SPOILERS You Don't Always Get What You Want...Sometimes You Get What You Need - Star Wars SPOILERS.

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THIS IS ABOUT STAR WARS AND CONTAINS SPOILERS. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN STAR WARS THE FORCE AWAKENS. MY THOUGHTS CONTINUE BELOW THIS MUSICAL INTERLUDE. FOR THE SAKE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND YODA DON'T CONTINUE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HAVE THE MOVIE SPOILED.

There. Can't say I didn't try and warn you.

In the past 10 days, I have watched the original trilogy. I have reread Star Wars Aftermath. I have devoured every article and analysis that I could about Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I saw the movie three times in four days and have stopped myself from going at least two other times. I haven't been this deep into my Star Wars fandom since the awkward two week period in the summer after sixth grade when I tried to get people to call me Anikan Solo.

Yes. That happened.

I've tried to sit down a write what I loved about the film. What I didn't like and what I didn't want to allow logic (like physics) or naysayers (It's just Star Wars over again!) take away from me. In spite of it all, I wasn't truly compelled to write. Until I read a very honest and well written article by Rob Bricken on Gizmondo entitled "There's One Thing I Totally Hate About The Force Awakens"

It's a well written piece and I understand his complaint. That the update tears away the happy ending of Return of the Jedi from Luke, Leia and Han. That the victory at the forest moon of Endor was short lived and that war still rages on. It was something that even the author admits was necessary for the plot to move forward. Yet it was hard for him to accept - in Bricken's words;

As someone who grew up on Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, retroactively qualifying the Rebels’ victory over the Empire and the accomplishments of the original trilogy is distressing enough. But what really upsets me about The Force Awakens is how it reveals (determines?) that despite all the conflict they faced, and all the victories they won, Luke, Leia and Han’s lives after the Original Trilogy were basically miserable.

Miserable. Damn. That is a harsh reality.

I often learn the most when I understand my own reality when I have a point of reference. A lighthouse when at sea. A north star. A constant. In a way that's why a part of me still believes deep down in some sort of soul mate or true partner. I don't always know what I want until I lose it. I most often understand where I stand when I know the room. I didn't realize what I loved about The Force Awakens until someone said they hated it.

Whoa. So that means that I love that Luke, Leia and Han's lives were miserable? What kind of jerk am I?

No.

Well I'm probably a jerk but for so many other reasons. No. What I loved about The Force Awakens is that it took my iconic heroes and characters and made them more real. It made them flawed. It made them more human. It made me love them more.

Yes. Luke failed. He tried to return the Jedi to their former glory and he accidentally unleashed emo Vader on the universe. Leia lost her son and threw herself into work and in a way, lost herself. Han didn't always talk himself out of it. He didn't know how to be a perfect father and when his son rejected him and Leia, he ran, he went back to his scoundrel space pirate ways. If the story ended there it would be miserable.

It didn't. Han had a chance and  reason to come back. Yes it was a familiar reason. If there are two constants in the world of Han Solo they are Chewbacca and the Millennium Falcon. His recapture of the Falcon upsets his scoundrel world once again. Han is given the chance to make a difference again. To borrow from another recent space epic, a chance to give a damn. Once again, his true heroic self rises to the surface. Finn and Rey are his new chance and he runs at it. Even if he complains the whole time.

Han finally faces Leia after what had to have been a long separation. The scene were he brushes off a panicked Finn and stands before the landing ship was awesome. If you've ever been in the situation of facing an angry ex who might rightly hate you - then you know that moment was braver than any Kessel Run.

Han's death, which brought me to tears the first two times, works because it's the death of man who would lose his life than completely give up on his own son. The scoundrel Han would never have walked out on that bridge. Han, the father, couldn't do anything else.

Leia seems to have pushed emotion and connection aside. Losing her brother, her partner and her son in quick succession can have that effect I assume. She's a General now. Not a Princess. And there's a hell of a lot more Eisenhower than Elsa in her. Her emotional restraint with Han is torture. He and I and maybe the audience, wanted her to lash out at him. Be angry for running away. Yet her concern is not giving up on their son. She asks Han to bring him back. Probably knowing that's a one in a million chance. She too can't give up on her son.

Luke. He's barely in the damn movie! What is there to analyze? He doesn't even speak a word. He ran to the wilderness. He became a hermit like Old Ben Kenobi on a faraway hidden world like Yoda. He saw that darkness that he had wrought and could not abide it. He gave up. He was  just a kid from a dessert world who should have stuck to shooting womp rats in beggar's cannon.

Yet potentially the greatest hook for a sequel ever, Rey stands arm out, offering Luke his saber and another chance. A chance that Ben Kenobi barely got to experience and one that Yoda was too old to experience. Another chance at redemption. An apprentice. The opportunity to right a wrong even as Obi-Wan had done and hopefully much more.

If you see only the misery that came after Return of the Jedi, I can see why you would hate one thing about The Force Awakens.

If you can see your icons, fall and get back up. Fail and keep trying. Never give up hope in their loved ones in spite of logic. You can seem more of yourself in them.

I fail routinely. I fall. Sometimes I even get back up. I don't need my heroes to have happy endings. I don't need a bonfire and a band of misfit teddy bears playing the bongos (but my birthday is in like a week...). I don't need the shiny happy ending of Return of the Jedi.

I want it. But I don't need it.

I need to see flaws. I need to be inspired to keep doing in spite of failure. I need to have hope. To believe in family. To trust in love.

No the themes of The Force Awakens are not what I wanted. They are what I needed.

That's why I love it.

The Masks we all Wear: What's Your Secret Identity?

When I was young it never occurred to me that everyone had a secret identity. Of course I knew about Bruce Wayne and Batman, Clark Kent and Superman even Drake Mallard and Darkwing Duck. Secret identities were for comics. Not real life. Real people didn't use a mask to hide their face. It was obvious. Real people were real.

And as a kid. I was really really naive. I mean that's not a shocking revelation. There is plenty I am naive about to this day. I learn that every day. As a child I was naive. Especially about secret identities. I had no idea that they are the rule rather than the exception.

Even as a child, bathed in my ignorance, I wore masks. I hid part of myself. Like a movie that other kids think is for babies - never mention the Care Bear stare ever again. Have no idea what that slang word use that somebody used - nod and smile and never admit it. Frustrated because you're having trouble with multiplying fractions - immediately pretend you don't care about math and it's not cool. A hundred masks, a thousand feints, an entire wall of smoke concealing real things about me. My secret identity.

What is the greatest difference between secret identities in comics and the ones we create in real life? Secret Identities in comics are usually pretty awesome. Playboy philanthropist. Award winning reporter. Single duck dad. Wait. Scratch that last one. Who wouldn't want to be Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne? Those lives looked pretty damn good. Enviable even.

In reality, what we hide are the things we are ashamed of. The things that we are embarrassed of. The things that make us afraid or weak or vulnerable. We don't hide our ability to fly or our nights as a rooftop vigilante. We hide the things we don't want anyone to see. The stuff. Baggage. Issues. Flaws. Dirt. Pain.

