Three Years. This Life.

Hey.

I'll start off with the grim stuff first, because in a lot of ways, year three has been phenomenal (stick with me, there'll be joy and nonsense, I promise).

But the problem is this: the accomplishments, the things I make, the work I do, it's like white noise to me. Doesn't stick. I live with chronic mental illness and for five years now, I haven't done therapy or taken meds.
It leaves me feeling this weird combination of rampant anxiety and blunted depression.

Like my apartment's on fire, and I'm trying to get out, but I'm chained to a dead body.

I panic about death probably fifty times a day, and I'm forever convinced that I haven't done enough, haven't been successful enough. I need to keep working because I'm going to die. I'm going to die.  I am absolutely going to die. Dying without making a mark on this world would be a terrible waste, so says the air raid siren in my brain.

This life has to stop.

I hate it so much.

It's getting harder for me to control it. The lows feel more severe these past six months.

So, I'm taking action. I plan to start seeing a therapist this month. Actively use the therapy to grow, instead of my prior obstinate habits with therapy.  Explore meds if that seems like a viable option.

And I'm hoping that this big step makes the other issues in my life (low self-esteem, body issues, weight, etc) feel less insurmountable and I can finally garner some real change.

Ok. I've said my peace. Let's look at what I've done this year, what I've learned, and goals for year four:

WHAT I'VE DONE

Produced and Performed GHOST ON A STICK  -  Half the year was spent working on this project, and I am overwhelmed by the kind people who helped me make it a reality. It won an award, and I'd love to do an Off-Broadway run of it one day.


Wrote seven new songs - love songs, gifts for donors for GHOST ON A STICK, hobo songs.


Booked a new long term Off-Broadway show - PIGGY NATION: THE MUSICAL is a fervent joy. Probably the silliest thing I do all week. 


Co-Produced, wrote, and acted in a webseries pilot - It's called THE BODY HUNT, and we're looking for potential investors to make a full season.


AND


(this is a bit of a surprise)
(I'm serious)


As of noon, eastern standard time, Friday, January 31st 2014, I am now a member of SAG/AFTRA.

Wanted this for fifteen years. And now, it's a reality. In the eyes of the acting world, I am now seen as a professional.


WHAT I'VE LEARNED

This year was a deep, fanatical current of faith in my creative abilities. So many individuals helped me get these things above. Anything good I've done is through the efforts of a community of wonderful people.

 The modern world is a prison of self, and any efforts made to breach this solotrophism does me a powerful kindness.  I'm taking more steps to help others prosper, to volunteer in this community that's been a blessing to me.


Water does indeed pour out in a miasma of evil like the hotel elevator in THE SHINING when an upstairs neighbor's pipe bursts and destroys your entire bathroom ceiling.


I've gotten old enough to earn a bruise the size of a silver dollar on my palm just from sleeping.


If there's a diner, I'm eating club sandwiches.


I'm still the master at staring contests.




GOALS


1) Produce and perform my one man hobo musical - KING OF THE HOBOS. Sent a submission to FringeNYC, and waiting for word on that. If not, then I'll find a venue to workshop it, and go from there.


2)Continue to give more to my family, my friends, to this city, to my professional colleagues.


3)Exercise twice a week for thirty minutes.


4)Keep taking more career-minded classes, training, etc.


Thanks to the following people:
mi mama   
Jelina Seibert and Dave Seibert  
Jeric Jones and Stephanie Girard 
Bekki Doster 
Mark Kinch
Megan Jeannette Smith
Emily Travis
Glory Kadigan and the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity
All those who helped produce GHOST ON A STICK
Jenna Doolittle
The cast and crew of PIGGY NATION: THE MUSICAL
Tess Suchoff
Bobby Lux  
Kristen Penner
Lorelei Mackenzie  
Abigail Taylor-Sansom
Rockford Sansom
Vicki Oceguera  
Tod Engle 
Karen Lotko
Allison Kueberth

19 scenes. 9 weeks. Go.

Hey.

If I've learned anything in New York City, it's this: nothing ramps up your career like fully committing to produce and write your own work.  Here's why. Regardless of the quality of the project you're making, the universe has a wicked sense of humor. And, as you're in the thick of it, she'll hand you other huge endeavors just to see if you can pull them off as well.

