improv yourself.

Though the statistic is being disputed in an upcoming book, it's often said that fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce. I'm not certain which direction that author's research will put the magic number, but I certainly would go up with the offer given how many divorced, divorcing, and divorceable folks I personally know. I even know one couple who hit the judges chambers on the matter just yesterday morning.

I've been there, done that, and got my passport stamped. Mine is nearly three years old at this point. I have noted how we types all seem to flock together, or at least that's the coincidence in my circle of friends. Every Saturday night spent at our favorite pub finds my divorcee wife and I rubbing elbows with a consistent cycle of them. She and I have recently celebrated our one year anniversary. Our nuptials were stacked to the gills with folks who've filed and moved on to greener pastures.

The bright and colorful mystical land of splendor is one possible outcome, but I know a few people who've let the untying of the knot become the bane of their existence, and the source of evermore bitterness. I don't know which is worse, becoming embroiled in the long prison sentence of a stagnant toxin infested marriage or never getting over it. For some it creates intense cynicism and avoidance of relationships of all kinds, for some a continued cycle of the bevy of unresolved issues that marred the previous situation, and for others it allows for unbridled freedom and personal choice.

The key features of an intimate relationship that seem to surface again and again within our culture seem to rely on expectations of overwhelming hard work, petty jealousies, and suggestions that maybe you don't even enjoy your spouse/partner. If these things are true than move the hell on. There's no solid ground to build anything on. It's an emotional sinkhole with no feasible positive result.

The answer is simple, and it comes from an unlikely source: the stage. Sometimes a theatre game, and sometimes the main event, improvisation is a challenging diversion for an actor attempting to hone their skills. Memorizing lines in a script is often the easy part, but going off book and just going with the flow and focusing on the here and now takes far more skill.

The first rule of improv is to never say 'no'. No closes down everything about the scene. It puts up walls for the conversation being conveyed, the joke being set up, or the story that is being told. It grinds the gears to a half. The energy, wit, and creativity of even the weakest playtime improv ceases with answers in the negatory. There's nowhere to go.

The same can be said for relationships. The ground rules of, dare I say, traditional relationships is rife for the planting of the big ol' flag of NO. There simply must be nothing more enjoyable than to limit your partner or yourself from partaking of what life has to offer. This is why marriage, especially, gets a really bad rap. I think it's because most are too foolish and abiding to live it on their own terms, and with freedom, exploration, and a wingin' it regard to what they should do instead of what they truly wanna do. Don't try to control it, don't schedule it, don't set yourself up to fail. Set yourself up to win every single day.

photo finish.

The freaks come out at night 

-Whodini, 1984.

They are everywhere. It becomes even more apparent as the sun goes down. Around every corner, like some sort of stock footage from a James Whale film from the 1930's. Harsh shadows and chiaroscuro emitting from intense low-key lighting. This neo-human race is addicted to their pocket lining lives.

Although I've been providing bus loads of locals with them for years, I only recently took the plunge into the whole smartphone game. Their whole presence seemed to interfere with common direct, daily interaction with others, as every few minutes of seemingly normal connection would become interrupted by a technological commercial break, a phenomena one of my good friends refers to as phone time. For a while it seemed like something I could do without, but I too caved or, as one could attest, caught up to the new evolution of our species.

The cultural edict of today that flushes with so-called smart technology is the need to personalize everything. In the process of marking my territory and mentally pissing all over this new device, I kept coming face-to-face with a bit of a nemesis: Instagram.

Instagram. For some time my initial thoughts were, oh great, look everyone's a photographer now. Take your garbage pictures, then pimp them out to within an inch of their life, using editing tools to give the distinct impression that you've actually got some talent. I know this is territorial snap judgment of artists who are overwhelmed with examples of having less and less meaning in the world, when it appears everyone can do what you do.

I have felt this in the past within all of the things that I value about myself, whether as an artist, a writer, a lover, a man ... or so forth. I know it comes from my childhood, when nothing was ever good enough for the masters of the house. I know it comes from being the quiet one, the reserved one, the one that few have 'gotten' over time and who would define me in those precise, inaccurate ways. I didn't spring from a particularly positive, encouraging environment, but one built on fear, paranoia, and sadness, so I suppose one shouldn't be too surprised what hurdles have existed.

As a kid, I was given the impression that our culture was created from specialists, from well trained, apprenticed folks whose last names echoed their lot in life. As our culture has matured into the twenty-first century it has grown apparent with the expansion of the internet as the key resource in most households that everyone can quickly become an expert in anything. There was once was a time when one actually had to hire a photographer. Now everyone IS one.

Through the nineties there was a big push in Hollywood, by the likes of auteur Martin Scorsese to make sure that the home versions of classic and contemporary films were being properly restored and seen in full widescreen format. I still hear to this day complaints from people about the black bars on the TV, denoting the complete aspect is being maintained.

Simultaneously a perk and a drawback of Instagram is the fact that the final images are perfect squares, so the best part of your pics are seen, which can easily remove key content from your image.

