Steve's Guide To Meeting Parents

1. Call Them By Their First Names- When meeting a friend or lovers parents you don't want to set up a subservient dynamic or a generational divide. Call them by their first names, using Mister or Misses is a thing we should put to bed with our teens when interacting interpersonally outside of work. Using first names breeds familiarity and casualness, that''s the kind of dynamic you want to enter into, parents are just people after all.

2. Be Polite But Not Too Polite- Everyone deserves respect especially individuals of an older generation. Some people may adhere to stricter manners than others so get a sense of where they stand before you put your feet up on the coffee table, chew with your mouth open, swear, or refer to sex. You also don't want to come off as a stuffed shirt. Act like yourself but always remember your pleases and your thank yous.

3. Let Them Pay- More often than not the older folks are going to want to pick up the check when you're out to eat. Be ready to pay your way(keep this in mind when ordering) but relent if the parent of your friend or lover offers and/or persists. Do not insist on picking up the check yourself or paying your part of the check. This will get parents mad and/or put them off.

4. Crack Some Jokes- Feel free to talk to them like one of your friends. Make some jokes and try to get them laughing. There's nothing like laughter to bring people closer together. A well timed off-color joke can do wonders to get peoples defenses down but remember to use discretion and gauge your audience.

5. Ask Questions- Parents are curious about who their son or daughter is friends with or dating, they may ask you a lot of questions, they may also feel like they should ask you a lot of questions because of some predisposed societal construct. Answer their questions then give them a question. Get to know them while they get to know you. People enjoy talking about themselves, it's a fact. Keep the playing field even.

All interactions should support the idea of respectful peer, you're not a kid you're an adult.

The Gift

My dad always called alcoholism "the gift" when he referred to it within the family. A couple people in my family have the gift, myself included- with extra paper, ribbons, and a personalized note.

When I was young I thought it was a positive. My dad use to say we were blessed with a boundless capacity. A seemingly insatiable appetite to imbibe. I was a hit at parties in college, I could drink more and longer than anyone I knew. I would do just about any crazy thing that came into my head, I drank beyond reason, and that was fun and exciting. Time passed , things changed.

Things started to go bad gradually-a missed day of work here, a familial disappointment there- then gained momentum. Like gravity. At first keeping a job was a struggle then an impossibility. Friendships started becoming difficult, they'd fade, then vanish. Relationships were on a collision course with emotional turmoil from the very beginning. When my life was desperate and sour and the walls were closing in I realized. Ah-ha. My dad was being ironic. The gift was a disability, the blessing-a curse. Time passed, eventually I got help.

As a sober person I've discovered my defining flaw is a gift. I wrecked my life so completely I had to put it all together again, take stock, hit bottom so thoroughly I had to start from square one and there was no where to go but up. A lot of people have problems, sometimes those problems are mild or manageable so people live with them. They never have to take a searching look at who they are or how they act because their lives aren't in total shambles. I'm grateful for my disease because it's gotten me to where I am. If it hadn't been so bad, so painful, so destructive I wouldn't have done any work on myself, wouldn't have done what was necessary to attempt to lead a healthier, happier life. Sometimes harmony can only come from catastrophe.

The meaning I derive from my dad's pet name for my particular affliction will continue to evolve. But right now I take it at face value.

'Blue Caprice' A Review

Blue Caprice is a drama based on the DC Sniper. The story follows John(Isaiah Washington) as he adopts, indoctrinates, and trains teenage Lee(Tequan Richmond). The film has an atonal bizarre quality, an unsettling energy reminiscent of experimental music with no melody or harmony. John meets Lee in the Caribbean and brings him to the US and teaches him to kill.

The film isn't sympathetic but it also doesn't demonize its subjects. It's cold, dispassionate, and distant. It conveys real madness, true insanity. There is no motive to the crime and the odd, stilted performances convey this obvious disconnect from reality without being disconnecting from reality. Isiah Washington as John is charming and startling how quickly he can move from caring to homicidal but doing so in a way that makes it seem like they are both natural and logical to him. Because of this maniacal fluidity we believe that the few people close to him had no idea how crazy he actually was, how far he was willing to go. Tequan Richmond's performance as Lee is a study in non-acting, so much so I wondered frequently if it was actually bad acting, he is a clean slate, conveys little to no emotion, goes where he's pointed and kills when he's told. His brainwashing or molding by John is more a study of pressure and time as opposed to violence and isolation. It paints a very complicated and haunting portrait of the circumstances that led up to the murders.

If there is a fault in the film it is intrinsic within the story itself. There is no why, there is no reveal, there is no reason.

Blue Caprice is a stark portrait of a broken mind.

See It.

A Disturbing Dream 14

I'm sick. I'm riding my motorcycle down a long dark road. I'm cold and shaking and hollow. The wind shield is broken and jagged like the jaw of some child's nightmare. I'm fleeing from something, racing through damp fog, throttle fully engaged but still asking the bike for more, escaping. I'm frantic and desperate and only think of speed. The headlight is dim and I see nothing past a few feet of tarmac. The road is empty.