That's just marvelous.

In 2014, here are the crazy artistic gambits I'd like to pull off:

 - workshop and produce my one man hobo musical (KING OF THE HOBOES -new title) and get investors to do an open-ended Equity Off-Broadway run.

- Perform a production of GREATER TUNA.(two actors playing dozens of characters)

- Find sponsorship to produce a full season of a webseries I wrote and produced (THE BODY HUNT)

-Get investors to produce an Off-Broadway run of GHOST ON A STICK.

- And finally, pertaining to the title of this post, write a complicated interactive play cycle based on the Black Plague (THIS GREAT MORTALITY)  They need a full script by March, with tentative plans to produce and perform it in Los Angeles in October.  Two one hour plays happening simultaneously, using just six actors. The lives of the rich and poor in Avignon, France just as the black plague takes hold.

Here we go....

Tonight's Enough - First Draft of New Song

Hey.

By my count, I've got two months to write four first drafts of songs for the hobo musical.
No small feat.

Here's the newest one. It's a PG-13 version of Pretty .  A grown up approach to how a hobo on the road might find small pockets of love. Sad and sweet and all that.

lyrics

first verse
stepping off the boxcar at the edge of town
face dirty and my coveralls a ruddy brown
heading to the barber college
for a shave and a shine
looking fine
dressing up in my cleaner working clothes
skip the brothel cuz a gentle heart always knows
theres a lover out there waiting
for a little time

chorus
tonights enough if you just start living
put your worries away
let your senses play
tonights enough for a prince or a beggar
in the quickening dark
hold your breath see a spark
tonights enough to be loved by another love

second verse
see you staring bear a grin and you look away
i tell a joke have a smoke listen as you say
never seen a stranger take an interest
in this little plain jane
wild as rain
were holding hands aint it grand
whisper in your ear
you turn to kiss and its bliss
crickets stop and cheer
rising up you lead me onward
to a quiet room

chorus

bridge
only together for an evening
sunrise and ill soon be on my way
still were delighting in the evening
in the shadows face to face well find
we are beautiful

third verse
see a sliver of the sun through the windowpane
i smell your hair and prepare listen for a train
getting dressed i watch you sleeping
shut the door behind
feel my heart unwind
tell myself this is living as im getting by
in another days time she wont even cry
after all she could do much better
than a bo like me

chorus

Mulligan Stew - First Draft of New Song

Hey.

This new song for the musical is super silly, but sweet.

In the hobo musical, Gilly is singing it to a puppet named Mortimer Montgomery (who's the stereotypical hobo, sooty-faced, bindle-wearing, etc)  Mortimer just spent the prior scene showing off all of the misconceptions about hobo culture and giving out bad advice in general.  Gilly uses this song to gently set him straight about what it means to be a hobo.

Here we go!

LYRICS

first verse

in the jungle evening descending
stirring up the embers intending
to brew
mul mulligan stew
get a can some water for boiling
bos will soon appear ripe for toiling
its true
mul mulligan stew
tween me and you
mul mulligan stew

chorus
meal of the moment
to stave off the torment
of life on the rails
its no other
sipping and smiling
with strangers beguiling
whove lived through the worst
sister brother

second verse

if youve got a carrot then share it
pinch of salt and bread go and tear it
to chew
with mulligan stew
pepper and potatoes for flavor
chicken in the mix breathe and savor
the hue
mul mulligan stew

chorus

third verse

staring at the moon washing dishes
only thing we own stock in wishes
we few
tasted mulligan stew
when a bo can give what theyre keeping
have it all combined see the reaping
ensue
thats mulligan stew
tween me and you
mul mulligan stew

chorus

mul mulligan stew

King of the Hoboes - first draft of a new song

Hey.

At the heart of it, an artist is an obsessive.

Some people can parse and place aside an idea or emotion, get to enjoying the flittering now. Find lovers, cultivate caring and mutually healthy relationships. Eke out contentment and be satisfied.

But an artist, their knuckles torn, their breath ragged, they grab onto these small ideas.  Revisit them again and again. Edit a poem sixty times. Sing seven seconds of a new song they're writing on a loop just to themselves for hours in a dank apartment, matted with mold from a broken ceiling and a burst pipe from the room upstairs. Switch up the tone, the lift of a word, auditioning a synonym.

