The Numbers For 2018

Year #6 without a drink. I didn't do it alone, I couldn't. I've stayed sober because of the help of others and the grace of my Higher Power.

I read 62 books my top 5 were The Sudden Appearance of Hope, The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet, The Minotaur Takes A Cigarette Break, The Anubis Gates, and Paradox Bound.

I saw 82 movies in the theater.

I fired a gun for the first time.

We(Nicole and I) went to 2 author events(Christina Henry and Esther Perel).

We went to 2 Michelin starred restaurants(Topolobampo and Parachute).

We went to 4 weddings.

We went ice skating once.

I went on 3 vacations (Richmond, motorcycle trip around Lake Michigan, New Mexico).

I saw 1 adolescent hero- Broon.

I did 48 shows with Deep Schwa.

I did 47 shows with Sight Unseen.

I did 9 shows with Plane Station.

I did 4 shows with Terrific Six(various mixes of members from my first improv team The Album).

I directed 1 solo show.

I understudied and performed in the play Deerfield Inn once.

I wrote 68 poems, 3 essays, and did 9 readings.

I rode my motorcycle for 6 months.

I went to 1 magic show.

I went to 0 funerals.

I went to 0 plays.

I went to 0 concerts.

I helped celebrate my niece's 2nd birthday.

Nicole and I celebrated our 5th Anniversary.

A full year, a satisfying year, a fast year. I'm grateful for each and every day.

The Numbers For 2017

Year #5 without a drink. Thanks to all the friends, family, and strangers who helped along the way.

I went on 4 vacations(Harrisburg, NYC, Denver, New Orleans).

I did 48 shows with Deep Schwa.

I did 45 shows with Sight Unseen.

The Night Shift did 1 show.

I co-wrote and performed 1 sketch show 5 times.

I conceived and shot 20 interviews for a documentary tentatively titled Chiaroscuro.

I wrote 62 poems, 1 essay, and did 6 readings.

I watched 78 movies in the theater.

I read 68 books my favorite of which was The Antagonist by Lynn Coady.

I went to 1 concert(Willie Nelson).

I saw 1 of my heroes in the flesh(Chris Rock).

I went to 2 plays(Linda Vista, Doll's House Part 2).

I went to 2 weddings.

I went to 0 funerals.

I went to 2 Michelin starred restaurants.

I moved once.

I babysat my niece for the first time.

I learned and cooked 6 crock pot recipes.

I rode my motorcycle for 7 months. I changed the battery once.

Nicole and I celebrated our 4th Anniversary.

I'm grateful for it all.

StoryLand

Walking into StoryLand I can't help but think
of the apocalypse,
some future near or distant
when we have destroyed ourselves
be the cause nuclear or climate.

Ragged survivors stumbling upon the jagged ruins of this
day-glow fiberglass memorial
to forgotten Fairy Tales,
they'll shelter here and perhaps a cult will form
In worship of the Whale and the Wooden Boy-

A false society built on walking pigs
wolves in night dresses
and an overlarge blond girl
in a tiny house,
scavengers capering in the graveyard of 20th century children stories.

The Numbers For 2016

This was the 4th year in a row I didn't take a drink.

I went on two vacations. One to Richmond(to visit Matt), the other to Portland(with Nicole).

I did 50 shows with Deep Schwa and the team celebrated its 20th anniversary.

I did 42 shows with Sight Unseen.

I conceived and directed 1 play, Blockbuster, which had 8 shows.

I released 8 episodes of my podcast Hindsight Hour which constituted the second season.

I wrote 59 poems, 7 essays, and did 10 readings.

I self published 1 collection of essays.

I saw 73 movies in the the theater.

I read 56 books my favorite of which was Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison.

I went to 0 concerts.

I went to 1 dance performance.

I went to 1 musical(Hamilton).

I went to 1 play(The Flick).

I went to 3 weddings.

I went to 1 memorial.

I rode my motorcycle for 7 glorious months.

I met my new born niece Maris for the first time.

I celebrated 3 years with an incredible partner.