There was some kind of accident. At a hospital or laboratory. I have no white blood cells, no immunities. As I tear through the night I can feel various viruses peel off and latch on to my hobbled frame. I think it's like AIDS but it's not. It was some experiment, some experiment gone wrong.

I get weaker, I cough up black sludge. I think faster gotta go faster I think I can outrun this thing at the same time I think there is no way I can outrun this thing. I know I am going to die, wracked by diseases which a child can normally fight off. I can feel microscopic things squirming and biting and wriggling inside me, my muscles loose strength, I loose will.

I ask the bike for more. I plunge on. Desperate and alone.

Chance

Natalie and I did our two person show last night at Comedy Sportz after two years in discussion: Chance. Natalie and I got close when we were put on my first, her third, harold team together at iO together FireCup. We had a lot of chemistry on stage and were fast friends off stage. Since the team was cut we haven't been able to see each other as much or perform together at all but our connection hasn't weakened.

Natalie has been organizing a night at Comedy Sportz on Wednesdays and she slotted us last out of four teams. The show started off with almost no audience save for the performers. As the night went on about 20 or so random people came in off the street, young but not a savvy improv audience. I became a little nervous for three reasons. One because I've only performed at CSz a couple times and I'm not entirely comfortable there, two because the people that had come in were talking and kind of drunk the type of people that could get out of control rather quickly, third Natalie and I hadn't performed together in three years, stylistically we've both changed a lot and I wasn't entirely confident on how we would fit together.

We started our show and it was great. Smooth. The crowd loved it, we were challenging each other and having fun, it flowed. The chemistry we use to have was still there and was just intesified because of how much better each of us has gotten in the years since sharing the stage.

It felt natural. It was like going home.

Some Love For The CTA

People complain a lot about the CTA and with the creeping insidious monopoly of Ventra and unpredictable delays there are negatives. But. For the most part the CTA is a marvelous thing. Sweeping and efficient, you can get to wherever you need to go in a reasonable amount of time with little to no stress.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all CTA employees. I've had nothing but positive interactions from anyone I've dealt with when asking for and receiving assistance. Some of them seem bored or worn down which is understandable and even then I've never felt negativity directed at me. And there are a number of people, like the chipper verbose train conductor, who bring so much energy, positivity, and happiness into the commute.

Next time you complain about the CTA or its employees try to put things into perspective. It must be a totally thankless job, a neverending grind, the trains keep running-the buses keep rolling. Remember those train or bus rides with crazies or drunk douchebags that ruined your day, they have to deal with that kind of stuff every day-all day.

The Chicago Transit Authority is a wonderful, easy, convenient system. I think sometimes Chicago residents take it for granted. And the bus drivers, the train conductors, the station attendants, are people- generally nice with their own lives to get through. Don't forget to treat them as such.

A smile and a thank-you go a long way.

Give It Away To Keep It

Instead of rehearsal last night The Hague went out for dinner. Coincidentally it was all former members of Rick- Pants, James, Micah, Ellen, and me. It was nice to just sit around and jaw for a bit, we're all so busy at this point there's rarely time outside of shows and rehearsals to just check in with each other and get the day-to-day scoop. Afterward I took Ellen for a motorcycle ride, she was very excited.

I gave her a ride home from CIC about two years ago on my old Suzuki, it was raining, only a couple blocks and didn't do the experience justice. Tonight we rode for about half an hour going up and down Lakeshore, unarguably the best street in Chicago to ride on. Ellen loved it, she yelled and screeched and laughed. Her energy was infectious, it brought back how exciting my first ride was.

It was a great feeling to share the joy motorcycles bring me with her. To show her this thing that is very important and special to me and have her respond with such joy. And in her reaction, in her enjoyment of the ride mine was doubly so.

Sometimes sharing can be selfish.

Billie Jean King

For most of my life my father and I have been the only men in my family. I have Uncles and boy cousins but they are spread out across the country and I rarely see them. In Rockford where I grew up it was just my dad and I. He grew up with three sisters. I grew up with a sister and three girl cousins. I had an early education in equality. I was taught respect from a group of strong minded, independent women for which I am grateful. My dad also was, and is, a good example of how to treat people.

One of my early memories is watching an A&E special about the 1973 "Battle Of The Sexes" tennis match- Billie Jean King vs. Bobby Riggs. I was very young and didn't understand what I was watching. My dad put the TV on mute and explained it to me.