It's not a ground breaking statement. Duh. Dude. Everyone has their stuff. It's life.

By my nature, I analyze things. I overthink. I obsess and dwell. I ruminate and ponder. I am at times the definition of paralysis by analysis. Especially when I let the mask slip. When the baggage is left spinning slowly and obviously on the carousel for the whole world to see. Sometimes life opens the phone booth before Superman can get the spandex completely on. And people see us without the costume or the mask. And it sucks.

I judge myself so hard when I slip. When a surprise brings on anxiety and panic and I just don't deal with it well. The paralysis/analysis cycle begins to spin like a dreidel on crank. It is out of control and no one is going to have a good time. (Paralysis/Analysis will be the name of my emo cover band)

When I am honest, I judge others when I see a slip too. A harsh word. A bad day. A grumpy response. A sarcastic self indulgent comment. I see their slip and I too often judge. Sometimes I can realize that everyone has their stuff and that's ok. Other times I slip up and don't cut people any slack.

I slipped recently. Let some pain out. Let a surprise lead to anxiety and panic and then disappearance. And ever since I've judged myself way too harshly. I've mentally replayed the moment over and over with little point or result. It's pointless. This dreidel is tired.

We all slip. The secret identity eventually gets out. It always happens. We fail. We miss. We hurt.

It's part of being human. So is the secret identity. It's all part of the big contradiction that is being alive and trying to live.

I need to give myself some slack when I slip. You need to give yourself some slack. And we all need to give each other a hell of a lot more slack.

We're all struggling. We are all fighting. And we all lose little battles every day. It's become common to point out when someone slips. To blast it all over the internet. To gossip. To laugh. To highlight the failures and dance on the graves of anyone and everyone.

We've all got our secrets and our pain.

I'll let you keep your secret identity. You let me keep mine.

Maybe then we can fight together when the really big bad stuff comes.

Comfort Food. Comfort Art.

We've all heard of comfort food. That favorite dish. The one that reminds us of home. Mom's chicken pot pie. Grandma's Beef Brisket. A simple Google search leads to hundreds of recipes, cookbooks, Yelp reviews and more. It's a thing. Can't be denied.


I have my comfort foods. Friday as I dealt with some holiday and seasonal blues, I made a ham and scalloped potatoes. It was great. It didn't do the trick. Lately I have found that my Comfort Art has been more effective. Comfort Art? What in the world is that?

For me, music, movies, books and entertainment are more comfort than food. It feels weird. Elvis Costello doesn't have the carbohydrates. Elmore Leonard doesn't contain alcohol or caffeine.White House Down doesn't give me a sugar high.  But if I am honest. Those things do so much more.

Last week I lay on a bean bag in my basement drinking Surge and listening to Elvis Costello on vinyl. It filled me more than any carbohydrate loaded meal. Even if it wasn't my favorite album. Even if it was just the mix of nostalgia and music. It worked. It filled me up. Each line and note connected with me deep down.

Saturday night after a long day at work and plenty of self created stress, I found myself holding Elmore Leonard's Out of Sight. A book I haven't read in probably 15 years. I got about 25 pages in before finally sleep took over. Somewhere between discussion of prison gun towers and planned bank robberies. The words, the world, the characters were more intoxicating than any lager or rum. Oddly, the dreams weren't the worst I had last week. Sometimes I need to give my mind a place to run. Or it picks its own.

Tonight, after a stressful, hectic and snow filled Monday after a holiday, I just needed distraction. The day was fine. I got things done. I have plenty of work to do this week. But when the work day ended, I was a ball of nerves. I felt the stress. In my gut. In my neck. In that little spot right between my eyes on the top of my nose. Tense and worn out. I needed a sugar high. So I put in the Channing Tatum action opus White House Down. Yeah. It's silly. It's over the top. It's one beautiful man saving his precocious daughter, the President and probably the entire country. It's sugar pop action. And it's exactly what I needed. I won't even get to the end of the movie. I don't need to. You know how sometimes you only need have the Snicker's bar? It's like that. I've got my pop sugar buzz. It broke the stress.

Sometimes we talk about guilty pleasures in media or music. For me it's Comfort Art. Just the nostalgia or pop sugar or literary intoxication I need. Some people might mock when you need to rock out to N'sync or just watch a favorite movie yet another time. Or maybe not understand why you have watched the entire series of Firefly on a yearly basis. Screw them.

Let's fight for our Comfort Art the same way we would fight for Grandma's brisket. Because sometimes it's exactly what we need.

Lysistrata and Spike Lee

This fall, I have a friend who is taking a humanities class. Her assignments, readings and reports have led to all kinds of discussions about classic literature. I have had the chance to talk about Shakespeare and the Latin classics again. Shockingly concepts and ideas I haven't used in my daily life in years. One of the works we talked about was Lysistrata. In case you're not familiar with Aristophanes work:

Lysistrata (/laɪˈsɪstrətə/ or /ˌlɪsəˈstrɑːtə/; Attic Greek: Λυσιστράτη, "Army Disbander") is a comedy by Aristophanes. Originally performed in classical Athens in 411 BCE, it is a comic account of one woman's extraordinary mission to end the Peloponnesian War. Lysistrata persuades the women of Greece to withhold sexual privileges from their husbands and lovers as a means of forcing the men to negotiate peace—a strategy, however, that inflames the battle between the sexes. The play is notable for being an early exposé of sexual relations in a male-dominated society. Wikipedia

It's a comedy in the bawdy nature. Many stagings have the male cast members with giant plastic phallic members in the latter parts of the play. Imagine a sex comedy with visuals by 14 year olds. But in it's bawdy nature, which as a rule plays to our lowest common denominator - it questions our wants and desires. Aristophanes makes fun of one desire, sex, and man's determination for it by highlighting another desire in a comedic way. It was satire. I'm sure that not everyone in the audience appreciated it. But it was clever in its way.

But it is a classic and historic example of the constant and continuing conflict between men and women and sex. What is it, what should it be, why do we do what we do in relation to it? In one way it shows the power of the gender conflict, in another it shows the mental and social limitations of the time: the idea that the only way to stop men from fighting is to take away their sex, or that women can only influence situation/life through their sexual control. Lysistrata has in it elements of both feminism and sexism. One aspect unexpected from a play written in 411 BCE and one expected.

Yet. It is easy to debate how far we have come as a species in roughly 2,425 years. Even as I read Lysistrata again this fall. (I'll admit that I didn't see the bigger picture or the grander issues of sexism, feminism and just plain humanity when I read it as a younger man). I found myself wondering if in our time with different horrible challenges of war and hate, some group might not pick up Lysistrata's banner of chastity. What would happen? How would society react?

