Conflicted

Trying to manage a schizophrenic schedule is a manic dance of manipulation, constantly feeding the fire of creativity and somehow powering the passion to get past obstacles of self-doubt and the unexpected. Have I already mentioned why I write? Did I already threaten to quit this blog? Okay, forget it. I quit.

No, no...I write because I have to. I play music because it's another language I'm forced to speak. I work on plays because that's the world I can see clearly in. I write blogs...keep a journal...because it's my only chance to drill a hole and drain the mind. When I'm creative, I'm totally mindless. I guess everything else I do is a waiting game while thoughts and feelings cook and simmer...come out in colors or shapes...and the residue is what happens here. It's obsessive.

This play I'm writing right now is not only intimidating the hell out of me, it's also pulling me into the chaotic center of emotions it's naturally wrestling with. I've tried to explain this to my sister and my niece: I can't write secondary characters, or people with singular intentions and dimensions. Especially with a play like this, where the whole point is the involvement of everyone in the story, I have to map out where everyone stands and trust my emotional attachment to them. I have to embrace the hurt and confusion, and push through for the hope I'm going after. To be completely honest, I know what it can be and I know I'm the person to create it...but the difficulty lies in controlling the palette of feelings that can easily bleed through to real life.

Such is this demented world of imaginary circumstances, where I can't hide, or repress, or deflect. It's all there. If there's one thing I learned from working for the actress (who shall remain nameless for those who don't know), I have to lend myself to it, not give. There needs to be, after all, something to come back to when I'm done.

So I write because I have to. And I'll tell the story because it needs to be heard. I'll keep my commitments, and try to stay sane, and somewhere in the distance I'll have a moment to see what I've done.

(deep breath) Wish me luck. Light a candle. I'll see you on the other side.

SPF 500 in the SFV

...and life moves past, especially when you take a moment to breathe and see who's been running with you, standing with you, quietly waiting for you to simply turn around to say "hi".
Hi. It's been weird. I've been good.

Truth to tell, I've been really good. It's funny; Last night I had a dream where I was in a tall hotel with no curtains on the windows, and outside there was a freak storm with high winds making some windows bow in and out, and the ground was repeatedly getting struck by lightning. When I went back to my room, I saw my reflection and was shocked to discover that I had long hair again. Not just long hair, mind you, but really long hair. I thought: "That's going to be hard to maintain." Somewhere off in the distance I could hear my computer calling, and I went to respond, knowing that distances mean nothing on the Internet...or in dreams....

That's when I woke up to encounter an apartment slowly baking in the sun like an adobe oven. Immediately, my thoughts were six thousand miles away, two thousand miles away, and ground zero. There I watch - in my waking dream - a girl seeking love and family, a family battling storms but waiting for a hurricane that may never come, and a whole city of individuals moving past, especially when you take a moment to breathe...and watch...and consider them.

Is it possible to miss people whom I've never met? Do people who have moved on still help us? There are no answers. There is only work to do, things to learn, and new people to meet. It is all about evolution, about constantly moving past the scenery, admiring it all along, and when you see someone stopping to catch their breath, know that they are learning something from your movement and direction.

Here's to considering them as well:
Happy birthday, Maxine

Safe journey, Robert

Godspeed, Bear

Blog in a Bottle

I have a brief pause right now to write this - since they deemed at work that MySpace is not good for business - so I need to just get this down and then race off to work.

Well, if you know the freeway at this time of day...it's not actually racing. It's more like racing to the onramp and then parking my car on the freeway for the next hour. Yes, I should be taking the bus, but I digress.

There is so much going on right now. After just having finished the best film festival we've had in ten years (at least on the organizational side, even though half the crew were never around), I'm now standing on the hilltop of my next projects, and believe me, I'm not just talking about theatre any more. Yes, we're ramping up the rehearsals for "Shape of Things", but real life is now beginning to color the landscape.

Last night, as I sit in bed to catch up on notes for the adoption play I'm writing, I'm watching the shows I recorded and the play begins to happen. I can feel it forming, hurting in my stomach, with the loss, the confusion, the pain, and hope. I can feel it taking shape, and my obligation to it begins to grow. And then I get the email from my friend Michelle.

Years ago, when I was writing the musical, I was doing research on cancer and then I met Michelle. We knew each other before, but I caught her in a weak moment, and after spending a little time to listen to her, I found out that her brother had a severe case of colon cancer. Stage Four. We talked about what is being done medically, and then when we got past that, we talked about validating the existence of his life. She was determined to beat the cancer, and I, having just lost two friends to cancer at that time, was as supportive as I could be. We became very close friends while we worked together. The news came after she left that he had beat the cancer, and that was just...an unbelievable feeling. They had parties. I felt like we were beginning a brand new time, one in which we could finally fight it, and that if there was a chance for me to raise awareness, raise funds, now is especially the time to do it.

Last night, her email came after a long time of not hearing from her. On Monday night, the 17th of July, he lost the battle after two months of a resurgence, and I hated that cancer for fading and giving us hope again. The only great thing is that his life after beating it the first time was like a second life, when he got all the love and support that he would, in the end, need for his transition to wherever we go when we die. As much as I damn the cancer, I would love a second chance to reconnect with my family before I go.

In the end, he wins because of that second chance, and cancer can't reach him any more. It can't wither him away, it can't hurt him, it can't change the way he looks, making his family and friends suffer.

This Friday is Maxine Carnegie's birthday. She died of breast cancer shortly before I premiered my musical two years ago. I'm going to take her some flowers and ask her to watch over my friend's brother, and then I'm going to call my father and not talk about our argument a few weeks ago. It's been two weeks since I lost another friend to an auto accident, so I'm going to continue to validate my own life and not necessarily make work the main priority in my life. How will I be remembered if I only have a resume and a list of plays to leave behind?

That is the question. I'm an artist for very specific reasons, but the main reason has to be the celebration of life as we have it. There are so many distractions in this world, in this city, and it's hard to recognize where the fertile ground is. I'm going to try to pay attention, and give time to people who ask for it.

