking horrible pictures on purpose to show their friends and call me mean names.

Michael receives just as much ridiculous attention. Everyone wants to walk up to him and measure where they come up to on his body- since he towers over everyone here. Because he is so big, I have witnessed a woman run and jump on his back, after which she insisted on kissing my forehead. For this specific experience, we were both so perplexed that we just let it slide.

Part of the reason that I am always so exhausted is that when I am in public, I always have to be “on”. And I want to be out doing things as much as possible- to make the most of my time here.

The positive side of this, is that I really don’t feel a lot of stress to attempt to reach fame. That’s a joke. Because, like, I was never going to be famous but now I can act like it was by choice. #Gotem

Gibberish Scenes – How to survive basic encounters when you can’t understand each other.

 

Nimrod was actually the name of the guy who tried to build the Tower of Babel. Nimrod is also a great word to call someone you don’t like- but I did not realize the depth of the implication.

For my secular pals who haven’t read much Old Testament, and to those that just prefer lighter reading material- The Tower of Babel is the origin of why humans are cursed with so many different languages. Apparently, we used to have just one. And everyone could talk to everyone, and it was great.

Then along comes this asshole, King Nimrod. He’s feeling real good, too good even and he decides that he is going to build a tower so tall that it reaches up to Heaven and he can be equal with God- or who/whatever you believe lives up there. Lots of humans agree that this is a great plan and that God probably has some pretty sweet digs up there that they would like to see so they start to build this tower.

And they build and build and it is all going cool until God notices that these little assholes are building a tower all the way to his front doorstep. He thinks, “Wow, I gave these guys a whole planet and it’s not enough? After they already ruined the nice garden I gave them too? Why can’t they understand that I am all powerful and they are not?”

God destroys the tower and the thing crumbles. Some dudes fall out of the sky. This is Old Testament so I would bet that the death toll was pretty high. Once the dust settles and everyone realizes that they just wasted a LOT of time on Nimrod’s idea, they all realize that they no longer understand each other- that God was so pissed that humans were so presumptuous that he cursed them to speak different languages so none of them could understand each other, so none of them could communicate on such a large scale as to do something so massively stupid ever again.

Ok, so I haven’t actually read that story in a very long time. But when I was in Krakow, Poland there was a set of tapestries that illustrated it. Chances are I am missing some really important details- or missing the moral but the point is that I think about Nimrod a LOT. I curse his name almost daily.

Calling someone a Nimrod is intense. You are implying that they are SO stupid, that they would try to build a tower to heaven, and they are so stupid that they think it would actually work. (Structurally, I believe this would be impossible, not to mention the moral implications.) It’s an insult I have added back into my repertoire.

But this guy really messed things up for us. Language is horrible. English is a terrible abomination where nothing makes sense, where words mean or don’t mean different things and every grammatical “rule” has a thousand exceptions for no reason, just ’cause.

Vietnamese is not really any easier, from what I can discern. There are four different intonations of the language, so even if you can write a word down or read it, chances are you are doing it wrong and you may have well not said anything at all. Both languages have certain sounds that we just don’t have in the other. And this means that we spend a lot of time just staring at each other, just trying to will the other to comprehend. Then I repeat myself in English, even though the coffee waitress still doesn’t speak English, and she will ask me something again in Vietnamese and I will stare at her because I still do not speak Vietnamese and we are at a verbal impasse.

But we are both determined to survive this.

Vinh City is not a tourist city. There is very little that is accessible in English and so, there are certain skills and preparation required for basic transactionry scenes.

1. Be brave.

Be ready to embarass yourself and accept that you may not get what you want.

2. Go slowly

Try and say the words you know, it probably won’t work. You might be really sure you said “pink” but the way you stumbled the pronunciation makes it mean “waist.”

3. Get ready to mime.

Go for it. Use every hand gesture you know. Use every context clue you can. This is full blast, high stakes charades- it might be embarrassing, but how bad do you want it? Do you REALLY need to know what time your train leaves? Probably. How much does it matter if you get a smoothie or juice? You decide.

My favorite instance of this goes to an extremely earnest restaurant owner in Kutna Hora, in the Czech Republic whom in an incredibly devoted attempt to get my boyfriend and I to understand that there were mashed potatoes on the menu, actually ran into the kitchen and returned with a potato and proceeded to make very emphatic mashing gestures upon said tuber.

