Come Back, Shane!

Come back!

We have closed

A Lie of the Mind

. . .

long open

A Lie of the Mind

. Actually, I don't feel that way. That paraphrasing suggests that the show itself should continue ad nauseum, and really, it's not the most worthy of its ilk to aspire to perpetual resurrection. It's not the script I would see risen from the ashes, but the cast and crew. What a tremendous group of people to work with. I would leap at the chance to work with any of them again, and will probably harbor a fantasy of all of us reuniting for some show or other for a long while yet. My hat's off to you folk.

How did it close? (

Friend Nat

inquired of me when I was offline yesterday, no doubt in eager anticipation of this very 'blog entry [I am nothing if not entirely predictable].) I would say that it went out with a bang, though it was neither our best nor our worst show. So it went out rather like a bang in the distant woods, perhaps from a 30-30 caliber rifle. I believe we were all sad to see it go, in spite of some relief at being able to spend more time making money and just generally relaxing for a little while. That relief invariably turns to anxiety for me after a little while if I have nothing theatrical upcoming. Fortunately, this is not the case. But that is a subject for another day's 'blogitivity.

Now that it's all said and done, I'm glad I put all that time and effort into the show. It may not have been my best work (I daresay it definitely was not), but just on a personal level it was important work in helping me break through a lot of creative and personal rubbish that I was--consciously, at least--barely aware of. It seems rather awful to make a performance about such stuff, and I'd like to think I don't normally do that. In point of fact, I believe it was only thus in this case because the show challenged me and on some level I had been avoiding challenges in my life. Nothing like high stakes to flush out the delusions.

Interesting, too, how deluded I was when I started this 'blog. In a variety of ways. I began with the intention of keeping it about my professional life, of adding personal details only as they became relevant to such ambitions. I should have realized (just as I should have realized with avoiding challenges) that the sense of safety this aspect of my mission statement imbued was a delusion. It's not like I spend my professional life collecting coins or soldering pipe . . . though I'm fairly certain even in these fields one's personal life colors every aspect of one's work. Moreover, I'm an idiot about this whole "public journal" thing. THEY ARE WATCHING, STUPID! Everything you say can and will be used against you in a restaurant with your peers.

Interesting word:

idiot

. It reminds me of the word "id," in the Freudian sense, and I wonder if Freud had it or some related word in mind when he coined the term (<--actually, "id" means "it," [man that guy had a penile fixation {or is that me?}] and he apparently borrowed the term from an earlier psychoanalytical text). "Idiot" has roots in

idios

, meaning "one's own." I lambaste you with this irrelevant series of seeming connections because . . . well, supposedly one's id is the primary component of free association. (Which is probably the most apt sentence in this paragraph thus far.) AND I have to wonder just how much of an idiot I actually am when it comes to this here 'blog. Because, my friends, I have the sneaking suspicion that Odin's Aviary is a direct result of mys ids and mys super-egos co-collaboratin' behinds ma' egos's back. Here I am, happily free-associating on a regular basis, yet with an awareness that I have some responsibility not to write anything that might unnecessarily upset, deceive or otherwise put off someone who might read this.

Yet these things get written, and the ripples initiated by them return to me at the least expected moments. Exes express different views of the past. Directors salve my ego (in the vernacular sense of the word ["ego," not "salve"]) with compliments. Friends bring up subjects I hadn't realized I had approved for conversation with them, and they are startlingly well-informed, because I've already written out all my thoughts for them. It's not that I don't keep certain thoughts and feelings in reserve (Such as how

hot

I find it when women punch me . . .. Damn it! Did it again!), but I have often been surprised by the results of my 'blogasitude. Sometimes pleasantly, sometimes not, but always on the side of open truth. It's a good side to be on, and this little exercise is helping me appreciate that kind of disclosure.

So I've said it

once

, but I'll say it again: Don't lie to your mind; it's unkind.

