March may go in like a lion and out like a lamb, but as we enter April, I feel more like I'm putting my head in the lion's mouth.
Riches opens on Friday. This is tech week. Whee! The show is feeling good, but there's still a LOT to do.
We're continuing to find the enhanced and groovy sound of Sweetie Tanya. Dealing with personnel fluctuations there, but everything looks doable. The team was have is pretty kick ass, and that goes a long, long way.
WestEd work is kicking my ass, and just bought a new pair of shoes, so that means less flex time to address other concerns.
I won't even go into my inability to get caught up with Radiostar right now.
This is the month of crazy, plain and simple.
If you don't hear from me here, it's because I have nothing useful to say and don't feel like whining.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Miracles and prognostications
Yesterday afternoon, as I emerged into the San Francisco sunshine, the path of my day suddenly struck me as something extraordinary.
I had breakfasted in Santa Barbara, been driven to Burbank, flew to Oakland, and taken an underground train under the Bay to San Francisco... all in the number of hours I could count on my fingers.
This would have seemed miraculous a mere century ago. Any of these actions in 1906 would have been the stuff of pure fantasy, the most outrageous science fiction. (Ok, maybe not having breakfast in Santa Barbara, but otherwise....) The radical shifts in human experience over the last few generations is profound, and it is so easy to forget about them, so easy to forget that the way we live today has very little resemblance to how humans have lived throughout history.
And, of course, it continues to change at a lightning pace.
My attention was drawn to this article from Newsweek in 1995, decrying all the optimism about the internet.
A short quote: "Visionaries see a future of telecommuting workers, interactive libraries and multimedia classrooms. They speak of electronic town meetings and virtual communities. Commerce and business will shift from offices and malls to networks and modems. And the freedom of digital networks will make government more democratic.
Baloney. Do our computer pundits lack all common sense?"
And yet, today I am working from home, use Wikipedia regularly for basic fact checking, and help people use online classrooms for training seminars that include participants from all over the country. Most of my dating life comes from people I meet online, and many professional and personal relationships started and are maintained online. MoveOn.org uses the online world to push hard politically on a regular basis.
Some of the critiques of the 12 year old article still remain, but the vast majority of his comments reveal someone who can only see the state of the world as it is, not how it will continue to change. This particular pundit saw the state of the internet at 1995 and mocked those who were envisioning the miracles of tomorrow, the logical extensions of what they saw in the present.
I am not a technological visionary. I don't know what the next twelve years will bring us. I don't know what the world will look like in my dotage (although I am hoping for something other than a smoking ruin). But I was suddenly reminded that we are indeed in an age of miracles.
I had breakfasted in Santa Barbara, been driven to Burbank, flew to Oakland, and taken an underground train under the Bay to San Francisco... all in the number of hours I could count on my fingers.
This would have seemed miraculous a mere century ago. Any of these actions in 1906 would have been the stuff of pure fantasy, the most outrageous science fiction. (Ok, maybe not having breakfast in Santa Barbara, but otherwise....) The radical shifts in human experience over the last few generations is profound, and it is so easy to forget about them, so easy to forget that the way we live today has very little resemblance to how humans have lived throughout history.
And, of course, it continues to change at a lightning pace.
My attention was drawn to this article from Newsweek in 1995, decrying all the optimism about the internet.
A short quote: "Visionaries see a future of telecommuting workers, interactive libraries and multimedia classrooms. They speak of electronic town meetings and virtual communities. Commerce and business will shift from offices and malls to networks and modems. And the freedom of digital networks will make government more democratic.
Baloney. Do our computer pundits lack all common sense?"
And yet, today I am working from home, use Wikipedia regularly for basic fact checking, and help people use online classrooms for training seminars that include participants from all over the country. Most of my dating life comes from people I meet online, and many professional and personal relationships started and are maintained online. MoveOn.org uses the online world to push hard politically on a regular basis.
Some of the critiques of the 12 year old article still remain, but the vast majority of his comments reveal someone who can only see the state of the world as it is, not how it will continue to change. This particular pundit saw the state of the internet at 1995 and mocked those who were envisioning the miracles of tomorrow, the logical extensions of what they saw in the present.
I am not a technological visionary. I don't know what the next twelve years will bring us. I don't know what the world will look like in my dotage (although I am hoping for something other than a smoking ruin). But I was suddenly reminded that we are indeed in an age of miracles.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Paradise Lost
I've come to some interesting realizations about myself and my relationship to the city of Santa Barbara. I lived in Santa Barbara as a student at Westmont College from September of 1988 to May of 1990. Freshman and Sophomore years only, with my education there cut short by the economics of my misguided decision to get married on May 27th, 1990.
It would be irrational to describe my time at Westmont, and in Santa Barbara, as an idyllic Eden, but in my mind it has taken on that flavor. I've not spent too much time wondering about this, but my recent (I just got off the plane) visit has led to reflection. Things in college were as real as anywhere else, and hardship and pain were by no means banished from the campus. Students died on a mission trip to Mexico. A star soccer player fled the country under sexual assault charges. The lone vocal Democrat on a campus of Republicans endured a great deal during the election.
Personally, I experienced loneliness, heartache, stress, and sorrow.
So, why is Santa Barbara my Eden, other than the fact that it is the most heart breakingly beautiful city in America that isn't located on a tropical island?
Two things, primarily, stand out. First, it was the end of my adolescence. I went straight from Santa Barbara into my wedding, and then to Chicago. The day I stepped away from that city, I became a man in the truest sense. I shouldered a man's burdens, responsibilities, and struggles. I entered a marriage that would send me into three years of depression before it finally ended in February of 1996. While bad things happened, while there were hurts and struggles and pain, it was still the pain of someone who was in many ways an innocent. Jeff Maurer said to me one day, "there are those who are innocent and those who are not. Dan, at this point, you are still an innocent."
An innocent in Eden. But once I left that place, my innocence was not to last.
The innocence I lost has little to do with sexuality, and more to do with responsibility, deepening awareness of my own capacity for hypocrisy, weakness, and inadequacy. As I traded Santa Barbara for Chicago, I also lost my conviction in certain right and wrong. My blacks and whites began, more and more, to bleed into shades of grey. This was a slower process, certainly, than the time it takes to drive from California to Illinois, but nevertheless, these two cities represent for me a time and place of innocence and potential, and a time and place of struggle and loss.
