Graffiti 74

I feel like I remember this from somewhere. Some artist or painting or sculpture. I find it disturbing. Maybe it's a comment on people wearing masks. People putting up a front or facade. But at the same time their inner self, their real self is always below. Struggling in one or another to be free. To be seen. To be heard. To take over. Is it a good thing or a bad thing? Do we put up barriers so we can interact with people, to be safe, or do we put them up to conform, to play by the rules, to be 'normal'. Or is it simply that most of us don't really know ourselves all that well. We hide something we don't really understand.

"The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask." -Jim Morrison

"At the innermost core of all loneliness is a deep and powerful yearning for union with one's lost self." -Brendan Francis

Goodbye Jim

Jim is leaving with Kate for LA tomorrow. His roast was this past Tuesday which was really fun. It was nice, after a couple of actual roast/burn jokes each person said something really sweet about Jim. He will be missed.

I've watched Jim and Craig perform in Middle Age Comeback since I started taking classes at iO, pretty much for their entire run. I learned a lot from just watching Jim. A lot of their best shows were narrative driven which seemed to be something Jim really liked. Two shows stick out in my mind. One was a show where Jim played Dale McFaddin a founding father that time forgot. Craig and Jim jumped from the past to the present and created this really fun story about this forgotten historical character. The other show the suggestion was 'Late For Work'. Jim and Craig were two friends late for work and the entire show was them trying to race there. They cut periodically to Jim as their boss with Craig as his assistant. Both were great shows with clear narratives something I didn't really know how to do but came to from watching them.

In a way Jim also taught me performance integrity. I was at a couple shows where he threw people out. Drunk people, people being disruptive or rude. He had now tolerance for it. He would stop the piece in mid-scene chastise the person and wait for them to be completely out of the building before continuing, without missing a beat. It was something that really inspired me in an odd way. If at iO I'm not being paid, I'm doing it for the love of improv so I really don't have to put up with anything I don't want to. I have the power, that was a great realization.

Jim was also a great director for HouseCo. He gave me the confidence to trust my sketch ideas and develop them, he clarified my ambiguous ideas and showed me how that could be done. He was always articulate and clear and honest with his feedback. Putting up 'Call Of The Riled' taught me a lot because it was directed by Jim. Even though we didn't talk a whole lot I'll miss him. He was always a good guy to be around because he was free and passionate about his ideas. I'll take an angry guy over an apathetic guy any day of the week.

This is a video Ted made for Jim's roast. It's scenes from various Middle Age Comeback shows.


Good luck, goodbye.

Ideas

Craig turned me onto this series a while back by F. Paul Wilson called Repairman Jack. I just finished up the series which I loved and will go into more detail on in a later post. We talked about it a couple days ago.

Me: He wrote himself into the books. Stephen King did that too in the Dark Tower books.
Craig: Yeah, it's weird.
Me: I always wonder, I know it's not real, it's fiction. But I always wonder maybe on some secret level some part is true. Or these authors that are writing these type of books, they're aware of this bigger struggle going on. Subconsciously or something. Good and evil. They write themselves in, because maybe they doubt that they just made it up. You know?
Craig: I want to know where the stories come from. That's what always gets me. (pause) Where do stories come from?

Do stories exist somewhere in the ether and authors or people just get a hold of them? Find them, temper them out, put them down on paper? Some stories I think that's true. Some stories have been repeated in different ways for hundreds of years. Is it something we as humans all have in common? Something we're all tapped into, have a desire to hear, have some sixth sense about?

Sometimes when I improvise or write I feel like I'm doing archetypal scenes or maybe creating something that's already happened. I'm writing a scene that someone has lived that I don't know on some other country or in some other time. Some people say there are no new stories only different ways to tell the same story. Where does inspiration come from? What is it? Do we genuinely create or do we tap into some instinctual limitless group conscious? Sometimes when I'm reading, watching a play or movie, or looking at art I get the strangest sense of familiarity. Of déjà vu.

I found this clip and I think it has the beginning of an answer.
 
I love the idea of the world being a river full of darting idea-fish.

Just yearning to be caught.

60

Some days are easy. The sun is shining. I have plans with friends and there are good movies to see. On good days I'll have shows and meetings I like to go to. I'll sleep well, be energized and eat right. I'll have a clear head and easily be kind to others. Letting very little bother me. I'll give back, do right by others as well as myself. I'll be patient.

