If there's one thing the SJG believes in, it's the laws of kina hora. I say it many times a day. It's the "knock on wood" that defines my existence. This week alone I've said the following: "God willing, you'll get a nice job and it will all work out, kina hora poo poo poo." (to the future San Franciscan.) "Thank God the accident wasn't worse and you weren't hurt, kina hora poo poo poo." (to the youngest who got rear-ended on Monday.)
How things backfire: The other day, I gloated about the rebuilding of SJG Lane and now, all work has stopped. I forgot to say "kina hora." See what happens when you tamper with the laws of kina hora? They bite you in the tuchus.
And so, on the rarest of rare occasions when the planets align and something good might actually happen for me, professionally, I am scared to put a kina hora on it. I keep quiet. I share with a few friends, I tell my family, and that's it... until it becomes real. This is how my father raised me, with plenty of proof to back up his claim. I refer you to the hundreds of clippings from Variety he shoved in a plastic bag for safekeeping, just so I could wade through them decades later and figure out why exactly he saved them. Somewhere on the page, I'd find a mention. "Ben Starr jets to New York." "Ben Starr is back from New York." Along with this exciting news, would be mention of some project. "So and so has optioned Ben Starr's 'Quote Unquote'... to be produced on Broadway." That didn't happen. See? Epic kina hora. In print yet!
When Hallmark Channel put my 4th of July romantic comedy into development, I said 800 kina horas daily. TV projects fall through a lot. I refer you to my entire career. Things go into development and out of development every time an executive passes gas. (Did I just say that? Oh well, it was nice being briefly employed.) There's the outline stage, which lasts for many months. Then there's the first draft stage, the second draft stage, and the I've-lost-count-what-draft-this-is stage. At any moment, the whole thing could implode and then where are you? Nowhere good, that's where. The more people you tell, the more people want to know how it's going, and then you have to own up to yet another letdown. "Yeah, that didn't work out."
But miracle of miracles, this time, it did work out, and considering the crazy year I've had, getting to work on a fun TV movie with nice people was a gift that kept me sane. And now, the movie I called "Oh Say You Can See?" will air June 28th as "When Sparks Fly." God willing, you'll remember to record it in your language of choice, and you'll like it... kina hora poo poo poo.
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| Christopher Jacot and Meghan Markle watch the fireworks in "When Sparks Fly" |
Hi, SJG/Carol!
ReplyDeleteI just read your “Camp Girl” blog dated July 21, 2012. I enjoyed, read that as loved, every word. Here’s my story, and why I love both your wonderful writing style as well as the subject of your post: Camp Akela.
I’m spending a few days right now in Big Bear with the same gal I went to Grant High School with, Robin Steinhardt. My name is Rick Stambul. While up here in Big Bear I discovered the old Camp (Akela) on Fox Farm Road. My parents first dumped me at Camp Akela in 1955 at the ripe old age of 8. I spent 2 months at Camp Akela in 1955, and the same every year after that (with one exception) through the summer of 1960. Actually, the “chief” of the camp then was Bill Green, a high school teacher at Beverly Hills High School...we called him “Uncle Bill.” His wife’s name was Duchess, and she didn’t say much. Iron Bow was Uncle Bill’s right hand man and ran the camp, day to day. In the ‘50’s the counselor’s were men like Bullet, Flip (Iron Bow’s brother or relative), Glaze, and so on. The old buildings where Bill and Duchess lived atop the mess hall where we ate our meals, are still standing, and in use. The road up to the Boy’s cabins is rundown, overgrown, but right there. The grounds are locked but you can see in a bit if you pull up the short driveway. What a ride down memory lane. I could imagine the Olympic size swimming pool; baseball field; archery targets; dark rooms; horse stalls for riding; rifle range; all of it. And then when I got back to our cabin in Big Bear, I googled Camp Akela, and found your wonderful blog about MY camp. Wow!
I have many of the memories you recall so vividly, and relate with such elegance. What wonderful childhood memories. And here’s my favorite Camp Akela story from those years (No, not the panty raids; Sunday morning spiritual service in the woods; camp fire with stories told late a night; skim milk (the bain of my young existence); the penny arcade we went to once a week in Big Bear; etc.
It was Uncle Bill who taught us what was important in life, and what was not. Uncle Bill taught by example. When he felt he was in the right, he was fearless. My back story: He is one of the reasons I served in Mississippi in 1964 in what is now called, Freedom Summer, helping to register Black voters, setting up Freedom Schools, and serving as a foot soldier in the Civil Rights movement. It started early in 1955 when our entire world was so different. Woolworth’s on Van Nuys Blvd. (near the Rivoli theater) refused to serve Black people at their lunch counter.
In January of 1955 Bill was approached by a high school principal asking that his 3 children (Claudia Cummings (about 13); Craig Cummings (about 8 or 9); and their younger sister whose name I can’t recall right now, be allowed to attend camp. Why was this so special? Because Uncle Bill said, “Yes!” Why was this decision daring; ethically right; and a life lesson everyone should remember? Because Claudia, Craig, their entire family were African-Americans (Negroes back then). Bill ran the very real risk that his new camp wouldn’t have anyone return the next year. The U.S. Supreme Court landmark desegregation case, Brown v. Board of Education, was barely 1 year old. Craig became my best friend that summer. We were inseparable. I’ve tried to find him over the years without success. That’s what I remember most about Bill Green and Camp Akela.
Thank you!
Kina hora thought it meant give someone hell...as in "he gave me alot of kina hora"
ReplyDeleteI hope you know that "kina hora" means "so there will *not* be an evil eye"? The original hebrew was "Ki ayn ayin ha-ra". You can't "put a kina hora on it" by praising something without spitting; your praise is instead supposedly attracting the attention of demons, who are then putting an evil eye on it. And your spitting prevents it (supposedly) because demons hate spit for some reason.
ReplyDeleteSorry for being nitpicky, but that's who I am, nitpicky.
Can I send you a video of my Mother-In-Law finding out my daughter who'd suffered miscarriage showing her the ultrasound? MIL cried- then instantly- Shaena, don't tell anybody- Shaena immediately grasping she was in for the Kina hora speech?https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73U3hktowjg
ReplyDelete