There's a major difference between the photography one might frame above their fireplace in their living room, and the slew of madness that shows up on any given page of this techno application. To a point this is the made for television version of photography. What I have resolved is that Instagram is not photography, in the clear sense of the word. It's a whole other pop art form, a Polaroid instant camera for the current generation. As it's entirely a public space, it's Polaroid without all of the mystique and secrecy. And dammit, if I'm not addicted to it now.

anti hero

HIATUS
a gap or passage in an anatomical part of organ.

The anatomy lesson reads like so: opinions are like assholes. Everyone's got one.

AMC's highly regarded Breaking Bad ended its run last night. I have no input on the matter. I never saw more than a scene or two from it, thanks to promos here and there on awards shows and about the internet. My dark, twisty, anti-hero show of choice, Dexter, ran it's course the week before. I tend to keep my eyes off boards of this sort or another, especially as they relate to television programs.

Dexter's swan song was different, however. I couldn't get away from heavy handed remarks made by friends on their Facebook pages. And by that, I mean downright mean, uncharacteristic, and at times judgmental commentaries. The nifty hide and block features allow for a smoother road trip, but without these sort of personal designations the internet is rampant with unchecked aggression. We are overly inundated. Since everyone has a forum of one sort of other, it seems many people would prefer to simply yell the harshest, loudest thing possible to gain notice.

HIATUS
an interruption in time or continuity.

I have been on a lengthy hiatus from this forum on which I have been known to unload etchings of my lizard brain from time to time. Writing, like most pursuits, have consequences for absence. It is all too easy to lose the habit of it, allowing any number of other things to take precedence. I have a lot of almost books and other such material ferreted away that represent dropping the proverbial ball.

After a viewing of the surprisingly effective and engaging biopic Hitchcock, I caught a forty year old interview with the man himself in an appearance on the Dick Cavett Show. Essentially making reference to all art forms, he stated how he is always in the midst of directing. It's simply a part of his being. I can relate to that in a variety of ways.

I've been over this territory before, but I will decree here and now that there's no such thing as writer's block. That's not why I didn't post in here. I haven't been without words, or without expression, I've simply been putting all of that energy to better use elsewhere.

muscle flex

There are a few distinct tribes of people with whom I have relationships.

The most obvious to me are the ones to which I feel the most commonality, and who have been explored the most consistently during the course of this blog, so it should come as little surprise when I reference them. They come with very little introduction, and often very little cash. They are the ARTY TYPES.

The second group of people sound a bit like some carnival of artists' side project experiment. These subjects are given high likelihood to wrecking havoc, having it drenched upon them, or seek out the worst possible response to a difficulty in order to create future episodes of misery they can weep about in overwrought prose on social media. These are the DRAMATICS.

Then there's the third. It's the place either of these types go when they're done with all of their playing around. They leave behind all of their lofty hopes and dreams, and all of their sleeping around and fucking things up royally for a life of the expected basics, and little hope for the future but the vicarious thrills that come from their crazy friends and so-dubbed precocious spawn as they wax poetic about the old days. These are the SELL-OUTS.

Yeah, I know. This is a brash generalization, but even still, you have been quickly able to pick someone you know who'd fit in one or the other category. What about yourself, though? Why is it that we often know others better than we know ourselves?

Now that I've ferreted my way out of the seventy-five hour work weeks, running a retail mart for a company to whom I have a hate-hate involvement, I can set back to some good ol' soul searching. Getting caught up living someone else's life, even if it's one determined at distance via channels of policy and overly measured purpose overtakes so many parts of your sense of self. At least that's the threat.

Let the type of person you are, and the type of person you want to be act as a gauge for what muscles you work out.

be longing

STATICECLECTICISM is an on-line handle I have been carrying around for some time. I chose it based on the title of this brief bit of free form poetry I wrote to a kindred spirit of mine in November of 1998. I found myself attached to it as a secondary identity, because to me it spoke to a desire to be outside of norms and as a reminder to be ever evolving.

For me, creation sprouts from the culling together of many varied elements, whether dream, experience, memory, experimentation, research, synchronicity, or simply blind luck. Yet to remain static within endless possibilities addresses much larger concepts for me. I find that art without obstacles is rarely created and certainly quickly forgotten.

Boundaries can only be pushed when there is resistance and life is barely lived without challenge.

blame less

I didn't do it.

I inherited a ship of fools nearly two months ago. Just as personality clashes and mental tensions were becoming unbearable at the Ghetto Shack, I was offered a vaguely spelled-out store manager position at the Brigadoon Shack. Due to its proximity to my home and its distance from all sorts of malicious intent that were urging me postal, I decided to accept. Flight or fight mode was triggered, and I took the leap.

The highers knew I had put in for extended time off for my wedding and honeymoon when I said I'd give the captain's wheel a spin. The first couple weeks were a grand assessment and overhaul period. The longest there had survived the asshole control freak manager and the kickin' back playing games on his phone manager, so my vibe was something new. They were not used to someone who actually worked, got things done, and expected them to as well. But they also were putting up their fight against change.