Repeatable Action

This was a very necessary skill for an actor, according to my dearest college acting teacher,

Gary C. Hopper

. He was the one who enthusiastically took on all the Freshman classes for their first year of training, like some kind of manic

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman

, and took a very personal interest in each and every one of we chosen few (seventy-five to start, I believe) forgetting all we thought we knew and undertaking his approach to creating believable, effective moments on stage. It was always with a huge, toothy grin that he would offer scathing criticism of our naive little choices, and with said same grin he gave us his own pearls of wisdom regarding the oldest art. Acting axioms, if you will:

• "In general" is the enemy of good art. (This one is stolen, I believe.)

• Would you like some fries with that Big Mac? (Translation: There are no discernible stakes to what you're doing, so why are you even on stage, you douche bag?)

• Acting! Theatre is my life! (Translation: People must be able to see, at all times, that glint in your eye that tells them you derive your greatest joy from moments spent in rehearsal and on stage.)

• His intensely formal formula for explicitly stating one's intention in each scene: "Because I feel _______, due to having been _______, I want to _______ [NAME OF CHARACTER], so that s/he will feel _______, resulting in _______."

Apart from these axioms (I know that last one isn't an axiom, and I would ask you to kindly shut the hell up), he would also use these little phrases to recall to our minds earlier lessons. Case in point, his sing-song recitation of the words "Repeatable action!" whenever you failed to fulfill established blocking, or claimed you could juggle and proceed to drop a ball. It's common sense, especially for a theatre actor. That actor must be able not only to produce genuine moments on stage, but do so with consistency every performance.

I am magnificent at this. I won't lie to you (not even in my Mind). At this, I rule. One director, who worked with me on Proof and Over the River and Through the Woods... out at The Northeast Theatre, once wrote me that I was "the most consistent actor" she had worked with. But it is a double-edged betleH, this madness of skill. I mean, who delights in the knowledge that they are non-deviant when it comes to art? Reliability is a good thing in one's fellow actor, I agree, but we'd all rather have a moment on stage be alive than choreographically consistent. And supposing one's consistency is actually a regularity of badness or, worse yet, mediocrity?

My love of the repeatable action has deep roots in this kid's psyche. (By "this kid's," I am of course referring to myself in the third person, thereby cautioning you that a. I'm about to get all psychoanalytical on yo' ass, whilst simultaneously consoling you that b. I appreciate the dramatic irony of self-aggrandizement and how it relates to an actor talking [much less writing] about his or her person.) I was pretty much always a guy who appreciated a good plan. In school, I used to get tense about going into a class without knowing what we were supposed to be doing that day (see 3/8/07 for analysis of my absolute need to know everything about everything ever). One of the main appeals of theatre, in my earlier days of interest, was the presence of a script. When I would get into arguments with my friend Bridget (sorry to put you on the spot, B, but you were the only one I fought with when I was growing peach fuzz) I would actually kind of have to step out of them in order to gather my thoughts. I couldn't just get mad and say irrational things. That would have been, you know . . . irrational.

And the patterns continue into Jeff-the-Present (as opposed to Jeff-the-Past, not Jeff-the-Absent, nor Jeff-the-Only-A-Card). All this circus stuff I've gotten myself into, you think that's solely because I wish I were a vigilante superhero? Predominantly, sure, but solely? And the clowning I've been working on, I suppose I just like the idea of self-imposed humiliation? (Well okay: You have a point there.) No, it's choreography. As is my tendency to take jobs with theatres with which I have previously worked, rather than putting my proverbial testicles on the metaphorical line and playing Rizzo in some West Village cabaret. Not loyalty, oh no: Choreography.

And step-ball-change, step-ball-change!

There's something to be said for choreography. Get not me wrong. Only what good is it without that certain indefinable passion, that razor's edge that makes everyone sit up and feel something? For the past several years I have worked hard at letting go of the need to be choreographically precise in my acting, and allowing that spirit of madness (this is the word a control freak uses to describe spontaneity) into my work. A Lie of the Mind is a pretty classic example of this effort on my part, and I don't write this solely for the purpose of pimping my show on you. (Predominantly, sure.) My performance only lives (I'm talking basic life support, here) when I let go of our decisions in rehearsal and let it all happen for the first time, yet I resist this condition, I suppose because it feels hokey, or irresponsible, to me. Well, to my left brain, anyway. And let me tell you (I'm here to say [even for me, the parentheticals are getting out of hand in this one]), if I'm at one end of the control/chaos spectrum, Friend Todd is at the other. He's brilliant at letting go. In a way, this contrast between us makes for perfect casting of these roles. Still, I feel a need to rise to his level in that ratio of consistency and life. I have a lot to learn from Mr. d'Amour.