Dad: Well Stever...Bobby Riggs was this washed up old pro who wasn't even that good in his prime, his whole thing was that women pros could never be as good as men, he challenged Billie Jean at first but she said no so he played and beat this older woman. He was a real loud mouth asshole saying women belonged in the bedroom and the kitchen stuff like that. After that game Billie Jean agreed to play him in a nationally televised match. We were all for her, it was generational, Stever this was '73- Vietnam time, the nation was...it was political, it was more than a tennis match. This was also around the time of Title IX so equality was a big thing for us. We were sick of the old foags running things and we wanted a change, Billie Jean was a symbol. Anyway. Up to the match Riggs was non-stop trash talking trying to get in Billie Jean's head, like Ali before Rumble In The Jungle, except Riggs was no Ali, didn't have the talent, didn't have the words. Billie Jean just trains, didn't let it bother her. The match comes, Billie Jean waxes Riggs. Makes the old man run the court till he can't take it. It was huge. The Lib beat the Lip.

The story and the message stuck with me. This year is the 40th anniversary of the match and BJK is the subject of a PBS Masters documentary that aired last week. You can also listen to a great interview with Billie Jean King on Fresh Air here.

'A Single Shot' A Review

A Single Shot is a rural thriller that follows a man who accidentally kills a young woman and discovers a toolbox full of cash. John Moon(Sam Rockwell) is a solitary West Virginian farmer, rancher, hunter and sometimes poacher who is going through an unwanted, and what he considers undeserved, divorce. He sees the money as a way to put his life back together, however the money, the corpse and unknown dangers keep surfacing.

This neo-noir doesn't tread new ground plotwise owing much to A Simple Plan, No Country For Old Men, and Fargo. It does offer a platform for some great actors to put in some interesting nuanced performances extending far beyond their usually type. Sam Rockwell carries the film with a quiet, understated, emotional performance that runs counterpoint to his usual goofily charming antics. The first 14 minutes of the film have no dialogue and give Rockwell a chance to patiently set up the character we're about to follow.

The cast is rounded out with great turns by William H. Macy, Ted Levine, Jason Issacs, Joe Anderson and a number of smaller roles that bring this small West Virginian town to life. Jeffrey Wright as Sam Rockwell's only friend gives a magnetic, desperate, wild performance as a drunk plummeting towards rock bottom. The only misstep in casting is Kelly Reilly as Rockwell's estranged wife. The English actor is out of her depth playing a tough rural American, this performance isn't as painful as her turn as recovering drug addict in Flight but it's close.

Other reviewers have criticized the film for being well trodden territory and for "over-the-top" acting. The story has been done, yes, but in our current culture of sequels, reboots, and adaptations this film gives a chance for great actors to do some real acting. The dialects and performances could be considered too much if you've never been to West Virginia or known country folk, I found the film evocative of a place and people that are definitely real.

A Single Shot is intense and desperate, thought provoking and melancholic.  The narrative is not original, the performances are.

See It.

Overflowing Luxury: A Millionaire's Sketch Show

I went to see Overflowing Luxury: A Millionaire's Sketch Show tonight at The Public House Theater. The evening started off remarkably unpleasant and ended exceptionally satisfying. The unpleasantness had nothing to do with the show and everything to do with the venue. The lay out of the Public House is very odd and cumbersome, there was probably a dozen employees working(too many for the cramped space) most of which ignored the theater patrons or if engaged were distant and only grudgingly helpful. Nicole and I waited at the bar with three employees behind it for ten minutes before we were able to get sodas(with our mandatory drink ticket included in the price of a ticket).

Once we got into the theater it was a relief and once the show started it was a joy. The conceit is a fundraising event for three millionaires to keep them in the style of luxury to which they have become accustomed, the event is held up, and from a panic room loosely connected stories unfold about class, family, and work. The tone of the show is a combination of absurdity and heart woven together with stylized transitions.

The show has a fast pace, is dialogue heavy, and engaging. What shocked me about the show were the scenes about fatherhood. These guys, who are my peers, have a surprising facility playing dads and ground a couple of bizarre situations with genuine heart that should be beyond their life experience.

My favorite scene of the night was an interrogation scene between Tim and Asher. Asher is distracted during a police interrogation scene he's performing because it's almost the end of father's day and his son hasn't called. Tim consoles him and empathizes with losing touch with a son. My favorite bit of the night was by far Vince as a "bad" rapping hostage negotiator(the rap was actually great).

All in all a quick, fun, silly-sweet show. Clocking in at only 45 minutes I would have liked a second act to see where a number of threads and characters ended up.

Two more chances to see the show, Saturdays at 10pm at the Public House Theater. See It.

View From A Bike

On a motorcycle the world looks different. You're engaged in a more direct way. Things look, smell, and sound different. More vivid. Your senses are heightened, they have to be. You recognize beauty you may not have noticed, danger too.

“In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You're a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame. On a cycle the frame is gone. You're completely in contact with it all. You're in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.” -Robert Pirig

Influence

I didn't develop a real interest in music until high school.The first album I ever bought was Metallic's Ride The Lightening. I didn't like it. I figured out early that I don't like hard rock, punk rock, heavy metal or any kind of music that could be described as "hard". It made me feel crazy, made me want to lash out.