That's one thing. The second is that it was in Santa Barbara that I found what has become my life work. To be sure, I started acting in High School. I did shows at College Park and with my church, Hope Center. But it was in Santa Barbara that theatre went from something fun to something transformative. It went from a hobby to a passion.
Looking back, it would not be unfair to say that two men outside my family deeply impacted my life before I turned twenty. One would be my pastor, Roger Dill. The other would be my director and teacher, John Blondell. I've said before on these pages that everything I do with theatre, on some level, is my trying to get back to the experiences I had on that campus, the belief that with art we are doing something that can truly impact people. I may have been the only person who felt that way at the time, but again, as I look back, the word "transformative" is emblazoned across the sky.
Thus, when my hostess tossed off a casual question over breakfast, I about fell off my chair. "Do you know John Blondell?"
Oh, the man who irrevocably shaped my idea of what theatre is? The man who provided the educational and philosophical foundation for my life's work? The man who inspired and excited my mind and soul more than any other teacher before or since? Yes, actually. I do.
Although, in truth, I don't. The John Blondell I knew has, like the city and the school, become a figure of legend in my personal history. The real John is no more the mentor I knew than I am the student he had in his first years at the school. He's a man with a long history, two kids, and who knows what else. All of us have changed immeasurably since 1990, let alone people who have in the imagination taken on almost iconic importance.
So, as fun as it would have been, it is probably best that he did not attend the wine tasting we went to that afternoon, although he had been on the guest list. I would most likely have embarrassed myself more than I did.
This is a digression, however, from the question of Santa Barbara as Eden. I did six shows while in Santa Barbara: Peter Pan, Mother Courage and Her Children, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Shakespeare on Location: Just the High Points, An Evening with Williams and Mamet, and The Dining Room. Of these six shows, five of them are points of frequent recollection, fondness and inspiration. (The Dining Room simply taught me that I don't much care for A.R. Gurney's writing.)
All of this history, this mythology, this baggage, I carried with me this weekend. I'd visited Santa Barbara before, on single-day work trips that had just enough time for me to drive up to the campus and walk around for five minutes, find the memorial for the students who died in Mexico, and then leave in order to return to the airport. This was the first time, however, that I'd spent time wandering the city with someone who lived there. The first time I had accidentally turned down a street I had known, walked past a building full of memories, or really taken the time to feel the passage of years.
It was very, very hard to leave.
It would be irrational to describe my time at Westmont, and in Santa Barbara, as an idyllic Eden, but in my mind it has taken on that flavor. I've not spent too much time wondering about this, but my recent (I just got off the plane) visit has led to reflection. Things in college were as real as anywhere else, and hardship and pain were by no means banished from the campus. Students died on a mission trip to Mexico. A star soccer player fled the country under sexual assault charges. The lone vocal Democrat on a campus of Republicans endured a great deal during the election.
Personally, I experienced loneliness, heartache, stress, and sorrow.
So, why is Santa Barbara my Eden, other than the fact that it is the most heart breakingly beautiful city in America that isn't located on a tropical island?
Two things, primarily, stand out. First, it was the end of my adolescence. I went straight from Santa Barbara into my wedding, and then to Chicago. The day I stepped away from that city, I became a man in the truest sense. I shouldered a man's burdens, responsibilities, and struggles. I entered a marriage that would send me into three years of depression before it finally ended in February of 1996. While bad things happened, while there were hurts and struggles and pain, it was still the pain of someone who was in many ways an innocent. Jeff Maurer said to me one day, "there are those who are innocent and those who are not. Dan, at this point, you are still an innocent."
An innocent in Eden. But once I left that place, my innocence was not to last.
The innocence I lost has little to do with sexuality, and more to do with responsibility, deepening awareness of my own capacity for hypocrisy, weakness, and inadequacy. As I traded Santa Barbara for Chicago, I also lost my conviction in certain right and wrong. My blacks and whites began, more and more, to bleed into shades of grey. This was a slower process, certainly, than the time it takes to drive from California to Illinois, but nevertheless, these two cities represent for me a time and place of innocence and potential, and a time and place of struggle and loss.
That's one thing. The second is that it was in Santa Barbara that I found what has become my life work. To be sure, I started acting in High School. I did shows at College Park and with my church, Hope Center. But it was in Santa Barbara that theatre went from something fun to something transformative. It went from a hobby to a passion.
Looking back, it would not be unfair to say that two men outside my family deeply impacted my life before I turned twenty. One would be my pastor, Roger Dill. The other would be my director and teacher, John Blondell. I've said before on these pages that everything I do with theatre, on some level, is my trying to get back to the experiences I had on that campus, the belief that with art we are doing something that can truly impact people. I may have been the only person who felt that way at the time, but again, as I look back, the word "transformative" is emblazoned across the sky.
Thus, when my hostess tossed off a casual question over breakfast, I about fell off my chair. "Do you know John Blondell?"
Oh, the man who irrevocably shaped my idea of what theatre is? The man who provided the educational and philosophical foundation for my life's work? The man who inspired and excited my mind and soul more than any other teacher before or since? Yes, actually. I do.
Although, in truth, I don't. The John Blondell I knew has, like the city and the school, become a figure of legend in my personal history. The real John is no more the mentor I knew than I am the student he had in his first years at the school. He's a man with a long history, two kids, and who knows what else. All of us have changed immeasurably since 1990, let alone people who have in the imagination taken on almost iconic importance.
So, as fun as it would have been, it is probably best that he did not attend the wine tasting we went to that afternoon, although he had been on the guest list. I would most likely have embarrassed myself more than I did.
This is a digression, however, from the question of Santa Barbara as Eden. I did six shows while in Santa Barbara: Peter Pan, Mother Courage and Her Children, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Shakespeare on Location: Just the High Points, An Evening with Williams and Mamet, and The Dining Room. Of these six shows, five of them are points of frequent recollection, fondness and inspiration. (The Dining Room simply taught me that I don't much care for A.R. Gurney's writing.)
