NEXT YEAR, THIS YEAR, LOVE IS WHAT WE NEED

And on we go. It's that weird limbo time between Christmas and New Year's, when we all think about the year that has been and speculate on the year that will be. It's never quite the same, and I note that there are no really great films about this time. Plenty of holiday films, not a lot of late December thinking about the specific year that just passed and trying to prognosticate movies. Maybe there are, and I just can't think of them due to the fog that has clouded our collective mind since the virus kicked into high gear and changed the world forever. And ever. 

So here I go, mulling over 2020 and pondering 2021.

In obvious ways, 2020 sucked balls.

I think we all know that, so I won't dwell too much on how awful the pandemic has been, how shocking the murder of George Floyd was, how worrying the economy has been, and how insane our would be dictator has proven himself to be in the events before and after the election.

That's pretty clear. 

There were some positives in the year. Some in spite of events, some because of them. So here are a few things that have made this year bearable, and my life better.

My wife and I have started taking an hour walk every day. Very awesome. We get up early, roam the neighborhood, and usually leave our phones at home. It seems like such a simple act, taking a walk with no distractions. But it is something I haven't done on a consistent basis since I bought my first cell phone long ago in another world. I find the walks make me feel present. Alive. And happy. We greet strangers, notice gardens and decorations and birds. It makes getting up early a joy. I recommend it. 

I've written in this blog more than any other year. For a long stretch of time, I wrote every day. And it's been fantastic. Not the content. Some of what I've written has been nothing much more than stream of consciousness blather. But even blather has merit, has a function. I've always thought that unexpressed thoughts fester in your mind, turn toxic, go rogue. By letting them out, I feel healthier. Happier. more connected to myself and the world. I've also gotten reconnected to old friends through this blog, which has been so nice. And I've exercised my writing muscles. I think you have to write often if you want to write well. 

I wrote a complete screenplay, based on my childhood, which I a quite proud of. It's working title is The Belvedere Jungle, and I think it has legs, as they say. Legs, arms- a whole body. And soul. So hurrah. I also wrote a one act, and have been working on a book for a musical. The Shut Down opened up my writing, both of stories and blogs, and for that, I am grateful. 

I've come to appreciate time spent in person with friends and family. Not that I didn't before. But it's different. After not being able to sit together whenever we want, the rare times we do get to be in the same room with people has a magic to it, an almost sacred feel. And I long for hugs. But even without the hugs, seeing people in person is something I hope I never take for granted again. 

I've taken up cooking. Mostly on the Instant Pot. I bought Lisa one last year, and it has sat on the shelf for the most part. So I decided to start cooking meals for us with it, so that the gift would still give her something. Chili, Mac-and-Cheese with smoke bacon, a Dixie Roast have been some of the things I've made, and for the most part, they've rocked. From the Instant Pot, I've expanded my repetoire to the actual oven and stove. Not everything has turned out well, but I've enjoyed the journey. 

I've called old friends I haven't called in a while. And that has fed my soul. Old friends are the best, because they get you. They speak the same language, share some of your history. Remind you of who you are. 

And I've listened to a lot of music. Of all types. Modern, classical, jazz. I don't really care what genre it is, if something rocks my world, that's that. 

There's been many other good things in this past year of hard times, miracles large and small, unexpected joys and magical moments, but it's almost time to take our walk.

As for next year, I have so many hopes and dreams. I hope we all get vaccinated. I hope we take better care of ourselves and the world we are so lucky to live in. I hope for so much for all of us. 

I love you all.

Here's a song. It's Next Year by Foo Fighters. Enjoy.

