Blog

  • Can’t Get an Idea to Stick (Unedited)

    I have been working since this morning, and I can’t get an idea to stuck for the blog.

    I have summer on the brain, and I can’t get myself to focus.

    And this is a cop-out of a blog, in case you weren’t sure.

    I can’t write, so I write about not being able to write.

    I should make a category for this posts.

    The other thing that becomes apparent on days like this is that I don’t do enough pre-planning for blog posts. I do them day of, most of the time, and when moments like this occur, I feel like I got caught with my pants down.

    Long ago, I tried writing ahead, so I could give myself windows of time off. I should revisit that plan.

    Since I am throwing in the towel for today at 3:14pm, I might just state what I have been doing while trying to come up with a blog idea.

    1. I went shopping for journals with my daughter.
    2. I read the Wikipedia page on Watergate.
    3. I have been following all of my writer and actor friend’s social media posts to see when the SAG-AFTRA strike is going to start.
    4. For lunch, I got falafel sandwiches for the family.
    5. Finished my Summer Playlist
    6. I took a nap.
    7. I read some flash fiction.

    Now, I’m about to take the kid to the local pool as it is summer and hot as shit out. Thus will end my writing portion of the day.

    At least I got 262 words in.

  • The Feels Rollercoaster

    The last couple of years have been a rough go for most of us. I’m not taking a huge leap with that idea, I know. Covid threw everyone for a loop, changed the ways of the world, brought up many issues people had to deal with, and I will also say that on the whole, we are all living in a Post-Covid world now.

    For me, this dark period of life started in 2018 with my mother’s death. She felt a lump in her throat in July, and passed away in October. Three months isn’t necessarily a short period of time, but it still feels like it all happened in the blink of an eye. I’m still dealing with her passing, and probably will forever, but I do know that I am in a better place about it.

    There are many things that can be said about losing a parent, and have been said many times over and over. What I found was that nothing brought me joy or happiness. I was sad all of the time. Not depressed, or withdrawn – just sad. And this sadness was always just below the surface, and if I felt anything too much – laughed too hard, or lost myself in a movie or a song – then I would start crying. And I would allow it to happen, and it felt cathartic, but it also made me feel like I was unhinged, and not in control. I knew I needed to mourn my mother, but I also needed to go to work, and take care of my kid, and that was important too.

    When Covid hit, I still wasn’t in a good place, but I was functional. It was a little strange to be isolated from everyone, but our little family unit clung together. I found that my marriage actually got stronger, and I enjoyed being with my wife all the time. And getting to spend so much time with my kid – playing and teaching her how to read – is a treasured gift that I am so fortunate I was able to take part in. Not that we all didn’t have moments where we needed our space, or got on each other’s nerves; we are human.

    And as 2023 started, I started feeling good again. And I started acknowledging that I had changed. I’m not the same person that I was in 2018. It was tough, but I had to admit that I am no longer a theatre artist or a puppeteer. That was a tough one, as that is how I had thought of myself since 2000, all the way back in college. For the last five years, I hadn’t done a show, and I didn’t have a desire to go back. Same thing with my career in arts management. Though I know I don’t want to go back to it, I also know that I do have some anger with the way I was treated in my last two jobs, and I need to take responsibility for the way I behaved as well. That’s an issue I am still working on.

    What I have changed into is a stay at home dad; that’s my role in the family. It took me a bit of time to come around to it. There is still a pull in me to go get a job, as it is stuck in my head that the only “real” way to contribute to my family is by bringing in money. There is a good chance that I will do that, or need to do that in the near future, but as of now – I got a kid, a home, and a financial future that I am responsible for.

    But I still have to do something creative, which is what you are seeing/reading right now. I have always written something – in a journal since high school, plays, an article for a rock zine, college lit journal, and several on and off blogs. There was a five-year period after high school when I tried my hand at getting published, but other that a handwritten from an editor at STORY Magazine telling me to “keep at it, don’t get discouraged,” nothing ever came of it. This blog that you are reading now, was started back in 2017, back at the tail end of my performing days, so writing has always been hanging around in my life. Sure, in the middle of the Pandemic, I had this crazy notion that I was going to “earn money” through writing… And I have re-assessed this idea. If it happens – great! But I am not counting on it. I’m writing because it makes me feel good, gives me a purpose, and is something to work at that is for me. And right now, that’s what I need most in my life.

