What I need...

I had a wonderful weekend. I am too busy, however. Here is what I need in my bedroom:



Maybe then I will get the sleep I "should".

Clip of the week...

Celebrating the beginning of autumn, old skool. This is a classic Sesame Street moment:



Fittingly, this autumn I am dealing with the end of several things, and the beginning of others.

How crazy is your state?...

Some folks did a bit of research into how personality traits apply to us americans in different states. Granted, they only sampled 600,000 surveys (which sounds like a lot until you remember that there more than 300 million people in our country--which means about 0.2% of the population was interviewed). But the results, featured in an article in the Wall Street Journal, are still interesting. The findings are ranked a little oddly--they chose to make a low score mean "more", which was a bit of a counterintuitive choice. But they are interesting to read, nonetheless. And they have an interactive graphic! Which means the findings must be true! Order now!

Apparently California is a bit -- but only a bit -- different than I thought it was. According to the keen graphics, Californians are very similar to New Yorkers in extraversion, but are more agreeable. This confirms what I always thought (having lived both ends of the continent): just because someone doesn't maintain your opinion doesn't mean they aren't outgoing. I always found the brashness of New Yorkers preferable to the fake-politicos I ran into all over southern California, but there wasn't a measure of genuinity on this test.

Unless you count "openness", but that one raised the hairs on my neck quite a bit. The definition strongly suggests that "openness" is related to the liberal political bent--but my experience living here is one of persecution. One of my favorite bumper stickers all time is "Liberal: one who believes you should be free to think as they do." But the political discussion is best saved for another blog....

That leaves two traits from the article: "conscientiousness" and "neuroticism" (which means 'one who finds neurotic people hot'). The Californians scored higher on the first--suggesting that all the tree-hugging and recycling might actually be making a difference, which is inspiring. The word "neuroticism" was defined, not as I just wrote, but as "anxiety and stress", which I didn't feel was fair. New York scored WAY high on that one, and California didn't. But here we have people making six figure salaries living in their cars--how is that laid back? Oh, wait--probably they didn't get interviewed by the researchers, what with having no address and all.

In any case, if you are craving a quiet life instead of a loud one, you should probably head to Colorado. Their state score is Extraversion: 28; Agreeableness: 29; Conscientiousness: 15; Neuroticism: 50; Openness: 8. (Wow, that looks like a character profile from some crazy new role playing game.)

Yarrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!...

Today is the 13th annual "Talk Like a Pirate Day"! Fun for all--nothing quite like trying to sell lasers and other electro-optical components to a Russian Ph.D. from Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory with a goofy pirate accent. (Okay, I chickened out and didn't do it with him.) I did do it in the drivethru one year when I was still with Starbucks, and that was definitely a hoot.

Want to have some piratical fun? Go figure out what your pirate name might have been. Here's mine:



Want to have even more fun? Try translating any phrase into piratespeak. This page not only piratizes phrases you enter into the magic box, it will also translate entire web pages, a la AltaVista's old Babel Fish service. Do it with a page from your local newspaper--pretty awesome reading the sports page with pirate accent (even though they didn't have the score from the last Pittsburgh baseball game).

"and I didn't even get a kiss"...

My grandfather on my mother's side was a hysterical man. He was one of those people who may not have had a world-class book-learnin' edumacation, but had common sense to the moon and back. And not only that, but he was incredibly funny. His wit was not rapier sharp, it was laser sharp. Whenever someone said, "I got screwed!" he would always follow it up with "Did you at least get a kiss?"

Have you read the news? I used to work for AIG in the 90's, when I lived in New York. It was the first time in my life I earned stock in a company I worked for. Here's a capture of the stock ticker from this morning:



For those of you who don't read these things, I would like to point out that one year ago, the stock was valued at approximately US$70--today it opened at about two bucks. I apparently would not be well-suited for a career in speculative finance.

If you haven't read the article from the Times, I'll like to call your attention to some things I find interesting (as in the Chinese curse, 'may you live in interesting times'). The Federal Reserve Bank bailed out the financial giant in exchange for nearly an 80% share of the company. Now, then--the Fed gets its money from--who? Oh yeah, me. From the taxes I pay for the activities of a government I don't support. (God, I wish I had the balls for a little Civil Disobedience.)

So, if the crash of AIG stock is the rock, here is the hard place: I am paying the Fed to bail out a company that took my money and lost it. If/when the company gets back in the black, it will be due to an involuntary infusion of my money into the company. And who will make the profit? The Fed. Oh, sure, I am going to see a slight increase (again, that's IF the company pulls out of the dive), but multiply that increase by thousands and thousands of shares, and you will see what the Fed will gain out of it.

Don't get what I'm trying to say? (I am not always clear when I'm ranting.) Go read this article--he's a financial writer, and has put it much more eloqently in his review of the situation. Bottom line is, the Fed stands to make a ton of money off of my tax dollars, and they are under no obligation to return the interest like the banks they "support". Will they thank me? Unlikely. Will I get a kiss? I would bet my AIG stock that I won't.

