Putting in for resupply...

Time to dock the ship. She is in need of repair and refit, and supplies need to be replenished.

There is a wonderful book called The Artist's Way. It is a workbook to help you unblock yourself creatively, and it has been very helpful to me on so many levels. One of the concepts the author describes is the replenishment of the soul--she calls it "Stocking the pond"--in order to have more food and creative energy.

She also presented an exercise in which you draw a spoked wheel, with yourself at the middle. Each spoke represents fun, spirit, etc. and you are supposed to rank your activity on each. Then you connect the dots. The idea is that, when you are done, the thing should look like an even web, and if it does not, you know better what to focus on. Currently mine is quite a mess.

I am going to a retreat facility that also doubles as a B&B. And taking my workbook. And my hopes and dreams and all the chaos of my life. And hopefully leaving the latter there when I return on Monday.

Have a great weekend, readers.

Rock and roll...

...is loud. And that's part of why I like it. Life is loud right now. And that's part of why I like it, too. In the last seven days, some pretty incredible stuff has happened:

One of my best friends in the whole wide world has returned to California. After a series of some-good-but-mostly-suck-ish adventures in the midwest, Jon is back in town. He drove all the way from Missouri (which I envy) and got a flat tire one and a half hours away (which I do not envy). But he is here, he is staying with me until he gets work and a place of his own, and it is grand to catch up. We have already spent countless times reliving the past and laughing our butts off about the present. Good times.

My kids and I have spent some wonderful time together. We have gone to the Russian River to splash around, and take the dog swimming. We have played board games and watched movies and had popcorn and stayed up late. Thing One came to work with me on Tuesday, and I get to see him again tonight. He is getting so mature, and growing so much--he nearly fills out his bed now, and I can still (barely) remember carrying him like a football. Thing Two is growing, too, although his heart was broken Tuesday when his pet rat passed away. (She had a giant tumor and a couple other smaller ones growing in her, so it was for the best.) He is handling it like a trooper, trying to remember the good times, but it is hard. Other than that, he is also growing like crazy and becoming his own person.

Last weekend a show I am directing opened in Santa Rosa. "Wretch Like Me" is a one-man autobiographical show about growing up into and out of Fundamental Evangelical Christianity, something close to my heart and in my own past. It is a very potent story about religion, but even more so about maturing, finding one's own voice, and how the things that often drive us into difficult situations are also the very things that give us the tools to get back out.

This week, I ran auditions for my own creation, a show called "Affairs of Face" (If you are interested, check my theater company's page for more info.) The turnout was pretty small, but the cast is small, and I am going to put some feelers out. There is still hope. And, both of these projects ("Wretch" and "Affairs") will be part of the very first Sonoma County Arts Fringe Festival this autumn. So I am VERY excited about THAT.

In all of this, I have frequently lost sleep due to fretting about things, panicking about things, and drinking waaaaaaaay too much caffeine. I have not always been my cheery self. However, throughout these adventures, my girlfriend Denise has been stalwartly at my side--supporting me, comforting me, encouraging me, giving me strength and love every step of the way. She has helped out with the show, being "on book" and taking notes for us during the rehearsal process. She has taken care of me when I needed it. And even with the busy-ness of it all, we have spent some wonderful times together.

In reflecting about everything that is going on, I really cannot complain. I am doing what I love, with the people I love, and I cannot really ask for much more than that.

Except maybe win the lottery.

Clip of the week...

Twenty years ago? It seems like only yesterday:



A not-too-badly-done video here was made in 2007 as a memorial. It includes this text:

Though all records differ in their statistics, an estimated 5,000 people died. Thousands more were injured. The topic is still a political taboo in mainland China. Any public discussion of it is regarded as inappropriate. As a result of the strong Chinese government censorship, the news media is forbidden to report anything related to the subject unless it takes the Communist Party of China's view. This part of history has disappeared in most Chinese media.

There is a special on PBS called "The Tank Man" that is all about the continuing fallout of this event. If you click here (and I highly recommend you do), you can watch the entire thing online. It is essentially a program about how information is controlled in China, even to this day. It includes some footage of college students being shown photos of Tiananmen who, when asked what they think the photos represent, answered, 'I dunno...a parade?'

Hard to believe that, even now, a Google image search on the US page yields this:



While the Chinese Google image search produces this:



I wish I had a solution for Times Like These.

Time to Character Up...