The Fragility Of Belief

I'm currently reading Stephen King's meditation on horror Danse Macabre and one of the themes he returns to repeatedly is the idea of belief, the suspension of and the ability to. How important but tenuous belief can be in relating a tale, how as we age the more difficult it can be to give ourselves over to a story. But how important imagination and narrative are for us as kids but also, maybe even more vitally, as adults.

The sentiment echoes a lesson I learned when I was an angsty and unagreeable middle schooler. Every year from 5th to 8th grade I went to Camp Loan Oak which was a week long sleepover camp. A couple years I went there my sister was a counselor and I got to know the staff pretty well. One of her closest friends there Ted was my counselor one week when I was going into 7th grade. One night we were sitting around the camp fire roasting marshmallows for s'mores and telling ghost stories. The foreboding mood was heightened by the parks proximity to a graveyard.

After I and some of my fellow campers fumbled through paraphrased versions of Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark Ted told a "true story" about a counselor who, walking by the graveyard one evening, came upon a lost camper and gave her his sweatshirt, it being a cold evening, and as they cut through the graveyard on their way back to the lodge the camper disappeared. The sweatshirt was on a nearby grave, a kid who had died some thirty years before. Spooky. I was genuinely shaken and in an effort to bolster my non-existent courage I said "that didn't happen!" and made some joke which effectively deflated the eerie delicious atmosphere. I think some of us were relieved by my outburst but there was also a feeling of regret, something had been dispelled. Ted looked at me and said "No Steve. No it didn't." with such sarcastic scorn, such reproach and disappointment I felt like I'd been slapped. I was ashamed.

The next day Ted let it go and we were friends again but it stuck with me. Thinking about it Ted's story had cast a spell on us, we anxious and posturing 12 year olds, and I had broken the magic. And not because it was a bad story or poorly told but because it was successful, because I was truly scared. And had shied away from that precious precarious manifestation of imagination fearing as opposed to relishing how truly miraculous and fleeting it was.

Stories are not only entertainment they are solace and signpost, escape and enlightenment. And the belief we feel while watching a movie, reading a novel, or hearing a tale around a campfire is fragile and should be cultivated and respected. For without stories how would we face the bleak and mundane realities of life.

Graffiti 197

Photo credit AT

Dolores "Lolita" Haze. Also a feminist fashion brand.

"The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible." -Vladimir Nabokov


"I prefer to accept only one type of power: the power of art over trash, the triumph of magic over the brute." -Vladimir Nabokov

"There is only one school of literature - that of talent." -Vladimir Nabokov

"I need you, the reader, to imagine us, for we don't really exist if you don't." -Vladimir Nabokov

'Ex-Heroes' A Recommendation

Ex-Heroes is the first in a series of fantasy books that combines the zombie apocalypse and superheroes. Inspired by comic books and horror movies the series is an amalgamation of allusions and influence that come together to create something unique and engaging.

Fast paced and action-packed the books utilize a non-linear plot structure jumping back and forth from past to present providing exposition and maintaining brisk narrative progress. The books also provide compelling character development for its group of heroes rotating through their perspectives in alternating chapters.

The problems that face the heroes are, of course, supervillains, but also the administrative issues facing a survivors community and their various basic needs- food, water, and safety. These two conflicts weave together in each book to evoke a degree of reality that serves the already entertaining framework of the story.

Ex-Heroes is followed by Ex-Patriots, Ex-Communication, Ex-Purgatory and the recent Ex-Isle. All worthy fun reads for the genre fan.

'Alice' A Recommendation

Alice is an adaptation/re-imagining/sequel of the Lewis Caroll classic Alice's Adventures In Wonderland by Chicago author Christina Henry. Set in an alternate fantasy world upper-class precocious Alice left the prosperous safety of the New City to venture into the Old City for an adventure. She was kidnapped by the Rabbit but eventually escaped only to be found scared and with almost no memory of her capture. The novel opens on Alice ten years after this event in a sanitarium highly medicated and listless. She befriends a fellow patient Hatcher through a mouse hole, after a mysterious fire the two escape into the Old City.

The story is rich, dark, and violent. It takes various plot elements and characters and repurposes them in such a way that they are familiar but presented in a whole new context, in a whole new world. The novel is a weird, extremely compelling, inversion of the source material.

