Category: Life

  • Oh, That’s How I Got Here

    A good thing happened this morning, which was that the 2022/2023 school year calendar was released. It is an event that I need to happen so we could plan our summer and fall.

    And that was also the moment that I confirmed to myself that I am a different person from the one who moved to NYC in 2006. It’s been sixteen years; I would hope that I would change some. I would hate to think that almost two decades would go by and I would be a stagnate individual.

    But as I got out of the subway at 96th to walk over to the Trader Joe’s, I did spend a second thinking about that guy who got off a plan in Newark, and what he hoped to accomplish, and why he didn’t accomplish it.

    When I moved, I had been out of college for five years, and had a very modest bit of succus in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area theatre scene through acting and directing. I was moving to New York to continue that pursuit, which I did. I acted in a few very little things, and directed a play here and there. And as all of that was happening, I feel in with a crowd of puppeteers, and really started getting inspired by that work. I had some pretty respectable successes in that line of work, earned some real money as a performer, did some really great work on some amazing productions, and made some really great friends. And while that was going on, I feel in love and got married, and started a family. I started working and running rehearsal studios, and then wanted to try my hand at arts admin. I can admit now that arts admin wasn’t right for me. Maybe it was the companies I worked for, maybe it was me, but the bottom line is that it wasn’t the right fit. And now, I take care of my daughter and support my wife’s career. I doodle pictures, and work at writing. It’s not where I thought I would be, but I’m also not unhappy either.

    Things change. Attitudes change. Ambitions and desires change. The only constant in life is change.

    I always thought I was one of those people whose life was a straight as an arrow path, such as I knew what I wanted to do. But looking back at the last twenty years, it’s been anything but.

    I am a guy who looks forward to school year calendars.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • It’s Time to Cut Stuff Out

    So, ah, I have been going to the gyp for four months now. Not a whole lot has changed. I have dropped 8 pounds, and my legs look toned and muscular. Outside of that, nothing has changed.

    In fact, I went out shopping this weekend to buy some new shorts, and I had to move up to the 32″ waist. Yup, in four months, my stomach got bigger.

    So, something is outta wack.

    My belly, is a beer belly. Or, if you are trying to be cute, one might call it a Dad Bod, but that sounds gross and icky and trying too hard to be trendy. I have a beer and ice cream belly. To be specific, it is a bourbon and ginger ale, and late night ice cream beer belly. I have to admit that I have two habits that are working against me.

    It’s June, which is a month that I normally take off from drinking, so that will be an easy adjustment. But, I need to start to look at my relationship with drinking. Ask the hard questions as to why I do it, what am I getting out of it, and is it masking something that I don’t want to deal with. Those are tough, and serious questions.

    The ice cream, on the other hand is an easy one. I am a late night snacker. I like to raid the fridge before I go to bed, and being that we are about to start summer, I have been buying a lot of ice cream. Most of it is ending up in my stomach, which then attaches to my stomach. I mean, I do have some other bad eating habits if I am being honest, but the ice cream really is the crown jewel of my gluttony. Sure, the roots of my drinking might be deep and dark, and deserve real introspection, but the reason for ice cream is easy; it tastes good and makes me feel really good. Sure, my family sees me drinking, but the ice cream is a secret that only happens when I am alone late at night watching old movies or MST3k.

    The point here people, if I want to see more results, and actually get to feeling better, which is still alluding me, then I need to make some additional changes to my health, and admit that I need to cut some things out.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • ODDS and ENDS: Kids are Back, Doomsday DJ, and Protect Kids and Not Guns

    (Is that a flying pig in the sky?)

    I have started watching The Kids in the Hall’s new season in Amazon. As with all of these nostalgia reboots of stuff from the 80’s and 90’s, some fall rather flat, and leave you wondering why it needed to be rebooted in the first place. (Looking at you Fresh Prince.) First of all, I don’t think The Kids in the Hall are a reboot, as it feels like a solid continuation of the original show. Second, The Kids are just as biting and internal as they have ever been. Yes, they are older, but that alt/punk subversive vibe is still there. Their humor was never topical, and their best stuff always had to do with the relationship between characters.