We are here for each other, not for ourselves. That's what I'm going to go on.

Scaling Back

What a strange week.

I'm sitting here, leaning against commitments, ready to take on a weekend of creative work and relieved I have the past ten days or so behind me. I'm exercising the usual mind dump into this blog so I can use that extra space and energy to brainstorm, but for the sake of posterity....

I've been to the gym 3 times a week for two weeks now, levelling off exactly where I am right now at 195 pounds. My mission, through exercise and continued attention to the food I eat, will be to reach 175, which is crazy but not impossible. I can feel my body changing, but I can't see myself going to the extreme of holding a magnifying glass to the kinds of food I eat and when I eat them. I just want to make sure they're healthy for now. I'm not going to be fanatic, especially to the point where I preach to someone else that the food they're eating is bad for them. I don't get the heavily cheesed nachos and condiment violated fries I saw before the fireworks on the 4th of July, but that's their business...and their belt notchers...their blood pressure...you get the idea.

As for me, I'm happy about the fact that despite things that are completely out of my control, I've been able to weave past distractions and manage...I use that word carefully...manage my schedule. Of course, I have help. Oh, and of course, I have some good friends.

The end of this difficult, strangely shaped week, has come to this: a crossroad from where I can look at my three major projects in relation to all of the changes in my life. Wait! FOUR major projects. (pause for awareness) I don't know if I can really do any one of those things, but what I'm banking on is that I really have my doubts that I can't do any of them, so I believe - as always - that the odds are with me.

To think, all of this, this struggle and journey towards my future will in the end add up to fewer lines than any name in the Spoon River Anthology. That's why the journey matters. That's why the failures and mistakes always flake off and fall to the side for want of the gilded successes and triumphs. Whether or not anyone else can immediately see the world from my perspective is kind of moot; That's why I believe I'm an artist.

So enough about me. Where are you standing right now?

Transformations

How long has it been since my last entry? What? Has it been that long? Certain habits surfaced and disrupted the pattern of self-awareness, but thank God...life always has a way of holding up a mirror when you least expect it. This time, it was one insensitive comment from a new friend.

You might know how private I am. I don't hang out with a lot of people, make lifelong friends at work any more (not since Kristin left), and when I go out, I usually love to do it alone. I also hardly ever - okay, ignore the picture to the left - allow myself to be photographed or filmed. So much for a career in acting. At the request of a friend, I forwarded a picture of myself while in Vegas a week ago. That's what she wanted. Just yesterday, in a public chat room, she said I was chubby.

Chubby. Chubby? Is that how everyone sees me? Is she the only one honest enough to say something like that? In response to my shock, she said that I shouldn't flatter myself. What? Or, as we like to say in chat, wtf? I was speechless. Maybe she was kidding...or maybe...ohhh shit.

And then guilt set in.

It's been a year since I had a membership to the gym. A few months ago, I was determined to start building one here at home, so I started looking into equipment. Then my boss chimed in and offered to give me her treadmill. I gave away a sofa chair, went through a massive spring cleaning project at my house, and made space. I bought dumbbells. I knew I was on the road back to health, especially once I had that treadmill. I changed my diet. I took elevators less. The treadmill never came. There's an empty spot in the second bedroom.

So my stagnation was fed by waiting for others to have a hand in my transformation, and in a difficult week punctuated by ignorance of people at work and coming off a sickness, this came from nowhere. The denoument was that stupid word - chubby.

In an instant, I popped over to my gym's website and renewed my membership. I called over there to see if I could come over right away. I spent two hours there bouncing from the comments, replaying their cruelty so I could build in the opposite direction. I came home after the gym, showered, then treated myself to a movie. Today, I was back at the gym, and then, while doing two of my largest loads of laundry, I went on a little photo safari.

The great thing is that I'm losing the ability to dwell, to crawl around in the mud of self-loathing. I'm recognizing the unhealthy nature of indulging in harsh criticism, and moving in the opposite direction. Does it bother me that this friend hurt my feelings? Sure. I sent her an email about it. But as I sit here, on a Sunday night before work and my meeting with Maria (a local new friend, whom I'm working on a project with), I feel pretty good about myself. I see potential. I think about my control over my own happiness.

It was a good day.

You know something else? I don't feel the need to celebrate Independence Day in a huge way any more. I always needed to celebrate it with huge fireworks because that was my anniversary with the one true love of my life, but the real truth is, it's been years since I've heard from her, it's been about that long since I last looked at a picture of her, and my heart, I think, has finally been healed by good people who have come and gone in my life. I don't need to distract myself on that holiday any more. I've got a clean slate. The mistakes of my distant and recent past are still with me, but I don't carry them. I hold no grudges and no ill feelings towards anyone.

Of course, it's still Sunday. Monday could be a completely different story.

Rear View Smear

What can you do when people just don't like you? Is there a reason why I take that in as an opportunity to re-examine myself and how I'm represented around people? It's worth a thought, and blogs are a catch-all piece of mental adhesive, but on the other hand....

I've had a few really good days. I've had some good weeks, actually. And when I let that dark light in, it's hard for anything to catch on or point me in a direction, but those are just brief flashes right now. What - am I getting older, therefore I'm able to see these things in perspective? When I pay attention to the right things, it's really shocking to see the powerful effect that has on the reflection I see in the mirror. I forget sometimes that my creativity is a wildfire. I forget sometimes that for every person left behind, there are more ahead of me. I forget sometimes, that I take the world as a whole too seriously, and that it's totally okay to play and let go of the math. Math? How things add up? Did I lose you on that one? I'm not sure I totally understand it, either. Math. That was weird.

But life is pretty exciting right now. It's juicy. It's full of these little surprises that pop like soap bubbles everywhere. It's really weird - and I won't question it - but lately it seems that every move I make puts me in undiscovered territory. I go through my periods where I stay in place and work in a cloud of dust, and then there are times when I emerge, curious about the world beyond. That's where I'm at.