Music didn't open up for me until I bought Beck's Odelay in 1997. I listened to the album start to finish endlessly. It made me feel good, it made me want to dance, it made me realize how effecting music could be if you find the right kind. My favorite track is "Readymade"



A couple years later, junior year of high school, I saw O' Brother Where Art Thou? I discovered the blues and country and fell in love. I found a type of music that spoke to me, that I identified with, and I was hooked. The titular song in the film "Man Of Constant Sorrow" I loved but when I heard "Hard Time Killin' Floor Blues" in the scene with the main characters huddled around a camp fire my world opened up.



I through myself into the blues devouring John Lee Hooker, Skip James, Blind Willie Johnson, Muddy Waters, R.L. Burnside, Robert Johnson, Tommy Johnson, Son House, and B. B. King. However my modern day music exposure was slim to none. My college roommate Bob, who was and is a musician, introduced me to a ton of modern day artist that inspired me to pick up a guitar and Bob and I to start writing songs. The song that hit me the hardest was Martin Sexton's "Can't Stop Thinking About You" Bob and I discovered it during the perfect time. I had just got out of an intense emotional relationship and was heartbroken.



Since college HP and Beanpole have single handedly cultivated and expanded my contemporary musical taste. HP burned me the Saul Williams record and "List Of Demands" has gotten me amped up ever since.



Towards the end of college I discovered Johnny Cash. The first track I heard was "Folsom Prison Blues". I immedately felt a kinship with him and his music. Felt inspired and lifted up. Felt a harmony with it. Felt hardened, tempered like steel. His words and songs expressed exactly how I felt. I finally found someone who understood and expressed the storm within that I couldn't put words to.



Becoming obsessed with Johnny Cash lead me to look for more country music. I started to learn Johnny Cash songs and broadened to Hank Williams. I got into Hank III, o'death, and Adrienne Young but was always more partial to the music of the past.



I still love the blues and the majority of music is Johnny Cash. I rarely hear recent stuff now, only when Beanpole and HP send me mixes. What you like, what resonates with you, fills in the gaps, molds you.



What a person listens to can tell a lot about them. Some people may call that shallow, I call it true.

Groh Show #15

In episode #15 we are joined by Danny's lawyer Alan Silverberg(Eric Schnizer) and talk incorporation, selling out, and who the real man is behind the curtain. Danny also discusses his weekend and imparts some surprising wisdom about drawing to exercising your right brain while at work using your left brain. After some coaxing Daniel and I also get Danny to discuss his most recent romantic interest.

Give it a listen and like us on facebook: Groh Show.

It Is My Name.

In Fantasy names have power, the true names of things are how magic is worked. It's a metaphor that reflects the workings of the real world. Nick names, full names, pet names, secret names, all mean something, all carry with them stories and implications, all have a certain amount of power in them.

When I was young(sometimes still nostalgically) my parents called me Stever Beaver.

When I was a camp counselor the campers and counselors called me Steve-o.

Once when Adam, Beanpole, and I were at a party we started to take peoples cell phones and make random calls. One person I talked to asked me who I was and I said apropos of nothing "This is The Candlestick Maker." Periodically when Adam and Beanpole are feeling especially playful they'll call me that.

When I first moved to Chicago the people I was hanging out with called me Hounddog.

Adam and I took a road trip out to the west coast a couple years ago. There was a stretch of 200 miles or so that was littered with signs for sweet cherries. That night we decided my fictitious boxing name would be Sweet Cherry Nelson. When Adam wants to get me pumped up he calls me Sweet Cherry.

Julia calls me Stevienelno.

James calls me Sjnelso.

As a kid my mom's family would call me Stevie and I hated it, now some of my friends do it and I like it.

My soccer coach called me Nelson.

At work I am Steven. Most everywhere else I am Steve.

Many people, for reasons unknown to me, refer to me by my full name Steve Nelson.

What people call you, what you answer to, shape and define you. Names are like hints, suggestions, of who a person is. They can also be armor. They can give form and protection but can also destroy.

To name a thing is to bring it into the world. That is not always wise.

Chloe Rolls A Cigarette

Chloe sat on the couch in an over sized mud volleyball t-shirt and a pair of men's Farm and Fleet jokey shorts. The 80's upholstery scratched pleasantly on the underside of her thighs. An unopened package of Zig-Zags and a bag of Drum sat on the coffee table, she sighed dramatically. She looked around her empty apartment hopefully. She was always sighing to an unappreciative audience.

Coffee was out of the question, it went through her her like white hot contentment. Buying a pack of pre-rolled cigarettes seemed so mundane, so obvious. She imagined the act of rolling her own would be more authentic, more ritualistic, more appropriate for her current mood of self destruction.

She grimaced. The lighting was off. There were five lamps in the living room, an overhead fixtue, a turtle accent lamp she had purchased from Natural Wonders when she was 12, and a string of white Christmas lights around the fire place. Only the right combination would be appropriate for the current mood.