By Rudyard Kipling:

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

By Anonymous:

IF - you can start the day without caffeine or pep pills,
IF - you can be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
IF - you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
IF - you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,
IF - you can understand when loved ones are too busy to give you time,
IF - you can overlook it when people take things out on you,
IF - when, through no fault of your own, something goes wrong,
IF - you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
IF - you can face the world without lies and deceit,
IF - you can conquer tension without medical help,
IF - you can relax without liquor,
IF - you can sleep without the aid of drugs,

THEN, you are almost as good as your dog or your cat.

Good words.

With heart on sleeve (part 2 of 2)...

(today's post is a continuation of this one...)

Part of me is interested--and always has been, on a deep level--in spiritual growth. I had been feeling parched in that area, and May Day was coming up. Last year, I had heard that the Apple Tree Morris dance team in Sebastopol danced up the dawn on May Day, but I was unable to go. I was resolved to get myself there this year to experience it. So I posted this status on Facebook:

David Yen is getting up before dawn tomorrow to go to the Morris Dance in Sebastopol. Welcome, dawn!

As intimated in yesterday's post, things with "Bob" (his temporary Living Loud alias) were going down hill like a snowball. Here is the next step:

Bob at 6:38pm April 30
In this crazy town ( your old home town ) they're always dancing and shaking their tootsies over something...usually to celebrate the changing cycle of the inner child. All aboard Sufi dancers !! Need a wake-up call ?

When I got back from the dance, I posted:

David Yen danced the Abrams today.

Among other replies, I received these:

Bob at 10:50am May 1
Ah, Jewish dancing !

Bob at 6:41pm May 1
Do you have to have "personal body lubricant' available when doing this dance ? Most activities in Sebastopol call for it...Some venues even check for it at the door !

This was finally too much for me. This was something I was doing for spiritual development, remember, and Bob had taken it from joking about it, to mocking it, to just being downright offensive. I wrote Bob separately--here is the exchange:

[Me] at 12:18am May 2
hey! thanks for thinking of me, and for all the posts on my status, but can you let me be serious from time to time? i know you are just teasing, but still.... {:o\

Bob at 6:28am May 2
Take care little grasshopper. I will leave you alone. You are where I was 15-20 years ago in life. You too will be amused when you get alittle older and look back at what you now take so seriously. I, too, have my serious side but I keep it off the streets.
Much love. Seriously.
[Bob]

Did you see that? A simple request to tone it down a notch, and I was met with condescension. As if I am going to be exactly where he is now in '15-20' years. As if 'what I take seriously' is merely a distraction, some minor little activity that I will look back at when I am older and smile, thinking how silly it all was. Argh. I decided, 'all right--this is no longer worth my time. I will try to salvage what I can of the relationship and let it go.' Here is what transpired next:

[Me] at 9:59am May 2
thank you, sir. i am quite amused quite frequently, actually--it is just hard to tell sometimes on this little phenomenon when one is being silly, and when one wants to share things that matter. it's hard to type wry sarcasm. ;o)

Bob at 6:43pm May 2
My dear David,
Here's a thought to ponder as the evening sky draws over us all : You have 351 friends listed on FB however you're the only one that wrote to me suggesting my teasing you was.shall we say,insensitive ? Moral...You ARE your best friend !
The interesting thing about FB is it's like a dance floor and most people are wallflowers content to read others correspondence. The dark side of FB, I've found,is it can serve as a dairy where you enter thoughts you really do NOT mean to share with anyone.

I try and write funny things, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes silly but ALWAYS with no intent to injure....

Your 'Friends' all adore you...I'm simply the one that says "The emperor has no clothes!"

In re-reading all this, I started to get a little steamed again. But then I realized that Bob, in his tactless, insensitive way, proved my point perfectly. In his almost-apology, he basically says, 'well, it's your fault for posting something real about yourself, not mine for responding with sarcasm, disrespect and condescension.' I agree with the first half. The social networking site has become a place to stay in touch, but not to be real. It is an electronic version of that exchange where a person says to you, 'how are you?' instead of 'hello', and is shocked when you respond with the truth.

I am not that person.

If you don't have the presence of mind to say hello or render a greeting instead of asking me how I am doing, you will receive my attention, my eye contact, and my truthful response. If I post a status of "what's on my mind" (the Facebook lead-in for the status update box), it will be honest and real. I do not allow myself to wear my heart anywhere but on my own sleeve. This has gotten me into heaps of trouble in my life, and I believe it is chief among the reasons why deep friendships often elude me. But it also allows me to sleep with myself at night with the knowledge that I have been honest and open in a world that refutes those qualities, directly and indirectly, on a daily basis. I mean to share everything about myself, and will continue to do so. There are few who can really handle life on an edgy, loud, full-throttle level. I understand this, and don't think less of anyone for it.

