Good Morning

It's Easter 2008, and no one has been able to explain the correlation between this as a fundamentally important Catholic holiday and the tradition of an abnormally large white rabbit hiding colorful eggs and chocolate from children. I didn't wake up with candy somewhere in the house, nor did I put on my Sunday best and go to church. I woke up this morning, just before six am, to the sound of someone rattling my front door. To put it more accurately, it was the sloppy sound of a drunken hand trying to stick a car key in my front door. Needless to say, I didn't need a snooze alarm. I got to the peephole just in time to see a bald head swaying, trying to focus motor skills, not expecting me to turn out the porch light. That was unexpected moment #1. He backed away after a delayed reaction, fell ass first onto my lawn, then staggerred off to the left out of view. That's when I opened the door, kicked his keys out, then closed and locked the screen door, followed by the main door. That was unexpected moment #2, which resulted in his zombie like path off to the right and down the street. When I left my house two hours later for San Diego, I noticed his keys and his...socks. The scene was everything Cinderella isn't.

I didn't care. I needed to get out of the house, out of the city.

The trip down to San Diego, and especially Balboa Park, should not be taken for granted. Once past the grey/brown haze, there are rounded green hills, gorgeous fields and valleys, and the very self-absorbed but mind-numbingly huge Pacific Ocean just out of reach in its own playground. Just now, as I write this hours later, I feel like I just took my first breath. Los Angeles doesn't allow you to breathe, and the journey South steals it.

And so, I've been practicing the delicate balance between wondering about my future and surrendering to it. Today alone, I saw things I didn't expect: the people and artifacts of Pompeii, a sexy grilled portobello mushroom sandwich that made eating it feel like an ilicit affair, an amazing photography exhibit, and a sign announcing an Ozzy Ozbourne tribute at the Santa Fe Springs swap meet. I think the theme of the day probably applies to me as much as it applies to religion and candy egg hunting. Everything lends itself to the next thing, regardless of what you choose to pay attention to. Sometimes the moments of your life fall like cherry blossom petals in a soft breeze, and sometimes they're the chocolate bon bons on the conveyor belt next to Lucy and Ethel. There is a progression that makes us wiser, smarter in a way, but again, that depends on how and when we recognize it. Wherever you're sitting, you are moving at about 1000 miles per hour, simply by the fact that you are sitting on Earth. You can choose to say that you're going nowhere, or you can realize that you are racing towards tomorrow. It's up to you.

In the movie "Singing in the Rain," Don Lockwood is being consoled by his friends Cosmo and Kathy after a disastrous opening of his film, The Dueling Cavalier. It was a technological mess, a shallow story showing the lack of the stars' acting chops. They were used to things as the way they were, and suddenly, they were thrust in the position of being left behind by the entertainment industry, of becoming obsolete. That was March 22nd. On March 23rd, Cosmo came up with an idea that not only pulled them back into the game, it saved the film and put them way ahead. That was one moment. One idea. They took it and danced and sang the rest of the way.

Here's to hope and being awake enough to see the moment when it comes.

Flight

Ahh, so new digs with more privacy and a little more dedication. I feel like I finally moved in with the more dependable of two options and remained friends with the other. This is where I should have written all along, and hopefully this kind of focus doesn't inspire any stalkers or....

Well, I've learned something about myself this week. I've learned that I sometimes act on ideas a little too quickly, before people have had a chance to adjust. Sometimes, I even get to ideas before others, and this causes a political ripple effect that tends to turn back on me. It happened with the theater company, and many years ago, and happened at one of my jobs when I was put in charge of a major project and upon completion I rewarded the team before my boss got a chance to. That man was very gracious but was caught off guard. People in the entertainment world are much less understanding, and feel entitled to a competition of ideas before collaboration. There's almost always the illusion of collaboration, but much too often, one selfish person ends up sitting on a big idea for lack of the ability to pull it off. Progress is held up, potential and opportunity are left on the vine to wither away, but let's keep our priorities straight. The ego stays intact.


And then there's the matter of an existence on the net offering people an alternative to a real exchange. I blog obsessively, sometimes not online, about my life as I try to figure things out, even going so far as to script conversations with people I couldn't otherwise talk to. It's a great device to use when you need to get things out of your head and lay some thoughts to rest. Of course, the unintentional purpose it has served has been to excuse some people from that real exchange, to satisfy a curiosity that completely absolves them from participaton. That much is not cool, especially on such a social site as MySpace. The great thing is, some people read my blog and still write, which is amazing, I think, because once you dig a little deep to write a blog, you never come off in an attractive way, I think. That really holds true if you stay on the traditional diary or journal theme of a blog. I am not a hot potato or an illegal substance. Some people get that.


On second thought, maybe all this isn't so much about other peoples' reactions to what I do or what I have to say. Maybe this is more about regret, and whether or not it's relevant. In either case, analysis of it is backwards-looking, which is dangerous. The best thing I can do is either react or not react for the moment, and then adjust to whatever change comes from inspiration or...well, those uncontrollable outside forces.

Such is life, I suppose. We rarely know exactly what it is we think, much less why other people do what they do. What do you really have control over, anyway? Think about it. In every instance of injustice that I've been through, there's been a mix of my actual part in it and my perception of other people in it. Truly, when the moment has come and gone, there's only one course of action to take.

Create distance, invite time, and rise above.

His Quietus Make

I will actually come through on a promise I posed on my very first entry here in MySpace, spoken out of caution and concern on January 11th, 2006. Since then, I have written almost 80 entries, but the real number of journal entries since the mid-80s makes this little experiment look like a playing card. In truth, it's not MySpace. It's our space, where we have shared friends, shared status, possibly a spot on someone's top friends list, and hopefully a photo that doesn't make us look like a mass murderer. We build who we are online, sometimes despite who we are in real life, and because I love to write, that option to blog here was the irresistible chocolate donut sitting there on the plate, daring me.

The truth is, if you let it, this little wading pool of thought can get deep and a little revealing. Sometimes, it even gives people the option of reading you without effort and that affects the lines of communication. The real question becomes: Why do I feel the need to write this stuff in such a public place? My journal began on loose sheets of college ruled paper, then moved to word procesed documents and printouts, all kept in the same binder. Eventually, three binders were filled and now sit in my attic, where in hindsight, I realize all of my thoughts should be kept. The geek in me couldn't resist the Internet, so here I am, swimming rivers of change and knowing that this is the wrong place to write.

See, my space is up here, in my head, in the conversations I have with my friends and family. It's in the stories I write (I'm in the thick of writing a script now, and that might be the reason I was jarred loose from the pattern), and the music I play. My space is wordless: a hug, a handshake, a kiss, the truth right in front of you.

So why do I write, and will I keep blogging? Somewhere I'll keep it up, because this is what I do. For more than half of my life, I have emptied my heart and mind into words so I could have a little perspective for myself and indulge in the demons and angels of doubt and hope. It's a habit I'm not going to give up easily, and eventually, the living, breathing line of this little section will go away.

What I said a few years ago is true. Blogs are stupid. We are much smarter than the thoughts we leave behind.

(Of course, this just means that I return to Blogger and stop writing on MySpace. Blogger's great, isn't it?)