As ever, mine was not an original thought. I was to delighted and intrigued to find that Spike Lee was developing an update of Lysistrata himself, titled Chi-Raq. The story, as explained by fourth wall breaking narrator, Dolmedes (Samuel L. Jackson):

The Aristophanes comedy "Lysistrata," about a sex strike waged by Athenian women designed to frustrate their lunkhead warriors into halting the Peloponnesian War, dates to 411 B.C. and was written in rhymed verse. "Chi-Raq" will do likewise, he says. (At times the movie feels like a nervy grad-school collaboration between theater and film departments, with access to really good actors.) The South Side women are fed up with the carnage caused by the war between rival gangs, the Trojans (Wesley Snipes is their one-eyed leader, Cyclops) and the Spartans (Cannon's character, a rising rapper with a gangbanger's resume, goes by the name Chi-Raq). Lysistrata gets wind of a sex strike, a nonfictional example from recent history, led by Liberian activist Leymah Gbowee. Why not try it here, in the bloody city by the lake? - Chicago Tribune

I appreciate the change of Lysistrata from wife to warrior. The setting of Chicago certainly makes the modern audience take more notice than ancient Greece.  In keeping the comedic tone, Lee attempts to sneak past the defenses of the audience and make an impact. Humor is the gateway to all emotions. If I can make you laugh, I can make you cry, I can make you feel. It is the great irony of both linguistics and Shakespeare that his comedies end in tears and his tragedies end in hope.

I look forward to seeing Lee's interpretation of Aristophanes work. No doubt there will be those who call out it as another sequel or icon for the lack of originality in modern media. But this is not another white guy with a gun saving a building full of people. It is not Channing Tatum lampooning Johnny Depp in high school. It's not a comic or a space opera or another dramatic retelling of war.

Chi-Raq like Lysistrata asks a question. Hopefully it reminds us to ask it as well:

Is humanity's primal need to create able overcome it's primal need to destroy?



 

The Song Doesn't Remain the Same

One thing that I love to do is share music with my children. With activities all over the metro and transporting between houses, we have ample listening opportunities.

I still have a CD player and my kids love to pick out old CDs and listen to them. My 9 year old is probably the worlds youngest Eve 6 fanatic. We all love The Refreshments and Frank Turner. It takes the right day for Meatloaf. From the time they were each babies, I always made mix tapes and compilations for them. 

I love mix tapes. Yes they are still CDs and I still have a CD player in my car. Perhaps it is my affinity for High Fidelity but music and mix tapes are important to me. I make them for people important to me. Each year I try to make a road trip cd for my kids yearly family trips.  I make them to deal with my regular emotional roller coasters too. 

Because of this there are plenty of homemade CDs in the car cd visor holder (95 represent!) and some of them are favorites of my children. The other day, my son grabbed a cd and passed it up to me in the front. I always have veto power and usually I would have veto'd this cd. Yet for some reason, this time I decided to put it in. 

The spring and summer of 2010 was not a good time for me. The roller coaster went off the rails. I lost my job. I lost my significant other. I had to move back to my parents house. My entire house of cards life came tumbling down. At some point that summer either while wallowing or trying to recover, I created a mix tape and simply titled it "broken"

As the first track began, I started to regret putting it in. Some sensations, smells, songs hold too much memory for me and I can't handle them. I haven't been able to listen to a certain song by the Wallflowers since 2000. I have literally walked out of stores once I heard those familiar first cords. So I worried that maybe this cd would bring too much of that summer, of that period of broken back. And for a second it did. 

I skipped the first song at my son's request, and I was just about to push the eject button when something unexpected happened. As Dee Clark began to lament the Raindrops falling from his eyes. I heard my son softly singing along. 

It's weird that I know every word to a song from 1961 and there is no reason my son should know it. But then it hit me, all those car rides that summer. All those trips to the children's museum. The songs played and I sang along. Suddenly I remembered the joy of those moments. The pieces of that time that weren't broken. 

Together we sang through the sappy silly song. We sang together a snippet from Dr Horrible. We laughed. Something that had seemed broken wasn't. 

We picked up my daughter and all three of us sang through Dr Horrible again. Instead of the pain and memories that these songs used to hold, it was fun. 

We even made it through the song of that summer that I used to sing scream as I drove around my broken world: "Nothing Ever hurt like You" All three of us singing loudly and smiling and jiving along. A song that I didn't think I could ever sing with a smile. I was beaming. 

Something happened to those songs over the past 5 years. They didn't stay the static cauldrons of pain. It didn't hurt like it used to. Time, patience and growth  combined with knowledge to change them and me. It was an excellent reminder. 

The song doesn't remain the same. 

And that's ok. 

Movie Review: Pixels. (SPOILERS)

Adam Sandler has made a ton of money as an actor. Jimmy Fallon and Andy Samberg owe the start of their careers on SNL partly to following in Sandler's footsteps. For years Sandler has been blasted for making silly, crass and over the top movies. Critics love to hate on his movies. They are childish and silly. 

I love them. 

Movies to me sometimes need to be over the top and silly. Yes, most of his movies plots sound like something my friends and I would come up with at 3 am when drinking Surge during a sleep over. Jacked up on caffeine and over tired = Isreali James Bond becomes hair dresser or what if aliens saw 80s video games and made replicas to attack the earth. 

I would have loved that idea as a 12 year old kid. It still tickles me as an adult today. 

Pixels has been called a flop this summer. Expensive and silly. Ridiculous and poor special effects. It's still a lot of fun. 

Sandler and Kevin James play buddies who grew up in the early video game era. The classics, Galaga, Space Invaders, Centipede etc. Probably the biggest leap of logic in the whole movie is that Kevin James is President. Kanye seems more likely than that. His role as President is simply to facilitate the nerd crew from the early 80s joining forces to stop the invasion. Ironically they are more qualified to deal with this invasion than the drillers in Armageddon were.   

Josh Gad makes an appearance as another member of the nerd team. (Gad and Jonah Hill are the the Bill Pullman and Bill Paxton of their generation. Often confuse me which one it is and it feels like they could basically be interchangeable in any role.) Michelle Monaghan was the clincher for me. Had a crush on her since Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and she saves Eagle Eye by herself. Plus it's classic Hollywood to make old frumpy Sandler her love interest. It plays to us old frumpy guys. 

Peter Dinkledge looks like he is having a lot of fun in a role that is both very far from Tyrion Lanisster yet oddly familiar. Sean Bean makes a cameo and (SPOILER) doesn't die, which was a bit of a surprise.  All in the all the cast is secondary to the games, which were a bit before my time but still hold some nostalgia. 

The best decision I made was going to Pixels with my son. He loved it. He plays Mappy and PacMan at our favorite restaurant. He loved the action. He loved learning that the old games had patterns you could master. After the movie during dinner he watched Mappy and tried to master the patterns himself. 

We laughed. There was some fun action sequences, especially the Mini Cooper Ghosts and the Centipede battle. I enjoyed it. My 9 yr old son loved it. 

If you have a child that likes video games, if you ever wasted a pocket full of quarters trying to make it to the next level or if you simply want a silly escape from reality with a willful suspension of disbelief - you will enjoy Pixels. 

Cartoon Review: Hulk and the Agents of S.M.A.S.H.

One of the best things about laundry evenings with my children is Netflix. We pick a series on Netflix and plow through folding 3-5 baskets of laundry. The laundry gets done. The house feels clean. And sometimes we pick a pretty awesome show. The other night we tried Hulk and the Agents of S.M.A.S.H for the first time.