Because I feel limited, due to my inhibitions, I want to kick ass in this show, so that the show will feel sufficiently ass-kicked, resulting in my career rocketing to new artistic heights.

Repeatable action is a valuable skill in theatre and film, but talent trumps all. (As to defining talent, someone once said, "Talent is like pornography. You can't define it, but you know it when you see it.") In life, I think the talent is in determining when a repeatable action is really called for. It can be easy to get stuck in a rut, and scary as hell to come bounding out of said rut headfirst. Yet necessary, I believe. We were not made for ruts. I applaud people who stick to their principles, but I shout for them that break the rules in order to learn something new.

Breathe.

It's good for you.

O Sainted Day

Saint Valentine

's Day, 2007. It starts snowing somewhere toward the middle of the night and keeps on into the day--a hard, light snow that stings your face when you walk into it. I'm now nestled snug in my cubicle at the matrimonial law office that shall represent my day job. I'm wearing a tie, for once, in honor of the day. This is the first substantial snow of the season that I have experienced in the city. It's rapidly turned to brown slush on the streets and in the curb nooks, the kind that deceives you into thinking it's a level surface right up until you see your foot plunge too-deep into the melancholic soup. So I'm wearing my Doc Marten's as well.

This is my least favorite of all holidays. It feels the most misguided and obligatory to me (Even more so than Arbor Day!). However, I started a tradition some years ago of making it a day in honor of my friends, as I believe

St. Valentine

probably would have appreciated. This year that honoring is a humble one, just catching up on much-neglected email and reading of other 'blogs. Nevertheless, the (small) effort has made me feel so much better than I might have. It's a credo of Unitarian Universalism (and

Avenue Q

) that service to others is a service to oneself, and I'm living it today. In a life such as mine, friends are family, and I am very, very grateful for you all.

Happy V-day. If you're still at home, put on some swimming goggles before going out, because that snow

stings

.

Sticking Up

A little something from my passive-resistance, anti'blogger friend (see

1/7/07

for said friend's impressive dramaturgy), who met a young actor at an educational gig:

"C____ was actually a really interesting guy, who had only been acting for about four months, and had already had a speaking part in the

upcoming Ridley Scott/Russell Crowe movie

--Russell Crowe pulls a gun on him. So awesome! But he used to be a stick-up kid. He talked really honestly about it later when S___ and I were walking back to the subway with him. He also said that he felt the need to pursue acting because of what had fallen in his lap--that from talking to other people on set he had begun to realize and appreciate how hard it is to do that, how hard the life is, and how hard it is to work to perfect the craft. He felt that to honor it--the opportunities that have been flung on him, and the lifestyle that usually accompanies it--he had to see it through to wherever this took him. So there's something for your blog (make no mistake--I do not condone that sort of thing): choosing this life because in part it chose you. And honoring what you have intrinsically. That there's some idea of a blessing involved, and that giving back, utilizing these tools is part of the respect you pay to the work. I think it's rather beautiful."

I agree.

This is not a perspective I come to naturally, this idea that some people have gifts (or "talent") that others do not. I would even go so far as to say: Most people who say they believe this idea, when pressed or drawn into a need to defend their position, would discover they were operating from an assumption. There are these axioms we are all inclined to accept through the sheer pressure of public opinion. It reminds me of a conversation I had with my sister (who, being a fellow

Unitarian Universalist

, tends also to be a questioner--

1/3/07

) on different subjects, but with the same question applied to them: Why? Why is saving a life automatically the best choice in every situation? Why should there be someone out there for everyone? Why should it be that people have natural talents, rather than abilities that are either cultivated or not?

