Category: etc.

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver

I can’t stop thinking about what’s going on in Burma — a country I will never call the other name out of solidarity with the hill tribes populating the border of Thailand and Burma — people who are still fighting for their freedom, for their very lives, and who see the other name as a form of ethnic cleansing. So I reject that name. So does the United States, technically. I’m furious — but not surprised — at the reprehensible stubbornness of the “government” in charge. Strangely, I have a hope that what’s going on right now will call more international attention to this sick and oppressive regime. Too many people are in the dark and that’s just a crime.

A little context for my rant.

We went on a mission trip to Thailand in the summer of 2004. I’ve never written about it here because I find it hard to talk about. Profound personal things happened that there may not even be words for. (Well, that’s rather dramatic, Trace. More accurate to say I can’t find the words for it. I can’t do it justice. There, that’s better, I think.) I remember all the research I did before we left. About Thailand. About Burma. I remember reading about these hill tribes because part of our group was sent north to visit a HUGE refugee camp where hundreds of thousands of people from these hill tribes live in limbo along the border with Burma. (MB and I weren’t part of this team — we were on an orphanage team — but we just ate up all the stories told and the videos shown when the group returned from the camp. Some of what I heard and saw, even secondhand, I will never forget.)

The people in this camp are Christians. They can and do venture into Burma for food, but they risk rape, torture, and death. They can’t live free in Thailand because of longstanding, insanely complicated agreements between the governments of Thailand and Burma. So right now, they live in this muddy camp in the middle of the jungle. It’s called a refugee camp, yes, but it’s no guaranteed safe haven. They’ve been attacked in the past by the Burmese army and, because of that, in the middle of the camp, hangs a large gong that is sounded whenever they are under threat. Unless things change for them, most of them will spend the remainder of their days there. One might imagine that constant fear and disabling depression would dominate these people, but they are filled with a joy that we Westerners don’t even understand, really.

I still remember hearing how, several times a day, our team members held Bible studies under one huge tent in the middle of the camp. A couple thousand people would show up at a time, more than the tent could hold. The crowd just spilled out onto the muddy ground, basically. One day, they were studying the 23rd Psalm and, through the translator, the study leader asked for anyone to share what “The Lord is my shepherd” meant to them. Kind of a risk, since these are very kind, but generally reserved, people. There was total silence. Then a few men started answering here and there. No women. More men answered. Finally, a woman in the front row answered very quietly. Apparently, you could barely hear her. The whole room stood still, basically, to hear what she said:

“We go into the jungle (Burma) to look for food sometimes. If they (Burmese soldiers) see us, they will kiss us and oppress us. (The translator whispered that, in English, this meant “gang rape.”) But the Lord is always with us. We don’t have freedom in our bodies but we have freedom in our spirits.”

I tear up whenever I even think about this. How can I ever complain about my life??

I’m rambling a lot here — I’m sorry. I’m going to quote a section from a letter I sent out to friends and family before our trip in ’04, just to give a little more background on the people in this camp and the government of Burma, as well.

The mountains of northern Thailand and Burma are populated by diverse ethnic peoples who have lived in the region for hundreds, and in some cases, thousands of years. The tribes consider themselves non-Burman, since they come from regions as various as China, Mongolia, Cambodia, and India. They do not acknowledge the name “Myanmar,” seeing it as a form of ethnic cleansing. One tribe, known as the Karen (”currin”) has lived in these jungles for about 2,500 years. They are known as the “Christian tribe” because upwards of 40% are, indeed, Christians. It’s an astonishing number when you consider that over 85% of the Burmese population is Buddhist.

There’s a fascinating story I read recently about how the Karen people came to be so (comparatively) heavily evangelized. It seems that for generations before they were ever evangelized, the Karen passed poems amongst themselves that told of one creator God named “Y’wa” who made man and woman. The stories told of a man and a woman who lived in a garden and of a snake who gave the woman some forbidden fruit. The Karen also believe they once possessed a “Book” that told the truth about life. That book was lost, they say, but they believed that one day, a young man from across the seas would come and return it. So when Bible-bearing missionaries arrived in Burma in the 19th century, they were warmly welcomed and the message of Christ was embraced. And here’s an interesting notion: I’ve also learned that there are those active in searching for Jewish descendants of the Assyrian captivity who believe the Karen may be a remnant of the lost tribes of Israel. I can’t help but wonder how they knew this story otherwise.

