I'm On It

Here's the deal. This is just my opinion, so take it all, or some, or none of it, as you see fit. With every passing month, we hear of another shooting, another mass killing or another way for people to hurt each other. Although these things happen around the world, (albeit with an alarming frequency here in the U.S.), I'll direct my thoughts to us here in the United States. People wring their hands over every mass shooting, and with good reason. A tragedy is never easy to suffer. But, if it's a white guy as the shooter, (and it's usually a white guy), our media trots out the "mental health" discussion, so we don't have to take responsibility for anything. The problem becomes one so much larger than ourselves, there's just no way we can tackle it on a personal level. So, we cluck our tongues and shake our heads and bemoan "those people" who haven't fixed the problem yet. Liberals call for more gun legislation, conservatives wrap thems...

Editor's Note: The following is a post relating to the author's being in a play. This, after moving to another part of the country from New York. There will be more posts  as the show develops. This post can also be found on the Tarol Nation blog. "1-2-3-and!". Flap, flap, flap. "You have lines here." Flap, flap, flap. That sound was me frantically flailing at pages in the script, trying to find where we were. I had been doing that for a while by this point, but the music coming from the piano had been masking it. Now, as the Musical Director was waiting for me to catch up, it became somewhat more apparent to the other fifteen people in the room. I didn't realize that the lines I had rehearsed so diligently came in the middle of a song. As I know now, that's why they are written on a page where everything else is in all caps. Not knowing how to read music is a bit of a hindrance, but certainly not a deal breaker. I do know how to coun...

I've heard it said, and I've even seen it written, that spelling is no longer as important as the message put forth. Using “your” and “you’re” interchangeably doesn't matter. Sprinkling “to”, “too” and “two” throughout said message with nary a care is beneath notice.”There”, “their” and “they’re” can be, and should be used as the writer sees fit, with no more thought expended in their choosing than one would use in choosing a hanky with which to blow one’s nose. In short, those old-time, fuddy-duddy roles no longer matter. Nothing could be further from the truth. While it may seem permissible to shorten the word “you” to “u” or “are” to “r” to save space in your one hundred forty character masterpiece of allegory, the illusion of such use being “ok” is simply that: an illusion. It’s not okay, but one can’t stop progress.  However, in graphics, missives and blocks of text shared with the rest of the populace, spelling is still important. I would venture to...

“Thank you , five.”  This is whispered in a dozen voices. The voices come from dark corners and from behind scrims and curtains. They are the voices of the young actors in Lucky Boy , in response to our stage manager, telling us that we have five minutes until the first note is played by the band. Once that note is struck, the show is on and nothing short of a meteor striking the Robert Moss Theater can stop it. But, for now, it is still yet to be. Three teenaged actors giggle over something on a phone.  Another sits alone, prepping a prop that will be needed at some point in the next two hours. Two Punky Cheer Girls sit on the floor, stretching and shaming those of us in the cast who have absolutely no hope of ever being able to make our legs do that. Costumes are on, most props are set. These last five minutes are usually just for waiting, centering oneself and mentally preparing to be exposed to the criticisms and whims of the audience. But, even that g...

As a dad to two theater kids, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that seeing literally hundreds of rehearsals, dozens of shows and helping to create scenery, programs, etc. makes me an expert. I’ve been in a few productions as well, which only heightens the sense of ennui when the subject of theater comes up. One thing that helps stave off such listlessness is being surrounded by incredibly talented people who have a much broader experience base. When one of those “old pros” is younger than me, it gives me the chance to see the world through their eyes, and a much cooler world it is. Another thing that helps to turbo charge that excitement level is to be in a real, bona fide New York production. Like me. Tonight. Tonight is opening night for “Lucky Boy”, the new rock musical by John Ryerson that debuts at the Robert Moss Theater in NYC. I feel like I’m wrapped in a downed power line, (you can just imagine what that means as far as touching me, coming in contact w...