MORE PERMANENT OBSTACLES

It's Thanksgiving Eve. And we are home. No road trips or plane rides. No traveling whatsoever. And no one coming here either. It reminds me a bit of being a Thanksgiving orphan in NYC when I was a starving artist, either stuck with working at the restaurant or short on cash to get home to California. Sometimes, Mom would come out and we'd have Thanksgiving in the city with my brother, sister, brother-in-law, and whomever else was in town who couldn't get home. And those were some of the best nights ever. Nothing like a bunch of theatre types crammed into a tiny apartment all day, drinking and smoking and yapping away. My mom would eat it up like candy. And we all loved it. 

It also reminds me of my first Thanksgiving away from home. I had just moved out to NYC, and was working at Triplets Romanian Steakhouse down in Tribeca. I was the new guy, and didn't get a lot of shifts, and money was very tight. In fact, the week of Thanksgiving, I had only one shift. Thanksgiving itself. I asked if I could have it off, but my bosses said no. They were identical triplets, separated at birth but reunited later in life. There was a documentary about them. (For more info, click HERE) One trait they all shared was a lack of empathy for new workers wanting to go home for Thanksgiving. And worse, on the day of Thanksgiving, I showed up ready to work, and they told me the books were light and I could go home if I wanted. Which I did.  I told them I'd be back in two weeks. My car, and old Hyundai Excel, was parked in Jersey. I ran home to my tiny studio, grabbed a few things, headed to Jersey, and drove West. Somewhere in Ohio, I got a speeding ticket. The cop wouldn't let me off with a warning, even after telling him my sad tale. It was raining, and once it was clear I was on the hook for about sixty bucks, I asked as many questions of that cop as I could, just to make him stand in the rain. Petty, I know, but satisfying in a juvenile sort of way. I got home a few days late, but still managed to have some left overs, and of course the turkey sandwiches. I like mine with a lot of mayo, cranberry sauce, and tons of black pepper. That's it. It took me three days to drive from New York to San Jose. The thought of those sandwiches floated in front of me the whole way, all along Interstate 80, from Omaha to Winnemucca and finally over the Sierra Nevada past Reno and home. The sandwiches, and seeing friends and family, was worth it.

Holidays are strange, in how they conjure up the past so effortlessly. Good times and bad occupy the soul on holidays. 

I remember the last Thanksgiving with my mom. She had been told by the doctors that she had about two years of life left in the spring, and we were all trying to figure out how that could be. I often got very high and tried to convince the Moon to intervene on her behalf. It didn't work. So we all gathered at the house, one last time. When I was a kid, we would rotate who hosted Thanksgiving between my mom and her two sisters, Aunt Mary and Aunt Alice. There'd be a ton of food. Aunt Alice always made Aspic, and Aunt Mary made Mince Meat Pie. And Uncle Bruce always said grace. Those were the rules. The rest I don't remember, other than it was awesome. Usually, we'd take a walk after the main meal but before dessert. On that last Thanksgiving, all the aunts and cousins gathered at my mom's house. 

It was great to see everyone. And quite terrible. It made it all very real. 

I had just met Lisa, my wife, and was full of love and joy. But at the same time, misery and sorrow. I was bursting with happiness at meeting the love of my life, and crushed and near insane at the idea of a world without my mom in it.

Like I said, holidays are strange.

Even so, I remember the love at that table, the laughs, the food, the joy in each other. Even though mom was dying, there was joy in being alive. 

I find that holds true to this very day.

We are all not quite where we want to be this Thanksgiving, or with everyone we'd like to be with. Some are separated by miles, some by more permanent obstacles. But even so, we carry a bit of each other with us. In the dishes we make. In the jokes we tell. In the favorites old movies we watch. 

A tradition my wife has that is now law is that we watch the original Miracle on 34th Street Thanksgiving night before we go to sleep. Sort of kicks off the Christmas season with magic and love.

This year, in what might be a new tradition, I'm making a mincemeat pie. In honor of Aunt Mary. And Aunt Alice. And my mom. The Three Ladies of Thanksgiving's Past, who always have a seat at the table.

Here's a song. It's Lyle Lovett's Family Reserve. Enjoy. And eat some pie.