So what can you do when people just don't like you? Step out of the cloud and go where they do. And take a camera, because who knows what you'll find on the way?

Fahrenheit 101

Am I slacking off already? Why haven't I written since...okay, never mind. Maybe it's been too hot to write. Maybe I haven't had anything new to report. Ahh, wait! That's not true! Now that season two of Lost has come to a close, I can return to writing on a Wednesday night.

Work is both spectacularly optimistic and tragically petty. I have been researching a new opportunity that sounds fascinating, and that exists everywhere but where I'm sitting. Unfortunately, the space I'm occupying is sometimes a parade of the short-sighted, self-centered, and disillusioned. Don't misunderstand me; Most of the people I work with are fascinating, loving, and tolerant people. There is always a handful and...oh, why am I wasting words on them? The point of this is, more of the things that made my job fun and worthwhile have now become stale, poisonous, even annoying to acknowledge. They make this new opportunity even more exciting as both a better use of my time and an escape from all of the negative things I have to deal with.

But that's work. Do you really want to read about work? You might in a few months....

Playhouse West is still a great playground that confuses me sometimes, but thank God I'm busy now. I have the film festival to work on, I'm rehearsing a play, and I'm getting good feedback on my redesign of the website. I am starting to see a pattern, though, that applies to people in charge of both the school and...hey...work!

There is a tree line...or a snow line...perhaps a wealth line that is drawn with a political point of view. That point of view makes it virtually impossible for the people in charge to understand and communicate to the rest of the people. It's a huge issue at work (though not so much at Playhouse), but I figured this out with one conversation. I always knew there was a separation between what the two sides understood, but I didn't know what the space was made of. Apparently, it's truth and logic. That's why I fall somewhere in the middle; I love to question things and not automatically accept what I'm told.

What was the conversation? I mentioned to someone that I saw the new Al Gore movie, "An Inconvenient Truth". I was inspired by the film, and really took a good look at my contribution to the world immediately around me. I just got a bus pass. I started a bottle and can recycling program at work. Well, when I barely mentioned the movie to this person (who will remain nameless), they gave me that look and played the whole thing off, saying that for every (completely absurd) truth in that movie, there is another opposite fact in existence. My immediate thought was "Sure, there are two sides to every story. The Nazis felt they were doing the right thing. That doesn't justify the Holocaust at all." Of course, what I said was "Sure, tell that to the idiots who are protesting the Da Vinci Code. They're advertising it!"

That really makes me think, though. The people in charge and the people who follow are mostly very far apart. The people who are in charge make decisions based on what they want, and when the people who follow start losing their trust and lag behind, both are completely in the dark about why they can't get along. I'm too restless to follow and not interested enough in pointless competition to become one of those in charge. Like I said, I question everything...

...and that might explain why I hardly ever associate myself with people or groups of people. I just don't want to cloud my mind with issues of blind loyalty, especially when I've been let down by enough people to keep me at a distance. That does, of course, make me more outgoing on the whole but at the same time it pulls me back to watch people more.

For a little time, I'm going to abandon control over some things so I can take more control over others. I'm hopping on the bus tomorrow to go to work - thus avoiding the horrendous traffic and heat on the Ventura freeway - but at the same time I'm hoping it'll free up some energy to get things done. I'm going to abandon hope that some people will change and regain hope that I can improve. I'll remind myself yet again that the world I live in does not define me, it is entirely the other way around. Stay tuned for my world, version 3.0. We are now in Beta.

The Symbol of Chaos

It would be a terrible cliche, I think, to quote John Lennon here: "Life is what happens...". Well, no shit. We all make plans, make life changing decisions, and then we discover that life has it's own music to follow and, for the most part, unless the event is drastic, changes come gradually.

Okay...SO. Adventure number one, cut down in its prime. Here's a piece of advice for future bus pass owners. You absolutely cannot wash them. You can't forget them in a shirt pocket, run them through a warm wash load, then a cycle in the dryer. I did get one bus trip in, and that was interesting to say the least, but obviously I'm going to have to try this thing again, with what gas prices are nowadays. On the way to work, the bus was really easy, but I discovered that my iPod is the only thing I can do, especially if I get a window seat. I had a play in my hand, but I was too distracted, and since I was sitting facing the middle ot the bus, I eventually had someone's crotch in my face so...note to myself: Get a window seat and listen to my podcasts. If I can't do that, then just listen to music and read.

The trip back was also interesting. I sat with a friend, but with the motion of the bus and the lack of conversation around me (my friend tried to point out interesting sights along the way), I started nodding off. Sitting in an aisle seat, I tilted my head back and began to "rest my eyes"...until I caught a man across from me doing the same thing, only he didn't...well, he wasn't too concerned about staying in his seat and as he started falling asleep, his body started leaning into the aisle, about to take a header into my lap. It was entertaining for everyone and I felt the need to poke him with a stick, but he always managed to catch himself just before gravity won the war.

Shortly after that I did a load of laundry and beat the crap out of the bus pass.

Adventure number two - eHarmony. It is still very interesting to see what matches they send me, and sometimes they're still way off, but so far I'm not seeing "The One" that the service alleges they can find me. I'm not even seeing "The Two" or "The Three". Listen, whomever that one is has a tough act to follow. My life-changing loves are few and years between (but not for a few years now), but my mind always sees potential in change. I just have to be patient, and I can afford to be because I'm so used to not depending on anyone.

So stay tuned for updates at work - some new developments there - and maybe I will actually get to do some travelling this year. I have a few destinations that come to mind, Indiana being the first, but we'll see how busy my schedule is. I'm going to start rehearsing one play soon, I have to follow up on another, and I have the upcoming film festival. I'm going to manage the chaos much better this year so I don't revisit the madness of last year.

Off I go, to spend the day in a photo safari somewhere - I have no idea where at this point - with my new digital camera. Keep an eye open for my webshots page to see where my mind is at (http://community.webshots.com/user/sjirel), and absolutely, while I'm "busy making plans", lots of unexpected things will happen. I guess that's why I'm considering getting a tattoo with a different symbol of chaos.