    Which brings me to “Doomsday DJ” a darkly humorous bleak sketch with just Dave Foley and Melanie’s 1971 hit “Brand New Key.” Though the sketch, which is in three parts and the clip is only the first, takes place in a world where DNA bombs have fallen and destroyed just about everybody on the planet, it has an eerie present feeling to it. Was the sketch’s creation influenced by the Trump years and Covid isolation? Clearly, yes. But man, Foley’s expression of desperation and loss with his eyes becoming unfocused, only to snap back to reality to do his “job” on the radio. I think everyone can relate to a similar feeling during the lockdown, watching tv on the couch, and wondering, “Is this really how it will all end?” The Kids tapped into a zeitgeist in the culture that I don’t think anyone has been able to express correctly. I know I said above that they don’t do topical jokes, and I hold to that, because the joke here is the internal struggle of the character to continue in the face of ultimate doom. Amazingly, we all know what that feels like, and now we see you can make fun of it.

    Protect Kids and Not Guns.

    Protect Kids and Not Guns.

    Protect Kids and Not Guns.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • ODDS and ENDS: Tottenham One Last Time, Sarah Sherman is Damn Funny, and Naps

    (things happen, and i talk about it)

    It’s the end of the Premiere League season, and yes, it does actually come down to the final matches. Lucky for me and the Tottenham loyal, with Arsenal’s loss to Newcastle, Spurs are sitting in the driver seat of their own destiny. All Tottenham has to do is win or tie against Norwich on Sunday. Lowly Norwich is at the very bottom of the table, doom to be relegated back to the Championship League. This would imply that Spurs should have this in the bag, and I for one, totally do not believe that. If sports have taught me anything, it’s that the last placed team can play like champions on the last game of the season. But if for some reason Tottenham does win or tie on Sunday, then I am quite positive that Harry Kane and Conte will both be receiving huge contracts in the off season. And I have never been wrong about this team.

    Sarah Sherman is my favorite new person on Saturday Night Live. I only found out about her last September when SNL announced its new cast, and as a lark, I looked her up. Sarah Sherman also goes by Sarah Squirm, which I started following on Instagram, and I have been enthralled with her. She’s weird and quirky, and funny, and has this whole sense of style that is unlike anyone. Her work on SNL this season has been a complete standout, and she carries herself like she’s been on the show for years. Go hunt her out, and pay attention.

    I’m going to take a nap.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • A Night of Theatre and Being Out

    Last night, I went to see my friends in a puppet show. It was titled SORRY ABOUT THE WEATHER and was performed at HERE, as part of their PUPPETOPIA puppet fest. I loved the show, but my view might be a little biased. Sure, it was a puppet show, I love puppet shows, and it was created and performed by my friends. The subject of the piece is about a woman with dementia, and is an “interpretation of what is in her weather mind.” It’s also about losing a loved one to a disease, which struck a deep chord with me. I found myself reliving the feelings I had during that week in hospice, slowly watching my mother slip away in a haze of painkillers, only to become a husk of a vital person that she was. It made me admit again that there are issues of her passing that I still need to uncover and unpack.

    After the show, I got to see my friends and talk to them briefly. The last time I saw them was back in September 2018 when we did a puppet show together, and I missed being in their presence. It was a nice chance to have a hug, and say it was nice to see you, and to have contact again with people. For such a bittersweet melancholy show, it was a nice that I got to visit with them, and have an honest fulfilling smile as I made my way out of the theatre.

    And this was an evening for me. The wife and the kid were having a mother/daughter night, so dad could go out, and have a break. So, I walked up Hudson Street with this crazy idea that I would go to The White Horse Tavern, as it was a writer’s hang out, and good ol’ Jack Kerouac got kicked out of the joint so often that it was a joke to tell him to go home. But what I thought would be a low-key Wednesday night turned out to be a very happening night in the West Village. All the restaurants were full, as were the bars, and there was no room at the tavern for me.

    But, it didn’t bother me, as I was happy to be out in the City again. Sure, I was in a rich, swanky part of the City, and not exactly my crowd, yet there were people out and walking and talking and it was good to see, or I guess, remind myself of what I liked about the City. It was a pleasant not too warm Spring evening, with conversations floating around and bumping into each other, not unlike the people standing and waiting to get a table or seat at the joint they were in front of.

    What I did was make my way back to the subway, and headed for Harlem. I knew that the chance of me getting seat at one of my local bars was better. And I was right. I was able to camp at a corner seat, so I could watch the Mav’s get crushed by Golden State, and I could also hear a guy complain about his job to the bartender. I had my beer and a bourbon neat, and the windows were open in the place, so the sounds of the City could come in. A nice reminder why I like living in this place.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)