I left the store like a teacher would leave the place for a substitute teacher, with detailed assignments and expectations. It was a gamble. And unfortunately the dependability of the whole crew as well as the local managers I asked to oversee can easily be questioned. When I arrived back, it barely looked like I had been there in the first place. I checked in with everyone about their progress through their tasks - that they never signed off on, despite my clarity - and fault was thrown around every which way.

(225)

act two

The more you are motivated by love,
the more fearless & free your action will be.
◊ Dalai Lama XIV

The last show I directed premiered one year ago, last night. Each and every aspect was a struggle and a fight, that left me longing for a different venue, another collection of board members, and some goddamned dignity. The core group of artists who did ultimately wage the waves with me without jumping ship command my utmost respect.

For a short time, I contemplated submitting a show for the theatre's consideration. Over the past nine months, in fact, I was asked time and again: Are you doing anything next season? What are you directing next? What's your next show? I thought about submitting something partially out of habit and mainly out of yearning to spray my creative juices all over something else.

After the mistreatment the general populace of the behind-the-scenes hacks offered the brilliant piece of theatre I assembled last time out, it appeared the only way to garner their attention and notice was to play it straight and way too safe. It seemed that grit and perversity were much too worrisome for their little minds to take on.

I thought about a few shows that their high school esteem could cheerlead behind that I could likewise add my own particular brand of spice to. I also had my moments of fuck-all, as I reconsidered shows like the unsettling 1979 work, Bent or anything that no one else in this town would have the balls to attempt. But there was nothing I could concieve of putting my blood, sweat, and tears into that wouldn't feel like I was wasting my time for a bunch of amateurs and a likely tainted prospective audience.

Oh, and I suppose there was the little fact that I was getting married. As the year passed, I came to realize such an event shares many attributes with putting on a show.

• BUDGET ($$$) - Whether you love it or hate it, money is a key component to any major undertaking. On previous plays I have done, the above theatre in question offered a reimbursement amount between 200 and 250 dollars, which would presume that a quality show could be put on for that precise amount. I have always disagreed. At ticket prices of ten dollars a pop, I don't believe that amount of moolah can put together squat which would warrant such an entry fee. I was able to pull off the last show for somewhere in the realm of 850 dollars, but the actual retail value far exceeds that given how many things were given to it pro-bono, to say nothing of a fair amount of DIY, which seems the proper buzz word for putting a little freakin' pride into the proceedings. I highly recommend putting yourself into everything you do, regardless the available funds. This is certainly the direction my bride and I took our nuptuals. It doesn't hurt, either, that we are both highly creative individuals who are also really good with money.
• LOCATION - As a wedding is essentially a limited engagement production, finding just the right scene for the folks in question is key. Working the theatre I have for so many years always made the choice an obvious one, but now that things have changed finding another option takes a lot more fore-thought and internal examination. I remember watching Paul Thomas Anderson's masterpiece Boogie Nights in a dingy, piss smelling, grungy dollar theatre that made my boots stick on impact. It was the right place to experience that grimy flick. The choice of venue for a wedding can easily link hands with the tone of the show. We took the better part of our eight month engagement to discover just where our show belonged. Ultimately we decided upon a ceremony venue that accepted our unboxable religious and spiritual belief cornicopia and lent itself to being a place embraceable by each person in attendance. Our reception space was the harder fought decision, which quickly became the obvious answer to the query. We decided on our favorite pub, an establishment with a history itself and for us, positioned on a street corner of much significance.
• PROMOTION - What's the point of putting on a show if no one knows about it? In this new speak age of Facebook and the changed dynamics of social interaction, the release of relevant information was highly considered. In ways we are quite old school. We quietly became engaged and shared the information with close family and friends before presenting the big reveal on the social drone machine. After that we dropped zero hints about any ounce of wedding planning or other adventures we were having, so the few handfuls of people who received our inventive invitation package in the mail by July were understood to be an exclusive lot, and the one-of-a-kind invite was in limited supply.
• CASTING - One can never spend too long in casting. I know from being involved in poorly cast situations. From the month of our engagement until the last few invitations were licked shut and mailed, my fiancee and I toiled over the guest list. Having been harshly shown the true colors of so many so-called friends over the years, we were more assured of the value of people who could see through all of the filth, all of the lies, and were worthwhile participants in our life ahead, as opposed to pawns for someone else's agenda or disingenuous soulless duds. A few additional flies would ultimately drop from view once it became time for the processional. The people who showed up, and gave it their all, and the ones who could not be there but certainly were felt from afar are the ones who continue to hold an invitation to the exclusive inner circle. The rest can sod off.
• SCRIPT - As a self-professed writer, words are significant to me. The tone of a script is often what draws me to material that I would like to share with an audience. The words are important, but so are the spaces between words that draw moment for reflection. Standing in front of our friends and family we heard more than a few people say 'wow' or the like. And there were even welcome moments of levity. The overall response was powerful.
• MUSIC - Music makes all the difference. I don't know if it's related to the choice of music that plays within a movie, at the workplace, in the car, or at a party. If the tone is set inappropriately or arbitrarily, the choice will be the production's undoing.
• COSTUME - If I learned a strong lesson from my first play, I say always have a costumer. Make sure it's their only job. I would certainly contend that my bride and I were the snazziest looking folks at the wedding. It would have been a disappointment if that were not the case. We set down ground rules after that. Everyone needs to wear what they're comfortable in, with the expecation of Florida weather and dancing. Without fail everyone looked like themselves. So much of what goes on inside of each individual was exhibited in their choice of attire. And humorously no one looked like they were going to the same place. The last show I did demanded the actors in essence dress themselves. They were advised to dress like their characters. They were concerned they'd just look like themselves, but in truth they found parts of themselves in their characters and wore that.