It operates on a couple different levels- horror, fantasy, romance, and a revenge/survivor story. Straight forward but also vivid allegory, there's a lot to enjoy on the surface and a lot to unpack in the depths. Intense and at times brutal it may not be for everyone but Alice will deliver in spades to genre fans and Carroll appreciates alike.

A gripping, fascinating, transportive read. The sequel- Red Queen is due out in July.

John Irving

Last night I went to an event at the library with John Irving. Chloe joined me and made it to downtown just as the event was starting. Last time Irving was in town was ten years ago promoting Until I Find You, we were at that event and it was in the same theater. Chloe brought her copy of Garp and in it was her ticket from the last time. Synergy. 

Although the event got off to somewhat of a rocky start, the interviewer seemed a bit dull and self involved, it quickly gained momentum. After the perfunctory reading Irving seemed to come alive, energized and talkative, he was gracious, comfortable, playful, and comically prickly, much more so then last time I saw him. He was more at ease and seemed to be relishing the performative aspect of the evening. He disparaged critics, expressed frustration with the progress of sexual politics, provided some reading recommendations, explained the somewhat ethereal process of where his characters come from, discussed his love of the theatre and how it informed his writing process, and even recited some King Lear and Richard III.

After his somewhat jarring introduction the interviewer was excellent, he asked Irving the right questions to get him talking and didn't interrupt, didn't back track to get his question precisely answered, created a place for Irving to talk at length about whatever he wanted to talk about, which is what we were all there to see. An inspiring evening.

David Mitchell

Tonight Nicole and I went to a reading by one of my favorite authors David Mitchell(best known for Cloud Atlas) followed by Mitchell in discussion with The Matrix co-creator Lana Wachowski. The event was at the Music Box and was packed with predominately Gen Y and Millennial nerds. I don't use that term as a pejorative, I consider myself a nerd being a die hard scifi/fantasy fan and a voracious reader, however there were lots of black frame glasses and socially stilted conversations going on, it was a little much.

Mitchell was charming and joyful, Lana, a personality in her own right, wasn't necessarily the best interviewer but watching the two friends and creative luminaries converse was incredibly cool.

With his last two books Bone Clocks and the newly released Slade House Mitchell has solidified the pattern he's been establishing namely that his oeuvre is all part of one collective universe with repeated characters and themes.  When asked by Lana why he's essentially writing one long protracted story he provided three reasons.

First, that it's cool, he likes the recognition you get when a character reappears and cited a couple examples. Second, when he was writing Black Swan Green he needed a more sophisticated older character to introduce the protagonist to poetry and music. Instead of creating a new character he used an existing character from Cloud Atlas and it worked really well so he decided to keep doing it. Third, he wants to write about everything, use everything, even though it isn't possible, to try to make one maximalist piece of work.

All in all a very fun and interesting evening. If you haven't read any David Mitchell I highly recommend him.

Miracleman

My dad was into comic books when he was younger and has a massive collection from the 70's and early 80's. For a year or two when I was a kid he tried to get me interested in them, the only series I got into was Sleepwalker which was a short-lived and unpopular Marvel property. My interest faded quickly.

In the past couple years Craig, who is a big comics fan, has given me a number of books to read and gotten me interested in the art form. Sandman, Preacher, Powers and Jonah Hex were my favorites. I found I liked the ones with longer narrative arcs with the scope of novels rather than shorter stand alone stories.

Recently he gave me Miracleman which I'm liking a lot. It's nice to branch out, take in different types of content, get inspiration from sources I wouldn't normally seek out or be exposed to.

Garp Prepares To Lift Death

The World According To Garp is my favorite book. I first read it when I was 15 and I've reread it about once a year since. Each time I revisit it different parts of it hit me or I discover something I had previously overlooked. I think because I'm getting older and some older family friends have passed away recently this particular passage jumped out to me. It's about death.