After twenty minutes of adjustments she nodded and murmured "...good lighting..." She opened the package of rolling papers and pulled out three. She opened the bag of tobacco and shook out a pile.

Chloe didn't like smoking, didn't want to smoke, she was enamored with the idea of smoking. Fascinated by incrementally drawing invisible pieces of death into herself speeding her towards a long, pathetic, caustic demise. And she wanted to stay awake.

She tore the papers and spilled tobacco bits. She licked too much and not enough. Her hands were covered with crumbly pungent bits of brown. She began to sweat. Her tongue darted out of her mouth and was clasped between her teeth. Her brow furrowed. She began to softly curse, then chuckle, then curse again.

"HA!" she yelled in triumph, planted the freshly rolled coffin nail between her lips, lit it with a kitchen match, inhaled. And fought down a cough.

In front of her, the typewriter was poised, loaded. She began to stroke the keys gently, then poke them, then punch them. A story began to develop, weaving ideas about the philosophical feminist and racial implications of the ostracizing of Amanda Bynes and Miley Cyrus drawing allusions to Joan of Arc.

The keys echoed into the night.

'Riddick' A Review

Riddick is a scifi horror adventure movie, the third installment in the odyssey of Vin Diesel's Riddick. This film forgoes the scope, the stars, and the budget of The Chronicles of Riddick and goes back to the original Pitch Black. So much so it basically repeats the plot. Riddick is stranded on a barren uninhabited planet and sets off a beacon to lure in mercenaries to steal a ship from. Of course rain on this dry planet brings out a host of terrible creatures which put the hunting of Riddick on hold.

There is a certain air of pretentiousness about the movie, it's unclear if Diesel and the cast realize this installment teeters throughout on the verge of camp. The planet in the movie is constantly sunny and bright taking away the dark sinister image of Riddick that we have come to love. Easily seen, contrasted against bright lighting, Diesel is no where near as tough as his earlier incarnations as Riddick and his over-the-top performance too clear.

The first half an hour of the movie is only Riddick and a CGI alien dog surviving on this unforgiving planet. As interesting, exciting, and surprisingly touching as the beginning is it doesn't have much bearing on the remaining ninety minutes. Once two ships arrive with a host of mercenaries the story goes into exceptionally well trodden territory. The only actor who distinguishes themselves from the rabble of cliches is Katee Sackhoff (aka Starbuck) as Dahl bringing a little life into the tough lesbian stereotype.

The reason Pitch Black was such a great film was because Diesel was able to capture a very unique humorous sinister anti-hero sort of charm which is almost non-existent in Riddick.

Diesel offers a meta-observation during the initial voiceover of the movie. As Riddick he admits he's lost his edge.

Rent It.

The Ghost Of Camp Conestoga

I took Nicole back to Rockford to show her my boyhood stomping grounds. Our first stop was Beef-a-roo to visit Adam and get some cheese fries. Our second stop was Anna Page Park where I spent seven formative wonderful years as a camp counselor. It's a bit overgrown but virtually unchanged. Camp Conestoga closed my final year as a counselor in 2004. 

It felt really good to go back and show Nicole around. Giving her a little tour and telling her about the camp brought back a lot of great memories, things I hadn't thought about in a long time. Overnights, hayrides, skits, songs, campfires, ghost stories, night hikes. Returning there I realized how big a part the camp played in making me who I am. 

Along with archery and tye-dye the hike to the dam was one of my favorite camp activities. It's a long trek for an 8 year old and once we'd get there we'd paint it and we'd play Cat&Mouse. It took Nicole and I 7 minutes to walk there. With kids it'd take 30. Most of the dam is covered in graffiti but there are one or two camp slogans that have survived over the past ten years.

The camp grounds were totally deserted. The forest feels older. It's quiet now and tranquil. My memories of it always teem with the skweeling of 8-10 year olds. One week I took my kids to a mulberry patch and after we had all stuffed ourselves encouraged them streak the juices across their faces like war paint. Their parents didn't care for that much.

It's special place for me and I'm grateful I got to share it with Nicole. The place itself says more than I could ever say about it. There are so many stories in those woods. So much laughter. A good amount of tears too now that I think about it. Once a kid broke his arm during a game of Steal The Bacon.

The camp may be closed but if you listen close you almost hear the murmur of excited children, the hiss of a hot dog cooking over an open flame, the hush of a ghost story about to be told.

Sisyphus

Recently some shows I've done have felt like a lot of work, unpleasantly so.  People not on the same page, at different energies, with divergent points of view coming together like pieces from random puzzles. I've felt I have had to expend a disproportionate amount of effort to clarify a scene or make it work or help move a piece forward. It's also felt like a struggle to have fun. I've spent so much energy trying to do my part in holding a show together I forget to have a good time. It's a bad feeling and relatively mystifying considering it's all pretend and we're all doing it for free. It's frustrating. Feeling like this thing that is suppose to be fun and funny and energetic is an absolute struggle.