4. Download an offline translator for the language onto your phone.

This is a last ditch effort and only works with a lot of context. Someone was trying to ask me if I liked spicy food and showed me their phone screen reading “Dancing Fire”, and if he hadn’t made hand gestures and mimed eating something spicy, I probably would have remained baffled.

5. If you like something, take a picture of it.

Everytime I go to a restaurant and find something I like, I photograph it. Chances are I did not order it and have no idea what it is actually called but next time, I can just show the photo and point emphatically until the food appears.

 

There’s this great moment though, between you and the other person, where you both think “AHA!” as though you have both unraveled what the other was trying to say. And boy, do you hope that you did. It is extremely satisfying knowing that you both managed to be committed enough to the scene you were performing to actually understand each other. You feel closer to that person, you’ve been through an ordeal with them.

Improvisors often recommend staying away from performing transactionary scenes, ie between a cashier and someone checking out, because people often get stuck in just going through the motions of what happens during a checkout lane and not making any emotional connection to the other actor.

I never need to see another transaction scene- the one’s I have had to perform here are so long and desperate and trying to order a coffee sometimes turns into a three act play, and its a sick combination of comedy and tragedy.

I have ended up with many different beverages that I did not intend to order, but I have no idea what any of them were, or what series of mouth utterances and gestures would be able to summon that specific beverage ever again.

You learn to roll with it.

Extra Baggage – Carrying Grief

There’s a couple steps that I experienced as the plane took off from JFK airport.

1. Boy, airports are ugly. The layout is terrible and human construction is an eyesore.

 

2. Oh wow, the lights of NYC are very pretty at night. Everything looks small.

 

3. This was my favorite step. This was the part where the plane was just high enough to see the way that everything fit together. The street grids, the cars moving like perfectly orchestrated stars. There were shapes in the city and surrounding landscapes that were impossible to see from the ground. You had to have the distance to let it all make sense. It was satisfying to see the loud, messy, confusing garbage ridden NYC laid out beneath me in pieces that fir perfectly together.

 

4. This clarity does not last long. The lights fade out,, the grids and lines and planning is obscured by clouds- and you can’t quite remember what it was that you saw- what light was where, and what street led where? Then it’s dark. And there’s nothing to see out the windows for the next 18 hours.

There’s a perfect window of distance with which to view your life and the pieces and how they fit together. But, it’s small. And you might miss it if you are looking at the T.V. in the back of the seat in front of you.

***

I had been working on organizing my trip to teach abroad for several years. First, it was Thailand, then I switched placement agencies- then I found out the dates would not work for Thailand due to a scheduling oversight- another year went by. My boyfriend and I prepared again to travel to teach in Thailand- when the agency told us that we could not be housed in the same city, and would not get to see each other at all- which really defeated the purpose of going to another country together. So, the agency told us that there was a position available in Vietnam during the months that we wanted, and that we could live in the same city- I was very tired of putting the trip off and felt like it was never going to happen- so we readily agreed to the change. (After only about half a dozen mental breakdowns due to the change of plans.)

My plan was for this to be a fun trip of self discovery and exploring the world, with lots of temples and me seeing animals and having fun and taking pictures to post online that everyone would be so jealous of. And I would get to go with my boyfriend and we would be great adventure partners and I would be wordly and cool.  I was gonna take pictures with sunglasses on, and I would be smiling and my hair would be messy but somehow perfect.

We were set to leave in December 2015. On July 14, 2015, About a year and a hafl ago, my little brother, Ryland, completed suicide. (A grief counselor told me to say “completed” instead of “committed” because the diction placed less blame on the individual.) I do not know how to talk about it, or tell anyone. This is for several reasons;

1. No one knows what to say. There is nothing I want them to say, and then I do not know what to say after that either. Everyone is uncomfortable.
2. It is hard to talk about- and I’ve built up a lot of defense mechanisms that help me to continue in day to day life without dealing with it.
3. I do not want anyone to feel bad for me, or feel as though I want them to feel bad for me. It isn’t about me- it’s about him.

That being said, if I want to have any degree of authenticity, then it needs to be said. I do not experience anything the same as I did before he died. Everything I experience is muted through a filter of dissociation, and most emotions are experienced with a wash of fear or a pang of guilt. I don’t know how to make friends or feel comfortable. I don’t know how not to judge everything I do with intense scrutiny.

The trip was put off another year so I could stay with my family as we tried to figure out what the fuck to do.