Garp, the titular character, has gone to the chapel where his father-in-law's service will be held in order to handle some of the arrangements. The patriarch of the Percy family(Fat Stew) who Garp was contentious with growing up has also died and he gets roped into being a pallbearer. He isn't recognized by the family and in order to avoid any conflict he provides a pseudonym- Jack Smoans.

“Mr. Smoans?” Midge nudged him.

“Uh,” Garp said.

“The coffin, Jack,” whispered the hearse driver. Stewie Two, bulging beside him, looked seriously toward the enormous casket that now housed the debris of his father.

“We need four,” the driver said. “At least four.”

“No, I can take one side myself,” Garp said.

“Mr. Smoans looks very strong,” Midge said. “Not very large , but strong.”

“Mother,” Stewie Two said.

“Yes, yes, Stewart,” she said.

“We need four. That's all there is to it,” the driver said.

Garp didn't believe it. He could lift it.

“You two on the other side,” he said, “and up she goes.”

A frail mutter reached Garp from the mourners at Fat Stew's funeral, aghast at the apparently unmovable casket. But Garp believed in himself. It was just death in there; of course it would be heavy—the weight of his mother, Jenny Fields, the weight of Ernie Holm, and of little Walt (who was the heaviest of all). God knows what they all weighed together, but Garp planted himself on one side of Fat Stew's gray gunboat of a coffin. He was ready.

Books On Tape

Growing up I had a hard time with reading. Until I was ten and a teacher forced me to read I had an abysmal reading level verging on the non-existent. When I found myself in a class that required reading, which I could no longer successfully fake, I supplemented my laborious attempts at reading with books on tape. I discovered a rich and textured world of story. Complex voices that brought compelling tales to life. And with a narrator I found books less solitary, comforting in fact. I fell in love.

While playing video games, riding my bike, mowing the lawn, building Legos, and playing with action figures I'd listen to books on tape. As I got older my love for them didn't diminish, when I got my license I'd listen to them whenever I was in my car. I became a proficient and voracious reader but never lost my fondness for a well narrated story or the escape it offered when doing something mundane.

The past couple years I've fallen out of the habit of listening to books on tape(never "audiobooks"). I tried Audible for a couple months but found it expensive and inconvenient. At work I'm able to listen to podcasts to help pass the time but it seems there's never enough content to get me through my monotonous workload. Last week while searching youtube for author interviews I stumbled upon a book on tape only to discover there are tons of them on there. Since then I've listened to Neverwhere and Ender's Game. It's made the work day so much more tolerable, I forgot how transportive a book on tape could be. Now bogged down by the drudgery of insurance I can escape, float away, on the melodic and varied tones of story. Thrust into hidden and fantastic worlds, free from the chains of deductibles, policies, and limits of liability.

Lolita And "Classics"

I just finished Lolita. I read it because Nabakov is Tisher's favorite writer and it's his most famous book. After some reflection I will say it is the second worst book I've ever read, behind The Marbled Swarm. The first twenty pages are all eloquent yet repulsive descriptions of the the sensual and alluring nature of a 9 year old.

The book is incredibly written, some of the best craft I've ever read, but the story itself is a trashy bore. Pages upon pages of flowery and hyper specific description of a grown man's perverse and repugnant obsession with viewing specific girls between the ages of 8 and 14 as sex objects. Regardless of how well it's written the book is told through the voice of this sick, deviant, slimy, serial rapist. Humbert Humbert's interworkings, his justifications, his history, the way he views the world are immaterial. I do not care why he does the deplorable things he does. Intrinsically he is a character that holds no empathy, no sympathy, and therefore no interest.

The other issue is the meandering nature of the narrative. Ultimately not much happens and the little action that takes place is deflated by the long descriptive digressions that are taken before, after, and during anything that could be termed an actual event. I will say there were a couple passages that really struck me, one in particular about Lolita playing tennis may be one of the most terrific things I have ever read. But the vivid and poetic prose- the potential- is totally squandered.

I don't really understand why Lolita is deemed a classic and why it is so lauded. Maybe at the time of its release the subject matter was so revolutionary as to inflame conservative minds and push the boundaries of free speech and propriety. At the time it was new and cutting edge, totally original. But through the lens of time it strikes me as what it was accused of being by its initial detractors- smut.