All of this history, this mythology, this baggage, I carried with me this weekend. I'd visited Santa Barbara before, on single-day work trips that had just enough time for me to drive up to the campus and walk around for five minutes, find the memorial for the students who died in Mexico, and then leave in order to return to the airport. This was the first time, however, that I'd spent time wandering the city with someone who lived there. The first time I had accidentally turned down a street I had known, walked past a building full of memories, or really taken the time to feel the passage of years.
It was very, very hard to leave.
Double Agent
Bahati loaned me her copy of Casino Royale at rehearsal the other day. I haven't watched it yet.
On a plane, off on an adventure, the airline magazine has a large photo of Don Adams as Maxwell Smart on the cover, shoe phone clamped to his ear.
Secret Agents. Super Spies.
Sometimes I feel like Bond. Not the Bond of the novels, thuggish and misogynistic, but the Bond of the films. In control, smooth, and blessed by luck. I have just the right words, my timing is flawless, and every setback proves to be a launching point to move me forward. Everything clicks.
More often, however, I feel like Maxwell Smart, or Inspector Clouseau. Bumbling, fumbling, walking into walls, making a general ass out of myself. Sure, Smart and Clouseau bumble into saving the day, but that's the way it is with comedy and fiction. But in the real world, bumbling is bumbling and rarely do you step into a two foot hole at a full run without breaking your leg in the process.
The scary thing, though, the truly frightening thing, is when everything feels like Bond, but when all is done and you take stock of where you are, and you realize that it's *your* home base that you blew up, *your* colleague mistaken for an opposing agent that you shot, *your* little world reduced to ashes.
Every Clouseau thinks he is MacGyver. Every Smart thinks he's Bond. Every Charlie Brown steps up to the pitcher's mound, ready to be the hero but knowing in his heart that he's more likely to be the goat.
But I'm mixing my pop-culture metaphors. Let's move back from the round headed kid in the jagged stripe shirt.
I've been flipped inside out, back to front all weekend. Visiting someone I have known for years, and yet know very little about. Rediscovering a city I once called home, but that oftentimes asserted itself as a sequence of powerful memories so insistent that they pulled me out of the present. Encountering people I did not know, who greeted me as warmly as my own tribe, while I stood awkwardly aware of my outsider status. I have been amused, amazed, inspired, illuminated, revealed, intrigued, ashamed, astounded, aloof, intoxicated, aroused, apprehensive, nostalgic, gastronomically pampered, and existentially befuddled.
Within the space of 48 hours, I have been all over my emotional map. I haven't been driving a supercharged BMW that can fly, swim, shoot rockets, and convert itself into an irresistible boudoir. I've been bumbling, stumbling my way around, colliding, ricocheting, and tumbling from point to point... and horribly aware of it most of the time.
I am Maxwell Smart with self-awareness.
I can't even pretend to be Bond.
On a plane, off on an adventure, the airline magazine has a large photo of Don Adams as Maxwell Smart on the cover, shoe phone clamped to his ear.
Secret Agents. Super Spies.
Sometimes I feel like Bond. Not the Bond of the novels, thuggish and misogynistic, but the Bond of the films. In control, smooth, and blessed by luck. I have just the right words, my timing is flawless, and every setback proves to be a launching point to move me forward. Everything clicks.
More often, however, I feel like Maxwell Smart, or Inspector Clouseau. Bumbling, fumbling, walking into walls, making a general ass out of myself. Sure, Smart and Clouseau bumble into saving the day, but that's the way it is with comedy and fiction. But in the real world, bumbling is bumbling and rarely do you step into a two foot hole at a full run without breaking your leg in the process.
The scary thing, though, the truly frightening thing, is when everything feels like Bond, but when all is done and you take stock of where you are, and you realize that it's *your* home base that you blew up, *your* colleague mistaken for an opposing agent that you shot, *your* little world reduced to ashes.
Every Clouseau thinks he is MacGyver. Every Smart thinks he's Bond. Every Charlie Brown steps up to the pitcher's mound, ready to be the hero but knowing in his heart that he's more likely to be the goat.
But I'm mixing my pop-culture metaphors. Let's move back from the round headed kid in the jagged stripe shirt.
I've been flipped inside out, back to front all weekend. Visiting someone I have known for years, and yet know very little about. Rediscovering a city I once called home, but that oftentimes asserted itself as a sequence of powerful memories so insistent that they pulled me out of the present. Encountering people I did not know, who greeted me as warmly as my own tribe, while I stood awkwardly aware of my outsider status. I have been amused, amazed, inspired, illuminated, revealed, intrigued, ashamed, astounded, aloof, intoxicated, aroused, apprehensive, nostalgic, gastronomically pampered, and existentially befuddled.
Within the space of 48 hours, I have been all over my emotional map. I haven't been driving a supercharged BMW that can fly, swim, shoot rockets, and convert itself into an irresistible boudoir. I've been bumbling, stumbling my way around, colliding, ricocheting, and tumbling from point to point... and horribly aware of it most of the time.
I am Maxwell Smart with self-awareness.
I can't even pretend to be Bond.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Obama's speech on Race
It took me a couple of days to get around to watching it, but it really is something remarkable. Frank, honest, and unapologetic. If you haven't seen it yet, check it out
Monday, March 17, 2008
Well, I got my tech troubles all worked out finally, and I think I'm pretty much back on track. Of course, now I can't find my script for "Riches". It's probably at our rehearsal space. This would be a bigger deal if I had actually had time tonight to work on my lines, but as it is, I spent most of tonight doing the work I didn't get done this afternoon.
Feh.
On the plus side, I had a meeting with our light designer for Tanya, and on the BART ride back I wrote down all my thoughts from a meeting with Steve Kahn yesterday. A short film got sparked in my head while sitting in his back yard, checking out his little fish pond. I have a cast in mind, and a pretty extensive breakdown of what happens in the film. It would be a short film, maybe 20 minutes, tops, and with no dialogue whatsoever.
It would be fun to do, and a good practice run for a feature length project that is looking like something to do in 2009....
Feh.
On the plus side, I had a meeting with our light designer for Tanya, and on the BART ride back I wrote down all my thoughts from a meeting with Steve Kahn yesterday. A short film got sparked in my head while sitting in his back yard, checking out his little fish pond. I have a cast in mind, and a pretty extensive breakdown of what happens in the film. It would be a short film, maybe 20 minutes, tops, and with no dialogue whatsoever.