WE CAN DO THIS, BUT WE'VE GOT TO BELIEVE, BE STRONG, AND NEVER GIVE UP

The news this past week have been pretty damn awesome. And pretty damn awful. Two vaccines. A light at the end of the tunnel. But the tunnel is full of danger, and not all of us will make it to the end. Thanksgiving is almost here. But we can't spend it with all the folks we'd like to spend it with. The stock market is up, but so are all of our bills. 

I do think we are near the end. It will be an horrific winter, and people we know will get sick. We ourselves might get sick. Some of us will die. 

And I wish I could sugar coat that. Say that no more deaths will occur that are way too early. That nobody will have long term health problems due to this virus. 

I also wish I could fly.

Maybe I can. But not in the way most people mean when they say they wish they could fly. 

I can fly when I listen to music. When I talk with my friends. When I make my wife laugh at something goofy I've done. When I write something that makes people cry. 

That's a super power, to be sure. 

But we got serious issues going on in the country and we have to remember, it ain't over yet, The Thin Man hasn't sung. 

Put it another way: We still don't tug on Superman's cape, spit into the wind, pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger, and you don't mess around with a global pandemic and pretend it's a hoax or overblown or not wear a mask.

We can do this. 

But it will take all of us. We need to figure out how to function in a divided nation. We need to get another stimulus package passed, immediately. If we have lame duck senators, we have to call them and remind them they are still in office until January, and have a responsibility to their electorate. We have to call our relatives who are freaking out and give them comfort and hope. We have to support local businesses anyway we can. 

We have to stop complaining so much about how Zoom sucks. 

I think we all know how it sucks. 

We need to take more walks in forests and parks. 

We need to listen to more music.

We need to read more books, recite more poetry to strangers, and howl at the moon.

And what the hell happened to the nightly howls? When and why did that stop? 

And what did we replace it with? 

I think, tonight, I'm going to howl again.

For those who have passed. For those who are suffering. For those who are afraid of what's still to come. For those who have lost their jobs. For those who are late on the rent. 

For my friends, family, and neighbors.

For all of us.

We can do this.

And we will.

Here's a song. It's Like a Song by U2.

ON THE ELEVENTH HOUR...

This is a quote from Kurt Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions, about today, which is now called Veteran's Day but was once called Armistice Day.

"All the people of all the nations which had fought in the First World War were silent during the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of Armistice Day, which was the eleventh day of the eleventh month. It was during that minute in nineteen hundred and eighteen, that millions upon millions of human beings stopped butchering one another. I have talked to old men who were on battlefields during that minute. They have told me in one way or another that the sudden silence was the Voice of God."

How amazing. I first read Breakfast of Champions in a long ago world called the 1980s. And that passage hit me like a ton of bricks. The idea of all that carnage coming to an end, leaving people on the battlefield standing in silence, surrounded by the awfulness of that war. The idea of how hope can sometimes break through, after terrible times of sadness and terror, after living in the worst of times, after coming to believe that maybe all hope is indeed lost, if it ever was anything more than an illusion to begin with. 

The idea of saying enough of this. Enough of killing each other over what patch of land flies a particular flag. Enough of division and anger and finding a way to accept the unacceptable as the way things are. 

Enough.

We made it to this day, through almost a year of Covid, through a nasty election, through economic uncertainty, through fear and suspicion and hatred and loss. 

We made it.

The sudden silence has come, and behind it, music. And with music, dancing. And with dancing, joy. 

I know my conservative friends and sad. I know my liberal friends are happy. I know we have more of the pandemic to endure. And more sorrow coming, as that is part of the deal.

But I also know we have all gotten through a hell of a year.

Yes, I know, we still have almost two months to go. 

Still. We crossed the valley. Some of us got the scars to prove it. Some of us didn't make it. Some of us will need a long time to heal.

But we made it. We, the collective we, the human race.

We made it.