At first I was a bit skeptical. It's a cartoon, rated Y7. So would I as an adult be bored, annoyed? Would my kids who are above that age range feel the same? Doesn't Agents of Smash just sound like a bit of a childish reach? 

However, within the first few seconds of the opening episode, my fears began to wane as I hear the voice talents of Seth Green. From his first appearance in my view in Can't Hardly Wait to Buffy to The Italian Job, all the way through to his appearances on TableTop, I have always enjoyed his work. I relaxed and decided to just let the smash happen. 

It's a cartoon and they certainly do love to smash. Cartoonish violence on a level of Looney Tones at times. It was a classic cartoon. The first episode sets the stage for the series, a group of Gamma ray enhanced "hulks" including the original Hulk (no reference to Bruce Banner), Red Hulk, She-Hulk, a Conan style Hulk and the Seth Green voiced A-Bomb, previously known as Rick Jones. 

The team is placed on par with the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. and they deal with all types of villains from The Leader to the living planet Ego. What surprised me most is that the staging, that of a we series designed to show the softer side of the Hulk, actually works quite well. Cutting to confession booth style interviews with each of the Hulks helps to balance out the constant smashing, growling and grunting. Hulk even seems to have a moral or lesson to impart each episode. I honestly didn't see Hulk as the logical, wise leader of a team with Mr Rogers-like themes coming through.

The series makes good use of the Marvel Universe both in villains and guest star heroes. Spider-Man, Iron Man and many other heroes team up with the Hulks from time to time. It created an interesting and fun sideline for me to see how they worked these heroes and their position in this version of the Marvel Universe. 

The series also makes excellent use of a myriad of voice talents. Besides Green, the vocal stylings of Clancy Brown, Eliza Dushku, Drake Bell, Chi McBride, Adrian Pasdar, Terry Crews and even Oscar winner JK Simmons all add to the fun of Agents of SMASH. 

The talent is vast and latey vocal actors have been a fascination to me. Several actors from Geek and Sundry's Critical Role appear as well and that is one of my current binge watching choices. Another series I need to review... 

Nonetheless. The evening was a success. Laundry was folded. We laughed at the smashing. We talked about the morals and themes that Mr Rogers' Hulk imparted. All it all it was an excellent Netflix choice for our evening. 

If you like cartoonish violence. If you enjoy good clean fun about smashing and destruction. If you are a stereotypical 8 year old boy. You will enjoy Hulk and the Agents of S.M.A.S.H. 

Movie Review MINOR SPOILERS: Mission Impossible Rogue Nation

After a misstep in the middle of the series by going to hardcore and trying to make Ethan Hunt more like Jack Bauer; dark and gritty, the Mission Impossible series found it's feet again with the fourth installment. It was fun, over the top stunts and action. They found the right tone and pacing. The fun continues in Rogue Nation. 

I was able to see it in IMAX and I highly recommend and prefer that format over 3D. The clarity, crispness over all field of vision dominance are vastly superior to look how cool this effect of a thing in your face is?!" 3D style. The visuals in Rogue Nation were outstanding, especially during the motorcycle chase scene. 

With so many movies, you wonder if you saw the best stunts, effects or jokes in the trailer. Tom Cruise's Ethan Hunt hanging of the side of the plane has been in all the trailers and promotional material. I was surprised of the timing of it in the film. The whole film had me engaged and not sure where it was going next. 

Cruise is Cruise and I still believe that Hunt is his most comfortable role. Simon Pegg is perfect as the nerdy foil and the movie gives the two a lot more to do in terms of creating and dealing with their interpersonal dynamic. 

Likewise setting up Jeremy Renner as the behind the scenes administrator and giving him a foil in Alec Baldwin justifies his part much better than as the presumed heir apparent to Hunt as he was last time. Ving Rhames fills out the team another technology link but isn't given that much to do. 

The main villain is ok. And the film makes the governments/structures of modern spy work more the villain than one man. But as someone who had an early crush on GI Joe's female antagonist, The Baroness, it's no surprise that Rebecca Ferguson's Ilsa Faust would be my favorite. 

Faust and Hunt's give and take, mystery and intrigue give the movie it's soul as much as Pegg and Cruise give it a heart. Ferguson pulls of so much with her eyes alone. Especially in the scene with her MI6 handler. I am smitten. 

Overall I found the twists and turns intriguing. The filmography and sound excellent. And the pacing and tone spot on. 

There should never be any doubt that Hunt and his compatriots will succeed for they always do. What I enjoyed most about Rogue Nation was I often couldn't figure out how they would. And when they did I enjoyed every single second of it. 

If you enjoyed the other Mission Imposisble movies and have a night to suspend disbelief and marvel at stunts, explosions, car chases and some interesting interpersonal dynamics, I highly recommend Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation. 

Self Reflection.

I never hurt for thinking. I do it a lot. Repetitively. Constantly. Today I took an assessment for a potential opportunity and I had to write about myself. Since I will not have future access to this assessment, I wanted to make sure I had a copy. Might be good to have in the future.

I am diligent in learning. I seek out knowledge and strive to understand. At times the unknown can frighten me. I can be dropped into a room of strangers and make the entire room feel more comfortable. I'm a great date for that wedding where you don't know anyone. I like to have a plan but forced structure can at times frustrate me. I am a father. I am passionate about the things and people important to me. I need artistic and creative outlets as part of my life. I need new challenges. I expect great things out of myself and place a lot of pressure and self analysis because of it. I believe that humor is the gateway emotion, if I can get you smile or laugh, then anything is possible. My personal philosophy is to be a Life Concierge. If you need it or want it, I can provide a way to it. I often help friends job search, deal with relationship issues, career choices. I don't believe that any trivia is useless. I love providing knowledge. I love to educate/expand our shared knowledge. I love being useful to people who are questioning or going through life choices. Technology and modern media fascinates me. Intellectual property rights laws and issues captivate me. Beauty distracts and inspires me. My children embolden and encourage me. I am a work in progress. But the progress is good. 

Ch-ch-changes

There's a hint of irony that Changes is one of my favorite David Bowie songs. But like all sound, I have to be in the right mood for it. Anxiety and stress is not the right mood. 

Actual changes bring a lot of anxiety and stress for me. So I haven't been listening to much David Bowie lately. 

Accepting change, even good change is always a challenge. This week has had a lot of potentially really good change and working to manage my stress and anxiety. Like any week it's been a roller coaster. 

Something that I have tried is to read quotes or other people's thoughts on change and use those to inform my own opinion of how I am dealing with change. 

"Change always comes bearing gifts" - Price Pritchett 

I do not know who Price Pritchett is but he/she is full of crap. I can't remember the last time I received a gift from change. It brings good or bad stuff. But I've yet to get a "gift". That one must be too clever for me. 

"You can avoid having ulcers by adapting the to the situation: If you fall in a puddle check your pockets for fish" - Author Unknown

That sounds ridiculous. I can't believe no one has claimed it yet. Fall in a puddle, check your pockets for fish should really be a meme. I checked. No fish. 