Other days are hard. It's gloomy. I've stayed up late and slept most of the day light away. I'll be drowsy, irritable, or frazzled. I'll stay at home most of the day trapped in my own head. I'll drink too much coffee and chain smoke cigarettes. I'll get stuck in a depressing book and be unable to pull myself out of it. I'll watch a whole season of a show on my computer. I'll ignore calls or get calls from friends who are back out there. I'll react in an unpleasant manner to my family or friends. I'll lack compassion. I'll stay hungry and let the hunger turn to discontent. I'll leave my bike locked up and take a cab if I need to go somewhere. I'll eat out. I'll eat a pint of ice cream in one sitting. I'll be uninspired and let my thoughts churn themselves into a doubting lethargy.

Most days are good. I'm under no illusions all days will be like that. When I have bad days, days where I struggle, I realize those are the days I need to rely on other people, on being healthy, on staying active. We all have bad days, we all have tragedies in our lives big and small. It's inevitable, no one has a perfect life, a life safe from strife. But all things can be handled, can be mourned, and gotten through. All it takes is a clear head, a full heart, and the willingness to move forward.

I feel like I'm really living for the first time in a long time. And it feels good. The ups and downs, the pain and the joy.

I'm still here.

Sorrow

From A Friend

Every time I cry, I have this thought... It's not really real, but in my brain I say that I wonder if this is the last time I cry. I then tell myself "probably not" and I wonder when the next time I cry is going to be. If it's going to be because I hurt myself, or because someone I love has died. I wonder if it'll be because my heart got broken. Or maybe it's just because of a movie. I wonder if I'll lose a family heirloom or if I'll hear a song from a time when things felt better.

And then I get this hope that I'll never cry again. That this is the last time I will ever be sad. And the hope is so strong and it almost becomes a real thing.

And then the dread sets in. The dread of knowing that of course this isn't the last time I'm going to cry. That a lot of the things that make me happy right now, at some point, will go away. And when they do I'll mourn them and I'll cry. And I have known only a fraction of the pain I will know. Of the humiliations I will suffer. Of the betrayals and the let downs and missed opportunities. I have so much more crying to do. And I don't want to do it.

To calm itself, my brain just makes it a math problem. I wager at how many times the average human cries in a year. How many years I'm likely to live... How age and other demographicy things might affect the amount of crying.... yadda yadda.

If it's numbers it's removed and numbers don't make me cry... Well, not anymore.

I assume I have a lot of cries to go before I die.

'Dredd' A Review

'Dredd' is a movie based on the British comic book character Judge Dredd. The movie takes place in a future plagued by radiation from nuclear fall out. The entire Eastern seaboard is one large enclosed city. The peace is kept by 'Judges' who combine the police and the judicial system. The movie opens on Dredd(Karl Urban) apprehending some criminals. He goes back to head quarters and gets a trainee Judge(Olivia Thirlby) to asses on his next call. Their next call comes from a slum-high-rise building ruled over by a scarred drug lord(Lena Headey).

'Dredd' is a great simple action movie. Not a lot of frills but good solid action, a simple engaging plot, and great casting. The wonder drug being produced by Headey's character is 'Slow-Mo' which tricks the brain into thinking time is passing at a fraction of its normal speed. The shots of this effect are super cool especially in 3D. Headey's character Ma-Ma is stunningly grotesque, ruthless, and watchable. Thirlby as a psychic trainee is eager, competent, and never falls into a trap of being a victim(which is needless to say refreshing).

Urban's Dredd at first gave me a little pause because his scowl is a little over the top. But as the movie progressed I was totally won over. Unlike Stallones portrayal we never see Urban's face. He has no love interest(also refreshing), he has no exposition, there is no real implication that he is a particularly special Judge. We find out he is through the course of the film. Urban plays it controlled, righteous, and calculating. He never loses his temper and is ready to do what is necessary at any given moment. You get the sense under all the bluster that the character is genuinely only concerned about one thing: the Law.

See It.

Sun Streak

I sit and appreciate the sun
soaking in it's momentary warmth.
I look up and see a streak of white
cutting the perfect blue in two.
A trail of speed
a path of intent
propelling me into the day.
With hope
eagerness
and momentum.

I grin and pursue.