It would be fun to do, and a good practice run for a feature length project that is looking like something to do in 2009....
Friday, March 07, 2008
fiddle, fit as
At 6'3" and 195 lbs, I'm a big guy. I'm not a big guy though. My dad was closer to 300 than 200, but while I managed to inherit his kidney stones, I haven't inherited his obesity. That said, my eating habits have always been heavily influenced by my roots, which go back to Missouri on both sides of my family before they meander their way back to Ireland and Scotland and other pasty nations. So, lots of starches, complex carbs, sugar and grease. I don't much care for sushi and I didn't consider it a tragedy when my urologist told me that I shouldn't eat a lot of spinach, kale, or other dark leafy greens because they were dangerous for my brand of kidney stone.
My lack of dietary purity has been a point of concern for some, and annoyance for others. This is the San Francisco Bay Area, after all, and people take their carnal temples pretty seriously. Still, I walk a lot, and am in decent shape for a 37 year old thespian, computer tech, and playwright.
When I was approached to play David Rich in Triple Shot's production of "Riches", I was pleased. When I read the lines in the script where David talks about all the time he spends at the club running around the track, playing racquetball, swimming and weight lifting, I didn't flinch. After all, it's not like I'm taking off my shirt.
Or am I?
Two nights ago, Bahati Bonner, my esteemed director, said "Oh, didn't I tell you? You need to work out. Towards the end of the show, we're going to have you in a wife-beater. It's easier than dealing with distressed clothes."
So, I'm suddenly cutting out as many starches as is reasonable (I should cut them all out, but we'll see how long I can maintain that discipline), focusing on a more vegetarian diet, and doing push-ups and sit-ups three times a day. My chest has begun to feel very sore, and a few minutes ago when I tried my second set up push-ups for the day I found I couldn't do even my paltry minimum. I'll be tackling it again in a few moments, but it was a rude awakening.
I have three weekends to fight against a lifetime of less than optimal habits so that I don't look ridiculous on stage.
My lack of dietary purity has been a point of concern for some, and annoyance for others. This is the San Francisco Bay Area, after all, and people take their carnal temples pretty seriously. Still, I walk a lot, and am in decent shape for a 37 year old thespian, computer tech, and playwright.
When I was approached to play David Rich in Triple Shot's production of "Riches", I was pleased. When I read the lines in the script where David talks about all the time he spends at the club running around the track, playing racquetball, swimming and weight lifting, I didn't flinch. After all, it's not like I'm taking off my shirt.
Or am I?
Two nights ago, Bahati Bonner, my esteemed director, said "Oh, didn't I tell you? You need to work out. Towards the end of the show, we're going to have you in a wife-beater. It's easier than dealing with distressed clothes."
So, I'm suddenly cutting out as many starches as is reasonable (I should cut them all out, but we'll see how long I can maintain that discipline), focusing on a more vegetarian diet, and doing push-ups and sit-ups three times a day. My chest has begun to feel very sore, and a few minutes ago when I tried my second set up push-ups for the day I found I couldn't do even my paltry minimum. I'll be tackling it again in a few moments, but it was a rude awakening.
I have three weekends to fight against a lifetime of less than optimal habits so that I don't look ridiculous on stage.
Monday, March 03, 2008
inching back to me
I'm in a weird state. I'm pretty much back to health, except for the cough that I'm sure I'll live with for a bit. I'm back to work, although work is still pretty quiet at the moment. Rehearsals are in full swing, Radiostar is exploring more extended narratives which is causing a few growing pains. New arrangements are coming in daily for Sweetie Tanya....
and I feel directionless.
This is probably just the after effects of a week of illness. I was unable to do much of anything, so I feel disconnected from everything.
Every day is an improvement. I trust I'll have my spirit back by tomorrow... or maybe the day after.
and I feel directionless.
This is probably just the after effects of a week of illness. I was unable to do much of anything, so I feel disconnected from everything.
Every day is an improvement. I trust I'll have my spirit back by tomorrow... or maybe the day after.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
bleh
I sound like Wolfman Jack. This dates me, and if you don't know who I'm talking about, go get culturally educated. I feel fairly awful as well, although I am most definitely improving. Pema sent me a recipe for a cold busting tea that involved seeping six cloves of garlic, a couple inches of ginger root, most of a lemon and some ground red pepper in my tea kettle until it burst forth with a particularly ... powerful brew. I can't say I like it, but it certainly does clear the sinuses and I've had three glasses of it today. Many thanks to Jill, who brought over the ingredients on her way to work.
I clearly can't complain too much when I have beautiful women near and far aiding in my recovery.
Still, I have gotten very little work done, either job or personal. I just can't maintain focus or interest in anything active. Even video games get boring after a half hour. Normally, that's a sick person's godsend.
What I have managed to do, however, is read Thom Camp's novel and Brian Schirmer's screenplay. Both of which I utterly and totally enjoyed. Reading them, however, has made me even more frustrated that I haven't been able to scrape the focus together to work on my own projects aside from some basic email management.
Yeah, I know. I'm sick. I need to deal with it.
In fact, I'm gonna go to bed, right now... at 10pm....
I'm not old, I'm sick.
I clearly can't complain too much when I have beautiful women near and far aiding in my recovery.
Still, I have gotten very little work done, either job or personal. I just can't maintain focus or interest in anything active. Even video games get boring after a half hour. Normally, that's a sick person's godsend.
What I have managed to do, however, is read Thom Camp's novel and Brian Schirmer's screenplay. Both of which I utterly and totally enjoyed. Reading them, however, has made me even more frustrated that I haven't been able to scrape the focus together to work on my own projects aside from some basic email management.
Yeah, I know. I'm sick. I need to deal with it.
In fact, I'm gonna go to bed, right now... at 10pm....
I'm not old, I'm sick.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
too hot
I woke up yesterday with a mild case of "cold nose". Congestion, sneezing, a general "this sucks" feeling everywhere. I stayed home form work and slept most of the afternoon. I did, however, to go rehearsal. I was able to rally for 2 and a half hours, but I felt awful at the end of it. I felt slightly warm, as well.