I asked one of my best friends, a person who has been there for me for many years and knows more about me than most, for his honest feedback about me. He told me, among other things, that I have a tendency to dwell on the negative--citing, among other things, the divorce, not getting to spend the time with my kids that I would like, and my financial woes. I was a little put off by this, but realized that he is right, I can get stuck on those topics some times. But the bottom line is that, while I don't want to sound like a broken record, I will not change the way I live to make other people comfortable. It is not healthy for me, and it is not healthy for our society. That, perhaps, is the Quixotic truth of my life.

And that is what makes the blog an important place for me. Here, you can read and judge to whatever extent you like, and neither of us is hurt or made uncomfortable by your reaction. Here, I can be honest, and if you don't like it--if you meant to say 'hi' instead of 'how are you?', you can click your way to freedom instantly, without the awkwardness of finding a conversation breaker so you can go back to *your* life.

Thank you for reading.

With Heart on Sleeve (part 1 of 2)...

In my recent self-examination over To Blog Or Not To Blog, I was also undergoing a similar internal debate about Facebook. The Social Networking Site is a strange environment. On the surface, it is a place to stay connected, and reconnect, with friends who are near and not-so-near. But because it is a quick and informal means of doing so, it can be a trap to remain just that: on the surface. With the advent and growing popularity of Twitter, a quick-update service where you can let people know what you are doing at any minute of the day, casual and meaningless social interaction is becoming as pervasive as the flood of casual and meaningless infotainment.

Some people take this stream of social static way too personally. In my experience on MySpace, I found the social current to be incredibly adolescent. A feature on the site encourages users to select their "top friends" for all to see. On more than one occasion I watched in horror as friends of mine had their feelings hurt--by people who were good friends in real life--over a change in their status on that friend's "top 8" list. There was even an incident in which a girl committed suicide after she was treated badly by others on her MySpace account. I could go on and on about the conduct of the people involved in that situation, but instead I will try to remain on my current train of thought.

I have always tried to remain objective on these sites. Nearly everyone I know has had some sort of emotional fallout to deal with as the result of a misinterpreted e-mail or post or comment that someone else made. The fact is, communicating as we do in a fast-paced, spell-checked environment, it is easy to make mistakes in communication. If I can attempt to type "I'd like you for a manager" and it can come out "I've lived yon, from a manger", I can easily hit send and convey a completely wrong message. And that is just talking grammar, spelling and punctuation, without even getting into the entire mess that is inference and implication. Communicating emotions or emotionally via electrons has vast inherent potential for going awry.

There have been times when I have felt hurt, or frustrated, or even downright angry as a result of something someone has posted. And, to be honest, I have done the same--conveyed things in a way that have hurt people who I never intended to hurt. But then I take a step back and think: who is this person? Are they someone who is adept at communicating in this environment? What might they have been going through when they typed this? You have to consider the source, don't you? I have actually written back in some cases, asking for clarification, and in many cases discovered that my interpretation of the message was way off from the intent, and that has been good for the relationship, rather than the bad that would have resulted from assumption.

In a recent 'status update' on Facebook, I posted the following:

David Yen wants to hear from his inked friends in Sonoma County: how was your experience, who was your artist? bonus points if you send a pic. (i don't know what the points are good for, actually--just looking for some feedback.) going to get some work done soon, and the market is *flooded* with artists....

This, to me, seemed rather clear: I was asking for people who had tattoos to tell of their experience, who their artist was, and asking for an image of the work they had done, if they could get one to me. Here are the responses (names have been changed to protect the guilty):

FF1 at 9:20am April 28
I need to know too... I have been pondering the inky art for some time....

FF2 at 9:31am April 28
I got 'inked' in NYC, watch out it is addicting...I am working on my second!

FF3 at 9:42am April 28 via Facebook Mobile
I did mine at [shop] in Petaluma, but it's so small and simple anyone could do it. One of the supervisers in my office got a neat one that winds up her leg. Her artist was [name] in SR [phone number]

Denise at 9:58am April 28
(Heh, I got so excited I initially posted this as my status.) Here's a start: [link] Click photo for [name]. Then click tattoo images. Scroll next. You'll know it when you see it...

Denise at 10:15am April 28
There's more...just sent you an inbox message. Wee!

FF4 at 10:19am April 28
[same name as in FF3's comment] is actually a very talented artist! [FF4's boyfriend] and I get all of our work done by a good friend at [shop], [name]. You can see some of my tattoos in my pictures.

MF1 at 10:19am April 28
[name] at [shop] does the best work I have ever seen!
[full name, address, phone number]

Sadie at 11:23am April 28
Well, if you were in Michigan, I'd tell you to head ot [shop] or [shop]...but you're not. :) I want to see pics when you're done.