Graffiti 73

This was outside Tre Kronor where my family went out to breakfast this morning. It's a band sticker which I avoid posting but I like the name and the cleanness of the image. The Eye of Providence is kind of an overused symbol but there's something hypnotic about it. Something that taps in to something deep seated. Something basic. Like something familiar is looking back.

"The dead of midnight is the noon of thought." -Anna Laetitia Barbauld

"The world is in a constant conspiracy against the brave. It's the age old struggle: the roar of the crowd on one side, and the voice of your conscience on the other." -Douglas MacArthur

"Sometimes there is no darker place than our thoughts, the moonless midnight of the mind." -Dean Koontz

A Disturbing Dream

I had a dream this morning that I will never forget. It felt more real than any dream I have ever had.

I was in an airport in an eastern country. I was waiting in line to go through airport security. I was almost at the front. The woman ahead of me took off her dress, shoes, and socks. She was wearing only a slip. She laid down on a table and was covered from the neck down with a sheet. Eight security agents surrounded the woman on the table and hit her with batons, twice each. She struggled off the table, dressed, and limped on to her gate. I was the next one to go through.

Me: Is this normal protocol?
Female Agent: Yes. Everyone does this.
Me: What is the purpose? I don't understand.
FA: No metal detectors. The club hits something, it makes a sound.
Me: But isn't there an easier way?
FA: (smiles) No. We do not like terrorists here. This is why I took this job. I love this. When I first start I hit very hard. I hit someone very hard and they died. Now I don't hit as hard as I can.

The thought of it sent me to my knees. A deep and unrelenting sorrow took over me and I cried like I have never cried in life. I wailed, I keened, I opened up my heart and let out the most refined hurt I had ever known. I screeched and tore at my hair. Not out of fear. There was no doubt in my mind I could survive this beating. I was torn open for the person who was killed and this woman who was so deluded she had no reaction to ending someones life. I writhed on the floor for what seemed forever. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my friend HP with another woman. HP was restraining her from coming to assist me for fear of some kind of repercussion. I felt a hand on my arm. It was my friend the Beanpole. He had a grim look on his face and pulled me to my feet. He shoved a box of Dunkin Donuts at me and said "hold this". He had a gallon of milk in his other hand. We started to walk.

I awoke.

'Sleepwalk With Me' A Review

'Sleepwalk With Me' is an autobiographical film about how Mike Birbiglia started performing his current stand-up act. The movie starts with Mike and his current girlfriend in a boring uninspired life. Mike works at a comedy club and periodically performs using the same lame jokes his done for ten years. His girlfriend seems great but the problem is she wants to get married and he doesn't know if he's ready. After 8 years of dating its come to the breaking point. As the movie progresses Mike starts doing jokes about his relationship and family and gains success. At the same time he begins having sleep walking episodes where he acts out his dreams putting him in danger from time to time.

The movie doesn't seem to know what it wants to be. Is it about his relationship or relationships in general or is it about being a comedian? Is it about dreams and how they effect us? The movie spends equal time with all three ideas but doesn't focus on one. The result is an entertaining movie with no point. We never get a full picture as to Mike's life or what is going on. We don't get a real sense of how he writes we just see him doing stand-up a couple times and are left to intuit how or why he wrote his material.

It comes off as a 'feel good' 'heartfelt' movie, or at least that's what its trying to be, but there is little heart in it. The film doesn't show much emotionality. It never goes deeper than Birbiglia is willing to go in his act.

Rent It.

Confidence Of Youth

For a long time I thought I was invincible. I think that's normal for kids in their late teens and early twenties but I had that sense before then and long after. I've been in a lot of situations where I came away virtually unscathed. Car accidents, bike accidents, motorcycle accidents, fights, falls, cuts, burns, illness. No lasting damage, no broken bones, no real hurt. I did something real dumb today which made me realize that time in my life has passed.

I came home a couple hours ago and realized I had locked my keys in my apartment. I contacted my landlord but was told someone wouldn't be able to let me in for a couple hours. I figured, ok no biggie, maybe I can figure a way in while I wait.

There's an access door in the building to the roof and I have a balcony. I went up to the roof and looked over the edge, there's no real lip or anything, and my balcony was about 10-12 feet below. I swung my legs over the edge and thought. Didn't seem that far. I thought maybe I could dangle and cut the distance but there was really no place to grip. I distinctly remember the thought 'just do it' and I did. I slipped off the roof onto my balcony. I tumbled into a heap on my balcony after bruising my ankle. I almost said aloud "I'm too old for this shit." which I didn't because I thought that'd be dumb. I'm not old I'm 28. I limped inside found my keys and went about my day.