To some, this day in June is much like any other. That day on the beaches of Normandy was long ago and far away, and the stain long since washed from the sand. The coming summer, the end of school, even National Doughnut Day all hold more importance, more excitement, more pending joy. To some, D-Day means almost nothing. Just another date, another moment in the vast interwoven pattern of bloodshed for the capitalists. Another string in the tapestry that lay across the terrifying world we will leave behind. For some, for those who remember, D-Day was a big deal. While it's importance to history can be debated, and it's effect as a part of Operation Overlord can be shredded and examined, it can't be pushed aside. No matter how many historians say that Stalin was already on his way to defeating the German War machine, there will always be those who say that none of that matters. There will be those who say that D-Day was important. Because they were there. It won't be...

Excitement and loss devastation and heroism defined Infamy and focus, "We're in, we're in!" Destruction and pain on all sides Propaganda and body parts Cartoons and evil defined A tear for the dead and a shout at the hunted "How could they have been so blind?" Lines drawn in the sand A new standard of living to be idealized those removed beneath the notice of men with profits to realize The jungle sings its cruel song The shadows laugh and destroy Technology emboldens but fails to deliver Just the tallest of the toys To each, his need in turn From each his strength in time fine until true natures emerge Push back, push back, must hold the line Corruption held up as the lesser Two evils or three or four The warm and well fed with no reason to see the eyes of revenge at their door The height of hubris beckons "An idea to be changed!", we're sold And the retribution we watched again and again is the reason for it, ...

I read a news report today about a five year old who was arrested, (actually, held in police custody), for bringing a gun to school. The gun was in his backpack, and went off accidentally. No one was hurt, thank goodness. The administration of the school said the boy will be dealt with as per their zero tolerance policy toward weapons in school. The story happened in Tennessee, which happens to have a statute that says children under the age of nine can’t be charged with a crime, so, thankfully, this five year old baby is not going to the slammer. One thing that made this story absurd, (among the many, many things that made this story absurd), were the comments below the story. Things like, “Where were the parents?” and “It’s shameful how people let their kids do whatever they want.” And on and on. The people that commented were very clear in their disdain for the parents of the five year old, going so far as to advocate the removal of the child from their custody. Most interestin...

I saw a graphic today of a biker - tats on both arms, long, ZZ Top beard, shades, do rag, you know, the classic American biker. The graphic had text that read something along the lines of, “I may look strange to you, but I cried when my daughter broke her foot and my mom is proud of me…” and so on. The thrust of the piece was, I guess, “Don’t judge a book by its cover”. A noble sentiment, but I have to ask… Hi, I’m America… have we met? If you have a long beard, are covered with tattoos and look like you will eat souls given half the chance, people are going to think a variety of things about you… and not all of them will be pleasant. Is that right? Is that the way it should be? No. Of course not. But, is it true? Abso-fucking-lutely. (See? I used a curse word. Doesn’t that conjure up a preconception about me?) The way we look, the way we dress and the way we interact with others shapes the way they look at us, feel about us and interact with us. That’s the truth, whether you t...

I was out picking up some stuff, and I wanted a pretzel. I went into the mall and got one, (actually, I got a cup of pretzel bites, but I digress). I paid for my order, and the change was about 85 cents. I was heading into the bookstore not far from the mall when a young man approached me. He asked if I had change for a dollar. Reaching into my pocket, I told him I didn’t think I had a full dollar’s worth.While I was comically drawing forth quarters and nickels I asked him what he needed. He replied that he needed change for the bus. Having retrieved all of the coins I carried, I proceeded to give the handful of money to him. He offered me the dollar. I waved it away, and unceremoniously dropped the coins into his hand. He accepted it gracefully, but his face told me he wasn’t used to accepting such charity. Not wanting to offend him, I turned and said, “Do something nice for someone else today.” A smile broke out on his face. Few things in my life were as dazzling and warm and wo...