But right now, the Karen are among the 4 million Christians in Burma who are part of the persecuted church worldwide. The persecution is both religious and political, extending to the Karen and other non-Burman peoples who’ve struggled for decades for autonomy from the Burmese “government” — really nothing more than a military junta known as the “State Peace and Development Council.” The SPDC sees the expression of even the most basic freedoms as a threat to national unity; therefore, any and all attempts at religious and political freedom are put down. Violently.

What’s happening in Burma does not receive much news coverage, a shameful omission since the current situation is one of the most brutal in the world. But I believe we need to be aware of what’s happening, so to that end, I will share with you.

(Be forewarned. Some of what follows will be graphic.)

Under present circumstances, the Burmese army routinely extorts tribal villages for food and money, two things they just don’t have. Villagers are forced to become human minesweepers; men are sent into forced labor; villages, including churches, are systematically burned down; children are forced to become soldiers. Currently, there are approximately 70,000 children in the Burmese army against their will.

Villagers must take care not to be seen running through the jungle or they will be shot on sight. Once the men are removed from the villages as forced laborers, women and children — some as young as 5 — are raped, and frequently, gang raped. Many rape victims are then killed. Christian children are regularly taken from their villages and put into Buddhist monasteries to become monks. They never see their families again.

Additionally, the Burmese army has a terror squad known as the Sa Sa Sa which regularly beheads uncooperative villagers and mounts their heads on poles as a warning to others. Small babies have been taken and ground to death in rice pounders. Yes, you read that correctly.

Even in the midst of these atrocities, the Karen and other tribal Christians remain faithful and courageous. They watch as their villages and churches are destroyed. They move and rebuild, move and rebuild, all with the knowledge that any new village, any new church, will likely be destroyed also. The Karen tribe has a tiny, ragtag, guerrilla force known as the Karen National Liberation Army that continues to do what it can to stave off the Burmese army — and there are small victories.

Just recently, in August 2003, a skirmish broke out between a small group of Karen rebels and and a much larger number of Burmese soldiers. The Burmese army lost about 300 men, but, amazingly, the Karen rebels lost only 15 men. Later, the Karen soldiers commented that the Burmese hadn’t even tried to dodge the barrage of gunfire coming their way. After the confrontation, the Karen went through the soldiers’ bags and found the reason why: the bags were full of amphetamines. The Burmese soldiers had been high. Maybe God does work in mysterious ways sometimes? Gives me chills, actually.

Several years ago, a group of missionaries traveled to visit some believers among the Shan (shawn) tribe. Two years after this first visit, they returned to the village, were welcomed like old, dear friends, and told how the villagers had longed for their return. They stayed, renewing friendships for a few days. Later, as the missionaries were leaving, each received a small envelope from the villagers. As they opened them later, the missionaries discovered they had each been given 1000 Kyat (local currency) from these destitute believers. The villagers had basically nothing but thought nothing of giving all of what they did have. They begged the missionaries to please return.

My hope is greater awareness — of the plight of these hill tribes and ALL people in Burma who live under this evil regime. Pray for them.

Lastly, World Vision is one of the few relief organizations on the ground in Burma right now. Here’s a link to make a quick, direct donation to their efforts over there. Please help if you can. It’s a race against time.

My energies are a little scattered right now, so how’s about a deflecting mee-mee?

If you want to copy and paste your answers into the comments, feel free. Or put it up on your blog and let me know.

Okay. 56 Superfluous Questions:

1.ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT? I have a scar on my knee from splitting it open on the carpet when I was seven. My skin was like tissue paper apparently.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM? Well, I know there are some hanging dust bunnies in one corner that someone — oh, maybe someone tall, if I knew such a person — needs to please please deal with.

3. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN? 8:15 a.m., I think.

4. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW? Answers.

5. WHAT DO YOU MISS? “What” do I miss? Okay. Here’s something stupid: I miss “Friends.”

6. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION? One is our elephant painting from Thailand. Meaning: An elephant painted it. Yup. It cost us 25 bucks American and was the most expensive thing we bought the whole time we were there. If I’m ever in Thailand again, I’m going back to that elephant camp and buying as many as I can carry home.

7. HOW TALL ARE YOU? 5′4″ — and a half!!

8. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DAY? Not generally.

9. WHAT’S YOUR WORST FEAR? Being old and alone, if you really wanna make me cry, Memey.

10. WHAT KIND OF HAIR COLOR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX? Dark hair. Always have.

11. WHAT ABOUT EYE COLOR? Usually blue.

12. COFFEE OR ENERGY DRINK? Oh, please. Coffee, hands down. Energy drinks just shiver me timbers. Ew.

13. FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING? Pepperoni and olives.

14. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Chinese food.

15. FAVORITE COLOR OF ALL TIME? I don’t have one. Really. I’m partial to warm tones over cool tones, though. And I do not like burgundy and blue together. No, no, no.

16. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A GOLDFISH? Nope.

17. WHAT WAS THE FIRST MEANINGFUL GIFT YOU EVER RECEIVED? “First meaningful gift”? Uhm, I really don’t know.

18. DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH? I have any number of ridiculous inappropriate celebrity crushes. It doesn’t matter if they’re dead or alive, either. I think Jason Taylor from “Dancing with the Stars” is beautiful. He’s a big beautiful cocoa bear. The guy is 6’6″ and moves like a dream!

19. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND? The kind that fits is my favorite “brand.” Duh.

20. WHAT KIND OF CAR DO YOU WANT? Uhm, well, I’d like to have a 1966 Mustang 4-speed 289 with a Pony interior and Poppy Red exterior. You know, nothing too particular. Other than that — believe it or not — I really don’t give two hoots about cars.

21. WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE KNOWING THAT THE PERSON IS LEAVING? Leaving where?? Will he bring me back a souvenir??

22. HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF THE USA? Yes.

23. YOUR WEAKNESSES? Character weaknesses? Food weaknesses? If you’re not gonna be more specific, Memey, then no dice. Okay. Sorry to get pissy. “Pissiness” could be one, I guess. Also: My ring fingers on both hands are weak as newborn kittens. They’re just for show.

24. MET ANYONE FAMOUS? Yes.

25. FIRST JOB? Working at a produce place sorting through crates of moldy cherries and strawberries and worm-infested corn and stuff. Not that the produce YOU buy is like that behind the scenes. No. No. I’m sure it’s fine.

26. EVER DONE A PRANK CALL? Sure.

27. DO YOU THINK EVERYONE OUT THERE HAS A SOUL MATE? No. I don’t care for the phrase “soul mate.”

28. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS OUT? Eating a Quizno’s sandwich.

29. HAVE YOU EVER HAD SURGERY? Yes.

30. WHAT DO YOU GET COMPLIMENTED ABOUT MOST? My pissiness and weak ring fingers.

31. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY? Oh, please. What am I, 9?

32. HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT? All of them.

33. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? I kinda think I was named after a dude, don’t you?

34. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST TURN OFF WITH THE OPPOSITE SEX? Oh, cool! A Playboy Playmate question. Okay. I don’t like overly emotional men who want to “shaaare” or “tell you what’s on their heart” or sing you songs that you inspired (scroll down for it) Please man up and find your wee wee, thank you.

35. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU MISS ABOUT GRADE SCHOOL? My fourth grade teacher.

36. WHAT KIND OF SHAMPOO DO YOU USE? Cheap stuff and, I tell you, my hair is suffering. My hair just KNOWS and seems to be mounting some sort of vengeful coup d’scalp.

37. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Yes, I do. I really do.