When improv works it feels great and its effortless. When it doesn't work its like Sisyphus. Expending all  energy, exerting all will, to move something that cannot be moved. Fruitless, desperate, futile.

But after talking to Craig and reflecting on it a bit I think it's more of a mental hole I've gotten myself into. The only thing I'm in control of is myself, in improv as in all things I am the arbiter of my own fate. I can have fun regardless of the audience or the differing ideas or opinions of the people I'm playing with. Ideally there is the idea of group mind and support tying all the players together but that's not always the case. Sometimes people are in funks, sometimes people have styles that aren't compatible. That's all ok. I'm responsible only for my own happiness, my own enjoyment. If a piece works or if a scene work is not under my control.

There's also pleasure that can be derived from the struggle. From exerting effort. From doing the work. As a performer it's naive to believe it's always going to be great easy shows, sunshine, rainbows, and unicorn ice-cream. Every opportunity has it's problems, every gig it's price. Life is a struggle. Art imitates life. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys. All you can do is keep doing.

Try again, fail again, fail better. Rinse. Repeat.

Season 2

Tonight we recorded the first episode of Season two of Tisher, Tim, and I's radio serial Bubble Boys. This season will take place ten years after the first season in 1943. It felt great to get back in the studio with Tim and Tisher and we hit the ground running. I'm really excited for this season because we figured out a lot of stuff the first time around. We know how to edit, we know our characters, we know how to get what we want out of takes and how they can be chopped up to get what we want. Now we can streamline, focus on the ideas, the story, and the characters. We have a lot of great guests for this season and some exciting episodes planned.

It was a great feeling to get back in Tim's studio. It feels right and comfortable and once we got going things just started to roll. I've been chomping at the bit to get started on season 2 and now that we have I think we are all on the same page, excited and inspired.

We had Allison, Annie, and Lily on for our first episode and to date was the most we've laughed while recording. It may be a little more work during the editing process but it's always worth cracking each other up.

The summer has been great but I didn't have a project to work on. I'm the type of guy that has to have something to work on or work towards. To feel like I'm moving forward, producing content. It's a great relief and a great joy to get back to work on a passion project with a best friend.

We'll be releasing season 2, ten episodes in ten weeks, in a couple months.

Red Rock

I miss the west. The wide open spaces. The mountains. The places where you can go and not see anyone for hours.

Adam and I went out to see the Beanpole in Colorado twice and did a lot of hiking both times. The second time we went to the Red Rocks where this picture was taken. I remember thinking it was the location of that scene from Bill And Ted's Bogus Journey.

I just finished watching Long Way Down the second season of the Charlie Boorman/Ewan McGregor motorcycle travel show. In it they ride bikes from Scotland to South Africa. It's an amazing show and it got me really inspired. I want to ride my bike across country, have an adventure, meet new people, and most of all see old friends. I could ride to Austin to visit Bob or Denver to visit Beanpole or Richmond to visit Matt.

This coming winter will be for planning, the spring for doing and the open road.

A Parable About Longing

There once was a boy who fell in love with the night.
When the sun went down he would feel a pull at his heart.
He loved the comfort of the dark.
The caress of the shadow.
The warmth of the gloom.
The expanse of the black unknown.
But the night is elusive.
And the boy was a boy.
He would take long walks at dusk while the night gathered.
Until his mother would call him in for supper and bed.
He would stand at his window and stare out at the dimness.
But would soon weary and fall asleep.
Time past and the boy's heart began to ache.
He craved the ink of midnight and the silver touch of the moon.
He did not enjoy his food or the child's games he played at school.
He yearned.
One night he was awoken by the dry mutter of his curtains in the wind.
And as he looked out his open window desire and fear clashed within him.
Desire won.
The boy swung one leg and then another over the sill and gently leaped to the ground.
As the boy walked into the dark,
shadows fell around him,
and out of the gloom, a whisper:
"I have missed you so."

Nineteen

About six months ago I lent Craig Stephen King's 11/23/62 along with a couple other books. We're both big King fans. The thing I love about King is that his books are all connected. Themes, characters, worlds, story arcs- they all weave together. In the Dark Tower Series the characters encounter the number 19 frequently. So much so the characters in the book start using the number as a signal of coincidence and connectedness and fate. A sign of what goes on behind the curtain.

Craig just started reading the book last weekend while he was on his way to Austin. Yesterday Craig was finally back for both Sunday shows. During the Prime set we did a scene in a sandwich shop. Four tornado chasers went to rob a Blimpie in order to raise money for their expedition. Of course during the robbery we all decided to order sandwiches. Scott was the first to order and asked for a "pepinos". We all went nuts over the silliness of the word and repeated it probably 100 times during the rest of the scene.