The mold is scrubbed, the paint dries. It's acrid and it burns in the folds of the throat. Still singing, still alone. Coming to the moment where the song finally makes the musical concrete and active. Not a gimmick. But a honest elegy about losing not just a mentor and father figure, but a culture. A subset of society now bandied about in modern association as a joke.

This is a venerable sickness.

Here's the rough draft of the song.

lyrics

first verse
barefoot and twenty
not a nickel to my name
chicago winter out for blood
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
crying in a jungle
from the dark he called me close
asked me for my story
lent an ear
king of the hoboes
good ole james how

chorus
god he was clever
he was so damn clever
when i begged for change he shook his head
took off the boot he wore and gave them to me
with a smile and a piece of bread

second verse
at the hobo college
where i learned to read and write
james saw the hope i once forgot
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
saw us bos as people
this forgotten little tribe
travelled round the country
spreading joy
king of the hoboes
good ole james how

chorus
god he was simple
he was so damn simple
left a half a million to be free
the way he saw it
werent no point in having riches
coming by so easily

third verse
five days ago
in the middle of the night
he caught the westbound made his peace
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
lord you never made another man so loving kind
and now hes gone his body free
king of the hoboes
good ole james how

chorus
theyve got a service taking place this evening
volunteered to speak they want me mum
dont want your kind around
youre a blemish on his nature
just another filthy bum

fourth verse
and here im singing
bout a man who shaped the world
but you didnt know him
not one bit
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
all you are is hungry
no kinship in your eyes
getting by on getting yours alone
king of the hoboes
good ole james how

chorus
oh god im foolish
see im so damn foolish
trying to keep the culture still alive
if theres someone out there who will share our story
see the hobo spirit thrive

fifth verse
well ive got nothing
but this weathered old guitar
and a homely face to tell my tale
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
all of us have moments
we can ease each others pain
shoulder up the wounded
sing and grin
king of the hoboes
good ole james how

chorus
god he was clever
he was so damn clever
when i begged for change he shook his head
took off the boots he wore and gave them to me
with a smile and a piece of bread

The Mayor of Inwood- song for a three legged poodle

Hey.

Here's a song for a dear friend of mine:

That's my brother, his wife, and their two dogs: Sissy and Peter.  From the day I moved to New York City until they they day they moved west, Peter was a delight.  Full of warmth and joy. Did my heart a kindness when I needed it the most.

Peter has such spark and vitality, even with his disability. Ended up nicknaming him "The Mayor of Inwood", in honor of the neighborhood where my brother and I lived.  And, through my brother's family, I really opened myself up for the first time to revel in and foster pride in a community.

Inwood's not an easy neighborhood to love.  It's out of the way and a mix of economic diversity. Organic restaurants coupled with greasy spoon diners. A sprawling little forest, a Dutch farmhouse overlooking a busy city street. Gentrification's getting its hooks into the locale, but for now, it's got a quirky, earnest charm.

Here's a love letter to this stretch of land.

lyrics

first verse

first day that i came to town
i was a broken down mess
only dress a frown
didn't even have a guess to address the noun
holding up my worry
peter saw i was ill at ease
with a smile and a wag
he was fit to please
led me all around the city
with a happy little wheeze
what a public servant

prechorus
staying alive on this island
surely
isnt a spectator sport
keeping wise
creative ties will guide you
tether your fear to a port

chorus
i miss the mayor of inwood
three legged poodle
his heart could soothe my soul
i miss the mayor of inwood
city changes
love does a dreamer good

second verse
peter plays with the deputy
shes a pretty little mix
shes a jack a bee
see her sigh at peters tricks
shes a prissy little sissy
theyre a good team
took em down to homers run
in the middle of the forest
where the dogs have fun
peter picks a little fight
that he never would have won
with a great dane

prechorus II
peter and sissy
have the tools i covet
style  bravado
done right
steady grace
the will to chase with a fast pace
whims of the world with delight

CHORUS

third verse
been a year since they moved away
california bound hounds
and im sad to say
that the neighborhoods heart fell apart
in a rough way
plain and simple
still at night when i close my eyes
i hear that old familiar whine and those eager cries
from a mayor whose term was a great surprise
thank you peter

prechorus
staying alive on this island
surely
isnt a spectator sport
keeping wise
creative ties will guide you
tether your fear to a port

CHORUS

The Wooden Tie - One Year Later -

Hey.