FF5 at 11:44am April 28
I had my first one done on the Bowery in NY -- so you should be fine:)

Blenderat 12:22pm April 28
forget the tats and get tires and registration for you bike!

Bob at 12:22pm April 28
David,David,David....What ARE you thinking ?

Sadie at 12:33pm April 28
[Blender]'s right...more cost effective to forget the tats and get your bike up to code than get nailed with a ticket later.

Bob at 1:59pm April 28
[Blender],[Sadie] & [Bob] are ALL on the same page....except I don't think you need a motorcycle either. Middle age crisis ?

FF6 at 2:58pm April 28
Just don't choose any of these:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/picturegalleries/howaboutthat/5230467/No-Regrets-The-Best-Worst-and-Most-Ridiculous-Tattoos-Ever.html

the Ex at 3:08pm April 28
I'm thinking his middle age crisis is going to last two decades, [Bob]. He might as well enjoy it how he sees fit. : )

Bob at 4:30pm April 28
Uh oh ! A can of worms ! Time for this fellow to zip his lip and "exit stage right!"

the Ex at 6:11pm April 28
No worms, silly. An ages old joke.

Bob at 7:16pm April 28
I am silly, true ! No fool like an old fool, eh ?

Denise at 10:29am April 29
Well, David, I'm glad we could all stay on topic for ya. ;) Happy inking.

[Me] at 10:24am May 4
[FF3], denise, [FF4], [MF1]--thanks for the help. [FF6]--thanks for the laughs! i think i need a copy of that book...

So. That's a total of twenty comments, if you count my response at the end. Of those, almost one fourth actually answered the question, at least partially. Of the rest, there was criticism regarding my life choices, and some even started an entire conversation *about* me without *including* me, on my own page.

I was seriously put off by Sadie's comments (especially in light of others she had posted recently), so I sent a message to her, trying to clear things up. She responded that she had no idea what I was talking about, in a way that suggested to me that she was one of those who type without thinking, and after typing forget all about what they said. A "fire from the hip" sort of person--you all know at least one. I was able to let it all go after that exchange.

Bob, on the other hand, only got worse. Part II tomorrow.

Sound 'Assembly'...

Last weekend I went on a personal retreat. You will surely think I'm exaggerating when I say this, but this was the first time I've taken a day off in nearly 18 months. I usually have work, or rehearsal, or kids, or something planned, but instead I carved out a weekend where I could sit and think and clear my head. There is a lot spinning around up there, and (as a friend of mine once said) I wanted to get it dealt with before it knocked something off a shelf and broke it.

Here is (some of) the Merriam-Webster definition of retreat:

1 a (1): an act or process of withdrawing especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable
2: a place of privacy or safety : refuge
3: a period of group withdrawal for prayer, meditation, study, or instruction under a director

Pretty accurate description, no? I had hoped to spend the weekend away somewhere, and had been cruising the internet and travel sites (Travelocity FTW!), but one of the things that has been weighing very heavily on me is my complete lack of finances. So, instead I ended up staying home the entire weekend and working on the house and the yard. I got some plants, and cleaned up all around. I didn't end up working on my goals, or my philosophy or strategy or personal whatever. But I did wind up feeling refreshed and at least a little more grounded.

"Retreat" is also a bugle call in the cavalry. Another bugle call is "Assemble". Here's the word from Merriam-Webster again:

1 : to bring together (as in a particular place or for a particular purpose)
2 : to fit together the parts of

Another good call. I feel ready to get ready now. I know that sounds ridiculous, but after a year and a half of running, it was good to catch my breath and look around at the terrain a bit.

A year and a week...

For those of you who are not familiar with it, there is a Wiccan concept that certain significant events should be played out for a year and a day. This gives a sense of completion, and also allows for a good objective perspective on things. Living Loud is now a year and a week old. In my last post, I let my insecurities show a bit, and asked for feedback from you, my readership. Not many responses (though the two I got were very good), but I have reached my conclusion about this little corner of the web.

After a year's worth of writing (albeit sporadically), I have decided to keep on keepin' on. I never really started out to make Living Loud a place to attract random visitors, and I ain't-a gonna start now. In writing my last rant, the image of sitting in a coffee shop and chatting really stuck with me. That is what this place is for me right now. It will change and grow and be something different a year from now, no doubt--this next year is going to be a year of experimentation for me--but it will stay, as long as I still have the fingers to write.

