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.