It was stupid and unnecessary. I'm not that badly hurt but it's an inconvenience. And I realized I am too old to be pulling stunts like that. My body certainly isn't deteriorating by any means but it doesn't have the bounce back capability that in once had. There's no need to risk but sometimes I find myself drawn to it.

Patience is something I still need to work on.

The Zone

Tonight Rick had a great show. It was one of those shows where everything was crisp, streamlined, andpunchy. There were 9 of us which can usually make for an imbalanced show but it was one of the rare times that we pulled it off. All nine of us participated, all nine of us were funny, everyone did their share of the show. Andel was back for one night only which contributed to our excitement and cohesion. She left Rick in the winter to do a boat and when she got back she got cast in the Second City e.t.c. show. The show is great and Punam just got added to the cast. If you haven't seen it you should 'We're All In This Room Together.'

The opening was real fast, all the scenes were clear and concise, one of them a blackout. We had two songs one really successful the second not as successful. The show was short by our standards 23 minutes but we were cooking from lights up. It was one of those shows where I think we were in 'the zone'. There wasn't a lot of thinking going on: what comes next, whats my scene idea, how do I call this back etc. We were just playing and we were all on the same wavelength at the same pace. We were attuned. Ted and Ellen our new additions have been integrated and a show like tonight just shows what a great fit they are. When you have shows like this you wonder why they can't all be this way. What was different, what made it click? I don't know.

You can try to find the zone all you want. Sometimes it just happens. Sometimes you can't look for it in order to find it. It's not just with improv its with anything running, writing, riding motorcycles, whatever. Sometimes you hit this point when you're not thinking just enough to be totally present in the moment.

And then anything is possible.

Secret Job

From the Schwa show Sunday. I find out that my wife(Jeannie) has been working at The Titled Kilt on the sly.

Drennen And Joey's Sick Adventure #5

Drennen and Joey’s Sick Adventure

by Del Jackson

Chapter 5: Quinn Change

          “Do you come here often?”

            That she did, he knew damn well. The head bob, the voice filled to the brim with dad’s cologne: a cockatoo strutting his stuff, a man—a mammal, all tall—on the prowl. The fool’s gold name badge on his chest reading:

R. Kimball

PNC Bank Associate

            He was putting the moves on one Martha Maciejewski, age 25, quite possibly the most beautiful Polish princess—a princess, all woman—in all of neo-Chicago. An understatement, that.

            Martha was there to withdraw a humble two hundred and fifty dollars, but what was R. Kimball doing there, really? He was a Kingfisher of a man, tall as the trees but as lithe and graceful as a prime Michael Jackson. He was snakes in a can, a fish out of water shaking the desperate shakes of separation anxiety, death; liable in an instant to do the most explosive physical comedy, his hair, ever wet with sweat, punctuating the madness—a shock of hair lending him the affect of a bruiser, a meat packer straight out of Upton Sinclair.

            They busted in, guns blazing, better late than never: Joey Romaine and Drennen Quinn, flanked by Irwin Rommel, Joey’s bombastic cat and sometime dance partner. They were all three dressed as clowns (Irwin, so cute!), but—what the fuck? Drennen and Joey looked like they were melting, sweating bullets and streaking makeup. Gasping for breath.

            “Everybody freeze, this is a robbery," said Joey, heat stricken. "Just like in the movies!”

            R. Kimball was on him, a lunging wildebeest, a force of nature, before Joey Romaine could say “Hot Pocket!”

            “You saved me!” Martha said.

            “Martha! What are you doing here?! I saved you!” Joey said, lost.

            “She meant me, lunch meat! Now, time to machismo rape you for your insolence.”

                                                                    * * * 

            Gary Richardson, the legendary wheelman. His knuckles the humps of a camel on the steering wheel of his legendary ride, a 1989 JBA Dominator Mustang.

Stay the fuck out of my way, his life’s mantra. How was it again, that he got mixed up with these two bozos?

                                                                    * * *
              After some debate, it was Joey that pressed the doorbell on Gary's bungalow; Drennen flyin’ high, too high.
♪♪ BING bong, bing BONG. BING bong, BING bong ♪♪
The door swung open. G-Rich.
"We want to rob a PNC bank, Quick Change-style, you know?" said Joey. Quick Change style! "We were sorta wondering--"
Gary hovered backwards, into darkness; the Grim Reaper was never colder.