(219)

opportunity knocks.

We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as impossible situations.
~ Charles R. Swindoll

There are so many succinct expressions that have become commonplace in our language that come out to play when they are least useful: you can't teach an old dog new tricks, live and learn, what goes around comes around. I hear them or variations of them on a semi-regular basis, especially given the spread of drama that seems to disseminate through my friend and acquaintance collective. And as additional drama has recently arisen within my workplace on a daily basis, I have seen the blob similarly extend in that direction.

The running theme of these issues seem to encapsulate each idiom quite well. The older we get the more we become inclined to carry around a small stack of three by five cards with contigency plans for each situation we encounter. We presume them to be tried and true, and certainly the ones that have gotten us by up to this point. This is why reactions are quick and predictable.

Each plays out stereotypes: jilted women undermine all men, blueballed men don't respect women, and on and on. Those who've lost jobs or relationships due to extreme personality clashes are quick to get on their high horse about how flawless they truly are. Blame is placed externally. How can the world be so rife with victims? I see so many playing the victim or, more notably, the martyr of whatever war they've been waging. And even before seeking answers inward, attempting perhaps to remedy personal failings, they throw the issue off to karma, move on, and do it all over again.

(202)

mortal coil

These days we are constantly advertising for ourselves. We have become so used to creating profiles representing all of those things we are about, that we support, that define us. We update like mad our bylines on the likes of Twitter and Facebook, as a means to stay prominent and noticeable. When we're out in the warm glow of human interaction, our phones come out ready for presentation and proof of our popularity and importance. We are a growing concern.

Right? Aren't we? We're special. We stand out. I swear it!

The need for external validation is huge. Our disconnect is so extreme that in a drive to be seen for who and what we are, I have seen too many reinvent themselves at the cost of their own identity. They wear their new and improved packaging with discomfort and a painted on smile. Reinvention at its core is a beautiful theory and philosophy, but so many are a dishonest representation of it.

(200)

impending doom.

Our language is full of it:

• when life hands you lemons, make lemonade
• every cloud has a silver lining
• look on the bright side
• everything happens for a reason

On an idiom level, they are the equivalent of Cher slapping Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck, telling him to snap out of it. If facebook is any gauge, I have a lot of Debbie Downer friends, who like to turn the spotlight toward themselves to reveal the depths of their sadness, misfortune, and ineptitude. Some of them seem to take solace in the pity and ego stroking of those they call friends. Most of the time what they could really use is a swift kick in the proverbial keister.

Every now and then we can all use our fair share of snapouttovit. 

If we plant a garden full of worry, tears, and sorrow, what do we expect to have sprout?

(192)

an in

I was recently told a theory on memory. Pick a year from your life. Now try to recall x, y, z details about it. Each recollection is said to unlock another piece, until you really start to uncover key parts of the story.

Sure, not all of life is worth reliving. At least not our own. There's too much pain, too much uncertainty, too many dead ends, but living it secondhand through the words, images, or sounds of those works that we return to again and again. That's not a problem. It's vicarious living. And it's safer.

I am sure you've done this. You've found yourself flipping through television channels, stumbling upon a familiar movie well on its way. And then you get caught up. You might have even been watching something else, currently on a commercial break.

A story well-told unfolds in such a fashion that each piece overlaps the last as well as the following. The mosaic it paints makes so much sense that we become enwrapped within it. This is true of books, movies, theatre, or even within our favorite music. Each time through we begin to recall how perfectly the next part follows.

The pieces of our life make similar sense, in retrospect. Each event eclipses the next. Over time, the more we look inward, the more noticable the saga becomes. If the universe can be expanding then the same can be true of our human lives. Personally, I can see it on my slight scale how each piece of my life has led to the next. Even simply reading back through this blog, new things reveal themselves. What's revealed and what's absent certainly tells quite a tale.

One of the key shifts I've recognized is a change in dynamics. Each person who enters and leaves our life readjusts the tone of it. We all can have such great affect on one another, whether positive, detrimental, or somewhere in between. Like attracts like, separating the honest from the false. Old friends return, holding new meaning. New friends are created as families expand.

And thus, we enter a new chapter.

