Saturday, August 28, 2010

Musical Theatre: I just got back from Callbacks

Theatre is such a tough thing. You know, history majors don't think that their ability to remember when Constantinople became Istanbul determines their worth as a human being. (1452)
However, the auditions for the musical theatre world are the great determining of our worth as a human being. we cry, we sweat, we don't eat, we stay up too late practicing. All for five minutes on a stage with someone casually yelling out "next!" in hope that he will stop and listen to what we have to say.
It's crazy, when you think about it. Yet we crave it. We absolutely love it beyond anything.
I'm glad callbacks are over. for a few days my life was at a standstill for these auditions.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

The Merch Table and the Advent of the Lobby Guitarist: College Series

Last night, at freshman orientation (or Ucamp, as I've been calling it. Due to the nature of it's resemblance to summer camp rather than college life) Matt Wertz came and played a concert.
He was quite good. I was thoroughly impressed- and I'm fairly certain I speak for the student body when I say that we didn't expect it to be quite that spectacular.
After the show, there were HUGE lines to meet him. Everyone wanted to talk to him and shake his hand. Now, I have to admit in advance, I have this weird aversion to meet and greets and to merch tables. I'm also aware that I'm the only person in the world who wouldn't particularly have any desire to meet rockstars at shows. Call me crazy, I'll try to explain it.
After you've performed a good bit, and you understand the dynamics of what makes a great live show, you understand something:
What you have to say has no reflection on who's listening.
No, really. It doesn't. This i learned when I met my hero, Jon Foreman. An avid fan since the 5th grade, It had been my dream to meet him. And he was so nice and amazing and _add compliment here_ everything he should've been. But I walked away and I realized something. He would be doing that even if I'd never once listened to the music. He would be writing words that have made me cry and have made me change my mind. He would be going to Africa. His life, his words, he plays them for an audience but they're not really FOR us. They're sung because they need to be sung. Regardless.
And on a deeper level. When I sing, I sing for an audience, yes. But I sing because it frees me. Because it allows me to go places that words can't take me. Songs have shook the nations. Songs get at us without our permission.
And what is, IS. Beautiful music will not change when i meet the musician.
I also learned
Sometime's the beautiful music has nothing to do with the person, it just has to do with their God given talent
This is the reason boys date stupid pretty girls, and the reason abusive sadistic rockstars will always have people begging for them. We attribute raw talent or beauty to a person, when, to a certain degree, they were just made that way. A dangerous game, indeed. Sometimes we can be more profound through lyrics than we could ever be in life. I. E. just because someone can write a love song does not mean they know anything about love.

That being said, There is absolutely nothing wrong with meeting someone at a concert. I just wonder the reasoning behind it. There have been some rockstars that i've wanted to meet. I told Don Miller 'thank you' after he spoke and it felt really good. What are your thoughts on this? Do you need to meet rockstars after shows? Rockstars out there- what's it like on your end?

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Why We Write Anything

I've recently realized that it is important to like writing. I thought everybody liked it. I thought the only reason people didn't want to write reflective essays in class was because they were scared people wouldn't like them, or that their teacher secretly read the paper out loud in the teacher's lounge. I never realized that people don't write because they don't enjoy it. Some people have no desire to wage war with words and create something beautiful. Some people look at the ocean and have no desire to write a poem. Maybe they paint a picture of it, or they talk about it to a friend, or they sit quietly in the deep mystery of that vast blue greatest, the tribute to all the misfortunes and splendors of mankind. But writing doesn't come to mind.

Let me back up and say that all writers, great or small, struggle with feeling that their work is significant. I mean, people are starving in Africa, some people work for TOMs. Every 2 to 3 days I question whether anyone besides me and occasionally Katelyn ever actually read my blog. And wether, if they read it, it would matter.
But it is comforting to know that not everyone wants to write. I have begun to rest in what Anna said to me after I tried to explain to her the basis for a reflective essay. She said it's important for me to write because not everyone can. Not everyone can express how they feel and those people need the storytellers.
And there are stories to be told. Stories that change nations, lives. Stories pouring out with truth and justice and the eternal glory of God. And that is why we write anything.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Make it your own: college blog series part II

So here's what I didn't expect. I didn't expect it to be such a smooth transition. Okay, so I move in Friday, but still. Usually moving is super dramatic. But it's amazing how easy it is to let go when more and more things in your life end up slipping away. Friends are leaving, there isn't any more school work for me to do in highschool- I finished it all. So it's okay. I know that there will be lots of stuff for me to do in college. I'm ready.
The one thing I'm really gonna miss, is my family. We went into Goodwill today and my brothers immediately started dressing up with the clothes, and then as we walked out Liam said "hey! Presbyterians have the right of way!" .... That's pedestrians, Liam.
I'm gonna miss them. A ton.
Homeschoolers, we know how to have a good time with our siblings.

This came in later:
Hannah Kintner:
Is there anything else we need for our dorm?

Mallory (me) Searcy:
Hmmm... I"m in such an excited buying-stuff-for-my-dorm mood that it's probably a dangerous time to ask. Right now I'm pretty sure we need dinosaur pillows.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Homeschooling with the Searcys: The Pen is MIghtier than the Sword

It's the first day of the homeschool year at the Searcy Musicians Institute. Even though I'm the first Searcy to head to college (on Friday!) I'm still apart of our first day party.