This morning I woke up restless, hot, and with my skin as sensitive as dry parchment. I tried to sleep most of the day, but my visions were mild fever dreams and not restful at all. I looked in vain for my thermometer. Kitchen, bathroom, living room. Finally at 3pm, feeling loopy and concerned that I am not MORE congested than I am, I found it in my pencil drawer.
I have a 101.7 fever. I took it twice, just to be sure. I downed some ibuprofen, and will wait an your to see if it responds at all. If it doesn't, if it is 101.6 or higher, I will go to the hospital and have them x-ray my kidneys to be sure that I am not passing a stone. Or more to the point, that I'm NOT passing a stone, but that a stone would very much like to be passed.
I have a grim feeling about this.
This morning I woke up restless, hot, and with my skin as sensitive as dry parchment. I tried to sleep most of the day, but my visions were mild fever dreams and not restful at all. I looked in vain for my thermometer. Kitchen, bathroom, living room. Finally at 3pm, feeling loopy and concerned that I am not MORE congested than I am, I found it in my pencil drawer.
I have a 101.7 fever. I took it twice, just to be sure. I downed some ibuprofen, and will wait an your to see if it responds at all. If it doesn't, if it is 101.6 or higher, I will go to the hospital and have them x-ray my kidneys to be sure that I am not passing a stone. Or more to the point, that I'm NOT passing a stone, but that a stone would very much like to be passed.
I have a grim feeling about this.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Home and Away
Last night was a small game night over at Brian's. Just three of us, but a lot of fun as Mateo had a lot of Halo game variants for us to try out. Playing with gravity can be fun, and the absurdity of it all kept us laughing all night.
I crashed at Brian's, since he had scored me a pass for WonderCon, which is this weekend, and it seemed foolish to head home just to come back into the city first thing in the morning. I had packed everything I might need, including my copy of Thom's novel that I *finally* printed out, and the laptop so I could do any editing of Radiostar if I found I had time.
I've gotten about a third of the way through the novel, but I didn't touch Radiostar until got back home this afternoon.
WonderCon is a decently sized comics convention, but after ComicCon in San Diego, it can't help but feel somewhat anemic. Brian and I walked the floor for about three hours, doing at least a cursory look over of every book and table. Comic conventions are curious things for me. I am very fond of the art form, and have enough comics and geeky DVDs in my house to make it quite clear that I am a fan. Still, I don't buy lots of memorabilia, back issues of comics, endless collections, t-shirts, or knick knacks. I don't feel at home at a Convention, but feel like I'm in the home of a neighbor. Close, but not really where I live.
I see actors from shows I enjoy, but don't feel the need to get autographs. This is true even for the actor who played Lita on DS9, who I had an enormous crush on (and still do.. she's still hot). I only really saw two things I was tempted to buy: a card game from Phil Foglio and a Star Wars print that was exceptionally well done artistically and elegantly funny. I may still get the card game, but I have nowhere to put the print (a very 1920's style print of Leia in her Jabba slave girl outfit, as if it were an ad for an exotic revue... with the word "cancelled" at the bottom).
For the most part, however, the Con, like all Cons, felt like an orgiastic geek consumer frenzy. More than anything else, I felt inspired to go home and edit Radiostar and play with the new Wacom tablet I just bought. I wanted to create art, not buy it.
So, home I went. I didn't play with the tablet, but spent several hours on Radiostar and took a few more halting steps towards improving my piano playing. (I can read some music now, and play the Cm and G7 chords with both hands)
I might have finished Radiostar, but tonight was Joseph's birthday gathering, and that was unequivocally the priority. The evening was, as to be expected, a delight. There was an unexpected amount of focus on the recent success of Sweetie Tanya, which surprised me more than it should. I don't see my friends nearly enough, and so in many respects the show feels fresher for them than it does for me. I start rehearsals for "Riches" tomorrow, and am much more aware of what lies ahead of me than what lies behind.
I crashed at Brian's, since he had scored me a pass for WonderCon, which is this weekend, and it seemed foolish to head home just to come back into the city first thing in the morning. I had packed everything I might need, including my copy of Thom's novel that I *finally* printed out, and the laptop so I could do any editing of Radiostar if I found I had time.
I've gotten about a third of the way through the novel, but I didn't touch Radiostar until got back home this afternoon.
WonderCon is a decently sized comics convention, but after ComicCon in San Diego, it can't help but feel somewhat anemic. Brian and I walked the floor for about three hours, doing at least a cursory look over of every book and table. Comic conventions are curious things for me. I am very fond of the art form, and have enough comics and geeky DVDs in my house to make it quite clear that I am a fan. Still, I don't buy lots of memorabilia, back issues of comics, endless collections, t-shirts, or knick knacks. I don't feel at home at a Convention, but feel like I'm in the home of a neighbor. Close, but not really where I live.
I see actors from shows I enjoy, but don't feel the need to get autographs. This is true even for the actor who played Lita on DS9, who I had an enormous crush on (and still do.. she's still hot). I only really saw two things I was tempted to buy: a card game from Phil Foglio and a Star Wars print that was exceptionally well done artistically and elegantly funny. I may still get the card game, but I have nowhere to put the print (a very 1920's style print of Leia in her Jabba slave girl outfit, as if it were an ad for an exotic revue... with the word "cancelled" at the bottom).
For the most part, however, the Con, like all Cons, felt like an orgiastic geek consumer frenzy. More than anything else, I felt inspired to go home and edit Radiostar and play with the new Wacom tablet I just bought. I wanted to create art, not buy it.
So, home I went. I didn't play with the tablet, but spent several hours on Radiostar and took a few more halting steps towards improving my piano playing. (I can read some music now, and play the Cm and G7 chords with both hands)
I might have finished Radiostar, but tonight was Joseph's birthday gathering, and that was unequivocally the priority. The evening was, as to be expected, a delight. There was an unexpected amount of focus on the recent success of Sweetie Tanya, which surprised me more than it should. I don't see my friends nearly enough, and so in many respects the show feels fresher for them than it does for me. I start rehearsals for "Riches" tomorrow, and am much more aware of what lies ahead of me than what lies behind.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Missed Adventures and Invisible Forests
I got an email yesterday that invited me to do something wild and impractical last night. I had made promises and commitments, however, so I postponed for a more scheduled wild and impractical event in a few weeks. A few hours later, the person I had made promises and commitments to called to cancel our plans due to personal crisis. This ate at me for the rest of the evening.