(190)

attention whore

Babies don't know any better. Everything is new and scary to them, so they make the three noises that they've figured out at the two distinct volumes they've discovered. It's not their fault when their voice shows up in the middle of a movie, or a flight they shouldn't be on, or from the corner of a low-toned dining room.

Children who develop a scene in the checkout line between a irritable sibling or because of a wanton candybar haven't been shown a better resolution to their seemingly serious issues. These temper tantrums are normal, at least for a short while. Eventually we're supposed to grow out of this phase. The drive to push at the boundaries until the punishment in return is extreme enough that we stop is supposed to end.

Some adults simply don't let it. In the movies, they are often the show-offs, they are the people who sing their praises louder than everyone else, they are the people who need to prove something. They are the character we love to hate.

In real life, though, they are often two faced folk, full of sordid excuses for their failings. These weaknesses, whether directly noted or not, are always the fault of other people: parents, exes, siblings, friends, the government, or the cops. Someone else was always in the wrong, whereas they just sat there and took the beating in peaceful response like the perfect specimen that they are. After all they are never ever doing harm unto others.

The emotional environment and dramatic tone of any given place is always altered for their display. These big babies overfill their messy diapers with discontent and call for attention and admiration. The are overactors who need to have all eyes on them. They demand it, not command it. It's not since they're all that special. It's because they're twirling around that proverbial idiot glowstick in the middle of a darkened venue. And for some reason we're supposed to give them a pass.

(184)

no anchor

Drama.

What a loaded phrase: drama.

It lies there as if in all caps, screaming its way through our walls, dripping discontent into our breakfast cereal, and coming out our very pores as the day burns on, sploshing onto the heels of passersby.

DRAMA.

It's a TV Guide descriptor for 57% of everything fictitious. Here we have common life, love, and war in a nutshell. Ta-da, it's drama. The stage is rife with passing out it's pamphlets. And the news. You guessed it: real-life drama.

It makes for terrific viewing. Yeah, most especially when it's not yours.

I used to warm myself by it's fragrant campfire. It was all consuming, overwhelming, and a ritualized madness. It travels in packs, spreads like a virus, and is predictably the drink of choice of lovers and sexually frustrated strangers. And if you're not careful, it'll get on you. It's something to be decoded and navigated.

It's often complicated.

That's the phrase that gets bandied about these days. It becomes the euphemism for the ill-equipped to move on, too lazy to move out, still fishing for apologies, tentatively expecting some leftover guilt-pussy, or whatever other unhealthy activity behooves one or both parties in this former relationship. The remains of this thing, or this fling, gets dragged about like gum stuck on the bottom of a shoe from seventeen and a half feet ago. There's just a vague suggestion of connection. But the truth is it's just dried spittle stretched dental floss thin that only looks like the solid entity you thought you saw.

These dramas swirl around the worlds of my friends and compatriots. And it's hard to miss, whether or not I'd like to tune in.

It's so much more important to not mourn the relationship, but to celebrate the freedom, the chance to strip off all of the layers of regret, disappointment, selling out of yourself, your character, your every desire that got overshadowed by the ill-shapen object that was this failed memory. Something dies when a relationship ends. Great. Let it.

It's best to rocket off to a place of healing. Don't get messed up at the bottom of a pint of Ben & Jerry's. The end was nigh for far longer than most people give themselves credit for: it's the rote memorization of the things to say, the empty feelings you have toward anything they have to say, the overall boredom, or the guilt feels for leaving them alone with your friends. Don't make a career of it. Get out!

I've known people who never got over their ex, that one ex. They never let themselves get caught up to the present day. They continue to leave that door open for them to re-enter: a year, five years, ten, or more down the road, thereby continually rotating through the same cycle, meeting the same failure, again and again.

Why do we of the human persuasion continue to do it? Why does it take so much time, so much effort to realize that being honest with ourselves is key? The rest will follow.

Just let go.

(171)

fine patina

Home.

The word itself evokes images and feelings. Often we don't know the full story of a person until you get a peek at their home life. Saturday night I got an eye full. A karaoke compatriot of mine lives way out in the boonies with nine cats and what appears to be a well-preserved, but dusty museum of a life that must have disappeared some years ago.

There was so much sadness in the air. The musty, old remnants of a reality stalled out stood out in sledgehammer whacked sore thumb fashion beneath the slight traces of contemporary life. Though many rain drenched branches were burned away with faith and gasoline as the small group of us chatted sex, drugs, and apocalypse out back, the inside reeked of a place needing an emotional clearing before psychological asphyxiation takes complete hold.

(129)

residual damage

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
~ Semisonic ("Closing Time" - 1998) via Seneca

We weave in and out of one another's lives much like traffic flows through an intersection. The longer we live the more complex the design, and the more likely the nasty collision.

Allowing someone back into the fold of your life is a complicated matter. As time passes and change takes hold, we can't always be assured of an easy fit. I have found this to be the case since opening myself up to letting an old friend back into my life.

He was the person I considered my best friend. And he was someone with whom I shared confidences and secrets unknown to most and certainly my at the time estranged spouse. The fact that a relationship between them ensued following the crumbling debris of that whole matter should come as no surprise to anyone who knows the in and outs of melodrama.