Thanks for reading and commenting--those comments really do mean a lot, as much as I just claimed I wasn't doing it for the readership spike. Stay tuned for more rants, raves, and ridiculous observations.

In partial defense of the madness that is my life...

Okay, I will start by saying the following:

(a) I am a poor correspondent. I am, in fact, so poor at keeping in touch with others, that I expect to be posthumously decorated by some Agency for Not Staying in Touch with Others when I am interred in this earth.

(b) I am busy. Over busy. Some of this over-busy-ness I select and put upon myself, and therefore my excuse of being over-busy is partially my own fault. (I say partially because every activity I undertake includes the possibility for change, error, and misstep, and therefore also includes the possibility for delay and stress.)

(c) My life is loud. Hence the title.

However, I also find that I get--not flak, per se, but lack of understanding from some of my single friends when I tell them I am buried and cannot hang out. I try to convince them that it isn't because I don't want to spend time with them, that I am just crazed with work and shows, and half my life is spent with my kids. It is the last part that gets barely-restrained eye rolling.

There is a writer named Carolyn Hax who pens an advice column for the Washington Post. Here's one that has been floating around the aether for a while now, but that just recently caught my eye--she has said it better than I could, so I'm just going to wantonly plagiarize.

Dear Carolyn:

Best friend has child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc. Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What'd you do today? Her: Park, play group . . .

Okay. I've done Internet searches, I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day? Please no lists of library, grocery store, dry cleaners . . . I do all those things, too, and I don't do them EVERY DAY. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day and why don't moms have time for a call or e-mail? I work and am away from home nine hours a day (plus a few late work events) and I manage to get it all done. I'm feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy -- not a bad thing at all -- but if so, why won't my friend tell me the truth? Is this a peeing contest ("My life is so much harder than yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with and without kids and all us child-free folks get the same story and have the same questions.

Tacoma, Wash.

Here is her response:

Dear Tacoma: Relax and enjoy. You're funny.

Or you're lying about having friends with kids.

Or you're taking them at their word that they actually have kids, because you haven't personally been in the same room with them.

Internet searches?

I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To claim you want to understand, while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions are that your mom-friends are either lying or competing with you, is disingenuous indeed.

So, since it's validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you get. In list form. When you have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries, questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys, and supplies for even the quickest trips, including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.

It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.

It's constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.

It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends, well-meaning and otherwise. It's resisting constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.

It's doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything -- language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy. Everything.

It's also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this brand of joy, and then, when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, wanted to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a good friend, a good friend wouldn't judge you, complain about you to mutual friends, or marvel how much more productively she uses her time. Either make a sincere effort to understand or keep your snit to yourself.

You can read the full article
here, but I pretty much reprinted all of it above.

Give your friends-who-are-parents a little patience and understanding. They probably would LOVE to spend time with you. They just need time. Like, maybe a decade or so.

Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY...

Well, I must say, with all the craziness going on in life, I had a pretty darn good weekend. (I hear you saying "about time" back there--shush, you.)

Saturday morning, I met with a friend who is writing a very exciting one-man show that he has asked me to direct. It is a challenge, very interesting, and what we in the Theatah call "important". (Meaning I think it is a story that needs to be told.) (Meaning I think people should hear it.) (Meaning I think people are ignorant, I suppose, which means I am judgmental and stuck up.) I am really excited, as I haven't had the chance/opportunity to direct in a long time, and we seem to be working together very well.

After a danish, a cappuccino, and a great discussion (see how artistic I am?), I left to pick up one of my best friends on the entire earth. We grabbed coffee and chatted about the show I'm in, which she saw last weekend. (Two coffee/danish/theater meetings in two hours? Wow, you really are artistic!) The great thing about Sandman's friendship is that she is a rare blend of artistic, opinionated, and honest, so the conversation was really good. I truly, deeply appreciate the comments and support of ALL my friends, but having someone who will tell you when your performance really sucked is a rare and valuable thing.

Afterward, we grabbed some lunch and shot a round at the local mini-golf establishment. Denise was at rehearsal for the show she is doing next, and after she was finished she joined us for another round. I won both games, but the second one only by one stroke. (I believe this was mainly due to the yellow golf ball I was given.) Denise went home, I stopped by the store to get Easter candy for Sunday's basket bacchanalia, and got a few things for the evening before dropping Sandman off at her mom's house (she lives in NYC now, and was in town for a visit). I dropped the candy off at my folks' house and went to the show.