"If you want to make enemies, change something." Woodrow Wilson

Pretty depressing there Woody. But I guess the whole World War thing would put you in a down mood. Also his first name is actually Thomas. Yet he chose to be called Woodrow. I can't take advice from someone who does that. 

"We all have big changes in our life that are basically a second chance" Harrison Ford

Well that's an unexpected addition to the quote list. But I guess if your second chance is getting to become Indiana Jones after being Han Solo, change isn't such a bad thing. 

I could never be Indy. Can't pull off the hat. 

"Feelings sometimes sway side to side as the heart and mind fight for control" - Unknown

True. Deep. Honest. Conflicted. But I was searching for change quotes....how is this in here....

"Always! That is the dreadful word...it is a meaningless word too" - Oscar Wilde 

Damnit Oscar. You're my go to quote machine. This didn't help. 

"Every saint has a past and every sinner a future." - Oscar Wilde 

Now we are talking. That one had a bit of a lift to it. The bittersweet ring of truth. The clever turn of phrase. Progress. 

"All things must change, to something new, to something strange" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There we go. Strange. My God is change strange. What I know isn't known. What I saw now can't be seen. What I desired then is not what I need now. 

Change freaks me the fuck out. Good change, bad change - doesn't matter. The anxiety boils in my stomach. The heart races. The mind becomes a hot mess. But the only thing I can really control about change....is how I react to it. 

My body will betray me. My heart will race. My brain chemistry set will boil over. My mind will let all of the worry horses out of the barn. 

"The only way to deal with how I deal with change is to change." - me

I better get better at that. 

Perils of Imagination

Often I am guilty of paralysis by analysis. Especially when I don't understand why something happened. I ruminate, obsess, analyze and breakdown every single moment, sentence, action or inaction. The brain begins to spiral and then I'm stuck. Frozen blue screen of emotion, rational and motivation.

It sucks. And so I have found that I need to distract or derail my runaway train of thought. Activity helps. Music helps. Media helps. People help. 

At times when a train of thought is too powerful, too out of control to try and stop the only chance I have is to pull out my six shooter fire ahead and hope I can divert the train on to another track. Many times I fail. Now and then it succeeds. Today that is how I met Amelia. 

Amelia Danforth is a 28 year old from Minneapolis. Two years ago, she left her first job in Architecture and Design to launch her own think tank with three other individuals focusing on sustainable designed low income housing that addresses the generally poor quality of materials used in low income housing and the lack of renewable energy used to power the facilities. 

Six months into the project Amelia and her partners received a substantial grant from EPA to develop a plan for solar powered gardens retro fitted on the roofs of several low income housing communities. The deadline for the project is in two weeks and while they have a presentation ready, Amelia worries that the shortcuts one of her partners, David, has added into the project are overly optimistic and doom it to failure. The birth of this project, after nearly two years of labor, is near but potentially precarious.

The stress tends to weigh on Amelia's slender shoulders. Her height, while never imposing at 5'4", seems slightly less due to the weary posture. She still carries herself with the natural grace of a the dancer she was in her youth. The days of dancing were before she took the weigh of the project and in a way, the word, on her shoulders. Amelia saw the big picture from a young age and always had her eyes on the larger goal of community. She was destined and determined to do more, to be more. To make a difference. 

When I saw her at the bank as I do often lately, I could see the stress evident on her face. She keeps her face short and manageable, not so much for fashion but for easier mornings. And since she often sleeps in her office it's easier to deal with in the office sink when it's short. Her simple white blouse could easily be confused for a t shirt at a glance but the detail and grace of the sheer shoulder panels gives it a more feminine feel. The necklace that she always wears was apparent. A long chain with a large locket or broach. There is something classic and familial about the necklace, it as the heir of a family heirloom and when she speaks of stressful things her hand naturally and absentmindedly holds the broach or amulet in her elven hands. The black thick glasses could be assumed hipster or trendy. In fact they are like many things in Amelia's life, with our purpose. Thinner frames tend to break when dropped or rolled on while sleeping on her office couch. 

There was a startlingly aura of strength, anger and pain the reverberated from her as she sat waiting for the bank manager. I come to the bank everyday to make a deposit and before this week had only seen her occasionally. But this was the 4th day in a row she was waiting for the manager. Last Monday, she noticed an irregularity in the think tank's financial and began to investigate. At first she assumed it was a banking or accounting error. As she learned more from the bank and her other investigations, she knew it was much more than a simple error. 

Maybe it was the week of stress. Maybe it was the impending deadline. Maybe it was the fact they screwed up her coffee for the third day in a row at the suburban drive through shop she hit just before the bank. What ever it was, she poured it all out to me, a slightly familiar faced total stranger, when I made the mistake of simply asking in the classic Minnesotan way, "How's it going?" 

All that from a picture I see in the bank almost every day. An amazing powerful imaginary woman. Pure Adam imagination run wild. 

I'm glad to have met Amelia and I can't wait to hear/write more of her story. 

The Picture.

It's a good thing I haven't been tasked by the gods to deal with Pandora's Box. I couldn't deal with not being able to put it all back in. Eventually. 

Something that has always been hard for me is accepting change. The box gets opened. Things evolve. People grow together. People grow apart. 

Life marches on and that little bit of time and space you long for or wish to hold still is gone forever. 

I love pictures because when they are done right they capture time and space and reality and hold it still for eternity. 

The smiles never fade. The colors never run. Love and lust don't evaporate. Things don't change. They are still. 

I can still see that picture. I can remember that minuscule moment. I haven't given up on that if.

But life marches on. It is not still. It will continue change. A constant regimental March of growth, change and death and birth. 

I can't fight the flow of the tide. I March along. I change and evolve and love and live and die. 

Through it all, clutched in my dirty, weathered fists, that picture remains.  

Vail Vacation Day 3: Hot cars and Thin Air

So far this trip has gone exceptionally well. Very little in the way of problems or drama. Even the ones we have encountered have been relatively minor, long lines, lack of kids menu options and yesterday, a hot car. 

A hot engine to be precise. We were on own way up to Loveland Pass and the car began to run a bit hotter than normal. The usual precautions were taken, air conditioning off, coasting as much as we could. But because of the car's internal temperature, we decided to make a pit stop on our way to Loveland Pass. In Georgetown, Colorado. 

Georgetown is a lovely little town nestled right against the mountain. It's historic downtown is filled with gift shops, souvenir stores and antique malls. We stopped for ice cream in a homemade candy shop and walked around town for a bit constantly reminding ourselves to keep our hands in our pockets. Antique stores always seem to have a severe hate on for children. Signs stating that only well behaved children are permitted and that the old adage of you break you buy still applies. Particularly odd when one "antique" store has brand new puppets right next to fragile glass objects of art...

After we exhausted all the shops, we went to check back on the internal temperature of the car. As this was happening, the kids and I explored a bit more of Georgetown off the beaten paths. A few blocks away from the Main Street was an old public school house that was being restored and one of the churches in town. Both beautiful brick buildings built in 1874. The kids and i had fun determining just how old these buildings were. 