This past January I broke my silence with him. It felt like the right time, and I was in the right mindset to spot clean the slate. There's still a ton of baggage stacked at the foyer of our new beginning, however. Not all relationships can move forward with war wounds like this, especially when those involved were fighting on opposite sides.

(127)

calm warning

When I was solely focused on filmmaking as the end all and be all in my artistic life, I would collect quotes and advice from writers and directors I admired. Pedro Almodovar has been making brash, beautiful, brilliant cinema for several decades. I once read an interview of his wherein he said, "I think it is very important to be born in a place that you don’t like, because it establishes very early on the things you are going to confront in your life.”

My sister wages this war well. She puts up her dukes, unearths and exploits her past again and again, in literal terms. I go about it differently. I'll grant her the means she battles her rival. I have found my own method of weaving strands of this pain into what I write and what I create.

Everyone needs a nemesis.

We all need that something else that runs counter to us, assuring us where we stand. Democrats need their Republicans just as vegans wouldn't be the same without their meat eaters. Lovers need their exes. And Kurtis Blow needs his breaks. Britney defected against the music and CBGBs took things out on the disco ball. From our opposition we stand. We can't fit everyone into our bubbles, and buying the world a coke isn't going to remedy a damn thing. From it all arrives some truth, though. The things we loath and the things that challenge us the most are also what bring us most fully out of our shell and into focus.

(126)

empty orchestra.

As of today the world's population is estimated to be 6.994 billion. With those sort of numbers who is all that surprised when God doesn't answer their prayers? Isn't it any wonder our call really isn't all that important to them? Most of us really just blend into the background, without an exposé or reality show or even fifteen minutes of anything particular to our fame.

I posit that we all want to have our imprint on something. We all want some variation on our moment, something beyond that impersonal shout-out during some equivalent to that namedrop graduation ceremony or something beyond that mass mailer who happens to know us by our first name. For me, one thing that definitely fuels my fire is karaoke, that much maligned and often misunderstood Japanese art form.

Whether due to an economic downturn or simply an upsurge of involvement by me and my scattershot friend base during the past several years, karaoke has become a bit of an event here in town. For something that was once squeezed to the back corner of a local bowling alley now can be committed every single night of the week, at venues varying in degrees of dive factor. It's not everyone's pint of beer, and certainly some prefer to watch than to participate, but regardless it's a thoroughly interactive event. One of the reasons I love it so much is that it puts the focus for a block of time on music, for lack of a keener phrase.

I'd suggest that I'm a bit hardcore about it. I can't even remember the last time I had nerves about stepping up to the mike, which is consistently the reason some hold themselves back from it. That, and audience response. I've had my fair share of ho-hum performances, but it's the doing it that matters more than anything else. As of the four new tracks I added to my repertoire this past Saturday night, I have concluded that I have gotten behind the mic 339 times, doing the likes of 267 different songs.

So, without further ado and for the insanely curious, these are the songs I have done:

Dancing Queen by ABBA
No Excuses by Alice in Chains
Sister Golden Hair by America
House of the Rising Sun by The Animals
Obsession by Animotion
Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley
Rock Lobster by The B-52s
Ready for Love by Bad Company
The Weight by The Band
Alcohol, Brian Wilson, & What a Good Boy by Barenaked Ladies
Paul Revere by Beastie Boys
Hard to Handle by The Black Crowes
Adam's Song by Blink-182
You've Made Me So Very Happy by Blood, Sweat & Tears
Song 2 by Blur
Changes, Let's Dance, Space Oddity, & Under Pressure by David Bowie
The Letter by The Box Tops
For What it's Worth by Buffalo Springfield
Spill the Wine by Eric Burdon & War
Chemicals Between Us & Everything Zen by Bush
Pepper by Butthole Surfers
Never There & Short Skirt/Long Jacket by Cake
Dangerous Type, Moving in Stereo, Tonight She Comes, & You Might Think by The Cars
Bad Moon Rising & Have You Ever Seen the Rain? by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Under the Milky Way by The Church
London Calling & Train in Vain by The Clash
I Can See Clearly Now by Jimmy Cliff (and Johnny Nash)
Everybody Knows by Leonard Cohen
A Girl Like You by Edwyn Collins
Brick House by The Commodores
Round Here by Counting Crows
Low by Cracker
If It Makes You Happy by Sheryl Crow
Don't Dream it's Over by Crowded House
Friday, I'm in Love & Lovesong by The Cure
Mother by Danzig
Punk Rock Girl by Dead Milkmen
New Age Girl by Deadeye Dick
Roll to Me by Del Amitri
Enjoy the Silence, People are People, Personal Jesus, Policy of Truth, & Somebody by Depeche Mode
Whip it by Devo
Come on Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runner
Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits
She Blinded Me with Science by Thomas Dolby
Sunshine Superman by Donovan
Black Water by The Doobie Brothers
Alabama Song, Five to One, Love Her Madly, Love Me Two Times, People are Strange, & Roadhouse Blues by The Doors
Subterranean Homesick Blues by Bob Dylan
Save Tonight by Eagle Eye Cherry
Heartache Tonight, Lyin' Eyes, Take it Easy, Take it to the Limit, & Witchy Woman by The Eagles
Novocaine for the Soul by the eels
Missionary Man by the Eurythmics
What It's Like by Everlast
The Way by Fastball
Signs by Five Man Electrical Band
One Thing Leads to Another by The Fixx
The Chain by Fleetwood Mac
Dirty White Boy by Foreigner
Do You Want to?, Take Me Out, & This Fire by Franz Ferdinand
You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch
Sledgehammer by Peter Gabriel
You Dropped the Bomb on Me by The Gap Band
Thunder Rolls & Two of a Kind, Working on a Full House by Garth Brooks
That's All by Genesis
Crazy by Gnarls Barkley
Voodoo by Godsmack
Twilight Zone by Golden Earring
Basketcase by Green Day
No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature by The Guess Who
Maneater & You Make My Dreams by Hall and Oates
Sunglasses at Night by Corey Hart
Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger
Hey Joe by Jimi Hendrix
Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress by The Hollies
Don't You Want Me by Human League
Vehicle by Ides of March
Dancing with Myself, Eyes without a Face, & White Wedding by Billy Idol
Torn by Natalie Imbrugula
Drive by Incubus
Devil Inside, Don't Change, & Never Tear Us Apart by INXS
Laid by James
Walk Away by The James Gang
Superfreak by Rick James
Draggin' the Line by Tommy James
Aqualung by Jethro Tull
Big Shot, Don't Ask Me Why, It's Still Rock and Roll to Me, Only the Good Die Young, &She's Always a Woman by Billy Joel
Don't go Breaking My Heart by Elton John & Kiki Dee
No One Ever is to Blame by Howard Jones
Me and Bobby McGee by Janis Joplin
You've Got Another Thing Comin' by Judas Priest
I Predict a Riot by Kaiser Chiefs
Somebody Told Me by The Killers
Detachable Penis by King Missile
Lola by The Kinks
Going to California by Led Zeppelin
Nobody Told Me & Working Class Hero by John Lennon
Brandy (You're a Fine Girl) by Looking Glass
So Alive by Love & Rockets
Sex & Candy by Marcy Playground
Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf
Who Can it Be Now? by Men at Work
The Safety Dance by Men without Hats
Fade to Black & Stone Cold Crazy by Metallica
Beds are Burning by Midnight Oil
Abracadabra by Steve Miller
I Melt with You by Modern English
Moondance by Van Morrison
88 Lines About 44 Women by The Nails
Always on My Mind by Willie Nelson
Bizarre Love Triangle & Blue Monday by New Order
Leather & Lace by Stevie Nicks & Don Henley
Coconut by Harry Nilsson
Closer by Nine Inch Nails
Cat Scratch Fever by Ted Nugent
Dead Man's Party & Weird Science by Oingo Boingo
If You Leave by OMD
Blue Monday by Orgy
Somewhere Out There by Our Lady Peace
I Didn't Mean to Turn You On by Robert Palmer
Jolene by Dolly Parton
Better Man, Black, & Elderly Woman… by Pearl Jam
Judith by A Perfect Circle
West End Girls by Pet Shop Boys
American Girl, Breakdown, Don't Do Me Like that, Mary Jane's Last Dance, Stop Draggin' My Heart Around, & You Don't Know How it Feels by Tom Petty
Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd
Nothin' but a Good Time by Poison
Don't Stand So Close to Me & King of Pain by The Police
Suspicious Minds & You're the Boss by Elvis Presley
Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth… by Primitive Radio Gods
Little Red Corvette & Raspberry Beret by Prince
I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers
Silent Lucidity by Queensryche
I Love a Rainy Night by Eddie Rabbitt
Right Down the Line by Gerry Rafferty
Black Betty by Ram Jam
By the Way, Californication, Can't Stop, Give it Away, Otherside, soul to Squeeze by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed
Banditos by The Refreshments
Drive by R.E.M.
I'm too Sexy by Right Said Fred
Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell & Michael Jackson
Islands in the Stream by Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton
Beast of Burden, Bitch, Honky Tonk Woman, Jumpin' Jack Flash, Love is Strong, & Paint it Black by The Rolling Stones
Major Tom by Peter Schilling
Broken by Seether featuring Ami Lee of Evanescence
Turn the Page by Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band
It Wasn't Me by Shaggy
Cecilia by Simon & Garfunkel
Still Crazy After all These Years by Paul Simon
Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds
All for You by Sister Hazel
Walkin' on the Sun by Smash Mouth
A Girl Like You by The Smithereens
How Soon is Now? by The Smiths
Tainted Love by Soft Cell
Man of Constant Sorrow by The Soggy Bottom Boys
Runaway Train by Soul Asylum
I'm on Fire & Secret Garden by Bruce Springsteen
Flowers on the Wall by The Statler Brothers
Stuck in the Middle with You by Stealers Wheel
Wild World by Cat Stevens
Bother by Stone Sour
Interstate Love Song by Stone Temple Pilots
Stray Cat Strut by The Stray Cats
Rapper's Delight by Sugarhill Gang
Green-Eyed Lady by Sugarloaf
Ballroom Blitz by Sweet
Aerials, Innversion, & Toxicity by System of a Down
Bang a Gong (Get it On) by T. Rex
And She Was, Burning Down the House, Life During Wartime, Once in a Lifetime, & Wild, Wild Life by Talking Heads
Everybody Wants to Rule the World & Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears
Birdhouse in Your Soul & Instanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants
Move it on Over by George Thorogood
Mama Told Me Not to Come by Three Dog Night
Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down
Future's So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades by Timbuk 3
Possum Kingdom by The Toadies
Greased Lightning by John Travolta
Slow Hand by Conway Twitty
Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon by Urge Overkill
The Freshman by Verve Pipe
Add it Up, Blister in the Sun, & Kiss Off by Violent Femmes
Mexican Radio by Wall of Voodoo
Low Rider by War
Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by Wham!
The Promise by When in Rome
White and Nerdy by Weird al Yankovic
Love is in the Air by John Paul Young
Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon
I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide & Tush by ZZtop