Clip of the week...

Speaking of Coke (well, I was in my last post), here is the famous Diet Coke + Mentos recreation of the fountain at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. You've probably already seen it (it's one of those "viral" videos that makes the rounds), but just in case:



Have a Coke and a smile. Or at least a smile. Apparently Coke isn't a very nice person, if you believe the conspiracy theorists.

Happy Hump Day, folks.

Genericization? Is that even a word? Hm...

There are a number of brand names that have become so big as to be inducted in our language as actual nouns. You know some of them: we use "escalator" for any sort of lifty-staircase-thingy, "Kleenex" for any brand of facial tissue, and quite a few of us (when I was a kid, anyway) use "Coke" to refer to any ol' flavor or brand of soft drink.

I was curious to find out what some of the others might be. Across the pond, "Hoover" is still used as a verb for vacuuming: "I can't hear you--I'm Hoovering!" But what other things might I be saying in common parlance that belong to someone? If you're curious, here's a list from Wikipedia that might satiate your curiosity.

Now I'm going to go take a couple of asprin and call you on my touch-tone phone in the morning. Not to slap a Band Aid on it or anything.

"...aaaaaaaand Scene"...

It is finished. The Music Man closed yesterday after an incredible five week run, with a whopping total of four previews and twenty-three shows. We got rave reviews, standing audiences, and great feedback about the production. However, as with any production, the closing is bittersweet.

There is a very common phenomenon in the theater world--great sadness settles in after the close of a show. Part of it is a feeling akin to moving to another town. After weeks together with the cast sharing emotions, being in cramped spaces and enduring high stress situations, suddenly they are leaving, and you are leaving. You are not sure when you are going to see the other members of the production again, and that hurts.

The other, deeper part is the leaving behind of someone that you will never see again. In creating a character, you infuse it with substance--real substance you construct primarily on your own. When the show closes, that character is gone forever. It is like losing a child, in many ways. Someone asked the other day, 'what if you did the show again--wouldn't you see that character another time?' My response was that (a) the likelihood of me playing this role ever again is somewhere between incredibly rare and never, and (b) even if I did do it again, it would be a different Harold Hill--sure some elements might be the same, but too many things would be different about me. My life would be in a different chapter, as would the lives of the director and the cast of the new production.

I updated my Facebook status last night to "David is saying goodbye to Professor Harold Hill, and bidding River City, Iowa a very fond adieu." For some reason, the closing of this show has hit me harder than any before. Perhaps it is because, for the first time in nearly 18 months, I don't have a project immediately starting up--hence, no creative process to distract me from the loss. Perhaps it is because I worked so hard personally on this show, doing so much character creation on my own, and infusing so much of myself into it. Perhaps it is because of the nature of the production, the many unique aspects of it, that I will likely not experience again (including getting to work on stage with both my sons).

In any case, it is tough to say goodbye to the world we created. I will miss it.

A very special thank you to all of you who came to the show, and to those of you who sent your support in other ways.

"River City, population 2,212"...

...and it seems like most of them are coming to see me. Tonight is one of the last performances of The Music Man, Meredith Willson's labor of love. The musical is at the Sixth Street Playhouse, and we've been sold out for a few weekends now. You could always come and try to get wait listed in--there are always a couple of seats that cancel at the last second--but if you haven't seen it yet, don't break your neck.

This is just a personal thing--every actor, it seems, is different--but I don't usually get nervous as a stage performer. When I was in the army, an NCO I worked with was fond of reminding us that "you fight how you train". I trust the rehearsal process intrinsically--things the director or choreographer have asked me to do; the practice I have put into the show in rehearsals; the countless time I have spent on my own, running lines in my car while driving and dancing around in my house--if I rehearse it enough, I retain it for performance.

I also have tons of little things I do, as an actor, to prepare for a show. I stretch and warm up physically and vocally for about 45 minutes before every show. I have certain ways of doing things that help me get prepared mentally. I do make up, mic check, get dressed, check my props--you would think I was a professional athlete from the many little routines I do to get ready. Once the music starts, I have a whole other set of routines. I come off stage a certain way, make the transition mentally, physically and emotionally from character to actor, get ready for the next scene, and reverse the process. I am constantly in motion, every particle spinning relentlessly until I get out of costume after a show and leave it all behind for the night. These things usually chase away any sort of butterflies. I trust my brain, body and spirit to make it all happen, based on things I have done and continually do to make my performance a personal achievement.

Tonight, however, ten percent of the house is coming specifically to see me. My parents, my aunt and uncle (coming up 500+ miles to see the show), my boss and his wife and their tenant, friends from work, and friends from other parts of my life all make up a group of about twenty people. On any given night, I wouldn't worry--there are always mistakes, little hiccups in theater. It's what I love about it, and why I prefer it to acting in front of a camera. But having everyone come all at once makes it a little nerve-wracking.

Hope it's a good show.

Observances...