38. ANY BAD HABITS? Sure. Doing lame-o memes is one.

39. ARE YOU A JEALOUS PERSON? Sometimes.

40. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Well, sure. I’m a very loyal friend. Tenaciously loyal. And I think I’m sorta fun. Plus I hate unresolved crap between people so I will alway try to work things out if there’s a problem and, wow, isn’t that sweetening the friendship pot? I will hunt you down and force you to work things out even when you don’t care or don’t want to. I am Rambo. Please be my friend.

41. DO YOU AGREE WITH FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS? No. Unless that benefit is a 401k.

42. HOW DO YOU RELEASE ANGER? You’re supposed to release it?? I prefer to bottle mine. I sell it on e-Bay for 9.99 a bottle now.

43. WHAT’S YOUR MAIN GOAL IN LIFE? Finishing this meme.

44. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD? My Truly Scrumptious doll.

45. HOW MANY NUMBERS ARE IN YOUR CELL PHONE? Oh, please. I have no idea. I can barely use the thing.

46. WERE YOU A FAN OF BARNEY AS A LITTLE KID? He was after my time. But I can tell you, he terrifies me now, so I have no reason to believe that wouldn’t have been the case back then.

47. MASHED POTATOES OR MACARONI AND CHEESE? Hm. If forced to choose, mashed potatoes.

48. DO YOU HAVE ALL YOUR FINGERS AND TOES? Yes.

49. DO YOU HAVE A COMPUTER IN YOUR ROOM? “In my room”? Like, did mommy and daddy buy me a computer for “my room”? No, no, they didn’t and I wish they’d pony up like all my other friends’ parents.

50. PLANS FOR TONIGHT? Nope.

51. WHAT’S THE FASTEST YOU’VE EVER GONE IN A CAR? Oh, the posted legal limit, I’m sure. But if I had that Mustang ….

52. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO? Jimmy Durante singing “Make Someone Happy.” One of my favorite songs ever.

53. LAST THING YOU DRANK? The only sodie worth drinking: FRESCA!! That means turtle in Spanish, pippa. *

54. REPUBLICAN OR DEMOCRAT? I’m not currently registered as either. Haha, Memey. Nice try.

55. DO YOU HAVE A LOW SELF ESTEEM OR A HIGH SELF ESTEEM? Low. Crushingly anemically low. If you have some to spare, you could send it to me along with a box of chocolates and I will send you a free bottle of my bottled anger, okay? This seems fair to me.

56. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING? I’m reading “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.” Amazing is so SO right. I’m in love with this book. (Although the font is bugging me. That’s a whole other post, actually. Book fonts and how they affect the way I feel about a book. All part of my generalized mania.)

*It does not.

Okay. I must rest my weak ring fingers now. They are worn to pretty little nubs.

Really, San Diego State students? Really??

Nearly 100 of you arrested for dealing drugs using TEXT MESSAGING??

You know what this proves, don’t you? Just how bad the education is at SDSU, is what it proves. And isn’t that what really hurts?

Idiots.

I’m at the grocery store this weekend. Over by the eggs; I need to buy eggs. There’s a girl there with her boyfriend. She’s skinny and expressionless, as grey as her t-shirt. He’s pudgy, wearing shorts, loose t-shirt, backwards baseball cap. You know. The only kind of 20-something guy they make anymore. That’s the look. He’s carrying the basket because that’s what those guys do now while she opens an egg carton and checks the eggs. I mutter excuse me, reach in, and grab a carton. I do my quick check. They look fine. The girl, on the other hand, is still checking her eggs. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her go through this process: Pull egg out of carton, hold it close to face, turn it around, really examine it, put it back in carton, take the next egg, do the whole thing again. I’ve moseyed over to the milk but I’m still watching them. Apparently, she does this with each egg. A dozen eggs. Each egg examined with a grey clinical intensity. The guy stands by and watches, but when she catches him looking, he looks quickly away, stares at the cheese bricks in the basket. His chest expands as he holds a huge, deep breath he’s taken. I can literally hear him thinking, Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it. Slowly, he breathes out, bounces the basket against his thighs to distract himself. She’s on her fifth egg. The way she examines it so piercingly and holds it up to the light, I half-expect the egg to start blushing. I certainly feel embarrassed for it. Finally, the guy speaks up.