Of course, all this is assuming that I don't quit writing this blog, which is, of course, a little hard to stop now because - no, you know what? I quit.

Taking a Sweeping Left Turn

This theater thing, I knew, would sort itself out somehow. Eventually I'd find something to work on (as a distraction?) and I'll slowly dip myself back in the pool. Here's where we're beginning to take a somewhat different course: I have two new little adventures.

First of all, my sisters chipped in and bought me a membership to eHarmony. Why? I don't know. Maybe they have hope for me? It's a novelty to all of my friends and co-workers, endless entertainment for those few who saw my matches. So this is day...three...I think, and I'm 24 matches into it, so we'll have to see where I am in six months when the subscription runs out. What have I had so far? As my favorite closer message goes, "I prefer not to say."

Now, the second adventure is much more harmless, but it may be pass/fail inside of a week. I bought a bus pass at work. Listen, it's only $10 and the Orange Line goes from a location two minutes north of my apartment (and one minute north of the new Starbucks that's being built) to half a block away from work. Are you serious? For $10 a month, someone can drive me to and from work? Okay, I do have to share with others, and I have a strong feeling it's not going to be yuppie/geek-ville with open laptops and ipods, but I'll keep an open mind. Anything beats sitting in traffic.

So this blog, which I'm going to quit writing any moment now, is going to at least update these two ongoing stories. With my luck and fate's sick sense of humor, I'll find love on the bus and will start commuting with someone I meet on eHarmony. Stay tuned.

Descending Through the Clouds

I spent yesterday out with a couple of souls who provided illumination on a few of my options, paths I can take as I navigate my own wandering through this unknown emotional territory. The one common theme from both friends was the suggestion of self-realization...though one friend came from the angle of acceptance of myself now, and the other brought more attention to the things I've done wrong in my past.

What does any of it mean?

I don't have any answers from yesterday. I don't necessarily have any right now. Maybe the problem lies in the pursuit of a solution. Maybe it lies in the acknowledgment of a problem. Beyond calling one more friend tonight, I think this little brain cloud should conjure an otherwise silent companion.

C: I think you're complicating things.

S: I think you're right.

C: I mean, what is it that you think you're supposed to be? Who do you feel...what role are you not fulfilling right now?

S: Well, I'm not working on any plays, and that's weird.

C: So for the second time in ten years, you're taking a break. Is that bad?

S: I'm not...really looking forward to anything, though. I'm not excited.

C: Okay - that's the same thing as saying that you're not racing. That's good. I just don't understand what you're using for reference, thoguh. Listen, you can't place yourself - and most importantly, your value - in the Playhouse world. You were never that important to it in the first place.

S: That's a strange thing to hear.

C: It's true. You've done a lot of stuff there, but you're rooted in that place without any real relationship to it. You're definitely not bound by contract or employment....

S: That is kind of how I feel about it now. Isn't that funny? I didn't feel that way before.

C: Because now you have...

S: Distance.

C: Right.

S: Weird.

C: And maybe you have a little perspective, too. What is the worst that would happen if you just didn't direct or write a play for a while?S: Nothing, I guess. Playhouse would keep moving to bigger and better things. In the end, the only two things that will be remembered will be Welcome Home, Soldier and the film festival.

C: That's very detailed, but you didn't answer my question. What would happen to you?S: I don't know. I'd probably...find something else to do.

C: An adventure.

S: Right - A trip down the Amazon looking for anacondas with Ice Cube!

C: No, idiot. Why did you become a writer? How do you choose the things you study?

S: I like asking questions, exploring mysteries.

C: See? There's -

And Alex F. waves me out of the conversation, completely oblivious of the fact that I have headphones on and a notepad in front of me. What was so important that he couldn't leave me alone in my own world? The Lakers are in the playoffs, and they lost game one.

3:35pm

C: So as I was saying....

S: Yeah, sorry about that. I have to give him my full attention because if he has to work hard to keep me in the conversation, he starts to spit.

C: Spit?

S: It's possibly a Pavlovian response. I'm too busy blinking to ask. Anyway....

C: Yes, moving on, sans spit. (pause) Do you remember writing about people in the industry choosing to be good actors, writers, producers - what have you - before they decide to be good people?

S: Yeah - it's part of the Fourth Wall.

C: I think you might be wrestling with that choice. You've been...well, sometimes you feel like you've been that guy.

S: You might be giving me too much credit.

C: No, I am, as I always have tried to do, giving you more credit than you give yourself. (pause) Close your eyes.

S: What?

C: Close your eyes. Remove all associations you have between the things you're wrestling with and the things you think give them value.

S: I kind of need to keep writing this conversation...

C: Stop writing for a second. Close your eyes and breathe.

I close my eyes.

C: Breathe.

S: Okay.

C: Listen to me. (pause) It's okay to let go of a comfortable place so you can dictate what happens in your life. It's okay to acknowledge when something isn't working for you any more.

S: It isn't working for me any more.

C: So do something else. It's simple; It doesn't have to be a substitute. All it needs to do is fulfill a need...and ideally, get you closer to where you want to be.

S: I don't exactly know where I want to go.

C: I didn't say anything about where you want to go. I said that you should be closer to where you want to be.

S: Where do I want to be?

C: Present. Here. Now. Standing with your past behind you and ready for the future. (pause) Build on this, who you are now and what you have to offer. You don't have to be more of anything. (pause) Open your eyes.

S: I'm still not sure....

C: Isn't that funny, how we don't know exactly what to do at every moment of the day? Do you know what you're practicing right now without any knowledge of your doing it?

S: Writing?

C: Trust. You don't know where this conversation is going but you keep writing. That's all I ask of you. Just...trust that the moments will come.

That's all I can do. Am I waiting for inspiration? Am I waiting for an answer? If I wait long enough, I think I'll find out.