(100)

re: born

Today I turn thirty-five.

I have never been older.

The way it's told, the night I was born 2001: A Space Odyssey, the operatic trippy science fiction flick by the incomparable Stanley Kubrick was broadcast on TV. Fault it however you will in spite of its tempered pacing and ennui inducing overture, but little can conflict with the edict that it stands as an influential classic. I've always supposed there must have been something in the water that night, since the drooling babe born in that Jersey hospital with my likeness would be drawn to film, music, and science fiction as well as dream of becoming a renegade filmmaker who dissects the eternal struggles of the human psyche. It never surprised me that I finished writing my first feature length screenplay in the year 2001.

We all come from somewhere.

And I don't mean the seemingly unsexy by-product of the end credit scroll of some roll in the hay. I simply mean that our physiological oak tree was once but an acorn. The ways and means the evolution comes about fascinates me. I think of the television series LOST, which my fiancée and I recently re-watched in its entirety, upon receiving it as a Christmas gift. Without the distraction of poor choice of company and interfering personal dramas that belied our respective first time viewings, so much more surfaced within this multi-textured program.

With much of the plot line being shrouded in mystery for many of the early seasons, there is a satisfying turn when some of the gnawing questions begin to find answers. I think life is like this. I think about turning thirty-five. There is far more power in that than there was at thirty or twenty-five or twenty-one or eighteen or any of the other key ages of yore. There's something truly exhilarating about seeing behind the curtain for longer stretches at a time, to catch a glimpse of how things work and what makes life worth living.

Deeper meaning rears its mischievous head right on schedule, every time. You just have to guide your vision a tad closer to see it. Show me a series of broken dishes, and I'll show you the excavation of the dashed dreams and cold conversation nibbled on at their side.

(99)

satisfaction: suggested

An actor friend of mine recently caught the photography bug. I've known him for nearly seven years, and we've worked on innumerable projects together, so I realize his sense of craft and dedication. It is just that high expectation work ethic that we both share that explains why we continue to work on productions together. I can assure you many others simply couldn't keep up.

Sometimes I think people initially take up their interests due to boredom whether we're talking about interacting and canoodling with others or merely developing hobbies. My friend's photo explosion seemed to manifest overnight as endless streams of pictures of his girlfriend on his smartphone began showing up, everywhere. Recently he's been going on about wanting fancier camera equipment, as a means to hone his chops.

I know this feeling. I fully understand this longing to obtain and to compare my toys with others. However, one thing that I have learned along the way, as someone who grew up growing an interest in photography as a child behind a relatively useless 110 camera or the occasional Polaroid, when they were still in vogue, is that there will always be bigger and better tools. It's up to the artist to push the limits of their current situation and their present means to an end. And simply: create.

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hazy shade . . .

Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Thanks to the brilliant early 1990s comedy of Groundhog Day, February second can now become synonymous with a day for self-analysis, reflection, and taking stock. Even though I had barely thought of it, as I slugged back my coffee and watched as Phil took a look for his shadow in clips on Good Morning America, the day had much in store.

By the time it all hit me, it really didn't surprise me in the least that this horoscope would land in my lap:

Since last August, you may have been dealing with the farewell process of Neptune leaving your sign. For some Aquarians, it was a battle for boundaries.

If you feel like spending the day in an ashram in a seated lotus pose, no one would blame you. This is the final day in your lifetime that spiritual Neptune will be in Aquarius. You’ve hosted the dreamy planet since 1998 and it’s allowed you to evolve into a person of great depth. Tomorrow, it moves on to Pisces and your money house, helping you find your soul purpose—and profit from it. Spend today in reflection: how have you become more enlightened over the past 13 years? Acknowledge yourself generously: it’s not like this has been the easiest journey, but you’ve made it!

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