Easter morning, I picked up the boys and we headed up to my parents' house. They have about 2 1/2 acres in the country (Windsor, CA), and it is a wonderful place to spend an Easter. (So wonderful, in fact, that the ex said 'It wouldn't be Easter if they didn't get to go to Grandma's.') We did a basket hunt (indoors) and an egg hunt (outdoors) and then had colored eggs and crudites for lunch. The kids played indoors and out for a few hours, I made a leek-artichoke-au gratin to go with my mom's ham, and we had dinner before coming back home. I went for a brief motorcycle ride (just to the gas station, but it feels so good to ride), then went for a walk with the kids and Denise and my dog and my pipe before tucking the kids in for the night.

Good lord, that was a long post. And a good one. :o)

Opening weekend...

The kids are in bed, my stomach is full, and I am moderately content. I spent yesterday fighting back the front lawn, which had gone waaaaaaaay too long without a shave. How long? My father saw it on Thing 2's birthday and commented 'your neighbors are going to kick you out of the neighborhood.' My dog would run through the grass, and I would lose sight of her. I felt like Allan Quatermain, hacking through some tropical locale with a machete.

Today I played around in the back yard, swept the patio off and set out the outside furniture in a way I thought might be appealing. And I actually sat on one of the chairs with a Sunset magazine (one of my favorite publications in the whole wide world) and dreamt of other things I might do to/with the garden areas whilst sipping my morning coffee. (Yeah, the Manhunter's comment hit home a bit, thank you very much.)

The big news, though, is the show, of course. The Blue Room opened this weekend, and I was pleased with my performance, overall. The show is a real challenge, artcraft-wise. There are two actors playing five characters each in ten scenes (get a math tutor if you need help figuring that out). The play is about how we, as people, are--the things we crave, the way we modify our behavior based on who we're with, and the mistakes we make. I hate to use the word "real", especially in this context, as it is overused and therefore undervalued (like the word "awesome" has become). But the show is especially interesting in that, instead of external obstacles like an antagonist or some time deadline, the barriers these characters face are primarily internal. It makes for quite a challenge, overall.

We opened this weekend opposite a huge commotion in the mainstage theater--there was a benefit with a big name actor doing a one-man show. But we still had reasonably seated houses, and a GREAT audience today. This was a particularly nice surprise, since the Sunday matinees are usually an older, quieter crowd. But for whatever reason--Denise thinks it may be because the show is so real and they have all "been there"--this was the liveliest house we had all weekend. They were ooing and ahing and commenting all throughout--it was fascinating.

I had a wonderful evening with my sons, eating and watching Shrek, which we hadn't seen in so long we forgot all the subplots. (If you have kids, you know the wonderful, refreshing feeling that comes from that--instead of watching the same movies over and over again.) Now I'm going to take a gander at Saving Private Ryan, which just came on, do some laundry during the commercials, and fricken relax.

In the immortal words of the Beatles...

"I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink
I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink
I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink
No,no,no...."

Last night was a rare chance for me to catch more than five hours sleep (that is the current running average for the last ten days). Instead, I woke at 3am to the smell of dog dung in my bedroom. Maggie had exploded, and I had to clean it up. And again at 6am. So. No sleep.

I went to work--stumbling, literally--and left early to get Thing 2 from school. (Tuesday is a half day for teachers and admin to take care of "stuff".) We went home and I made us some lunch while he did homework. It was not until after we had finished lunch and I had taken a 20 minute nap that I realized these were the shoes I wore today:



Yep. They don't match.

Playing catch-up...

So, I checked the ol' archive, and it has not been "several weeks", but over two entire months since last I wrote anything here. How do I catch you up on all that has happened in that time?

Here's a quick summary, then I have to go:

For a time, my ex-wife decided we should split the boys up to help them cope with the things they were going through individually. So instead of having three nights/week to myself, I found myself with one or two. Not much time to get everything done I needed to, but it was for the kids. The schedule has returned to half a week at a time with both boys, and they are doing better now, but the stories from the last two months would fill several blog entries, and I promised I was just going to sum up.

Work has been insane--I went to a trade show for several days, and there have been many days when my boss has been traveling for business and I have had to hold down the proverbial fort.

I have worked on two shows--rehearsing for The Blue Room, a two-actor adult drama, and rehearsed, opened and closed Willy Wonka with my sons as kids/Oompa Loompas. The Blue Room opens next weekend and runs Fri.-Sat. nights and Sunday matinees for the month of April. There has been much behind-the-scenes drama, but that also is fodder for future blogs.

My girlfriend had her birthday, which is two days after our dating anniversary day and three days after Valentine's Day. It is a romantic, wonderful, amazing three days of celebration. My sons' birthdays are both in March--the youngest one's has past already.