The Light in the Window

The moon over Miami must be a different one, because if it was the same I would swear it was playing favorites. It's almost within reach, regardless of where you stand. At the beach, its dust falls into the ocean and onto your face. Out in front of my parents' house, it hangs like a party light moving with the correct time. She hovers over like a doting mother, sometimes smiling gently through a curtain of clouds, and other times watching sternly, lighting the rest of the sky.

In Los Angeles she is a mysterious muse, always distant, always hiding behind obstacles. Clearly she prefers Miami, I think, but before I rush to judgement, I must be ready to assume that she is a mother to us all, and her role changes with location. I don't know that people in Southern Florida look to her as much as I do, but I digress. She belongs to us all.

She just may have raised her Miami children differently. I wouldn't know for sure because I don't live there, but I think I can say that most of the natives there are comfortable with themselves. They dress for comfort, they spend time with their families, and they don't place a great emphasis on building one mall, movie theater, or discount warehouse store for every 200 people. They dream of the lottery like we do, but I don't know that anyone dreams of moving to Miami for fame and fortune...okay, outside of a minority of people in Cuba.

In Los Angeles, the moon's mountainous brothers have set the precedent. Look up and see something taller, stronger, more accomplished. This inspires many to build higher, to climb to the top and see everyone from a distance. The height of wealth, of accomplishment, of earning awards and a bigger house or faster car is the new glory for an Angelite, and those cold, dark mountains watch on with pride.

Do you have to drive to a Starbucks? Don't worry. We'll build a closer one. Within a two block radius of where I work, you can find a regular Starbucks, one in a mall, another in a hotel, one at a gas station, and yet another one in a bookstore. Soon there will be three Target stores within five minutes of the same radius, to complement the two I know of on the East side of the Valley. Don't get me started on McDonalds or the traffic on the Ventura freeway.

Even though I'm here in the mix, entertaining all of those options, I do also feel like there is in this city a concentrated atmosphere of overwhelming competition and lack of value in the individual. In L.A. you have to be comfortable with yourself as a survival response; Unless you've achieved, bought, built, stood out, or most importantly, won, you will slip by entirely unnoticed.

It's exactly how the mountains have dictated it. It's all uneven ground. They've forced us to build roads around, over, and through them, and our vision becomes narrowed to the point where we can only focus on where we have to go, how we can get there, and what we can buy on the way. We don't notice the person next to us, we try never to establish eye contact with a stranger, and the well of encouragement or acknowledgement for small steps is running...wait, it's damp and...no, it's dry. Where would I have found that kind of love in L.A.?

I know why the moon is so close to the treetops in Miami. That's where my family is. The distant moon over my home here in the Valley is my connection to them, and the very reason I go there in my mind to hide, to heal and keep parts of me safe. As much as I've doubted whether or not I should be here in Los Angeles, I know that my family wants me to be here, to be everything they know I can be.

Now that I've stopped to call this "home", where do I begin?

Visiting With An Old Friend

She reappears when I blink my eyes, and it takes me a moment. Maybe I've been away too long.

M: Hey. (pause) You're not gonna say "hi" to me?

S: Hi.

M: So how are you?

S: I don't know.

M: Why are you staring at me like that?

S: I...don't know. You're not real.

M: No, I'm not. Do you want me to go away?

S: Please...don't. (pause) What are you doing here?

M: I came to help.

S: With what? I'm fine.

M: What were you just about to do?

S: Get something to eat. Maybe something to drink.

M: Sit.

S: I'm hungry -

M: Sit - over there. Come on, I want to talk to you.

S: Can I get something -

M: Sit.

S: Okay.

I sink onto the couch and she mirrors me, focusing all her attention on me.

M: First of all, why do you still think about me?

S: Why can't I?

M: I didn't say you can't. I was asking why you do it.

S: It just...happens, I guess. It's easy to think about you.

M: Yeah, that worries me.

S: Why? It's not up to you.

M: Well, you definitely don't think about who I am now. You think about who I used to be.

S: That's not...entirely...true. I think about what you were to me. Most of the time, it's just the little things that I remember.

M: I wish you didn't. I feel like there are things you won't do because of me.

S: I don't reject things because - listen, did you come here to try to erase yourself from my memory?

M: I know I can't do that. But I also know you're having a tough time and I don't want you to go to the past for the truth.

S: What kind of truth do you suppose I'm looking for? I'm not walking on a razor's edge here. There's no huge quest.

M: Maybe not, but...what I see in you is a holy grail somewhere in your future. I think you're waiting for it. I think you're waiting for the memory of me to happen again.

S: There is no you in my future.

M: Then why are you talking to me now?

Mid-sentence, I stop and lean back. She got me.

M: I didn't come here to confuse you. I'm not trying to get erased. I want you to remember me, and hopefully you forget the bad stuff. Well, whatever it takes, I just want you to be happy.

S: Thanks.

M: But that's not why I'm here.

S: This might be a sign that I have to stop this late night snacking. Maybe I just need to go to bed.

M: I want to say something to you first. (pause) I know who you are. I knew you before we ever met, so when we were finally together, it was hard to accept, because...neither of us were ready. But I'm here now because I know...you're having a hard time with your mother in the hospital. You've been away from the theater, you've been away from the gym, and I want you to believe that I love who you are and who you can be. You forget that sometimes because you don't hear my voice saying it, and sometimes you don't believe it when others say it.

S: With good reason.

M: Yeah, absolutely. But for all you do and all you've done for other people, I wanted to remind you that it's okay to let go. Nothing that happened between us, nothing that happened in those moments where you had to make a difficult decision, none of it was your fault. You didn't abandon your family, you didn't lose me, you didn't lose that girl who moved up to San Francisco. Every moment we spent together is part of who you are now, but you can't be afraid any more to try again. You won't lose anything. You won't lose me.

S: So...you must be saying this because there's something I'm supposed to do.

M: I'm saying this because you think your best days are behind you. I never wanted this kind of doubt to be in your life. I definitely didn't want to be the cause of it. Just...please...let go and get started again.