The Why Cycle is a vicious one, of course. Ever have that conversation with a beebler (read: fully verbal but

very

young child) that starts out with something simple, like, "Why do birds fly?", only to end up with a question equivalent to "Why are we here and how do we, in fact, know we are here at all?" Ah, the birth of abstract thought! Ah, the Medea-complex it can inspire! So let's not build an

Escher staircase

, please. But the question "why" was made to draw back the curtain, show us through the frame to a broader horizon of possibilities, so it's a good place to start.

C____ reminds me of my mother, midway through seminary. (Stick with me here.) (Come to think of it, he reminds me of myself, midway through college [see

1/29/07

]. But my Mom has always been more inspiring, so:) A middle-aged Unitarian Universalist at

Wesley Theological Seminary

(an ecumenical Christian school) studying to become Reverend Wills. She came from teaching elementary school for years, and after volunteering for a year or two as Director of Religious Education (DRE) at our church--

AUUC

--began setting her sights on the ministry. That part of the story's unique enough, but the point (yes, I have one this time) is that about midway through her ten-year tenure as a student of ministry, her peers began to swap stories about their Calling. This is not calling, as in holla-back-shorty, but Calling, as in holla-back-Jesus. (Jesus: I ain't no holla-back prophet, but here's some blessing for the effort. And Haddock. H-A-D-D-O-C-K... [Just a little ecumenical

humor

, all in good fun...Sir...]) Of course all the acknowledged Christians had little difficulty with this in concept, regardless of how it might apply to them in practice.

My Mom, however, had to think about it for a bit. (It's what we do, UUs: think. Alla' time. It's irritating.) She also had to soul-search, pray, meditate and probably do some new age crap that I still respect but is awful, awful crap. Ahem. Sorry, New-Agers. And Wiccans. I do some of it myself. I'm just an upstart UU. WATCH OUT! Anyway--and this is funny--I can't remember what conclusion she came to. Which is the funny. I thought I had a point, and yet I have made a liar of myself. God did it, probably, for my non-UU-ness a few lines ago. Thanks, God. I needed that like I needed another crisis of faith. Anyway, my Mom is indeed Reverend Wills now (she even answers the phone that way; try it: 301-745-6576) so she and God must have gotten right about it somehow.

But how's this for a point: For whatever reason, my Mom is absolutely gifted at being a mother. It's what she was born to do, no doubt about it in my mind. Something silent in her reaches out to you in whatever need you're in and--whether it's by conduit to God or a powerful ability for empathy--gives you what you need. It's a fact of faith for me, and I don't have too many of those (mostly I have theories of faith, which is how we UUs generally like it).

My point, my friends, is that it doesn't matter how we do what we do. The source(s) of our power in the world, be it nature, nurture or divine providence, does not seek to answer the question of "why." What matters is that we do it. Perhaps we were meant to do what we're doing. Perhaps we've just spent a lot of time working really hard at it. I believe it's good to honor something other than yourself with what you do with your life. Any ambition means more, and will accomplish greater things, when it is serving a larger purpose. So honor thy mother and father, honor humanity, honor God, but honor something say I. Though not

L. Ron Hubbard

, please. That was based on a bet. I guarantee it.

There's a lot of banter between actors about the specific "right way" to get into character (it was a much-heated debate toward the beginning of the 20th century; now it's mostly just banter [like religion in the west, more and more people are beginning to see multiple perspectives with the same goal]), with camps that claim success is achieved when you

become

your character, transformed, and camps that insist success lies in the character

becoming

you, essential, real and true. A thousand grays lie between. I, and most peers with whom I've discussed it, see it as a meeting halfway. Halfway in this context meaning a point in time (rather than distance) when the two converge; sometimes the actor has to do more traveling, sometimes the character. I willfully apply this scenario to the question of our choice, or being chosen. And I think it is a constantly shifting ratio. Sometimes we just have to keep choosing and choosing and CHOOSING to do what we love. And sometimes, the love calls to us.

Holla-back, love. Holla-back.