Later that night Craig went home and was reading before bed. What did he find in the pages of 11/23/62? Pepino's Best.

There's no explaining where inspiration comes from or when it will strike. Stories and ideas are out there swirling in the ether. Sometimes you reach out your hand and grasp them and make sense of them. And other times you only get a glimpse.

Of a pattern immense, intricate, and unknown.

A Belated Entrance And An Exit

Yesterday The Night Shift had our last show with Mike before he moved back to Cleveland. I showed up late because I was coming from a show at iO and didn't get there until about two minutes into our set. I watched for a minute or two to get a sense of what was going on and then entered.

Normally being late to a show let alone going into a set late would horrify me. With The Night Shift we are genuinely only interested in having fun with each other. That's something I think a lot of improv groups say but this is one of the rare groups that it's actually true. There is absolutely zero expectations and infinite acceptance. We show up and do our shows and have fun. We love being together with whoever can make it whenever they can make it. There is never any resentment or guilt or judgement because there's no pressure. It's a challenge to walk into a show once it's started and it can be weird. It's a unique feeling to show up late and be willing to watch and have your teammates encourage you to walk on and figure it out. No one is put out, everyone is simply excited to be together.

We've been doing a mono-scene for a couple months now, one continuous scene for the duration of our set, and tonight we were at an archaeological dig. We had a send off show for Mike two weeks ago where we all wore Ohio sports shirts so this was just icing on the cake. We've been a tight group since we formed three years ago and it will be tough to have Mike gone. But luckily he won't be far away and we've already talked about him mega-busing back for shows.

Good night but not good bye.

A Disturbing Dream 13

I walk in to a concrete basement or warehouse type structure. There are two men walking behind me who I don't look at. They are hulking and faceless. They are watching to make sure I do what I am suppose to do.

In the middle of the bare room there is a black trunk. Inside the black trunk there is a man. He has been inside the trunk for 2 days. I am expected to kill this man, it is my friend Eli.

I undo the catches on the trunk and Eli tumbles out. He is dirty, his beard is long, and he is skeletal. He looks at me with vacate eyes, resigned and unafraid.

The two men behind me get closer. Crowd me from behind but I don't look back. The room gets thick with sweat and the concrete warms.

I am suppose to kill my friend, that's what is expected, to beat him to death.

I reach down and grab him and shove him back in the trunk, the only thing I can think of to delay what seems to be inevitable.

My two shadows escort me out, down a hall, to my own much smaller concrete room lit by a sallow fluorescent. I sit on the floor. The door is shut and locked. I have bought myself another day.

Some Love For Ben Foster

I've liked Ben Foster since I saw him on the Disney TV show Flash Forward, the precursor to the similar and far less entertaining Even Stevens with Shia Labeouf. From his more comedic roles at the beginning of his career to the more dramatic in the last couple years I've always found him inherently watchable. He's had eclectic supporting roles in all kinds of films and TV shows from The Punisher to Freaks & Geeks to Alpha Dog. 

A lot of the films he's been in have been underrated and a lot of his performances go unnoticed in films that aren't that good. Pandorum one of the best scifi films in the past couple years starred Ben Foster but didn't get much exposure. He grounds the film with an everyman quality that is a great conduit to enjoy this wonderful dark scifi horror flick.

30 Days Of Night was a terrible adaptation of the graphic novel of same name starring Josh Hartnett. Foster played The Stranger the only interesting part of the film and the only performance that reflected any reality. Worth sitting through 90 minutes of confusing mediocrity just to watch his turn.

The somewhat predictable teen rom-com Get Over It has some life because of Foster. He brings some unexpected menace to the Bruce Willis clunker Hostage. Bang Bang You're Dead a potentially hokey movie about school shootings carries much needed weight with Foster's performance as the troubled potentially homicidal teen.

In all his performances he brings a commitment and reality that jump off the screen and make you want to keep watching. Good movies, bad movies it doesn't matter. I'll watch Ben Foster do what he does because he believes it.

Most recently Foster's 3:10 To Yuma and The Messenger have brought him some much deserved exposure but I still think he's underrated. A working actor creating interesting roles and moving forward deserves some attention.

Check out his past films or keep an out for future ones. He is worth watching.

Sunsets #1

7/16/13

8/2/13

9/3/13

'Austenland' & 'Ain't Them Bodies Saints' Reviews

Austenland is a light rom-com especially geared for Jane Austen fanatics. The film follows Jane, Keri Russel, a thirty something perpetually single woman obsessed with the works of Jane Austen. She cashes in her savings and goes on a trip to a week long immersive retreat to Austenland where the guests get to become part of an Austenesk story line.

The story is fun and all the actors are engaging. The comedy and romance are delicately balanced neither one overpowering the fanciful pleasant mood of the film. The jokes weaving in well with moments of flirtation. The cast plays their roles to perfection most notably in Russel's two love interests- JJ Field as the Mr. Darcey surrogate and Bret McKenzie as the more down to earth normal guy. Jane Seymour as the proprietress of Austenland is funny but under utilized.