On the whole I don't agree with certain books being taught and heralded as classics based on their literary importance and impact on the time period in which they were written. Great Expectations, The Great Gatsby, Catcher In The Rye etc. don't hold up. These books, and I would include Lolita among them, certainly have a place in history but not in the literary pantheon.

It is more important to seek out the writing and stories that personally resonate as opposed to paying homage to those works that incited folks decades even centuries past.

Thoughts On Writing

Tonight I read a story as one of the openers for Triplets Bogtrotter. It's a wonderful imaginative show that should be seen. Reading the piece got me thinking about writing in general and my own process in specific so here are some simple suggestions.

Write every day. The most common piece of advise from successful writers, the most obvious but sometimes the most difficult. Set a schedule, have some kind of system of accountability with yourself, even if you don't like what you write or only write a little bit- write every day. Through repetition you'll develop discipline and skill. You'll also become more adept at transferring your nebulous idea to the page.

Have an idea. For the most part sitting in front of a computer screen or a blank piece of paper isn't terribly inspiring. Have an idea of what you want to write or what you want to write about before you begin. Sometimes gestating on a particular idea can pay dividends when you write, if you have been thinking about a particular idea, outlining it, teasing it out, developing it in your head for a while it may come smoothly out of your head onto the keyboard. But don't ruminate too long, you can always revise. Sometimes it's best to start with something simple- a concept, feeling, or situation. Sometimes a title, line, or name is all you need to begin. An existing work can also be a good jumping off point(not plagiarism but inspiration).

Read it aloud. Reading what you've written out loud can give you insights into structure, word usage, and imagery. Alone by yourself or more effectively in performance. Reading a piece you've written in front of people is going to cue you in to what is resonate, what works, what is funny, what is touching. It can sometimes provide clarity as to what a piece is really about or its shape, rhythm, or flow. Responses from others, especially in a theatrical context, can provide invaluable guidance.

Revise but don't dwell. Your first pass on a piece most often isn't going to be its best incarnation. Spend time and energy rewording, restructuring, rewriting to make the piece as close to your ideal of it as possible. Sculpt it. After a certain point be done. Sometimes you can get stuck in revision, worrying over a piece or idea that is too slippery or evasive. Do your best, put the effort in then step back. Sometimes letting a piece sit for a bit(or walking away completely) is the best thing for it and for you.

Read. Read. Read.

Anti-Comedy 3

10,000 years ago off the coast of TurkeyTown there was a city made of snacks. in SnackCity there was a mayor. his name was Stromboli.  he had a wife Nilla made out Vanilla Wafers, a daughter Ding-Dong made of chocolate cake and vanilla creme, and a son Sun Chip. they lived in a house of Dunkaroos. everyday Stromboli drove his Snowball car to Peppermint Bark city hall, stamped Fruit Roll-Up bills, shat out chunks of Turkish Delight into the Jolly Rancher toilet plopping in the cleaning Koolaid, and conversed at length with all the Sour Patch Kid aldermen.

one day LicoriceMan, a political terrorist and self loathing homo-snackian, slipped a poisoned MilkDud into Stromboli's morning Cherry Shasta. upon arriving home for lunch Stromboli was possessed by an undeniable grumble down in his tumtum. he ate his wife, his daughter, his son, his house, his neighbors, their houses, his aldermen, his constituents, all their houses, the roads, buses and trains, the sidewalks, the parks, city buildings, everything until there was one big hole where SnackCity use to be that looked like a big puckered butthole. an hour later he threw it all up, after a while all that puke clotted became Hurl Huts forming VomitVillage. Stromboli was elected mayor.

Escape 2

Last week I delved head first back into The Kingkiller Chronicle. It's a great fantasy series: magic, love, passion, adventure, revenge, its got it all. I've read it a couple times. The past couple days I'll just read the book covertly at work then go home and keep reading. I've been keeping my head down, kind of mentally retreating. The weather combined with recent unsettling events have made me contemplative, reserved, in need of a little zoning out.