    Like I said, with all of these changes, I started feeling good about myself, my place in the world. I started feeling grateful for the like I share with my wife, and kid, my family and my friends. I have a good life – filled my struggles – but it is a good life that I am proud of.

    And then I saw a picture. It was a simple, picture of seven people standing in front of a theatre upstate. One of the people in the picture was a friend of mine, who got tagged in the shot, and it was from an organization that he was working for this summer developing a new theatre piece that involved mime and physical theatre – all the stuff I used to do.

    And that picture made me feel like shit. I was shocked at how awful I felt by looking at it. I wasn’t upset with my friend, nor was I jealous of what he was doing, as he’s been taking part in camp, workshops, and art commune things like this since I met him. I felt like shit looking at that picture because the thought that crept into my head was, “That could have been you if you didn’t quit.” I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had given up on myself, and that nothing mattered.

    I feel that I have a normal level of anxiety and self-doubt. Normal level meaning that I have to work to overcome my anxiety and self-doubt, but it is never so great to keep me from getting out of bed in the morning, or to stop me from trying. But this feeling was more like I had wasted my life – that I could have been doing the cool stuff, creating works of art. That I was just one step away from it, and I was the loser who quit.

    And it was like all the progress that I had made over the past year – working through my mom’s passing, my new role in my family, leaving my career, and working on a new form of expression – was meaningless. It had the added effect of making me feel totally alone and isolated. One picture triggered all of that in me.

    You have to make a choice in a moment like that, and I did what any healthy, well balanced person does – I ate potato chips on the couch while playing video games trying very hard to act like I didn’t feel what I felt. Because I felt ashamed at who I am, and for trying to grow into something else.

    But it passed – all those feels. It passed because I talked to my wife about it. It passed because I took my kid to the community pool on a hot Summer day in Harlem, and we swam and talked about music and going away to camp. It passed because I talked to my partner about it, and it passed because I spent time with my daughter – the person I am trying to better myself for.

    It passed but it still lingers in my mind. It’s there because I still need to take the time and mourn the passing of who I used to be. That’s not to say that I won’t find my way back to a theatre, but if I do return, I won’t be the same person doing it for that old reason. It lingers because I am human, and I will always wonder to some degree if I made the right choice. I wish I was so completely confidant in my decisions that I never look back. That’s not me, and I know that about myself.

    I know a few more things about myself now, that I didn’t know awhile ago. It’s progress. I am happier, and that is a win.

  • My Parents’ Music

    My parents were pretty middle of the road Midwestern Americans. They were in the vanguard of Baby Boomers released on this country, and what that means is that they were more Beatnik and Folk Music, rather than Hippie and Rock and Roll, which is what most people associate with Boomers. They built a very normal and respectable middle-class life for themselves and me and my brothers. No complaints on my end. The older I get, the more appreciate that my folks were stable, dependable, and loving parents. No flying off the handle, or strange flights of fancy or obsession came out of them.

    But they really loved disco music. They never went to a disco to dance to that music; just played the albums all the time. On the weekends, my folks like to put music on after lunch and throughout the afternoon until dinner. The one album they went back to often for their disco fix was the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. I heard “Night on Disco Mountain” more times than I would like to remember.

    As I am putting my Summer Playlist together, Disco is taking a big lead. And each time I go looking for a Barry White song, or for Alicia Bridges, I started getting the feeling for being seven or eight years old, laying in front of my parents stereo turntable and listening to these songs, and albums. That same driving drum beat, and funky bass jumping all over the place. I mean, everyone made a disco album; from the Stones to KISS. And I think my parents had quite a few of them… Except the KISS album. My mother hated KISS.

    It’s been fun discovering all of these songs that have stuck with me, buried deep in the back of my head, after they were planted there close to forty years ago.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Summer Playlist, Ringo, and Rejected

    (It’s just a jump to the left…)

    Our Summer Road Trippin’ is about to start. The thrill of leaving the City is building in me, as I use my Magical Thinking to forget about how awful traffic is on I-95. (Anywhere on I-95, it’s bad.) And with the road trips comes a friendly competition between the wife and me – Who Can Come Up with The Better Playlist? First of all, there never is a winner – it’s more like an exhibition, a “friendly” so the speak, than a competition. The rule of the contest is that the list needs to be 3+ hours long (we are driving after all) and needs to loosely tie into the theme of Summer/Travel/Vacation or getting away. We do repeat songs from year to year, and occasionally we do have the same song on our lists. (Harry Styles and Paul Simon are the frequent repeated artists.) This year, we have added a rule, which is we need to accommodate some of the songs our daughter likes. She’s beginning to form her own strong opinions on music, and we want her to feel that she has a say in all of this. My lists can be rock and grunge heavy, but this year I want to work in more 70’s funk. Oh, and the Tom Tom Club will have a prominent spot this year.