"Does he want us to come in?" said Drennen.
                                                                    

                                                                    * * *

       Vintage Ray Bans on Gary. Michael Jackson's "Dirty Diana" blasting on CD: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqsKYmqLV80

 Drennen and Joey were hunched over a laptop in the backseat.

“She wanted to date me in college, no joke. She asked me out," said Joey.

    "No way," said Drennen. "She's beautiful."
     Irwin Rommel rode shotgun--Gary's orders.
    "Wow," said Drennen. "You messed up."

    "I know, dude, I'm such an idiot," said Joey, eyes swimming amidst the garish clown makeup, clawing his hand through his orange fro, done up Bozo style.
    "Martha, Martha, Martha... The one that got away, huh pal?"

    “Such a dummy…”

    “The video for The Clash’s “Rock the Casbah” is my favorite,” said Drennen.

“Good point, but I’d say Julianne Moore remains one of Hollywood’s natural beauties… Gary, I'm in mourning here, could you turn that down?"

    SCREECH! ‘Stang to a dead halt.               

Get the F outta my ride

Drennen and Joey in shock: Gary hadn’t opened his mouth. That shit was telepathy!

"…Did you hear that?" Drennen whispered.

“Yeah, it was like it was in my head. You heard it?”

“Yeah… What should we do?”

“…Gary, my man, we gotta get to PNC, you can't dump us out here.”
 Irwin Rommel wrinkled his nose as if to say, “Me, too?”
 But there was no further response from Gary, no further anything, and after several minutes, there was no other choice but to exit the ride. Gary peeled out and was gone.

“Great. Just great,” said Drennen.
 “That’s a spicy meatball! It’s hot out!” said Joey.

“You are the worst.”

“♪♪ Sharif don’t like it,” Joey sang. Hard to stay mad at him.

Water The Plants

 I was back in Rockford this past weekend to spend some time with my folks, see my sister, and visit Adam and his sons. It's always nice to go home. My mom has a bunch of potted plants on the porch which are all thriving. That wasn't always the case. I was never great at doing chores. Or I guess it's fairer to say I never had the best timing with chores. I never saw the point in cleaning up before the cleaning lady came. I was that kind of kid.

I was always appointed to water the plants because of course I was home the most when I was growing up. Both my folks have jobs that sometimes kept them at work late. I did it sporadically. Some years the plants were healthier than others. Needless to say, at this point, my mom is in full control and the plants are flourishing. I read on the deck for a while before my dad got home Friday. It's nice to be by living things. That's something I miss Chicago. Woods, gardens, that cool green. Maybe I should get a plant. Maybe not.

I might forget to water it.

'Robot & Frank' A Review

'Robot & Frank' is a film about the relationship between a man and a robot. The film takes place in the near future. Frank has memory problems and his son gets him a health care robot to help him out. An odd friendship starts to develop between Frank and the robot. As Frank memory begins to improve he starts to get an interest in his former profession, burglary. He teaches the robot how to pick locks and begins to plan heists with him. The film isn't about burglary although there is that component. It's about a lonely man developing a relationship with a robot. They have chemistry and Langella's performance is amazing. But there is something sad about it. Why does this man have to be friends with this robot? Is there no one else? Does he come to rely on it to much? The movie investigates getting old, memory loss, and technology and a simple enjoyable way. You leave the theater feeling good but with a nagging sense of doubt you can't quite place.

See It.

Day Zero

The Mayans weren't right, but they weren't wrong either. 2013 never came. Time stopped 12/31/12 11:59 pm. It's been winter for 1064 days. The sun hasn't risen in 1064 days. No one has aged in 1064 days but plenty of people have died. Days really aren't a good unit of measurement anymore. Clocks still work but what do they mean?

The city is almost empty. Most of the time it seems I have it all to myself. The good thing is you can finally see the stars. The trains still work, that's how I get around, but for how long I don't know. I always wanted to be a conductor and now I am in a way. I go from neighborhood to neighborhood scrounging up whatever canned food there is left. Slim pickings these days. Something has to change.

Winter can't last forever.