S: Okay...I think. I'm not sure I know what to do.

M: You will.

I close my eyes, and she's gone. Her perfume lingers in the air, but I look around for an immediate clue.

I have absolutely no idea where to begin.

The Map of My Family

My mother is now in post-op, having undergone surgery this morning, and I'm beginning to breathe, anxious to hear her voice. The family has spent the whole weekend in the hospital, pacing the hallways, going from waiting room to waiting room, basically being where I wish I could be, but I'm really statisfied that they were there for her. I feel like I'm breathing for the first time this weekend.

In the height of this scare, this moment in time when you shove your worst fears to a dark corner and try against the current to stay positive, some things become painfully clear. There is a huge difference between stating good intentions and doing the right thing. All I saw from my family this weekend was the greatest example of selflessness, of dedication and commitment. How other things compare to the example of my sisters and my father is now a huge difference in depth and honesty to me. You only know the value of something to a person by what they do in relation to that thing or person. What a person says, really, is meaningless.

And so things have changed a bit for me, and for my family. My mother, obviously, has to live her life differently, and in the best case scenario, the greatest change she'll have to face is the adjustment to life without as much pain as she's become accustomed to. She may need another surgery, to repair her knee, but this was the major one. As for me, my level of tolerance is going to shrink to accommodate a greater dedication to a few important things. Do repeat offenders get another chance? I suppose they'll find out quickly.

This is where I understand my father a little more. He has lost faith a bit in apologies, and although I argue his paradigm of a complete lack of belief in them, I understand his hurt completely because I also know what it's like to be completely let down. He rants, he fights, he swings his beliefs completely in the opposite direction, but he's also extremely tolerant despite the fact that it gets increasingly difficult with age. I take a long look around him, and I see that my mother, too, has been patient beyond all reason. My sister Monica consistently does what nobody else will do, and she'll also bear the weight of the blame for it. My sister Maria goes directly to the point, also believing that there might be a second chance and possibly even a third, but beyond that it's pretty much a point of no return. Any territory inside of that - for the whole family - is fertile ground for generosity, love, and support. In the gray area just outside of those boundaries is where the family will argue and defend.

And I get it, I totally understand; This is the map of my family. This is the reason why I've been able to feed on the energy and strength of their love, even though sometimes I get lost when it feels like the family scatters a bit. That circular area right in the middle is where we all run to whenever there's a crisis. We do it by instinct. We sometimes forget it's there when we explore the area outside - careers, house issues, negative sources on the fringe - but right now, as they wheel my mother back into her room with my father sleeping in a chair in the corner and my two sisters sending me text messages and pictures, calling me with every update, the center of this universe is a warm place to be.

No, the story of this crisis is not over with - only one chapter has closed today - but we are strong, and we are alive, and everything else that could try to hurt what we have will just eventually fade away. It was this way in the beginning, because they gave me life, and it will never change.

Who Had Me at 40

I'm writing this because I have to. If I don't, I won't eat anything today.

Where was I when things got difficult with my family? In this recent terrifying episode with my mother - which I'm in the middle of at the moment - I was here, where I chose to be, where I felt my obligation was...to Playhouse West and the little theater company who vaguely recognizes me. I was here.

My mother, a month ago, fell outside her house and crawled to my sister's front door for help. She fell two more times that weekend. She saw her doctor, but still, she has spent the last month in excrutiating pain, and the past two weeks she was, for the most part, in bed. It's been a round the clock responsibility of the immediate family to visit her and take care of her; My father and two sisters have done everything I wish I could do to help. The only thing I could do has been to call her and ask her about the rest of the family, ask her about her health, and to update her on things happening out here. But where was I? I was right here.

My mother is 78 (soon to be 79). She had me when she was 40, after coming to the U.S. from Argentina. She is part of what I consider my unique treasure: My two sisters, my father, and my mother are also my closest friends, and as different as all four of them are, they do so much for the family and sacrifice so much for each other, that when one part of that circle is ailing, everyone suffers. I have such a great time when I'm around her. To this day, the only person I have ever been able to spend time with in any museum has been my mother (We saw the King Tut exhibit last December). The saint lying in a hospital bed right now is the warmest, most gentle source of love that I know. Both of my sisters and my father have amazingly attended to her with that kind of reverence.

What we just found out - what the doctor did not catch - is that in the series of falls, my mother fractured her hip, tore both meniscus in her knee, and strained a tendon in the same knee. She suffered for a month needlessly, and we're waiting to find out when she's going to be operated on. Everyone agrees that I shouldn't fly out there right now, and I'm endlessly distracted.

Once we're past the surgery, then it's all about rehab. How difficult will this be on both of my parents? Will some of the intangibles within the family that have mended themselves for the moment start to heal? Some of the other things that are wrong...some things that have been violently wrong for a long time now, probably can't be fixed. As for the rest...somehow, once we step through the window of surgery, I feel like the handful of us who have pulled together can make something happen. There is still a lot of love in the core.

I'm hoping this will clear my mind a little so I'll eat something today, but to be honest with you, I'm scared. Wouldn't you be?

Tempus edax rerum

The seed of discontent, planted in the ground of indifference, never sprouts into a plant of discontent. In other words, being dissatisfied with the world in itself doesn't make the world easier to deal with, nor does it make the big picture more attractive. All it does is confirm what you're unhappy with, a vicious cycle of upturning soil and being unsatisfied with the results.

Not that this year has been a waste. No, not at all. It's just been difficult.

Yes, both of my parents have had medical issues, some that are still waiting to be defined. Yes, another friend of mine has come forth to let me know she has breast cancer. All this puts my problems in perspective...but at the same time it does not excuse me to repeat patterns, especially those that eat my time, which in turn devour everything else in me. Such is theater and the entertainment industry. The warning signs were apparently posted at the entrance, but most of us ignored them and auditioned for the devil anyway.

Normally, I would be able to deal with the life issues and pump them back into theater. I would have been too busy to sink in and see the reflection. It's different now.