It's been seven years since I used a clock radio to wake me up in the morning. On this date in 2001, I had been back in California only three years. I moved home after having worked on Wall Street for five years, only six blocks from the World Trade Center. I had friends who worked in those buildings, and in the area. I used to walk there for lunch twice a week--falafel or a souvlaki from a wonderful little cart run by a man named Sammy.

My alarm went off at 6:00am PDT on this day in 2001, and the very first thing I heard was a female reporter saying, "...Once again, a second plane has just crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. We will keep you updated as the news progresses...." I turned over to face my wife, who I met in New York City. We had spent a decade of our lives there. We both looked at each other. One of us (I forget who) said, "What?"

Seven years have passed. I don't consider myself to be the type to dwell on things--especially death, which is a long conversation we shall have one day. But it wasn't until about three weeks ago that I realized why I have used my cell phone, an old-school alarm clock with those loud bells, and even a kitchen timer as a means to waking up. I considered using a clock radio to wake me up today as a step in the healing process. I could not bring myself to do it, for fear I would wake up to something terrible.

Instead, I went to a local cemetery with my girlfriend (who is from Long Island, NY), and walked the grounds with a lit candle. I found an American Flag flowing gently in the breeze, dawn backlighting the overcast sky, and took a moment to read the plaque dedicating it to veterans who have sacrificed overseas. Silently I mouthed a prayer to them, to the lost of that day seven years ago, and the lost in the current strife across the Atlantic and elsewhere. I left a page I printed out on the ground in front of the flag, with a single candle burning on top of it. It had four pictures of the World Trade Center on it, two of which were pictures of the plaza at street level--pictures you don't see often, pictures of the area I remember most.

Did I heal? A bit more every year. Maybe 2009 is the year I will be able to use a clock radio again.

Clip of the week...

Do not watch this video.

If you are still squeamish or hurting from seven years ago, skip this post. If you are convinced of the current newsline favoring terrorist attack, skip this post. If you have a unilateral distrust of conspiracy theory, a unilateral faith on our country's governmental system, an unswerving belief in the truthful reporting of our news media, skip this post.

If, however, you have an open mind and an hour and a half to watch something that will get your brain to spin around in your head counterclockwise, make yourself comfortable and watch this:



I am guessing the traffic will be insane, and download times will be ridiculous. It is worth it. It may make you angry. It may make you sick. It will definitely make you think. And that, in my opinion, is never a bad thing.

That sign on the freeway (Part 1 of 4)...

This isn't the exact sign I pass on my morning commute to work--mine has a different image--but the layout and text are the same:



Spark a reaction for you? It certainly did for my eleven year old son. He saw the sign on our way to the theater (sorry for the shameless plug, but only two weeks left!). As we passed it, he grew very concerned and said with a grieving tone in his voice, "That's really sad." Then there was a long pause before he asked, "What is autism?"

We live in a culture of fear. Don't believe me? Turn on the news, or open a periodical. All we see and hear is geared to frighten us--the latest war, the latest criminal activity in our back yard, the latest increase in something scary or decrease in something good. And all stuff we have no control over. What could be more terrifying than an endless litany of life-ending events which pound into our ears and hearts the many tragic, unavoidable, senseless ways we or (preferentially, if you listen to the media) someone we love could suddenly die?

It's even in our e-mail inbox. How many times over the last year alone have you been regaled by some well-meaning associate, friend or family member with a message telling you about the cancer caused by reusing a plastic water bottle? Or the dangers of walking to your car at the mall by yourself? Or the famous I-woke-up-and-those-bastards-stole-my-kidney story? (Watch this if you haven't seen it yet.)

There is so much of this around, it has a name: Scarelore. A subdivision of the definition of "Urban Legend", it looks like this:

"Urban legends are narratives which put our fears and concerns into the form of stories or are tales which we use to confirm the rightness of our world view. As cautionary tales they warn us against engaging in risky behaviors by pointing out what has supposedly happened to others who did what we might be tempted to try. Other legends confirm our belief that it's a big, bad world out there, one awash with crazed killers, lurking terrorists, unscrupulous companies out to make a buck at any cost, and a government that doesn't give a damn." (from Snopes.com, one of the best debunkers on the net.)

Sure, there is a small tagline on the bottom of the billboard that references somewhere you might "learn the signs". But the sign inspires fear and shock to get a reaction out of us: "How sad, Dad. Whatever can we do?!?" Is there no other way to communicate any more? Do we have to perpetuate this in our world, even for (especially for) a cause as good as this one? It makes me sad and frustrated all at the same time.

to be continued...

Clip of the week...

Life has been kicking me in the face for the last two weeks, and blogs I have drafted recently have all been pretty acerbic. So it's probably good that I saw this commercial last night for the first time:



I don't watch a lot of television (very, very little, actually), so I had never seen this one before. Apparently it was first aired during the Superbowl this year (which would have been months ago). But it cracked me up when I needed the laugh.

Things are getting better for me, but I hope your life is better than mine, nonetheless. Happy Hump Day, readers!