Right next to the church, we discovered a quickly rolling creek that seemed to run right through the center of town. Buildings and houses were built right up to the water, giving it more of a canal or waterway feel. However I have never seen a canal with such an aggressive current. 

We put on our urban explorer hats and tracked the flow for about 3 blocks, cutting through alleys and following the path of the creek until we were stopped by the loca electrical facility. Even I'm not dumb enough to go play under power lines. Again. 

Once our urban exploring was done, the car was sufficiently cooled down and ready to head up to Loveland Pass. 

Vail Vacation Day 2 Part 2 Beer and Busted Boots

After the rock garden we proceeded down the mountain. Previously we had discussed riding bikes around Frisco and Dillon, CO. But the time we got back to the Rebel Sports, we were spent. 

We stopped at the Moose Jaw Saloon. An ancient watering hole for locals. Classic Colorado decor. The gentleman who was the cook was filling in as the server as well. So we could order food and drink but not pay until the actual server returned. It was quite funny when I kept trying to pay and the guy wouldn't take my money. 

After a bit of rest and a couple pitchers of water and some delicious fries we began to walk around Frisco. Frisco is definitely a different style than Avon or Copper Mountain. Older. Not as polished and shiny. Lots of fun little shops with antiques and kitschy items. Obviously asking was a huge theme. It's interesting to have an entire area set up for winter when you arrive in the summer. Our villas has two fireplaces and no air condotioning. It's like having dinner at a place that specializes in breakfast. It's awesome but slightly incongruent. 

We walked down the marina and found the Back Country Brewery. We decided to try a flight and rest our legs again. 

The Wheat was especially good for a hot day and bike weary. The Amber was solid if not spectacular. The Breakfast Stout was both an excellent represent of the style and a reminder that I really don't love that coffee taste. The two seasonals were not my favorites. Their Maibock wasn't as crisp as Summit's but in all honesty my Maibock experience is pretty slim. The Imperial Saison was incredibly flora and just a bit too over powering for me. I expected more balance. Leo was pleased with the Pale Ale. 

After we returned home and had dinner at Montana Smokehouse. Their brisket is supreme. And we had to get extra jalapeño corn bread with honey butter. So good. 

The only downside to the entire day was the demise of my Adidas Sambas. Nearly 20 years is a heck of a run for a pair of shoes and they will be sorely missed. I might attempt to glue them back together because those boots had soul. 

Yeah. Dad joke. 

Vail Vacation Day 2 Part 1 Bikes and Beauty.

The second day of vacation began without an alarm. Or alarms. Though body still awoke at 7. Nonetheless it was lovely to relax. 

Today was the first day of true vacation and we had a big task scheduled for today. Biking down from the Vail Pass all the back down to Frisco. We rented bikes from Rebel Sports and headed back up the mountain to a rest stop about 14 miles away. 

Fourteen miles, mostly downhill isn't that taxing. The elevation and angle and hairpin turns are pretty much the IRS.  My struggles with anxiety started out high with all those challenges and two kids who take after Ricky Bobby and just want to go fast. 

Once we got on the way, the anxiety began to fade. The view was awesome. Both kids adjusted well to the angles and turns and speed and we rolled on without incident. It was a perfect day for biking. Sunny but not too hot. Plenty of scenic stops along the way. 

We stopped in the resort town of Copper Mountain for lunch. Leo was tired of being cramped up in the back pack and finally got a chance to sun bathe like a true turtle. 

Creeks and river and mountains and views galore. 

Three quarters of the way through the ride we stopped at the rock garden. Legend has it that it was started by a couple on their anniversary celebration some 35 years ago. Oddly peaceful and reverent feel as we explored. 

Even good old Leo got into the act. 

Adventure Vacation Day 1

Day one is in the books. It began with a first Uber ride at 6 am central and it ends with windows open listening to the rain and wind in the condo watching Food Network with the kids. 

In between had its ups and downs. The flight was simple. Frontier Airlines has TVs embedded in the seat in front of you! It's like living in the Jetson's! Of course I was a sucker and paid the $3.99 to watch Total Recall for the 346th time and flip back and forth old school style by using the up and down button between Total Recall, The House Bunny and the premier of Mr. Robot. A virtual cornucopia of absurdity and intrigue. I will definitely follow up on Mr. Robot. Leo was very excited about Total Recall. Secret think it's. Sharon Stone thing. 

Once we arrived in Dnever, we began a series of boring waits in line. Waited for baggage. Waited for the rental car shuttle . Waited over 80 minutes in line to rent the car. The worst part was all the TVs in the place were playing nothing but infomercials. I now know way too much about "crepe lines". 

However the day took a definitive upswing when Leo and I walked to our car. Make a turtle your vacation partner...fateakes your rental car a green Kia Soul. 

I have never driven a Kia Soul before. But it was surprisingly roomy. Fun to drive. With a decent sound system. I made my way into Denver to drive by Coors Field and grab a bite to eat. 

Coors Field was more impressive than I expected. The Sports Column bar/grill provided an awesome Denver inspired French Dip and I was able to sample a  regional brew. Then I hit the road to Avon, CO. 

The vistas were amazing. My preselected angsty playlist blasted out of the Soul's solid speakers and pushed my wait time frustration away. The Eisenhower bridge was definitely a highlight. 

I arrived in Avon, met my folks and the kids and immediately went on a walking tour of the town. Leo was a fan of the river. 

Day one is in the books. Plans already for mountain biking tomorrow on day two and swimming. Day three is family grilling, swimming and perhaps a visit to Crazy Mountin or Breckenridge breweries. 

This vacation stuff might be ok. 

Adam and Leo's Excellent Adventure

It's been two long years since I had a vacation. The whole hop in a plane go somewhere that isn't about family or work type vacation. 

I brought Leo along so someone can be the voice of reason. Even if as a leader he gets a bit preach at times, he should be a great asset if we get into any clashes with the foot clan or run into Longmire style trouble in Denver. 

We will be taking pictures and posting updates along the way. Leo really wants to hit some garage sales in Vail. I told him I didnt think they have garage sales in Vail. He's convinced he's right. Off to a rough start already.....

Stress and Death and Empty Houses

I don't process emotions well. It's never been my thing. It's why I love acting. Theater. Drama. Pretend. I can portray emotions when I'm told by a script or a director or a moment. Real feelings are way harder to process.

Lately there have been a lot of feelings. There is always the stress of work. Of fatherhood. Of dreams of the future. Weeks ago I was stressed at the prospect of someone in my family passing. Then it was the kids on a road trip. Then a sudden death of a friend in an accident.

I have been blessed in my life to rarely experience death. I don't have a lot of experience with dealing with the emotions of death. I'm not good at emotions period but death seems to be especially difficult.

I have found that writing is therapeutic for me. It helps with depression, heartache and stress. But I have stared at this blinking cursor for hours. I don't know what to write. I don't know how to feel.

In all other things there is always a hope. A glimmer to hold onto. Stress can dissipate.  Even deep depression has it's brighter days. Heartbreak can be cured by new love or the hope of reconciliation.

But there is no cure for Death.