Jordy is writing with a feather pen and an ink pot to start off the school year right. This includes both brothers speaking with snobby French accents. it's only 8:34 and here's a little piece of the first day of school convos:

Jordy (unable to open his ink pot in order to write with his quill)
"The fountain of knowledge is not an easy one to crack, no?
Liam (keep thinking in French accents)
"He is quite funny, no? The pen is mightier than the sword!"

Now they're writing down their prayers for the new school year, and later mom is going to take Jordy to anatomy while I take Liam to a surprise pancake party. He doesn't know about it yet.
We haven't been homeschooled our whole life, and I know it's not for everyone. But I think everyone who writes it off is at a serious disadvantage. I think my brothers are brilliant and what other eleven year old takes an entire course in astronomy? And gets to take it with their puppy?

The Searcy house has a big wooden table that we all sit at in the mornings before the school day starts. We have to be there at 8 or the cell phones and tv are confiscated for the day. (and that actually happens) we sit there until 9 and do our devotions together. Sometimes mom reads us C. S. Lewis or whatever the current author kick in the Searcy house happens to be.
Half the time we drive mom crazy by being hyper and talking with accents. Did you know you can have inside jokes with your family?
Oh and Liam and mom are discussing the fact that Liam wants to learn french but mom wanted to teach latin... I love my family.

Sunday, August 8, 2010


Last night, I had a dream within a dream. No lie, it was like inception. I dreamed there was a flood and everything was destroyed. We were living in these falling apart buildings and i was watching alot of children. They all fell asleep and dreamed of their bedrooms before the flood. I was in their dream, slowly creeping around. In Their dream they had pretty normal, American kids bedrooms. Actually the girl bedroom was something like my bedroom when i was 5. The kids were in shock at how beautiful it was. They had forgotten how amazing. They played with their old toys, and just walked around the rooms, unable to believe that all the beauty was just for them. And i was worried that when the kids woke up from their dream, in the broken down house with no toys, they would cry. But then i woke up.

And I woke up thinking of the orphans in Kaluga, in Moscow. It infinitely and incredibly bothers me, that they do not have what we have. As a culture, as a society. I feel this great, THEY SHOULD feeling, that i've never felt before. I didn't feel it in Russia the first time, or in Peru. Peru, for some reason, upset me at the absolute extravagance of Americans.
This time i feel quite the opposite. I understand our extravagance. We are the product of our very rich culture. We can afford to do it. But i feel that there is something incredibly wrong... and evil with the situation in Russia. The people have a right to be free. They have a right to a free market. They have a right to work hard and expect good pay. And the image in my dream, of the beautiful bedrooms, is so haunting. And i woke up in my bedroom, more beautiful than most of my friends in Russia could even realize. and i feel frustrated. I feel completely bothered, that there is no reason i have this, and my good friends cannot. Even though they be doctors or professional financiers, and I might just teach music lessons.
This is difficult.
But there are words painted as a border around the top of my bedroom walls. They read:

Do you hear the people sing
lost in the valley of the night
it is the music of a people
who are climbing to the light
for the wretched of the earth
there is a flame that never dies
even the darkest night will end
and the sun will rise
they will live again in freedom
in the garden of the Lord
they will walk behind the ploughshare
they will put away the sword
the chain will be broken and
all men will have their reward

Les Miserables

Friday, August 6, 2010

Fires are raging in Russia

This picture is me standing infront of St. Basil's Cathedral in Red Square. The second picture was on my friend Nikita's facebook page, of the same place. It's hard to believe that two weeks ago i was standing at this exact spot. The two pictures back to back are unbelievable. In two weeks smoke from the forest fires has settled all over Moscow.

To those who don't know, temperatures for the past month in Russia have been hotter than ever before. That's like the temperatures here, in South Alabama, only with no AC anywhere. After all, if you've only ever had mild weather, why spend the money on air conditioning? The problem is, that makes it about 105+ in every building. It was very hot, with very little rain. And now forest fires have consumed the areas around Moscow and (my city) Kaluga. My friends say it is the smell of burning and like walking through thick fog. Please pray for Russia.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

The college series: Moving in is easy.

"In the mean time, the cross comes before the crown and tomorrow is Monday morning."
- C. S. Lewis

I think I'm finally back into the swing of things since Russia. Aside from that random spurts of jetlag (like falling asleep at 9 pm) I seem to be fairly cured. I've spent my time preparing for my move to college in 2 weeks! AH!
I called my new roommate today and explained to her something like this:
I have fridge magnets of the Russian alphabet and do you mind me covering our mini fridge with my aphabet magnets, as well as bringing a 3 ft by 4 ft painting in the dorm. No, don't worry i won't try and hang it on the wall cause painting is on a massive piece of wood and weight about 50 pounds. Or more.
Oh and I'm also bringing a llama wool blanket I'll probably use as a rug that i bought at a market in Peru. Oh and I have a vintage hat collection... hmmm? oh not that many... like 20. No problem? okay cool.
Oh and about our beds. See, with my bed, i was figuring i would put one end on top of my bookshelf, and the other end on top of my desk, and then I'll have like a little cove under my bed! Isn't that cool?
The thing is, if i haven't scared her off at this point, she'll probably be a great roommate!
Moving in is easy.
Keep reading for more college blogs.