The seed of discontent (the beginning of the end?) was planted with Rachel, a friend who made an accusation that should never have been repeated to me. That said to me that I wasn't appreciated. The numbing blow came from Ali, another friend who publicly criticized me and in one breath changed a season of love into a labor of chaos. These two bookended a body of unpredictability where the organization, I fear, is not on my side. (Why pick sides anyway?) That is where theater has disappeared in my heart, so I took a break. Yes, they still need me to do the things nobody else wants to do. My artistic side still does not want to compete, and egos now prevail on the landscape. By keeping my distance, I render the competition powerless.

I also have time to reinvent.

It's time, though, to start responding to emails and phone calls, to retool the efforts in measured ways and reconnect to friends and supporters. If I wait any longer, hibernation might turn into a comatose state, so with April comes my spring.

Just when I thought I was up here on the moon as a means of defining myself in contrast to everyone else, I find that I've been staring at the earth all along. What's most beautiful about it is its random imperfection, right down to the very last atom. And imperfection, after all, is exactly the place where art is born, isn't it?

Cura nihil aliud nisi ut valeas.

I'm enjoying the euphemisms, to an extent, or at least I'm beginning to notice the emerging world around me. I've said lately that I'm taking a break...I'm recalibrating my scales (for the astrology-conscious), or that I've returned to the moon. Beyond all this, instead of wondering why I haven't done anything in three months, I'm beginning to pick up the tools around me.

The first thing I reached for without realizing it was my camera. Now, I don't really care that I don't have a mega-expensive camera to play with. Well, I do have my film camera, but at the moment I'm too impatient and maybe too impulsive for that. Nevertheless, I added a few albums to my webshots page (http://community.webshots.com/user/sjirel) and am anxious to see where my eye takes me.

I also read a couple of plays, but I haven't put word one on paper (or screen) because I've just shifted a little in my focus. I'm still in the process of a huge undertaking at home: cutting away the past and letting go of old patterns. I am shredding a majority of paperwork and throwing away (or donating) things that I don't need. I don't want to have any "just in case" items, I don't want any things in storage containers that weren't originally intended as storage containers, and I'm looking to affect change and a new life that's leaner and ultimately more self-fulfilling. Did I mention world peace and weight loss?

There is a condition of belonging and not belonging, of being who people know you to be versus being who you aspire to be, beyond all modesty. I would have to say that the greatest catalyst for change is simplicity. Sometimes, when a life gets complicated, the best way to see yourself in it is to start removing things until everything around you is a reflection.

Good night from the moon...the Earth looks great from here.

Reasons Why

The first two months of my year in writing have been spent in wonder at my lack of production or...interest in an absoultely insane schedule like the one I've kept for years. It's a completely different change of pace for me, but I think I've figured out what's been happening with the gray matter.

First of all, I've been telling everyone that I've blown a fuse. During the last quarter of last year, I pushed myself beyond my capacity with two simultaneous productions in two separate theaters, followed immediately by two weeks in Miami. Somewhere in there, I lost my center. I came back tired, a little disillusioned, but unmotivated to pick up a distraction. Since then I've been reading and observing...searching...isolating.

And then my job threw me a surprise. A company-wide management meeting was being planned, and the top officers in the company met to discuss a theme. Two people on the committee volunteered me to create graphics and an opening presentation. Two weeks later, I'm spending the day at the Reagan Library, and my presentation shows twice at the request of the CEO. I had a moment of clarity that lends itself to why I don't usually watch award shows (like the Oscars, which are on right now).

Most of the time I think that the stuff I do is just work. Playhouse West seemingly only celebrates celebrity and its own people in charge. Though I've created more firsts in that theater company than anyone, over the past nine years, I feel like I've invited more criticism and apathy than recognition. Last year, in a season filled with meaning, I found myself walking away from the whole thing alone, reading nothing in the official Playhouse newsletter about my efforts.
The day at the Reagan Library reminded me that I'm not in a competition with anyone else. That's how I was able to keep going in a thankless theater company (aren't they all?); I was able to recognize the fact that it was a resource I had great access to. I have all of these great actors to choose from. I can put up anything I want. I remembered a question an old friend asked me - Lynn Dee Smith - "Why do you really want to do this?"

The answer is simple: I work on things that are meaningful to me. That's the key to my inactivity. The things that haven't made sense, the things that other people don't appreciate...might not be worth my time. I bust ass to produce a one-act festival to create more opportunities for actors at Playhouse. The response to emails I've sent out has been sparse. I don't do it for me; I created it out of loyalty to the actor. Look, the odds are already against me, I think, so why would I put myself out there for a situation where I'm going to work hard for a less-than-satisfying experience? Yes, I know that actors are opportunistic by nature. I don't want to perform a service any more. I've put my own projects on hold for years performing a service that has no value.

So I wait. I watch. I isolate. I'm searching for the things that are meaningful to me, and when I can translate that to a medium that calls to me, I'll devote every breath to it. Will I write about a small band of teenagers in Miami who throw their lives away with drugs and an endless destruction of trust? Will I write about the politics and promises of the small bubbles in the entertainment industry? Will I write about something that's buried in the newspaper right next to me? Could it be something else I've been studying for years?

I'll let you know when I've got something ready.

The Calendar is Still Green

Isn't it funny, as I play the role of the gardener of my life, that I haven't visited the potential for this year yet? Hey, look - January is almost over (and that rent check, I must remember to get that ready), but I haven't done anything significant yet. I feel myself getting closer to something, the climate changing, maybe even a huge hazy something on the horizon starting to take shape. I can't quite...identify...

Wait - is it old age? Maybe it's too early for that.

Is it just the fact that I'm up late writing? I'm usually up at this time. Not that it's good, mind you, but I'm...sitting here evaluating where I'm standing.