We can believe there is something after death and it can give us comfort and a semblance of hope. But death itself is a bottomless well without the hope of reversal. The is no returning from that abyss. The belief and stories that we tell ourselves and the world beg for that light, that hope in death.

There very well may be a heaven and a hell. I have been trained since birth to believe in both and can't formulate a reality that doesn't include them. A part of my understand of reality includes them.

They say that Shakespeare's tragedies end happily and his comedies end in misery. At the end of Romeo and Juliet, the families reconcile and there is hope for the future. At the end of the Scottish play (sorry, old theater habit, I don't even want to type it), there is hope for the kingdom- sometimes portrayed by machine gun toting English troops as depicted by one stage version I saw in London. Nonetheless. Even the most ridiculous drama has a glimmer of hope. In all the horror of Stephen King or the perversion of Chuck P, there is always a glimmer of hope.

I can't find the glimmer in death. I can't write about hope tonight. I can't deal with my empty house. With the empty house across the yard. With idea that life can be so easily and horribly snuffed out. I don't know how to process the shock. I don't know what to do with the pain.

I want to think that things will be ok. That over time such a senseless death will make sense. But death doesn't make sense. It doesn't have a glimmer of hope sometimes. Because it is so final. It is dark.

I want to be ok. I want to sing about the afterlife. About hope and a prospect of an eternal home. And I will. Because deep down I believe. I do.

But I wish I could write about it. I wish I could let the emotions out. I wish that the tears would just flow. But I don't understand how to let the emotions out. Because life is a horrible director and no one will give them script. It's all improvisation.

Life is improvisation. Life doesn't have a script. And most people who tell you what to do have way less idea than most directors. We make do. We improvise. We sing and we believe.

But logic and death doesn't give another choice.

Today.

Today my father is in Wisconsin to celebrate his mother's birthday. 

Today my mother is in Arkansas to be with my grand mother who is ailing and my grand father who needs support. 

Today my children are celebrating a great dance recital and a great school year with their mother and her parents. 

I celebrate in my heart for my children's success. I enjoy another year of life for my father's mother. I worry that my mother's mother might not get that same opportunity. 

These are the moments when the absence of another to call home is most apparent. The desire for one to wrap me in her arms and hold me until the worry stops, until the celebration and happiness can take over. 

Today I miss that. 

But I know that it will happen. And there will be plenty of future days that I have that embrace of the one. So today I enjoy the comfort of the many I do have. 

Friends. Colleagues. Acquaintances. Good people all. The many cant always outweigh the pure attention of the one. 

Today. It is enough. 

Movie Review: Mad Max Fury Road

As a child, I only saw Mad Max on late night television. Usually Beyond Thunderdome. Two men enter. One man leaves. That was it. 

So I was without much of an opinion about another installment. Rebooting movie franchises is all the rage. Not even a new trend. Gary Coleman's baseball epic Disney TV movie was a remake of a 1950s movie starring Anne Bancroft. So it's a tried and true Hollywood tradition. 

Of course Mel Gibson is hardly Anne Bancroft and Tom Hardy is certainly no Gary Coleman. 

When I first heard of Mad Max Fury Road, I assumed that it would be a Redbox or a Netflix watch for me. I'm glad I didn't make that mistake. 

Some movies need the theater screen. The pounding sound. The surrounding crowd of teenagers in dates, parents on a night out and that one kid who was inexplicably brought to an R rated film at 10 on a Friday night. Most of that you can't truly recreate in a living room. Some movies demand the overall sensory experience. 

As the credits rolled on Mad Max Fury Road, my body was shaking and I realized that I wasn't sure how long I Id been holding my breath. It's sensory overload. It's epic. It's grand. And so much of it isn't CGI. It was amazing stunts and ridiculous staging and so much action. 

It's an action movie. It isn't about social commentary. Those in the Internet who are trying to make it something about feminism or more are missing the point. It's meant to shock your senses. If there is a social meaning you add to that. So be it. 

Just as the characters are trying to survive a barren harsh sensory explosion of a reality, the harsh daily, or in this case nearly constant presence of death. max and Furiousa et al are just trying to make it through a seemingly impossible life. The sensory, emotional and artistic overload that the audience experiences is but a tiny slice of that post apocalyptical pie. 

Go see Mad Max Fury Road to be overloaded, to challenge your sense. If you find a larger theme, great. But don't go for the politics or the "internet rage". Go because it is the most pure version of an action/chase movie in years. Love it for what it is.

See it in the theater. Maybe don't sit the in front row - unless you really want to see how long you can hold your breath. 

ICE vs ICL

Overall today was a great day.

I awoke on time. Got my kids up and ready, attended a networking event with my father. Yes, he talks almost as much in a networking event as a movie. Stopped by work. Saw some favorite coworkers, then met my father for a delicious lunch on a patio and got some sun. Literally burned. I stopped by a favorite spot to say hi to some friends and then, some guy had the audacity to interrupt my whole day.

Five feet away. A man had a seizure or an episode or a stroke. It scared the bleeping life out of me.

I hate to be helpless. Luckily another patron knew CPR and the employees of the Tap performed admirably in getting help quickly as possible and dealing with the situation with calm and professionalism.

Inside my head, I was freaking out.

I don't know CPR. I should. I have taken classes. But at the moment, as I watched that man's eye glaze over. Watched his partner hold him and desperately try to make contact with him again. I freaked. I had nothing. As a big brother it was enlightening how much I wished my little brother was in my place.

My little brother, little in only age as he is taller and in exceptional shape, is a firefighter. Trained to help people in crisis. To help people who seemingly are having a seizure in the middle of the bar.

If I could have wished anyone to walk through that door it wouldn't have been Batman. It would have been my brother.

The staff moved quickly. Other patrons, with better training and peace of mind, helped the gentleman to the floor and were ready to administer CPR if needed. Paramedics were already on their way.

My brother works in Rochester. So he wasn't the paramedic or firefighter that came through the door. But as those employed by St Paul did, the main was already seemingly stabilizing. The quick thinking of the staff and the other patrons laid him down and worked to get him to breath again.

I did a fine job of looking on and holding down the stool I was on from floating away.

When I was 14, I participated in the 3 on 3 tourney in the parking lot of the Mall of America. It had a fancy name, maybe Gus Mackey, but I will never remember it. What I will remember to the day I die, is the feeling of the stranger who was walking next to me and suddenly had an episode or heart attack. Out of instinct, he grabbed my arm. His grip was tighter than I had ever felt and he pulled me to the ground with him. My friends and parents helped me get us both to a bench and he handed me a bottle of pills. I simply stared at the bottle. Doubt paralyzing me. Fortunately, there was a certified nurse near by who read the label and administered the right dose. Paramedics came and took the man away, stable and seemingly ok. I never knew his name. Afterwards, I was not very focused on basketball. We lost.

Those memories came flooding back as I watched the gentlemen be helped by the other patrons. I had nothing to do. Nothing to offer. Life was truly in the balance to my right and I had nothing to offer as help. It was exceptionally sobering.

The paramedics got the man stabilized and on his way. His wife/partner stayed behind for a minute to answer some questions. One thing I overheard was;

"Who should we contact in the case of emergency?"