My eldest son's ice hockey team went to the NORCAL division playoffs and placed second. This weekend they are going to the state championships in San Diego. If they make the final game, they will play for the state PeeWee B championship on his birthday on Sunday. I told the boys a championship would be an acceptable birthday gift for him. :o) Go Flyers!

My best friend finished fixing, rebuilding, repairing, and repainting my motorcycle, and surprised me with it a couple of weeks ago.

One of my uncles (my father's little brother) passed away this week. Why is dealing with family hardest when it should be best? Marriage, death, reunions...there is so much tension. Oy.

Add to all this the wonderful world of manic depressive disorder and the mood swings I've been experiencing throughout, and you've got a good snapshot of the last twelve weeks of my life. It has been wild.

Thanks to Denise, Blender, and Samantha for prodding me to write again.

More later.

Making the Edges Ragged, (Pt. 2 of 3)…

I often get sick after the close of a show--something about the adrenaline finally slowing down enough, or the emotional drain of closing a show and saying goodbye to all those characters, or maybe just the sheer exhaustion of finalizing a run. But this time, I didn't have time to get sick. Christmas was coming! I did my shopping in and around the show time, and was able to knock out my last minute stuff successfully, and got everything ready for a wonderful Christmas. The boys were with me on Christmas Eve, and my girlfriend Denise and Thing 1 and I went up to my parents' house to help my father fold wonton. (It is a tradition in my family to have wonton soup on Christmas Eve--that old division of labor thing. Mom makes Christmas food, Dad makes it on the Eve.)

On Christmas morning we opened lots of presents, then the boys went to their mom's for the afternoon and opened even more. My parents came over in the morning for the giftwrap genocide, and Denise and I played mahjong with them all afternoon while the boys were away. The boys rejoined us in the evening, and we had a splendid Christmas dinner. Overall, the day was a wonderful success (I thought, anyhoo). There was one more gift I had for them, though.

When Thing 1 and Thing 2 were 6 and 3 years old, respectively, I took them to Disneyland for the first time. I didn’t want to go much earlier—no sense taking a kid to something like that they aren’t even going to remember when they’re that young (in Thing 2’s case). But I didn’t want to wait any longer, either—Thing 1 was at just the right age. We had such an incredible, magical time, that I mentioned (and planned, in my heart of hearts) to go every two years until the kids no longer wanted to hang out with us. We went again two years later, and were slated to go again in 2007, but divorce reared its ugly head, and I had emptied my retirement account just to fix my ex’s van, change careers, and move twice. I wanted more than anything to make it happen this year. I personally had never been during the holidays, and had heard it was a special time there (even more special than usual). I asked my mom if she would like to pitch in on passes in lieu of getting them a big-ticket item for their present, and she agreed. My girlfriend volunteered to cover one night of hotel expenses. The success of SantaLand sealed the deal.

Every year, Starbucks Coffee Company releases a wonderful giftcard holder a part of their holiday promotion. I had picked up two of them. On the day after Christmas, I handed my two sons a beautiful red felt card holder with a 2-day parkhopper pass to Disneyland inside. We left on the following day...

to be continued...

Making the Edges Ragged, (Pt. 1 of 3)…

My show, The SantaLand Diaries, was more successful than we ever dreamed or hoped.

Back in October, I got an IM via Facebook from a friend I had worked with before--in fact, he was the director of this very same show when I did it three years ago. In that production, there were three of us (instead of the single actor as in the original play). He sent me a message that said, ‘I have a crazy idea. Have you checked your e-mail?’ I checked it. In his message, he was proposing that the two of us put the show up--he would direct, I would be the sole actor, and we would co-produce. I told him that I had had the same crazy idea just a couple weeks prior, and suddenly the game was afoot.

We ended up getting a cool space in downtown Santa Rosa through the Arts District. We also got sweet deals on lighting, sound, and help from another director I think the world of for our flats and blacks for the set. We got an amazing hand from an event coordinator here in town, who helped us design the house and set, and build it all, as well as house manage on performance nights.

On top of all that, we suddenly got an e-mail in November from someone in San Francisco who was producing the very same show. It seems this gentleman had produced the show in the city for six years (this was his seventh). It was a tradition, a mainstay, and they sell out every year. Since the venue they were having the show in this season had two stages, he had the crazy idea to get another production running at the same time. Would we be interested in just bringing our show down? He would provide the lights, sound, PR, everything. We negotiated a bit before backing out--the hassle of going down to the city to do a show when both my partner and I were single dads (me permanent, he temporary) in the middle of holiday when we wanted to spend time with our kids was just too much. Also, my partner pointed out that the way things were going, we could probably extend one weekend and make what we would have made in SFO in two weekends, and with much less hassle. We did extend, and we did very well.