Russel carries the film with an honest, grounded, empathetic, slightly quirky performance that makes you route for her and want to see where she ends up. The end of the film becomes somewhat formulaic but it is excusable because of the fun that is had with the genre proceeding the end. Nothing surprising but entertaining and heartwarming without getting into the vicinity of cliche or sap.

Rent It.

Ain't Them Bodies Saints is a faux concept drama borrowing heavily and badly from Terrence Malick in general and Badlands in specific. The movie follows what could be loosely described as the story of a rural Texas couple and the efforts of the man to break out of prison and get back to his wife.

The are innumerable problems with the movie. The score is overpowering at almost every point, the filmmaker seemed to want to make a T-Bone Burnett sound track but didn't have the money to get T-Bone or the finese to make a passable imitation.

The casting of the leads is all wrong. Casey Affleck is all wrong as the stoic-romantic outlaw. His performance has no charm, no finesse, and it's a relief when he is not on screen. It makes no sense why his friends help him out or why his wife loves him. He reveals no likable characteristics only selfishness and narcissism. Rooney Mara, somewhat better, suffers from a lack of direction. Her southern accent is so jarringly terrible it's difficult to believe any scene she's in. Ben Foster is the only bright spot of the film, moving through scenes with a gentleness and a silence that seem to belong in a different film. Foster seems to be the only actor confident enough to make something out of a script that is significantly lacking.

The story meanders but goes no where, implies meaning but says nothing, most likely has nothing to say. The story itself, the way the film is shot and scored stinks so heavily of Malick it would be wrong to say the filmmaker was "influenced" by him.

Ain't Them Bodies Saints comes off as a naive film-school-boy attempt to make some art by copying an idol.

Don't See It.

Goodbye Yolo

Yolo and her fiance Pat are moving to Seattle. Yolo is one of those people who I've traveled in the same circles as over the past couple years, developed a great deal of affection for, but never got to know that well. She was added to Schwa last spring and I was fortunate enough to do a handful of shows with her before her emanate exodus.

She has a sweet, playful, contagious energy which I will miss very much. She probably only played in half a dozen shows during her brief schtint on Schwa but in each one we did a scene together. Her last show and our last scene is the most memorable for me. Craig and I played brothers and Yolo was our prim, refined, tightly-wound, dignified mother. The scene consisted of her telling us to sit up straight, speak clearly, and be gentlemen while we pathetically tried to ask for a later curfew. It was effortless to do scenes with her and always fun. It's a shame she is leaving when we just started to get to know each other and get to play together but I'm grateful for the time however brief.

I wish her and Pat safe travels, happy trails, and a joyous new life.

(pause)

Much is said in silence,

in the space between.





Large, unwieldy affections-

find a voiceless sound.

When It's Good, It Feels Good

I was never an athlete or musician, I have always been a performer. I think I latched onto it at an early age because it was the only thing, out of the many things I tried, that I was good at. Every once in a while you find yourself in the those moments on stage where you hit a groove. Where things start happening without effort. You find yourself in an effortless type of flow. Athlete's call it the zone. I don't know what musicians call it. For me it's like being totally in the moment but also detached from it, floating above it, in actuality doing nothing and just being a conduit for something other. You can see every move, you can anticipate and feel every laugh, groan, and gasp.

My parents were in town tonight to see Deep Schwa and Prime. Schwa had a good show, the past couple weeks it feels like we've been on something of a streak, getting back in the rhythm of things, the cast fitting together. The show ended a little early before we could tie everything together but all in all a good show.

Craig was out of town in Austin and I asked Vince and Sabine to sit in with Prime. It's odd to perform on Sunday's without Craig because I always identify Sunday night shows as his shows. He is always a constant, stabilizing, joyful presence. I was nervous for the first time in a while. Excited to play with my friends who I don't get to play with and to perform for my folks in a show they had never seen before but nervous because I wasn't sure it would go well, without Craig I wasn't confident.

I've found though that nerves more often than not give you an edge- makes you present and sharp. The suggestion was Mississippi River and we were four southern boys heading down the river to get some revenge. The show was great. It was such a joy to have Sabine and Vince play with Brett and I. Sabine has great timing and is always good for a one liner or a seemingly effortless joke. Vince plays big characters and has the most phenomenal reactions. I caught myself a couple times just watching and appreciating Vince reacting to things. Brett was open and welcoming and was a great facilitator and instigator of fun in the show in addition to his normal quickness. The show came together in a very organic way and I think all four of us lost ourselves in it and had a blast. As the show progressed the audience got caught up in the infectious energy. Because of the holiday tomorrow it was a packed crowd and I think we all ended on a high.

It was a great show. One of the rare ones where you derive a great deal of pleasure from very little effort. It was the perfect show for my parents to see and I am grateful for the entire evening.