ICE.

Many of use have the contact in our phone. The person to call first.

A parent. A lover. A significant other. A spouse.

Yes. As a single person this is supposed to be awkward for me.

But it isn't. I know who I want them to call in an emergency, my parents, my ex-wife, in a few years my son and daughter. That wasn't what struck me.

It was the moment after. As I left the bar. I was fine. The gentleman was seemingly fine. I didn't need to call my ICE.

I needed to call my ICL.

In. Case. of . Life.

I needed to call the person who I can tell anything. The person who will always listen. The person I can share the minutia of life with. Big or small. Life or death. The one person who has to know about your day, the one person who you can't not tell.

I don't need another ICE in my life. I have some really excellent ones, and if my brother ever decides to move back to the cities, he must be prepared to the paramedic/firefighter equivalent to Batman in my world. (I'll get him a cool signal light)

What I do need is that In. Case. of. Life. person. The one person I can't help but tell things. The one person who listens and is always there. Maybe that's a myth. Maybe it's a version of religion. Maybe I just need to wait for the right house elf to give a sock too. But that person is out there.

It warmed my heart, through fear to see the love and compassion of the woman with the man who had a seizure or stroke or just a really bad day. I value that type of love. That type of ICE moment.

I have some great In. Case. of. Emergency. people.

I want that one In. Case. of. Life. person.

Picking up the old addiction...

In college I was a theater major. Yes I loved movies, TV, some theater and I had delusions of stardom and becoming a creator of amazing works. But it also came easy, it was fun. It didn't feel like "homework". Plus occassionally, I got to kiss a pretty girl. Not a bad gig. 

Between 16 and 26 I was part of 55 different productions. Musicials, drama, comedy, vaudevillian bible stories even a movie or two. I always felt better when I had a creative outlet. 

Life happened. And priorities changed. From spring of 2007 to Monday May 11. I didn't go to a single audition. I hadn't even been tempted more than a few times. The stress, reality and responsibilities of life seemed to make that old connection seem dim and distant. 

Then my daughter decided to try out acting. She went to some camps. Was in a club at school. And she's been auditioning for some shows this year and hadnt yet made it in one. She really had her heart set on being in a show this summer. 

So I told her we would find one to do. And I would audition with her in hopes we could both get a chorus role. May 11th we attended an audition. Because we wanted to audition together we went at the prescribed "family" audition time slot. 

Imagine if you will, a scene from Modern Family or SNL. A stage, filled with 6 little girls under 10 and one out of shape 34 year old dad, being led through  energetic choreography by a young man in excellent shape who probably dances every day of the week...

Needless to say, those little girls kicked my butt. 

We ran it over and over and by the end I was gasping for air and doubled over in laughter. My daughter was too. She did a fine job dancing. I mostly did a lot of flailing. 

We completed the dance audition and went to sing our audition songs and improv a scene. Again. 6 little girls and one old guy. One of these things was not like the others. But we had fun and I was so proud of both my daughter and just letting her see that part of me. 

Letting that part of me out might have been opening the Pandora's Box of my psyche. Confidence I hadn't felt in a long time came rushing back. Parts of my brain slowly began to awake from 8 years of slumber. Blocking. Playing off a partner in a scene. Giving and taking the energy that is created with imagination. It felt so good. 

That sweet succulent taste of addiction. 

Then I got the email about callbacks. 

It was a surprise but it wasn't. Community theater is always looking for more men. Especially ones who can maybe hold a tune or look like a human in the background of a scene. 

It was a reminder. It's been a long time. My last role was Seymore in Little Shop. The young, leading man protagonist. 

This time I was called back to read for "Grandpa" 

Yep. 

Ego not as boosted as it was but not as deflated as I expected. I went to the callback. We sang and read sides from the script. I played with accents and gestures and facial expressions. 3 hours flew by. Surrounded by people all trying new things, nervous in some ways, reading and trying to gauge the "competition" It was one of the best nights I've had in a long while. 

I left engaged. Fulfilled. Energized. I hadn't just opened the box. I tore it in two. No going back now. 

For 8 years I hid a part of myself. A part of myself that I really enjoy. It was necessary in some ways. Self punishment in others. It happened. It was. 

After the call back, I then had to wait. Wait on a call or a cast list or an email. Wait. Wait. Wait. 

I've been waiting a lot lately. Trying to take things as they come. React. Not force the issue. Not chase. It's not my normal motif. 

Tuesday night I got the call. I was cast. My daughter was in the chorus. Her joy was enthralling. She jumped up into my arms and I spun her around as she giggled. So happy to be in a "real show". 

If I could bottle that joy, I could change the world. 

So the box is gone. This part of me is coming back. My daughter has the bug now too. 

So come see us both in July. 

PS. I didn't get cast as Grandpa. I got the villain. A goofy, angry, unhinged Baron. Part El Guapo, part Don Carnage, part Boris and Natasha. I can't wait. 

Silence can be Deafening.

I've been working a lot with my therapist and reading a couple books about trying to be more present. Not always so trapped inside my head. Often my mind is like a run away train. Constantly running usually many disconnected thoughts leading my mind to memories or trivia or obsessive over analysis. It's exhausting and it makes me less present and I really hate missing out on things because I'm too trapped in my head.

Usually I multitask. Well, I call it multitasking but it's basically just sensory overload. Computer with a dozen windows open and two games, phone nearby, tablet for various searches, Netflix playing in the background. So much buzz that my mind can't ramble and wander and analyze and obsess.

I'm pulled in a thousand places at once and not really truly paying attention to any of them.  But it overloads the brain at least.

Lately I have considered that by overloading my brain during the day, I might be making my night terrors/dreams/subconscious worse. Not that I have any science to back up that idea. But the narrative works and as I am me, if there's a good narrative, logic and science be damned.

Tomorrow is a long day. 10 hours. Early morning convincing the kids that Tae Kwon Do is totally worth the early wake up call. Followed by work. So I thought maybe tonight I would try to just relax. Be present. Not overload my brain. Perhaps tonight my dreams wouldn't be so bad.

The dreams part is too be determined. But I have discovered one thing but only having one browser open and my phone nearby. So other sounds. No Netflix. No wagging war on Civilization 3 between reading articles. No trips out to the living room to complete another silent Skyrim or Rock Band quest. Just me trying to be present. Still. Relaxed.

Oh my god is it terrifyingly loud. The lack of white noise. The lack of constant variable stimulation. It's just so quiet and that lack of sound seems so overwhelming. I medicate with media and alcohol and over stimulation. This is like going cold sober. Even with the blog and the phone to ween me.

I can't remember the last time I didn't have at least 3 sources of distraction outside my brain. It's not a common occurrence. The irony (and I can't just Google the definition of irony on my tablet because it's not active, so who knows if it's really irony) is that the silence does seem to help me focus. Be present. But. I'm only focusing on the fact that there is no sound and wondering what is happening in the world or the fake world or the pretend world.

All I have right now...is me. And this blank blog. It's a bit terrifying and silly. But one thing is clear.

All this terrifying lack of stimulation is a great cure for writers block.