In a way fiction is all escapist to some degree and no genre more so than fantasy. It's easy and pleasing to forget the machinations of the real world when you are immersed in magic and dragons, secrets and adventures. Rereading some of my favorite fantasy is entertaining but its a way for me to slow everything down, take a step back and get balanced. Like a meditative trick to get my mind in a state of neutral, to mentally recuperate.

Since my first reading of the The Chronicles of Narnia in 4th grade fantasy has been my refuge. Whether from stress, heartbreak, grief, or depression I found comfort, courage, and rejuvenation in the dark forests and looming cliffs of those lands long-ago and far-away.

Anti-Comedy 2

there was a stupid man who had a stupid job. i won't say what he did cause its fucking stupid. he sat at his dumb desk and ate cool ranch Doritos all day. he went poop in the morning and in the afternoon. just to get away from his dumbass desk and his supercool Doritos.  every morning he slipped on a banana peel and went splat thats how stupid this fucking clod was. every lunch he ate Doritos until he was all sicky in his tummytum. in the afternoon he rolled around full of Dorito mush in his dumbdumb swivel chair. sometimes he'd lean back until he fell over, idiot. Like a cow he kept Dorito cud in his mouth, gumming all day on the coolest of the ranchys. yumyumyumyum. one day his stupid hulkingass linebacker boss called this fucking moron into his office.  they grunted at each other, drooled, looked at paper, sputtered, and shook hands. it was a good meeting. on the way back to his dumbass desk and his coolranchy splattered rollychair he put a bag of butteryass popcorn in the microwave and set it for 25 minutes. guy was fucking dense. the bag caught fire and the whole foolish fucking office burnt down and everyones stupid asses died.

whose hungry?

A Small Betrayal

I walked down the alley. I had just run. I was on my cool-down. I passed a smoking man. He was 50 or so and wearing a suit. A business man. He was walking the other way.

At the end of the alley I turned around and walked back. I was cooled down and ready for a shower. The man had stopped. And leaned into a doorway smoking still.

He saw me turn around and head back in his direction. He seemed startled and smoked faster. Before I passed him a second time he crushed his cigarette beneath his brown boat shoe. Flapping his sport coat as if to clear its scent, he left the alley.

So secretive, I thought. And remembered a story about a married couple. The man smoked but told his wife he didn't and never smoked in front of her. She pretended she didn't know he smoked even though she knew. The point, I think, was the argument wasn't worth it. Little lies keep things going. Hide your vice.

This man must have a wife who doesn't like him smoking. So he walks down the alley on his way home and steals a smoke. When he goes home he makes up lies about why he smells like smoke. His wife pretends she believes him and he tells the lies and they stay married and everything stays the same and never changes.

I left the alley and looked for the man but he was gone. I felt sorry for him.

The Range Of King

Stephen King's first 2014 offering is a neo-noir crime thriller complete with suicidal retired detective brought back from the brink of death by one last case. King fans, crime fans, and fans of interesting well written characters will enjoy Mr. Mercedes. King combines classic detective tropes with modern technology and a modern problem- senseless mass murder. What unfolds is a taught howcatchem pitting an unlikely, aging, overweight hero against a pathetic, perverse, and all to possible villain. The pedal-to-the-metal pacing keeps you turning pages but the depth of the characters make the pulpy tale rich.

Mr. Mercedes does not have any supernatural element and tangentially addresses some very timely issues. As a King fan and taken in conjunction with the King Cannon it makes me hopeful that we may get a straight novel out of the wordslinger in the near future. It seems like King is evolving beyond horror, not that he can't do it or doesn't need to do it, but from some of his recent books its clear he has become more interested, and put more energy, into the people that populate his fantastic yarns than he use to. He has become more concerned with the interpersonal rather than the mystical. I fell in love with Stephen King through the Dark Tower Series then went back and read as much as I could. I love his dialogue, I love his characters, I love how his stories move. Having devoured so much of his work I would like to read, just once, a Stephen King novel devoid of genre. Not because I am unsatisfied but because as a reader that's the direction the books seem to be pointing. I can see it, I wonder if he can.

Either way Mr. Mercedes is a good read. And, as always, a new Stephen King book makes me excited for the next. Revival is due out in November.