Beacon

The other night Punam and I sat by the lake. There was one sailboat coming into the harbor with it's red light on. We watched it slowly make it's way back to shore. There was something comforting in it's small persistent glow. Something steadying. Something that made me want to go out and have adventures. Something inspiring. The little red light said to me:

I'm here.
I'm going where I want.
Maybe I don't know where that is.
But I'm going there.
And if I get lost I can be found.
But right now, I'm alone.
Enjoying the dark.

Resilience

Beanpole put this song on a mix for me a while ago. The original is by R.L. Burnside one of my favorite blues men. But this is a great version from a Colorado band. I'll listen to it when I need some strength. When I need something to help me get up, go out, and face the day.

Earn The Laugh

Sometimes audiences are easy and sometimes they're hard. Sometimes they laugh at everything and sometimes they laugh at nothing. Monday nights new teams perform at iO. Last night I saw a show that was disturbing for a couple reasons.

The show taken in a vacuum was bad. All the scenes were arguments, multiple scenes degraded women, and multiple scenes devolved into a loose premise with only one line jokes to move it forward. It appeared as if the team wasn't having fun and didn't like each other. I'd cut any team some slack, having an off night, or this team in particular being green, but open to close the show was packed with negativity.

The other disturbing thing was that the audience appeared to love it. The team was getting laughs and applause, totally undeserved. They liked the fights, they liked the series of joke with no actual scene structure, they liked the women being picked on.

Teams need to hold themselves to higher standards when performing. As actors and improvisers we have to realize what we do has an effect on the audience whether it be conscious or unconscious. We are not a TV show we are live theater. Even if there isn't justice in life there should be justice on stage. If we see a scene where a man bullies his wife, at some point that man should be brought to justice. When we improvise we shouldn't focus on what is and what's funny. We should focus on what could be. Whether that be fun, a message, or simple enjoyment of each other. The audience shouldn't direct us, we should direct them.

As audience members watching live theater we should be aware of what we're watching. What the message is behind what we're seeing, what the implication is. We aren't watching a movie, we are involved in a participatory art form. Especially in improv we as audience members are free to laugh, cry, or groan. We are free and obligated to judge the content of what we are seeing.

Comedy is and has always been a reflection of our reality, of our society. I wouldn't want my sister being treated like I saw some women being treated in the show last night. Being presented at a comedy theater doesn't make something comedic. And it certainly doesn't make it something to laugh at. I'm not saying don't laugh, of course, please laugh and laugh fully.

But think about what you are laughing at.

Plankton

Part of the opening from Schwa last night. I almost wish we hadn't said anything and just wiggle-danced for a minute.

An Imminent Fall

The weather has cooled off a bit in the past week or two. I like it, I prefer jacket weather and I love fall. But I will miss flowers. That's something I always look forward to in the spring and summer. Not the heat but a variety of beautiful multicolored flowers. My neighborhood has a lot of them. I'm always delighted to see flowers of any kind. I'm drawn to them. They're soothing. There's something serene about them. Something simple. A stillness. A quiet beauty.

I'm looking forward to the fall. Cool days and nights. Changing leaves. Apple cider and pumpkin pie. Bonfires and candles. Warming up under blankets.

But I'll miss the flowers.

A Fable About Solitude

There once was a lean sleek fox who lived in the woods.
He had never met another fox.
He vaguely remembers sucking at his mother's tit but does not remember her face.
And that was fine with him.
The fox owned the woods.
He knew every inch.
Patches of sun to bask in.
Shadowed crannies for hiding.
Mulberry bushes with plump black berries.
He also knew where all the rats, rabbits, and wild birds lived. Easy pickings.
He knew the best climbing trees.
He was content.
The fox woke up every morning with a grin on his face and a hop in his step.
He didn't talk to anyone, not really. He had no one to talk to.
But who needs talk when you have everything you need?
One day as he was chasing the scent of some wild blueberries on the edge of the woods.
He loved blueberries. Yum.
Suddenly, the fox caught an unfamiliar scent on the wind.
Something he had never smelled before.
He went to investigate.
Carefully, he crept through the brush.
He came upon a fox family.
"Hello, young fox do you know the way through these woods?" said the father fox.
The fox stood stunned.
"Our den was dug up by man and our woods was cut down. We're looking for a new home." said the mother fox.
Still he did not speak.
"Help us please." said the cub.
"Of course." the fox grinned "I can get you through the forest but it will take days to travel through."
"Days we have, a home we do not." the father fox said.
And so they went.
As they traveled the fox took the family by all of his hidden and secret places.
He made sure they were well fed and showed them the sights to see in his woods.
He talked and talked. He was so happy.
After a few days they came to the end of the woods.
"Thank you for your help young fox. Your woods is quite nice but I fear man will be coming here soon. Would you like to come with us?" the father fox asked.
The fox thought. He had enjoyed his time with the other foxes. Loved it in fact.
But this was his home. The only place he knew.
"This is my home, I cannot leave, but I wish you a safe and peaceful trip."
They shared smiles, yips, and nips. The fox family disappeared into the brush.
The fox stood looking after them.
He had lived alone, content for years. Or so he thought.
As he looked after them he felt a hole open inside himself.
A longing he had never known.