Yes, I know where this is coming from. It just occurred to me that when I returned from Miami, I saw my home a little differently. At the height of craziness last year, I was balancing two plays simultaneously and stretched myself to transparency. I might have done too much, but at the same time I can guarantee you that I'm the only one with perspective on how crazy that was to attempt. In the end, the ribbon and bow on the whole gift of exhaustion to my holiday season was the fact that my play was able to raise over $600 for the Komen Foundation. That streak of charity work still lingers and my work isn't done, but aside from benefits to all, I stand here thinking two things: 1) I am capable of much more than this, and 2) I still haven't detached myself from the past.

I have a unique - that's a safe word, unique - awareness of the fact that I am always meeting new people but I haven't said goodbye to some of the most important people in my life. Some of those may return, and it's only indifference that keeps their corner of my life silent. There are others who didn't say goodbye. Maybe I didn't give them a chance to...because...it wouldn't have measured up to my expectations or value in it. I didn't say goodbye. Because of that, and because of indifference on the part of the others, I still think about them and it consumes me sometimes. Is that healthy? Nope. Sometime soon, for my heart, I may pick a quiet moment to say goodbye to each of them.

The funniest thing about all this, of course, is the fact that I vowed to quit this blog. I quit. Really. I'm done. Maybe not. For tonight, okay. Fine. With all of that off my chest and out of my head, I can now take some Tylenol PM, throw myself in bed, and not think about this for once.

Isn't it interesting how I devour and fully appreciate these experiences I have with people until I'm full, and that in turn makes me independent and selective to a fault? I've got stuff to do, people, things to create and invent and new ideas to discover. I've got people in my heart who have inspired me, so...if you don't mind, I'm going to evolve into something a little more comfortable.

Blogs are Stupid

I've started over 400 different blogs. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but I'm about to quit this one. I blame technology; I kept a journal for about seventeen years before it started diluting into a few computers, PDAs, plays (beware, people from my past), and...then the ultimate emotional graveyard, the blog. It even sounds like something you should have cauterized and removed. Nevertheless, I'm a paragraph into the latest one - what you're reading now - and I don't know where this is going to go.

One thing I will tell you (and who are you, by the way?) is that for the first time in years, I'm deliberately not making a huge project plan for the year. There are the inevitable projects - one-act festivals to produce, the annual film festival, revisiting whether or not I want to bring back the musical, and the subsequent nosebleeds. I feel like something big is waiting to happen, like a huge 3 story hand, cocked and ready in "flick" mode and aimed at the back of my head. I've got three or four groundbreaking projects that are sitting in the back of my mind, out of focus and a bit in the shadows, but I don't know which one is going to step forward.

How much longer will I be at Playhouse? How much longer will I be at 21st? Will Warner Bros. come through on their promise to put me in the right place to work and network and eventually run the studio? Will Batman escape the huge cheese grater that Mr. Squeak is lowering ever so slowly?

Boredom is my enemy. Mediocrity is my greatest fear. Chocolate is my friend. We'll find out together through this very blog if I find the answers I'm looking for and...you know what, never mind. I'm quitting this blog. Or not.

The Actor and the Artist

I saw a girl sitting out on the patio of a local restaurant working on a painting of a beautiful woman. She was looking up towards the sky, her beautiful curly blonde hair falling behind her curious expression like an afterthought, all framed in vibrant shades of blue. She only took up the bottom right of the painting, but somehow it felt complete. I watched the girl for maybe twenty minutes - it could have easily been an hour - performing this intimate dance of communication with the painting. She would take a step back, lose herself in the whole image, then step forward, paint a stroke, and then step back again. Every time she took that slow, deliberate step back, a question came to my mind: "What is it that you want to be?" That's what I think she was asking the girl in the painting.

This is a neverending obsession with all painters, writers, sculptors, filmmakers, artists in any medium. Constant revision in search of what the creation wants to be.

This is not true of all actors. You will never see a painter simultaneously work on two paintings. A filmmaker or writer might have multiple projects in the works, but never will they split their focus on simultaneous objects, nor will they slight the moment for want of the bigger and better opportunity. I know what you're thinking; You're thinking that sure, you've seen artists work on two things at the same time. How does that person compare with the deliberate approach another artist takes to one thing at a time? And even so, does an argument for multi-tasking mean that every actor is an artist?

The quick answer is no. I keep running across very talented actors who are not satisfied with working one piece at a time, and I see their efforts diluted. I see them unprepared and waiting for the moment when their talent alone will help them catch up. Their talent alone will get them by. Somehow, this dissatisfaction with the process doesn't sound any alarms when even during a run of a play, they're still catching up when everyone else around them is much farther along. I am told that they're great in the classes. Would that explanation fly at an audition? Maybe. How about during a paying gig? The sad truth is that yes, it will probably be good enough.

And there's the problem. Laziness is rewarded all the time, disguised by that talent that looks unique at first glance. Talent without depth, however, is completely disposable. That's not up to me, though. Maybe these actors know they only need the one gig, and then they'll start working hard to keep the momentum going. Everything until then is foreplay.

Art is only borrowed. It's there for you to form an opinion of it, take something from it, and maybe imitate it. So maybe the question is not whether or not an actor is an artist. Maybe actors are only the paint for the medium, and the whole behind-the-scenes process seek to paint with them. Some actors will always be a sky blue, some will be all shades of blue from Indigo to Teal. The rare actor will show you shades of all colors, and those are the ones who constantly keep working and pushing the medium.

All I can really do with this understanding is to step back as a director and ask "What is it you want to be?" and then see what they do. I know that during the creation of my musical, I watched people a lot and based rewrites on rewarding those who gave me a greater palette and taking songs or lines away from those who barely got by. It becomes a quiet question, whispered as I observe. As a writer and director, I have a right to paint the picture I want and then step back and ask the question. After a certain point, I have to stop asking and go with what I have. That just makes the choice of actors more important at the very start.

And there is that painter, watching me work with actors and carefully studying everything they bring to the stage. To her, they're entertaining and fun to watch, and in my eyes, they are far from where they could be. Sooner or later, both she and I have to walk away from the canvas and look to the next creation. The rest is out of our control, isn't it?