“You’re like that guy.”

Uh-oh. I have a bad feeling. I start to move away.

She flicks her eyes towards him. Her brows actually move down. Uh-oh. An expression.

“WHAT guy?”

I can hear him muttering something, but I can’t make it out. Whatever it is, she is not happy. She snaps the egg carton shut, grabs the basket, and stomps away.

A little meme I found languishing in my drafts. I changed a few questions, added a few questions, and voila, here it is. Short ‘n’ sweet.

Copy/paste into comments.

1. You have $5 and need to buy snacks at a gas station. What do you buy?

2. If you were reincarnated as a sea creature, what would you want to be?

3. Who’s your favorite movie redhead?

4. What do you order when you’re at IHOP or any other breakfast-type establishment?

5. Last book you read?

6. Describe your favorite school lunch when you were a kid.

7. Describe the last time you were injured.

8. Choose: Bagel or English muffin?

9. Rock concert or symphony?

10. What kind of toothpaste do you use?

11. What kind of shampoo?

12. Bath or shower?

13. If you could only use one form of transportation for the rest of your life what would it be?

14. Most recent movie you’ve watched at the movies?

15. What’s your favorite breed of dog?

And when the next letter inevitably comes, you are so weary, so used to being weary. What it says doesn’t even matter. The words themselves don’t matter because it’s all so cyclical. Variations on a theme. Abusive monotony. You can hear about the horror that is you only so many times before you’re bored with it, really; the lifelong litany of charges against you. Nevertheless, you still open it, you still read it. Partly because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Partly because you’re helpless not to. “There’s power in the blood” suddenly has a whole new meaning. And who knows, maybe there will be a searing revelation of some newly discovered blight on your character. A new frontier in the science of what’s wrong with you. An incurable strain of personality, perhaps. A 10th planet in your sorry little galaxy. Drumroll, please. As you read, however, you realize, Nope. Nothing new here. There’s the pointy Xeroxed scrawl. There’s the perpetual indictment. The words are different, sure, but the idea is always the same. You get to the bottom of the copy and notice the last line is cut off. You mentally fill in the blanks, call your father, ask him if you’re right. Yes, he sighs. Where’s the original, you ask. I don’t know, he sighs again and you picture that big black file drawer she has. When you hang up, you stare at the muddle of words, clench your jaw, and declare yourself immune. But there’s no vaccination, not really, and as time goes on, the poison leaches deep into some unreachable limbic pool in your brain.

ME: Do you think there’ll be sharks in heaven?

HE: Totally. They’ll be in the moat.

ME:

HE: Keeping out Satan’s minions.

Here’s an exercise from the book. It’s a very basic exercise on the surface, but I love how she expounds on it. It’s about picking or imagining a new name — something that’s always resonated with me because I really don’t care for my name. It’s never felt like me. (Didn’t help that I was frequently called a boy’s name — actually, a completely different name — as a nickname when I was growing up.) My middle name is slightly better, but still, just kind of eh for me. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but I sometimes still fantasize about changing it. Whether you really change your name or just play around with it, I think it’s worth considering. What does your name say about you? What would you like it to say?

Anyway, here’s what she has to say about it. There’s a whole bit here about Mozart’s name that’s fascinating to me.

Pick A New Name

Imagine you could change your name. What would you choose? Would it be a name that sounded good or belonged to someone you admire? Would it make a statement about what you believe or how you want the world to approach you? What would you want it to say about you?

This is not just an exercise in “what if.” It’s about identity — who you are and who you aim to be.

I’ve always thought my creative life began the moment my mother named me Twyla. It’s an unusual name, especially when you combine it with Tharp. (Twyla Smith just doesn’t have the same ring, does it?) My mother had seen the name “Twila” in a clipping about the queen of a hog-calling contest in Indiana, and as she explained it, “I changed the i to a y because I thought it would look better on a marquee.” She had big plans for me. She wanted me to be singular, so she gave me a singular name.