It is a point of honor to me that I honor my commitments. I am not perfect in this regard, but if I say I will do a thing, or be somewhere, there is a 95% chance that I won't back out on you. But still, last night's event *was* something that could be cancelled, but I chose a pleasant and planned evening over a wild and impulsive one.
This bothers me.
I don't mean that I want to become someone whose word cannot be trusted, or someone who can't be relied upon. But I do want to be someone who can say "this is an adventure, and *this* can be postponed" and embrace the adventure. I should have been on a plane last night, had dinner with a friend, and flown back a few hours later, just for the madness of it.
Madness.
Madness and Dreams are the themes of Antero Alli's new film, Invisible Forest. This is the film I grew my beard out to lengths that helped destroy my relationship with my then-girlfriend. The film I bleached my entire damn head for. It's strange, and beautiful, and meditative, and very much of a piece with my first project with him, "Hungry Ghosts of Albion" back in 1999.
It's showing at the ATA on March 14th. Here's the info:
Vertical Pool presents the San Francisco premiere of
"THE INVISIBLE FOREST"
(2008; 111 min., USA) A Film by Antero Alli
Friday March 14th, 8pm
Artist Television Access
992 Valencia (& 21st St), San Francisco
Admission: $6. Filmmaker and actors in person.
Venue contacts: 415- 824-3890. http://www.atasite.org
http://www.atasite.org/calendar/?x=2799
Filmmaker contact: 510-464-4640. antero@paratheatrical.com
A theatre director traverses the internal landscape
of his dreams in pursuit of the radical visions
of French Surrealist, Antonin Artaud.
The Trailer
http://www.fractalvideo.com/HTML/IFFV2.html
SYNOPSIS
A theatre troupe camps out in a forest to perform their director's vision of Antonin Artaud's magic theatre of ghosts, gods and spirits. During their forest experiment Alex, the director, is haunted by disturbing dreams where Artaud appears and mocks his theatrical ambitions. When these strange nightmares persist, Alex stops sleeping in an attempt to regain control over his mind. Sleep-deprived and with his sanity pushed to its limits, he seeks help from a Psychotherapist who suggests hypnosis as a means to discover the source of his problems. What follows is a journey through the internal landscape of Alex's subconscious memories and dreams, a sojourn that leads us to a place beyond belief, beyond words, and beyond the mind itself.
CREDITS
ANTERO ALLI, GARRET DAILEY, CLODY CATES, JAMES WAGNER, DAN WILSON, JESSICA BOCKLER, NICK WALKER, ROBIN COOMER, SYLVI ALLI, JOJO RAZOR, DAVID GAUNTLETT, and JULIET TANNER.
Cinematography by CHRIS RASMUSSEN (HDV), SEAN BLOSL (Super-8 film), ANTERO ALLI (DV). Edited by ANTERO ALLI (offline) and CHRIS ODELL (online). Written by ANTERO ALLI, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (excerpts from "Romeo & Juliet" and "The Tempest"), ANTONIN ARTAUD (excerpts from "New Revelations of Being" and "The Theatre and its Double"). Music by Sylvi Alli and others. Produced by VERTICAL POOL. Conceived and Directed by ANTERO ALLI
"The Invisible Forest" Movie site
http://www.verticalpool.com/if.html
Antero Alli -- Filmography
http://www.verticalpool.com/filmography.html
It is a point of honor to me that I honor my commitments. I am not perfect in this regard, but if I say I will do a thing, or be somewhere, there is a 95% chance that I won't back out on you. But still, last night's event *was* something that could be cancelled, but I chose a pleasant and planned evening over a wild and impulsive one.
This bothers me.
I don't mean that I want to become someone whose word cannot be trusted, or someone who can't be relied upon. But I do want to be someone who can say "this is an adventure, and *this* can be postponed" and embrace the adventure. I should have been on a plane last night, had dinner with a friend, and flown back a few hours later, just for the madness of it.
Madness.
Madness and Dreams are the themes of Antero Alli's new film, Invisible Forest. This is the film I grew my beard out to lengths that helped destroy my relationship with my then-girlfriend. The film I bleached my entire damn head for. It's strange, and beautiful, and meditative, and very much of a piece with my first project with him, "Hungry Ghosts of Albion" back in 1999.
It's showing at the ATA on March 14th. Here's the info:
Vertical Pool presents the San Francisco premiere of
"THE INVISIBLE FOREST"
(2008; 111 min., USA) A Film by Antero Alli
Friday March 14th, 8pm
Artist Television Access
992 Valencia (& 21st St), San Francisco
Admission: $6. Filmmaker and actors in person.
Venue contacts: 415- 824-3890. http://www.atasite.org
http://www.atasite.org/calendar/?x=2799
Filmmaker contact: 510-464-4640. antero@paratheatrical.com
A theatre director traverses the internal landscape
of his dreams in pursuit of the radical visions
of French Surrealist, Antonin Artaud.
The Trailer
http://www.fractalvideo.com/HTML/IFFV2.html
SYNOPSIS
A theatre troupe camps out in a forest to perform their director's vision of Antonin Artaud's magic theatre of ghosts, gods and spirits. During their forest experiment Alex, the director, is haunted by disturbing dreams where Artaud appears and mocks his theatrical ambitions. When these strange nightmares persist, Alex stops sleeping in an attempt to regain control over his mind. Sleep-deprived and with his sanity pushed to its limits, he seeks help from a Psychotherapist who suggests hypnosis as a means to discover the source of his problems. What follows is a journey through the internal landscape of Alex's subconscious memories and dreams, a sojourn that leads us to a place beyond belief, beyond words, and beyond the mind itself.
CREDITS
ANTERO ALLI, GARRET DAILEY, CLODY CATES, JAMES WAGNER, DAN WILSON, JESSICA BOCKLER, NICK WALKER, ROBIN COOMER, SYLVI ALLI, JOJO RAZOR, DAVID GAUNTLETT, and JULIET TANNER.