My wife and I. We help. We volunteer. We helped a bunch of people do a job today that needed to be done. Not for any grand or glorious purpose. Not because the fate of the world, or our nation, or even our town hung in the balance. Just because some people we hold dear needed a hand. As you might know from reading my irregularly-posted nonsense, my kids belong to a theater troupe. It’s not just any troupe. It’s not a star factory where the talented ones are pushed forward while the average kid is relegated to carrying as spear. It’s the kind of troupe where the shy kid gets a few lines just to give them an excuse to speak in public. Where the little one gets a key line or action to perform, so they and their parents can burst with pride at the end of the show. It’s the kind of troupe where every kid is welcomed, and made to be part of the family. The kind of group that is a non profit, where they rely on parent volunteers to help pull stuff together and make things happen for the ...

You can't have America without freedom, although the last president and the current one have certainly tried to remove as many freedoms as possible. Even though, to me, the Second Amendment means the National Guard, (and it's painfully obvious to me that it doesn't mean you can own a howitzer or a bazooka just because you want one), I have to wonder... why not? Why can't I own a bazooka? What if I want to not just kill a deer, but completely obliviate it, just for kicks? I'm an American. I can do whatever I want, as long as I don't run afoul of any laws or hurt anyone, (whichever is easier to explain away in court). The answer finds me pretty easily. If I wanted to completely obliviate a deer with a bazooka, that would be CRAZY. Hence, I shouldn't own a firearm of any kind, (because I'm fucking insane... just to be clear). There's no reason for me to own an assault rifle, so wanting one brings my sanity into question. Hence, I shouldn't have on...

There is a phenomenon that is unique to humans. I’m sure it has a scientific name or behavioral pigeonhole. I don’t know the official name but I know we see it every day… in the news, in each other. People hate to give things up. The longer an idea or tradition has been entrenched, the more people will grasp at it and claw at you to stop you from trying to change it. Such as it is with the nature of power, social position, or guns. The longer a politician, has been in their job, the harder they will fight to keep it. Often going far beyond their original charge to do so. People will fight to keep “The War on Christmas” from overtaking them, even though all of the trappings of Christmas with the exception of the manger scene are Pagan and Christmas itself was ILLEGAL in the US up until about 150 years ago. Too much Popery, not enough real Bible. So, yeah… Christmas with the founding fathers? Didn’t happen. So too, is our fascination with guns. It goes back to the image of the...

Editor's note - this isn't true - not a word of it. It's just made up to annoy you. Take it as you will. As I was shopping today, I overheard a conversation between two people with whom I shared my table in the Food Court. These two gentlemen agreed with each other whole-heartedly. "A sales clerk had the nerve, the audacity to wish me "Happy Holidays." It's "Merry Christmas" you snot rag! My ancestors didn't come to this country, fight in it's wars, pay its taxes and help to build this great melting pot, only to have some mixed-race teenager, (I thought she was black at first, but I don't know... a lot of cream in that coffee, if you know what I mean), denigrate the Lord's birthday with that secular crap. We have to keep the Christ in Christmas. It's none of your business that I won't be working in a soup kitchen, or helping out at a children's hospital or tending to the poor, or any of that tree-hugging nonse...

Rage. Rage against the dying of the light. It's arguable that Dylan Thomas was talking about death at long last in this poem. But, rage has moved in the modern era from the end result of provocation to the first response. This is bad for us. When one is quick to argue, quick to jump to conclusions or quick to blame, that rage snuffs out joy like two wet fingers on a candle's flame. That rage, that small, petty, I'm-better-than-you rage fills us, blocking out even the possibility for warmth or reconciliation. We must wait to "cool down" before we can even consider such a thing. It is not only our impending mortality that conjures up Fear's ugly little brother. In fact, it would seem that things with much less gravity can ignite the flame of wrath as it bubbles just beneath our surfaces. An extra few seconds- seconds!- waiting in traffic, the failure of another human in living up to our expectations or any opportunity where one of us "gets" to ...