If it’s a parent’s job to make children feel special, then my mother did her job well. To me, the name is fierce, independent, and unassailable. It can’t be shortened to Twy or La, and it doesn’t take a diminutive well. (I have a good friend who always adds an affectionate Yiddish “leh” to names, but Twylaleh is too much even for him.) It’s a good name to have if you want to leave your mark in the world.

More than anything, though, my name is original. It makes me strive for originality — if only to live up to the name.

I am not exaggerating the magic and power invested in our names. Names are often a repository of a kind of genetic memory. Parents, who are the arbiters of all given names, certainly feel the power; that’s why they name their children after ancestors (or themselves). They honor those who came before while connecting their child with his or her past. The hope is that not only will some of our forebears’ genes pass down with the name, but also their courage, their talents, their drive, and their luck.

The essayist Joseph Epstein has noted, “A radical change in one’s name seems in most cases a betrayal — of one’s birthright, of one’s group, of one’s identity.” I don’t agree. In a sense it’s a commitment to a higher personal calling. And it’s not uncommon among creative souls.

The ancient masters of Japanese art were allowed to change their name once in their lifetime. They had to be very selective about the moment in their career when they did so. They would stick with their given name until they felt they had become the artist they aspired to be; at that point, they were allowed to change their name. For the rest of their life, they could work under the new name at the height of their powers. The name change was a sign of artistic maturity.

Mozart played with variations on his name for most of his life. He was baptized Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart. His father Leopold referred to him shortly after his birth as Joannes Chrisostomus Wolfgang Gottlieb. The young Mozart generally referred to himself with the middle name Amade (Gottlieb, Theophilus, and Amadeus being German, Greek, and Latin, respectively, for “lover of God). But he made a significant change at the time of his marriage to Constanze Weber: In all documents related to the marriage (except for the marriage contract itself), his name is given as “Wolfgang Adam Mozart.” By taking the name of the first man, Mozart may have been declaring himself reborn, set free from the past. “Mozart’s constant alterations of his name are his way of experimenting with different identities,” wrote Mozart biographer Maynard Solomon, “trying to tune them to his satisfaction.”

Done wisely and well, a change of name can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. As Epstein points out, “Eric Blair, Cicily Fairfield, and Jozef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski became, respectively, George Orwell, Rebecca West, and Joseph Conrad — the first to shuck of the social class into which he was born, the second to name herself after a feminist heroine in Ibsen, the last to simplify his name for an English audience. Yet how right those names now seem, how completely their owners have taken possession of them!”

Oh, honey. Hon. Please. I can’t keep being so uncomfortable watching you. Do you care nothing for meeee? Okay. It boils down to this: Whatever you’re on, you need to share it with me so I can watch you in a similar blissed-out incoherent haze.

Just now, with the Top 5. Two songs each. One hour to do it. They do one round, all five stand on stage for comments at the end of that round, then it’s on to round two. Fine. They’re up against the clock tonight. Randy goes down the line of five, giving quick comments. No problem.

Then Poorla.

She starts with Jason. She says something like, “Your first song — I loved hearing your lower register … you know …. and then your second song (which he hasn’t sung yet, mind you) was lacking your usual charm …. I think … ave maria … mondo dogface …. peaches ‘n’ herb ….”

No one speaks; she rambles on. Awkward. So awkward.

You can literally hear every sphincter in that room slam shut. I mean, I’m pretty sure that I heard that very thing. Onstage, Ryan’s face is frozen: “Whaaaa???” Everyone is clearly thinking, “What in blessed tarnation is going on here?” I mean, I’m pretty sure I heard some li’l tweener yell that very thing. Finally, mercifully, Simon barks, “Poorla. All right. Which one was your favorite?” Slowly — oh so slowly — it dawns on her they haven’t sung the second song yet.

Out of nowhere, a team from Animal Control swarms and drags her away.

I mean, I’m pretty sure I saw that very thing.