I had acting work through October and got through it with a deadly precise commitment to the work. My Father moved out of state with his girlfriend and my Mother found a new house to move to. I had had my year planned out. Vietnam for December-May, return to my summer job in June, return to my previous acting contract in September. The trip was postponed and my summer job fell through.

So, I got in bed, and I didn’t really get out of it for a very long time

What I did eventually get out of bed for, was an audition for some daytime improv work in schools.

***

I have always wanted to be good at improv- mostly because I feel like I am really bad at it and it is the antitheses of who I am as a person, especially who I am now. And there are a few things that you need to do, in order to even have a chance at being a good improviser-

1. You need to shut your inner critic the fuck up.
This can seem literally impossible- and sometimes a small victory is just shutting up your inner critic until the end of a show or scene, and then tearing yourself apart. Hey, take it one step at a time.

2. Accept that you are going to fail, and come to terms with the fact that in this context it is okay, even encouraged to do so.
Most people do not like to fail. Most people find it completely counter-intuitive to embrace failure, and feel horrified when someone says “you failed.” After mulling over the consequences of even the most menial actions and words- having the freedom to explore human interaction with an emphasis that failure had no consequences was completely foreign.

3. You have to forgive yourself.
It’s not all going to be great. Or even good. Sometimes you will be garbage. But just because you are garbage SOMETIMES doesn’t mean that you are garbage overall.

4. You have to be supported and be supportive.
You are not responsible for the whole scene when you are up there with your partner/s. And if your ideas and your plans don’t come to fruition, you just have to let them go and move on.  You have to let others help you just as much as you help others.

There’s a million more reasons why improvisation is pretty much training to be a good human- but these are some that really helped and challenged me.

***

I don’t know what we do with grief. I don’t know how it changes or where it goes- and I certainly have no idea what makes it feel easier. It’s not any smaller, now I just try to find ways to carry it with me, instead of inside me.

Obviously, improv does not cure grief, nor is it clinical therapy- but it is an environment to explore and be be positively influenced. And it will give you skills to break habits that keep you in perpetually negative cycles.

As we make distance; temporally or physically, we are able to look back and reflect on the way pieces fit together and patterns of our own behaviors that may have been previously obscured by our own scrutiny. I also hold a belief that the closer in physical proximity we are to the location of an event, the more defense mechanisms and emotional barriers our brain puts up to make us able to cope with and deal with traumatic experiences.

From this side of the world, I can mourn aspects that I was not able to before. I can feel how much it hurt to go back into my old house because it is so far away from me. Because when I was there, actually considering the implications and emotions attached would have rendered me completely useless and unable to set foot in it. This has increased instances of crying in public bathrooms by at least 300 percent, and sometimes the emotional outbursts aren’t premeditated by anything- something just pops up that hasn’t been allowed to for a long time.

This is like the terms and conditions of my travel blog. So, if anyone actually read this far- then you should be fine. No one likes sad people and I feel guilty for putting sadness out to other people (and I also feel guilty when I don’t talk about it, because I feel like I am not honoring my brother the right way.) But I have a lot of sadness and a lot of confusion and these are lenses that I have to experience the world.

But I’m here! And I am trying, and I don’t expect travel to allow me to “find myself” or fix anything- I am really just hoping to see some things that are beautiful.

And also things that make me laugh. I kind of feel like I am doing okay if I am laughing or making someone else laugh.

What is this? The quick and dirty facts.

ABSTRACT

Lemme Tell You What’s Up.

WHO 
My name is Stephanie. I pretend to be an improviser and actress. I’m 25. I have no idea what I am doing with my life and my favorite hobby is making rash decisions that are erratic and lead to an unsustainable lifestyle in which I move every few months, am perpetually broke and cripple any chance of forming long term relationships.

WHAT
The context of these writings was originally intended to be about the ways in which engaging and practicing improvisational theatre is beneficial in the context of living a decent life, global travel and in teaching in a classroom environment, specifically an ESL one. I am teaching English as a second language in Vinh City, Vietnam for three months. I teach a range of classes from 4 years old to 40 or so.

So – a travel blog with an emphasis on theatre and mental health advocacy.

WHERE
I am currently in Vinh City, Vietnam, but I’ve got stuff to share from all over the world.

WHY
Short answer that I tell acquaintances and friends- “I want to see the world before I settle down and I want to see if I like teaching as a career path to pursue.” Real answer, “I was sort of hoping that if I run to the other side of the world away from my problems and do enough things that everything will click and make sense and I will know what I want to do with my life.”

I haven’t quite figured it out yet.