'The Imposter' A Review

'The Imposter' is a docudrama about a french con artist, Frederic Bourdin, who impersonated Nicholas Barclay a missing child from San Antonio. Nicholas went missing at 13 in 1994, Frederic was taken into custody in Spain in 1997 and claimed to be the missing 16 year old boy. He was 23 at the time. The film is a collection of interviews, archive footage, and reenactments. Frederic comes off charming in a vaguely sinister or uncomfortable way. He's articulate, smart, but seemingly has no problem with having done the things he describes. He sees no harm in impersonating a missing child and causing a family undue emotional upset

The film starts with Frederic's detainment in Spain and follows the story as him and the family describe their feelings as events unfolded. The family seems almost too naive, too accepting of a person who looks nothing like their missing family member. But whose to say what a family having gone through that kind of trauma would be willing to accept. As the film progresses you almost shift your focus from Frederic's crimes to suspecting the family of being involved in Nicholas' disappearance. But it might just be Frederic Bourdin still manipulating after all these years. Manipulating his interviewer. Manipulating you.

See It.

Cravings

a soft whisper
a gentle tug
a beckoning finger
a biting bug

sometimes pushed
somtimes pulled
never sated
never full

always lingers
never ceases
always threatens
never teases

A Year Of Saturdays

Ted and I's sketch show opens tomorrow. I'm so proud of it. The first thing I've done that has no compromises. I love every sketch, I love the message, I love the two guys who worked on it with me.

I can't wait for you to see it.

Backup Dancers

Jeannie introduces her backup dancers. Each with a unique talent.

Street Talk 8

(Man with 2 year old girl in his arms walking with a woman)

Man: (through gritted teeth) You like it when daddy gets ya?

Girl: (baffled)

Man: You like it when daddy tiiiiiiiickles ya?

Woman: (oblivious)
(pause)

Me: Jesus, did you hear that?

Punam: Yeah, that guy is a psycho.

Me: Super Creep. That girl is gonna turn into one messed up 12 year old.
(pause)

Punam: Hey.

Me: What?
(pause)

Punam: (through gritted teeth) Do you like it when daddy getssss ya?

Me: (laughs) Ugh, I need a shower.

'Lawless' A Review

'Lawless' is a movie about three brothers in the moonshine business during prohibition. They live in rural Virginia, make moonshine, and ship it to the city. The government comes in looking for kick backs and the Brothers won't oblige. A war starts. The movie is simple and straight forward. No real surprises and both Tom Hardy and Shia LaBeouf have predictable romantic interests. The story leaves something to be desired but Tom Hardy and Guy Pearce(the villain) give two amazing performances. So real, specific, and layered that it almost feels inappropriate for the haphazard content of the movie. Their performances carried the underdeveloped uninspired plot.

Rent It.

Graffiti 72

This was outside the Chicago Cultural Center a couple weeks ago. They have these banners around the entire building. I'm guessing it was/is for some kind of exhibit or performance that was/is going on. I don't know if it's suppose to challenge the idea of being ordinary or if it's actually advocating being ordinary. Regardless of it's intention I find it disconcerting. I don't like it. I don't want to be ordinary and I don't want anyone else to be either. I want people to be unique and have their own passions and interests. I want people to be whoever they want to be and not think about how that fits in to some over arching societal idea of what is normal and what isn't. Sure, our similarities sometimes bring us together but our differences keep us together.

"If you are not willing to risk the unusual, you will have to settle for the ordinary." -Jim Rohn

"The ordinary man is involved in action, the hero acts. An immense difference." -Henry Miller