Cinematography by CHRIS RASMUSSEN (HDV), SEAN BLOSL (Super-8 film), ANTERO ALLI (DV). Edited by ANTERO ALLI (offline) and CHRIS ODELL (online). Written by ANTERO ALLI, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (excerpts from "Romeo & Juliet" and "The Tempest"), ANTONIN ARTAUD (excerpts from "New Revelations of Being" and "The Theatre and its Double"). Music by Sylvi Alli and others. Produced by VERTICAL POOL. Conceived and Directed by ANTERO ALLI
"The Invisible Forest" Movie site
http://www.verticalpool.com/if.html
Antero Alli -- Filmography
http://www.verticalpool.com/filmography.html
Monday, February 11, 2008
sweathog
"I've got a yoga class on Monday. You wanna come?"
I've talked about taking yoga for years. I was dating a yoga instructor for a while, for crying out loud. I've made plans to do weekly yoga with people. But it's never happened. Soooo, "sure!"
I'm a bit nervous. I know this is an intermediate class, and I'm sure to let her know that this is my first yoga session EVER.
One of my bosses is at the studio. I'm only half surprised. It's that he's at THIS yoga studio that is surprising, not that he's at A yoga studio. He asks, "you're doing the next class? Awesome!"
"Yeah, it's my first class, ever."
He pauses, grins at me, laughs. "Really? It's BRUTAL!"
The room is jam packed. My companion has never seen it so full. We haven't even started, and the room is humid and smells of sweat.
I am able to participate in maybe half of the poses and exercises. Some are physically beyond me, some I cannot due because of light headedness or head-rush headaches from all the up in the sky, down beneath your knees cranium action. My clothing is utterly and completely drenched. I don't mean that I have a good sweat going, I mean *drenched*. Some of the moves, even exhausted, I can pull off. They are very similar to things I've done in Suzuki class, and both the instructor and my companion are surprised and pleased when they see me rally. One or two moves I do fairly easily that even my companion has a hard time with. For the most part however, I am left to gasp and admire the power, grace, strength, and stamina of those around me.
It is *very* humbling.
If I am going to continue going with her on Monday nights, I will need to get a mat, and I will need a DVD I can do beginner yoga to during the week. My upper body strength is unimpressive, and my stamina is tragic.
But I got through the class. Tomorrow I will be a creeping cramp, but tonight... I got through the class.
I've talked about taking yoga for years. I was dating a yoga instructor for a while, for crying out loud. I've made plans to do weekly yoga with people. But it's never happened. Soooo, "sure!"
I'm a bit nervous. I know this is an intermediate class, and I'm sure to let her know that this is my first yoga session EVER.
One of my bosses is at the studio. I'm only half surprised. It's that he's at THIS yoga studio that is surprising, not that he's at A yoga studio. He asks, "you're doing the next class? Awesome!"
"Yeah, it's my first class, ever."
He pauses, grins at me, laughs. "Really? It's BRUTAL!"
The room is jam packed. My companion has never seen it so full. We haven't even started, and the room is humid and smells of sweat.
I am able to participate in maybe half of the poses and exercises. Some are physically beyond me, some I cannot due because of light headedness or head-rush headaches from all the up in the sky, down beneath your knees cranium action. My clothing is utterly and completely drenched. I don't mean that I have a good sweat going, I mean *drenched*. Some of the moves, even exhausted, I can pull off. They are very similar to things I've done in Suzuki class, and both the instructor and my companion are surprised and pleased when they see me rally. One or two moves I do fairly easily that even my companion has a hard time with. For the most part however, I am left to gasp and admire the power, grace, strength, and stamina of those around me.
It is *very* humbling.
If I am going to continue going with her on Monday nights, I will need to get a mat, and I will need a DVD I can do beginner yoga to during the week. My upper body strength is unimpressive, and my stamina is tragic.
But I got through the class. Tomorrow I will be a creeping cramp, but tonight... I got through the class.
Sure, I'll use them
I know some extremely cool people who do extremely cool things. One of them is Kalina Wilson, who does things like make shower curtains out of decommissioned boat sails.
I am not yet that cool, but I did make some purchases in a fit of optimism that I would actually utilize them. I.e. I got a wacom tablet and ordered some books on learning piano as an adult. The former item I've wanted for a while, as I'm rather sick and tired of doing Photoshop work and drawing by mouse. With my nifty new 1080p projector, doing art on my wall is a pretty pleasing proposition. The books are because of the 88 key Yamaha keyboard that I bought for "Sweetie Tanya". It lives in my home office now, and it's silly to have something so lovely and cool there if I can't play it.
These are possibly irresponsible purchases since I go into rehearsals for "The Riches" in a couple of weeks, and go back into rehearsals for the remount of "Tanya" two weeks after the Riches opens. Still, we had a piano in the house growing up and no one knew how to play it. I remember plinking on it every now and then, but it feels like an opportunity lost. I don't even know why the thought of taking lessons never came up. I played trumpet very briefly in grade school, but my grades dropped so they took it away from me. I played guitar in High School, but never really had a knack for it. Still, I love the idea of taking little breaks in my day and playing a song.
Most of my creative energies lately have been directed towards Radiostar, which seems like of like a lame excuse for not doing other things because I've been doing Radiostar for the last two years. Still, lately it seems like editing the shows has been taking up more of my time. What's probably more true is that I've been far more social over the last month than normal, so my creative time has seemed less and less.
That and the XBox 360. Stupid XBox.
I am not yet that cool, but I did make some purchases in a fit of optimism that I would actually utilize them. I.e. I got a wacom tablet and ordered some books on learning piano as an adult. The former item I've wanted for a while, as I'm rather sick and tired of doing Photoshop work and drawing by mouse. With my nifty new 1080p projector, doing art on my wall is a pretty pleasing proposition. The books are because of the 88 key Yamaha keyboard that I bought for "Sweetie Tanya". It lives in my home office now, and it's silly to have something so lovely and cool there if I can't play it.
