An Elegant Blogosphere

All I want is a quick solution to a universal how problem.

How do I do all the things that I want to do at the exact time and place that I want to do them?

More specifically, how can I write this blog whenever and wherever I want without the systematic problems such as fighting over computer usage rights from my stay at home step child, while simultaneously being available to defeat the level demon for my precocious but mildly inept video game playing five year old, or to just write without having to don a sweater in the meat locker of my garage based studio?

There is the simple and obvious answer of course.

Tell the world to stick it.

Be a total ass and demand that everything just get the hell out of my way. And put some socks on my feet.

But why assert my authoritah when technology can offer me an alternative?

Right now I am conducting this blog from the comfort of my couch with only my thumbs.

Cause it is now possible to blog from the iPhone.

And now I know I have to clip my nails.

I can now compose a short essay from wherever I am and whenever I want.

My wife just threw an Angry Bird toy at me.

And the Oscars are on.

Calvin needs me to fix his sword.

Maybe I should go the opposite direction and get a note pad.

A yellow one.

When the World Explodes

Dad.

What?

Dad?

What?

I'm talking to you . . .

What?

Will be be babies again after the world explodes?

Some people think so.

Will you make me a ninja axe?

I'll tell you what. I'll make you a ninja axe after you take a little nap.

Noooo. I don't take naps anymore. I don't like them. I like video games and toys and presents and sex.

What did you say? . . . take the lollipop out of your mouth. What did you say?

Sets.

What do you mean by sets?

Like the monster truck sets with the racing track.

Oh. Okay. I'll tell you what. I'm gonna take a nap and if you're really quiet, I'll make you a ninja axe when I get up.

So I can play video games and if they get too hard, I'll play something else.

Good call. Do you need something to eat or drink before I go take a nap?

No.

Okay.

I wanted Calvin to take a nap this afternoon cause he's been sick with what ever new virus is running around. Joann got it. Taylor got it. And it skipped me this time because it always skips someone in this house and the universe is insisting that I have shit to do.

So as I was laying there thinking about how I was going to make a ninja axe and then it occurred to me that I can't keep throwing softball answers to Calvin's questions of mortality forever. Actually, I can, and I probably will, but sometimes it would almost be worth it to have a religion that I could point to and say "Son, the answers to your questions are in this book."

"But dad" he would say. "This is a cooking book."

"That's right son" I would say. "Now turn the next page and let me show you how to julienne carrots."

It should be that easy. We have food, shelter, and Star Wars for the Wii. That should be all.

But it isn't.

And this question of when the world explodes is something he goes to sleep at night with. I think he sometimes uses video games and various home made weaponry in order to silence this nagging question of what lays beyond the here and now. He's making the painful steps beyond self awareness and into the great unknown and it fills his heart with dread.

And I sort of refuse to "Tooth Fairy" my way out of this one. And he'll forever be rejecting the fact that I don't know what happens when the world explodes, because I'm Dad, and I must be keeping something from him.

Maybe I should just tell him what I hope.

The when the world explodes. . .

there will be peace.

And I don't mean the black nothingness of the infinite sleep, I mean the fully conscience, reflective peace. All the good moments of our lives displayed before us. Stretching out into infinity. And that the whole purpose of life is to fill that infinity with as many loving and wonderful moments as we can. I wonder if he'll accept that as an answer.

Probably not.

Either way.

I still have a ninja axe to grind.

I guess this is goodnight.

The acting program that I graduated from in 1999 has been canceled.

Not much of a shocker.

Art costs serious dough, and the funny thing about intangibles is that they're . . . well . . . intangible. And when the bean counters finish their tallies it becomes obvious that they're gonna have to lose the foot to save the leg.

And I continue on with this metaphor by stating that you clearly can't walk without a foot, but in truth, you can hobble quite well until you can afford the surgery to reattach a new foot.

And their is always going be people waiting to give you a new foot.

Foot salesman are everywhere.

All they need is a barn.

Or something like that.

And my capitalist soul isn't quite ready to wax poetic on the need for arts education. In fact, live theatre is clearly a subsidiary front for terrorist organizations. What is the ascot scene in "My Fair Lady" if not a metaphor for the barbarian hordes crumbling the syncopated towers of American greed and elitism? What is "Rent" if not a thinly veiled shot at the small business owner? And Jennifer Lopez on American Idol is yet another example of a latino taking jobs away from hard working class Americans.

Or something like that.

Did I mention that the whole place was filled with homosexuals? Some of who don't even vote.

So to hell with your arts programs, your communist Chekov, your interracial Othello, your pornographic Fosse, and your unchristian jazz hands. To hell with your song and dance routines and your vision of a multimillionaire being taught humanistic lessons from a red headed orphan who is clearly both a drunk and a liar.

To hell with all of it.

Then my little intangible walks into the studio and sits on my lap. It's almost noon but he's still in his jammies because there was no school today and he's holding up his stuffed dinosaur which he makes me kiss before silently running out of the room.

He knows to be quiet while Daddy is writing, but he periodically needs a little love.

As do we all.

You see, in the fall of 1997, my first year in ATP, I met a set designer during a production meeting for a show I was desperate to be cast in. We both connected to the material and formed a bond because of it. Suffice it to say, I was cast and my arts education began in earnest on opening night. A year went by, I honed the craft, I made friends, I made enemies, I delighted some, infuriated most, and took the first of many awkward steps into manhood.

That year, the winter of 1998, I was helping to demolish the set of one of my favorite shows ever when that set designer walked in and looked at me with surprise.

"You've got long hair and a scraggly beard."

"I do."

"Keep it."

"Kay."

I didn't know it then, but that set designer saw something in my bohemian style that gave him an idea.

Six months later he called me out to San Jose to audition for a show.

During that audition, I met and fell wildly in love with a curly haired goddess.

She married me four years later.

And my little intangible was born two years after that.

I never became actor.

I stopped pursuing theatre six months after graduation. There were many reasons, but the biggest was because I had lost my way. Somewhere amidst the chaos and confusion, I had become an insufferable prick instead of a dedicated artist. I had found a voice and I didn't like it one bit. So I made the first foundational step of my manhood and walked away.

But I didn't leave empty handed. I had proven myself. I had learned to mesmerize an audience with my voice. I had learned separate confidence from arrogance. I had learned how to lead and how to nurture. I had learned how to empathize with anyone once given a few lines of dialog and a little body language.

I could go on and on pointing out every aspect of my professional and artistic lives that was either discovered or honed within those walls, but its sufficient to say that those two years were essential to the man I've grown up to be.

And my little intangible.

I guess he owes you a life.

And I promise to get him ready for when the barn is available again.

Goodnight.