If you want to sell a house, even if it’s your own house, you have to “stage” it. Any real estate agent will tell you that there are so many things you need to do to your house to make it “sellable”. You have to get all of the stuff off the kitchen counters so that the room looks bigger. It’s like the people buying the house don’t realize the massive amount of space you waste by having a fucking toaster. Oh my God! We could have had another child! But, sadly, we just didn’t have the room, what with all the space the fucking toaster takes up! You have to take the pictures down so the potential buyer can imagine the room with their pictures. They can imagine their own pictures on the wall, but they can’t if your pictures are there. It’s too much! “We can imagine a bunch of rectangles on this wall, but… oh crap. There are already rectangles there! We’re screwed! I can’t see anything now. “ Real estate agents come in and tell you to paint this, and fix that and move this, and you think, “G...

It has been a stressful month. Between the people supporting the idea of “Ardor’s Bridge” and the stress of watching our contribution numbers creep too slowly toward our goal, I feel torn. I’m relieved to at least know the outcome. I’m sorry that I couldn’t drive this project home. Here is the letter that I sent out on my social media and email channels today: ~ The “Ardor’s Bridge” campaign is over. We didn’t hit our target goal. No one that pledged a contribution to our kickstarter campaign will be charged. The campaign is done. We didn’t make it. We tried to develop an idea and raise funds to see it through. We raised about 20%. To the 18 people that did contribute, and those who wanted to do so but couldn’t for a variety of reasons, I want to say “Thank You”. Thank you for taking the time to read what this project was about. Thanks for reaching into your own pocket in a time when we all feel the economic pinch. And, thanks for believing that every kid deserves to be part of the dia...

With only a few days to go, I have to admit, I’m getting worried. For the past three weeks, I’ve been trying to raise money for a project. I’ve raised about 10% so far, and that’s not without a bit of spamming and shaming my friends and family. I live in a reasonably stable section of the planet. The amount I’m trying to raise shouldn’t be too big a deal. I have two meetings coming up where I’m hoping to convince some people of the importance of my ideas, but, one never knows how those things will turn out. Perhaps a little background is in order. A few months ago, the local school district where I live hosted a meeting outlining the latest ruling from the state. It was actually bigger than that. A law had been passed, outlining the steps schools had to take to ensure that bullying, discrimination and general assholery would no longer be tolerated among the students. No more shoving the geek in a locker, no more marginalizing the fat kid. The real thrust of it, though, was tolerance. K...

About a hundred years ago, the first all black Boy Scout troop was implemented in New Jersey. While the subsequent decades saw integration in the Scouts in the Northern states, it was almost 50 years before an integrated troop could be found in the Deep South. Racism was a tough nut to crack. Many scout events or jamborees would be broken up, sometimes violently, by the Ku Klux Klan if they so much as sympathized with the idea of black scouts. Black Americans of the day were seen as morally inferior, with many people looking to the Bible to support the righteousness of that position. That was how it was. That was common thinking of the times. At the time, many could not even conceive of a day when it would be wrong to treat a segment of our society in such a way. Fast forward to today, and that time has come. It would be unthinkable for the Boy Scouts to treat a black scout or troop leader in such a way. Speaking purely hypothetically, if the Boy Scouts of America were to go back to th...

TV shows always had a Dad when I was growing up, and he wasn't the bumbling knucklehead that he is on today's TV. When I was a kid, TV Dads were the rock of reason that stepped aside gracefully when their children gushed about movie stars or sports heroes. They were the final word on logic, grace under fire, and knowing the difference between right from wrong. Shows like Father Knows Best, Make Room for Daddy, and even I Love Lucy, (all of which I saw in reruns... I'm not that old that I would have seen them in their first runs), all portrayed the husband and father as the one member of the family to be convinced, consulted and satisfied. TV has always been about advertising and selling products, but somewhere along the way, Madison Avenue saw the writing on the wall. They realized that while the concept of Dad's approval of every household purchase was waning, Mom was still in the trenches, slugging it out at the grocery store, the department store and dealing w...