These are possibly irresponsible purchases since I go into rehearsals for "The Riches" in a couple of weeks, and go back into rehearsals for the remount of "Tanya" two weeks after the Riches opens. Still, we had a piano in the house growing up and no one knew how to play it. I remember plinking on it every now and then, but it feels like an opportunity lost. I don't even know why the thought of taking lessons never came up. I played trumpet very briefly in grade school, but my grades dropped so they took it away from me. I played guitar in High School, but never really had a knack for it. Still, I love the idea of taking little breaks in my day and playing a song.
Most of my creative energies lately have been directed towards Radiostar, which seems like of like a lame excuse for not doing other things because I've been doing Radiostar for the last two years. Still, lately it seems like editing the shows has been taking up more of my time. What's probably more true is that I've been far more social over the last month than normal, so my creative time has seemed less and less.
That and the XBox 360. Stupid XBox.
Friday, February 08, 2008
China, Album, Wandering, and Cock
So, in about an hour I'm going to head over to 21 Grand for a screening of The Invisible Forest. This is the film I shot back in August for Mr. Antero Alli, where I grew my hair and beard out to insane lengths and then dyed it all white in order to play an actor who was playing Prospero. I've seen an almost finished cut of the film already, but I am very curious to see what a paying audience thinks of it. It's a very beautiful film, but I'm too close to it to know if it will make sense to people not involved in the project. Films about madness and dreams are funny that way.
The Sweetie Tanya cast album is limping forward right now, although everything is currently depending on me getting all four musicians into the same room at the same time so they they can jam the songs they have and get a feel for how they work with bass and drums. I've never sat in on something like this before, so it promises to be quite the experience.
I've just been asked to appear on the Jennifer Justice show on Feb 19th. This is a somewhat underground comedy-variety-interview show that Ms. Justice was doing out of 50 Mason until they had to close their doors due to some mysterious problem that most likely involves the Yakuza and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. All I know at this point is that I will be the guest for a segment called "Ask a Man's Cock". What my cock has to say will be a matter of great interest and surprise, especially to me. Normally all it tells me is that it wants to go into a nice, warm, wet, dark space and throw up. I wonder if it wants to vote for Hillary or Obama. Neither are normally its type.
I've started being a bit more intense about monitoring what's going on with Radiostar, since we're getting between 12 to 15 thousand downloads a month. I've already identified a couple of daily download robots and blocked those, but other potential non-humans are harder to target. One IP address downloaded the same show 43 times in eleven days, but there was no clear pattern in when those 43 downloads happened, and any remote site that has a Flash based medial player that is referencing our stuff could generate those kinds of responses. The fact that the IP address comes out of China adds another layer of mystery since my understanding is that everything online in China is being filtered through their servers before it gets to the end user, so 43 people in Beijing could very well be listening to our shows, but we're only seeing the government server they're passing through.
I'll continue to monitor shows that get extra high amounts of traffic and see if I can determine any other patterns, but for now I expect to see our "audience" shrink over the next few months while I remove access of the bandwidth sucking robots that are coming way to close to costing me extra domain hosting monies.
Life has generally been greatly improved since I started working at least three days a week from home. I get much more done here, and when I *do* have some down time, I can be much more productive with it. For example, I did laundry, swept, vacuumed, and mopped the kitchen during time I would normally have spent waiting for downloads to complete, or walking to and from the office. My home smells like pine sol.
Yesterday I took the day "off", since I had only about an hour's worth of work to do all day, and only about fifteen minutes work that I knew of. I ended up walking all over Lake Merritt and downtown Oakland with a new friend who lives nearby and who was also off work. It was a gorgeous day and I can't remember feeling so good and refreshed between 11am and 4pm on a Thursday.
The Sweetie Tanya cast album is limping forward right now, although everything is currently depending on me getting all four musicians into the same room at the same time so they they can jam the songs they have and get a feel for how they work with bass and drums. I've never sat in on something like this before, so it promises to be quite the experience.
I've just been asked to appear on the Jennifer Justice show on Feb 19th. This is a somewhat underground comedy-variety-interview show that Ms. Justice was doing out of 50 Mason until they had to close their doors due to some mysterious problem that most likely involves the Yakuza and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. All I know at this point is that I will be the guest for a segment called "Ask a Man's Cock". What my cock has to say will be a matter of great interest and surprise, especially to me. Normally all it tells me is that it wants to go into a nice, warm, wet, dark space and throw up. I wonder if it wants to vote for Hillary or Obama. Neither are normally its type.
I've started being a bit more intense about monitoring what's going on with Radiostar, since we're getting between 12 to 15 thousand downloads a month. I've already identified a couple of daily download robots and blocked those, but other potential non-humans are harder to target. One IP address downloaded the same show 43 times in eleven days, but there was no clear pattern in when those 43 downloads happened, and any remote site that has a Flash based medial player that is referencing our stuff could generate those kinds of responses. The fact that the IP address comes out of China adds another layer of mystery since my understanding is that everything online in China is being filtered through their servers before it gets to the end user, so 43 people in Beijing could very well be listening to our shows, but we're only seeing the government server they're passing through.
I'll continue to monitor shows that get extra high amounts of traffic and see if I can determine any other patterns, but for now I expect to see our "audience" shrink over the next few months while I remove access of the bandwidth sucking robots that are coming way to close to costing me extra domain hosting monies.
Life has generally been greatly improved since I started working at least three days a week from home. I get much more done here, and when I *do* have some down time, I can be much more productive with it. For example, I did laundry, swept, vacuumed, and mopped the kitchen during time I would normally have spent waiting for downloads to complete, or walking to and from the office. My home smells like pine sol.
Yesterday I took the day "off", since I had only about an hour's worth of work to do all day, and only about fifteen minutes work that I knew of. I ended up walking all over Lake Merritt and downtown Oakland with a new friend who lives nearby and who was also off work. It was a gorgeous day and I can't remember feeling so good and refreshed between 11am and 4pm on a Thursday.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Slack doesn't slack
More news about friends. Nina Bargiel got some good ink on her perspective as a WGA writer and a striker. It's worth taking a look at, especially if you're not really familiar with what this means for the average screenwriter.
cause she's bad-ass
Heather McCulley, the inspiration for "Sweetie Tanya" just demonstrated what a bad-ass she is.
Heather's story will make an excellent Lifetime movie some day. I hope to pen the script.
Heather's story will make an excellent Lifetime movie some day. I hope to pen the script.
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