There's a wooden tie hanging on my wall.

Here's the story.

My father held at least forty-seven jobs in his lifetime, never really picking up roots in one particular career.

A month ago, I was checking my email, and noticed that he mailed me some of his writing projects about nine years ago.  Called the email "Just Some Junk To Read", in his true self-deprecating way. I remember reading and discussing his autobiographical accounts. Just didn't realize I still had the copies.

Here's a summation, in his own words, of the the work which shaped him:

1. Helping my grandfather milk cows  (age 8)
2. Moving lawns for a real estate salesman (12)
3. Started own business selling bags of candy (age 13)
4. Sorting old pennies (14)
5. Running the gas station and the sporting goods counter at the Buckhorn Lodge (age 14)
6. Running a switchboard for an old folks home (age 15)
7. Printers Apprentice  (age 15)
8. Making Donuts (age 16)
9. Started window washing business (age 17)
10. Dishwasher for a Chinese Restaurant (age 17)
11. Houseman for Del Monte Lodge at Pebble beach (18)
12. Window washer for Holiday Inn in Carmel (age 18)
13. Waiter for a Restaurant on the Wharf in Monterey (age 19)
14. Gas station attendant in Cupertino (age 20)
15. US Navy (age 20) He served stateside for two years.
16. Short order cook at EM club (age 21)
17. Gas station attendant in Monterey (age 24)
18. Store clerk for Proximity Devices (age 26)
19. Expediter for Schlage lock (age 26)
20. Warehouse supervisor for Atari (age 27) This was right when the Atari 2600 (called the VCS until 1982) came out.
21. Warehouse Manager for Atari (age 28) I was born this year.
22. Distribution Manager for Warner Brothers (age 29) Atari had been sold to Warner Brothers in 1976, so this was a lateral move.
23. Started own wood working business (age 29)
24. Shipping supervisor HH Robertson (age 30)
25. Material control Supervisor HH Robertson (age 31) Sister born this year.
26. Computer Supervisor for Gallo Warehouse (age 32)
27. Delivered Chronicle newspaper (age 32)
28. Sold at flea markets (age 33) Brother born this year.
29. Janitor and floor man (age 34)
30. Delivered newspapers (age 35)
31. Assembled bulk candy machines and placed them (age 36)
32. Contract Focus programmer for a risk management company (age 38)
33. Sold at flea markets (age 38)
34. Contract Focus programmer for Martin Construction (age 38)
35. Delivered newspapers (age 38)
36. Team lead programmer at Quantel Business Systems (age 39)
37. Warehouse man for Modesto School District (age 40)
38. Delivered newspapers (age 41)
39. Started used bike business at home (age 42)
40. Sold at flea markets (age 43)
41. Started a store front for used bike business (age 44)
42. Contract Focus programmer for UCSF (age 46)
43. Contract Focus programmer for Charles Schwab (age 48)
44. Contract Focus programmer for Coke in Atlanta (age 50)
45. Contract Focus programmer for Clorox in Oakland (age 50)
46. Started Ebay business (age 51)
47. Crystal programmer for Yosemite Farm Credit (age 52)

 

 On one of his programming jobs, a middle manager ordered my father to dress more formally.

In response, my father headed to the garage. He loved his woodworking time. As a boy, I'd creep into his space, lie flat on the matted clothes which soaked up the floor, and quietly watch him work.

He made several dozen wooden ties over the next few weeks. Wore them to work until management gave up and let him dress as he pleased.

He tried to sell them (along with other handicrafts) when money was tight, but they were just too pretty and weird for anyone to purchase in the flea markets we attended, wedged in between the live chickens and the bootleg VHS tape salesmen.

The weekend after my father died, my brother and sister traveled to Oregon.  Found a cache of the ties tucked in a shed, forgotten by time.

And, a few weeks later, at his rehearsal dinner, my brother offered them as wedding gifts.

Look at them.

There's a precision and a clean, simple beauty to these. He always made things so well, with his two hands.

I look at it constantly. Swinging softly on a hook.  This talisman.

Gonna log off and listen to "Cosmic Love" forty times in a row.

Just like last year.

Love you, Dad.