    Today is Ringo Stars birthday, if you didn’t know.

    I got a rejection notice at 2:22am last night. A bit of an odd hour, but I guess lit journals don’t keep banker’s hours. The magazine had my submission for four months, which is a normal amount of time to hold one of my stories before saying no. I saw that rejection right before I went to bed, and it did put me in an off mood. Not bad, or angry, just off. Off in the sense that I don’t know what’s right anymore. The rejection didn’t stop me from falling asleep, or from getting up and getting back at it today. Yet, I wondered; who was the person who was up at 2:22am this morning? Did the rejection email have to go out at 2:22am? It couldn’t wait until the start of the work day? If this person was up at 2:22am, then that makes me think we have some things in common; we both like staying up late, and working into the wee hours. I salute you, this person who is most likely a volunteer reader or intern for the magazine. I hope you got some sleep, as I will be submitting to you again soon.

  • What We Can Learn from “THE IDOL”

    (SPOLIERS but really, does it matter…)

    First of all, I’m not here to pick apart this show. IF somehow you missed it, THE IDOL is a show on HBO with a five-episode run. The show is about the music industry in Los Angles, and stars The Weeknd (Abel Tesfaye) and Lilly-Rose Depp. If you do a search, you’ll find out that it’s not good. But, depending on how you view “bad” tv, you could either find it maddingly self-indulgent with a side of pointlessness, or an entertainingly hot mess of a dumpster fire. (I’m in the dumpster fire category.) I’m not here to bemoan the quality of the show as a whole, as there are many, and I mean MANY, other and much better TV critics who have taken this show to task.

    What I am here to single out and applauded is quite possibly the greatest demonstration of Third Act Narrative Exposition I have ever seen in all of my life. I will be SPOILING episode 5 of THE IDOL. You have been warned!

    To give you the set up – Jocelyn (Lilly-Rose Depp) has kicked Tedros (Abel Tesfaye) out of her home and life, all the while stealing his cast of singers. She then asks her manager Chaim (Hank Azaria) to “pay off” Tedros and “get rid of him.” Then the scene jumps ahead six weeks, and we are at So-Fi Stadium in Los Angeles during sound check for Jocelyn’s world tour which is about to kick off with Tedros cast of singers as the opening act. High up in the empty stands, Chaim is talking to Andrew (Eli Roth) a Live Nation executive, and Nikki (Jane Adams) a record label executive. It is the dialogue between these characters, and the effort put forth by these actors that (Chef’s Kiss) needs to be taught in screenwriting, and acting classes.

    First, the dialogue; it is a train wreck. See, as the narrative has jumped ahead six weeks, a lot has happened that the audience doesn’t know about. Well, don’t worry, Chaim, Andrew, and Nikki will tell us all about it. These three characters stand there and have a “Hey, remember what happened…” conversation, which is so clunky, unnatural sounding, and utilitarian, for it only has one function; to tell us what happened to Jocelyn and especially Tedros. The dialogue feels desperate to get the information to us, like the scene was born out of frustration because no one could come up with a better way to impart the narrative developments. Now, I say this should be taught because, as this show is a visual medium, it’s better to show rather than tell. What we are given are empty words that have no dramatic weight behind them, and the scene gotten through rather than enjoyed.

    But more importantly, the effort put forth by Azaria, Roth and Adams to make this amateurish dialogue seem natural and relevant is nothing short of Herculean. I can only imagine that when these actors were handed the script for this scene, that they had to have known. All three of these actors have impressive credits in productions with great directors and writers; they know what good writing is. But they did it – just went for it. “Damn the torpedoes! I’m committing to the line!” Honestly, I’m not surprised. These are three professional actors. They are getting paid to do a job, and they did their job. And that’s why every acting teacher in America needs to pull out this scene, make their students watch it, and then say to the students, “That is how you commit to a scene!”

    Yeah… THE IDOL is not good – I don’t think I’m breaking any ground here in saying that. But even in bad art, lessons can be learned, and entertainment can be gained. The scene starts at the 50:00 mark. You know, so you can queue it up for your enjoyment, or your class.