As a consequence, however, I did not get to experience quite as much holiday wonder as I had hoped (one of my best friends in the world calls me “Captain Christmas” from November till New Year’s). But the extra weekend made it possible to take my boys to Disneyland, which was my dream for them since June. Unfortunately, it also meant that I was exhausted going in to Christmas...

to be continued...

Happy New Year...

Well, dear readers, another one for the books. As I approached year-end, I realized I had hardly even touched my little corner of the blogsphere in weeks (spheres have corners? wha?). I vowed, as many people vow to lose weight and stop drinking—“right after this last glass of New Year's Eve champagne”--to get back on the horse and write again. After all, I *need* to write, in a way that usually means if I *don't* write, I will end up eating or drinking too much. (See what I did there?)

And here we are, three days late.

I *do* have an excuse: I ran myself ragged, and fell very sick with a flu that is making its rounds here in Northern California. This one is a charmer, starting with a sore throat that just gets worse and worse. The nose starts dripping, the cough kicks in, then the fever and aches and everything. Thankfully, no vomitoriousness with this bug, but still. I spent three days on my back, which for me is saying something.

But, I am back, and will catch you up on the ragged-making events that preceded me breaking my Write-More-On-My-Blog resolution before I could even start it. Rather than post one enormous Tolstoy epic here, I will give it to you in installments. In the meantime, here is my belated New Year’s toast to you—it’s a traditional toast from Canisbay, a small village near John O’Groats in Scotland:

May the best yer've ever seen be the worst yer'll ever see,
May a moose ne'er leave yer girnal' wi' a tear drop in its e'e,
May yer lum keep blithely reekin' until the day yer dee,
And may yer a' be as happy as I'd like yer a' tae be.

(“May the best you've ever seen be the worst you'll ever see,
May a mouse never leave your grain store with a teardrop in its eye,
May your chimney keep happily smoking until the day you die,
And may you all be as happy as I'd like you all to be.”)

Happy New Year, Dearest Readers!

Quoth Mr. Thoreau...

"Unfortunately, many things have been omitted which should have been recorded in our journal; for though we made it a rule to set down all our experiences therein, yet such a resolution is very hard to keep, for the important experiences rarely allow us to remember such obligations, and so indifferent things get recorded, while that is frequently neglected. It is not easy to write in a journal what interests us at any time, because to write it is not what interests us."

From A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, Thursday's entry

Autumnal merriness...

I love the fall. I love the cooling climate, the crisp air, the return of fog. I love the crunch of a fresh apple, the warm spices and comfort foods, and caramel. (Sure, you can get caramel all year round, but there's something about that smoky, burned sugar taste that goes with fall.) I love the twilight and pre-dawn colors of the sky, and in the fall you don't have to get up as early to appreciate them. The turning leaves, the sweaters, the snuggliness of it all...

And of course, Halloween. Today I took the kids and Denise to the Adobe Pumpkin Farm in Petaluma for an afternoon of Fall Wonderfulness. This place is a bit on the crazy side for pumpkin patches--almost a carnival more than a patch. There are two haunted houses, a hay maze, and a corn maze. There were three little barn-buildings-turned-shops, and a coffee shack. There are little booths where you can get snacks (cotton candy, caramel apples, fresh-popped kettle corn, and funnel cakes). There is a "train" ride that tools about the 30-acre farm, as well as a hay ride. There are demonstrations of old farm equipment, still running. There are jump castles, a pyramid of haybales to climb on, and a rock wall, as well as several live performers wandering about.

Oh, yeah--and pumpkins. TONS of pumpkins.

They also have fresh autumnal flowers growing onsite, peppers and olives. (You can even get some fresh, home-pressed olive oil in one of the barn/shop places.) If you are in the area, you should stop by for a visit. The pumpkin prices are pretty high as opposed to getting them at a nearby supermarket, but the experience is more than worth it. And hey--who says you have to buy them there? But you may want to--there were still several you could pick right off the vine. And that is a fun experience.

If you think YOU have a case of the Mondays...

...be grateful you aren't this viper in Taiwan. Apparently some firemen found a poisonous snake that they were keeping in a cage. They also found a mouse, which they thought would make a nice snack for the reptile. Round One:



After nearly thirty minutes of fighting, the foot-long viper "proved unable to land a killer bite", however, and the mouse KILLED IT.



Now THAT, ladies and gents, is (as the kids nowadays might say) some serious shit. I am not sure even how to tag this post. Click either image for the story in last Thursday's Telegraph.

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".