Time to try and take what we've gone through and make ourselves better human beings. 

And to love.

Here's a song. It's "Are We Alright Again" by Eels.

MERCURY OUT OF RETROGRADE TOMORROW

I looked it up. Tomorrow, Mercury goes out of retrograde, and moves from Scorpio to Libra. That translates from astrology talk to: Good Times are on the way, Good Vibrations have begun, and the Sun will come out Tomorrow. 

I could feel it in the night. I fell asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness with the TV on to Netflix's new take on Unsolved Mysteries, so my head was full of alien abductions and an unsolved family murder, so my head was full of misery and woe. On top of that, I was, like most of the world, wrapped in anxiety about what might happen tomorrow. Not that I am worried Biden/Harris won't win. I know they will. I am worried about violence in the street. More Trump caravans stirring up more trouble like less sexy versions of Brando's gang in The Wild One, minus the pathos. I'm worried about the Orange One trying to get the military involved. I'm worried people are going to get hurt. I still am. I am certain there will be some blood shed on our streets tomorrow. 

But I am also certain we are going to know we have a new President by sometime late tomorrow night or early Wednesday morning.

I can't explain it, but I feel it in my bones. In my soul. In my stars. 

Yeah. I know. It's magical thinking. And that can get one into trouble. And maybe I'm wrong, and there will be an attempted coup, and we will have to rise up and take democracy back from those who would end our country, and our world, with their wanton ignorance and blatant aggression.

But again, I don't think so. 

We, as a species, are in flux. We are at a crossroads. All of us. And those who sold their soul to the devil for four years in office, or some spiritual equivalent for where they are in their lives, have to pay up. I think, like all deals with the devil, it doesn't work out for them. 

And that is sad. 

I shall weep for those who gnash their teeth, hugging their Trump/Pence flags tightly as they bemoan the loss of what they think is their land but nobody else's. We must be kind to them, yes. But we must not let them slander us, attack us, or steal from us. 

Love is not love if you let those you love act like assholes.

It is time for a new age. For dealing with climate change, and lingering systemic racism, and the virus. For addressing our vast economic inequality problem. To boldly go where no one has gone before. 

So, get out and vote. And cheer. And love.

If you wonder how I got to be the way I am, here are some of those to blame, in no particular order: Jana McCoy, who was the drama teacher at Blackford High; Free Will Astrology and it's creator, Rob Brezny; Duncan Trussell and the Midnight Gospel; Shakespeare; JoAnna Beckson, my Meisner teacher in NYC; The Western Stage and both the 1992 & 1994 productions of East of Eden; Jon Selover; Taft Miller; Pod Save America;  and my very liberal, always encouraging mother.

More influences to follow.

Here is a song. It's Good Vibrations by The Beach Boys. 

THERE WILL BE HALLOWEENS

Thirty years ago tomorrow, I took my first step into Manhattan. Seems like a dream, a long time ago, and yesterday. I had just graduated from San Jose State University, done summer theatre at the Barn Theatre in Michigan, gotten my Equity card, done a show in Japan, and taken a cross country trek from my home state of California to New York. I took the PATH train in from Jersey, and got out at 34th Street. 

It was the most excited and terrified I had ever been up to that moment. 

Ever since seeing the original King Kong on Creature Features when I was five or so, I had this unquenchable thirst to drink in the air of Gotham. I don't know why. Maybe a past life, or my guiding angels, my tribe of spirit guides who I've always relied on. Maybe it was the fact that I was a theatre major, an aspiring actor who wanted to make it on the stage, and NYC was, and still is, the city in America for live theatre. Yes, there are regionals theatres, and tons of good theatre all over the country. But NYC is the one place where you can see a show every day of the year with no repeats, and at least half will not be terrible. 

So off to NYC I went. 

That first night, Halloween 1990, was magic. But it was a coarse magic, wild and unpredictable. My future room mate, a guy I had worked with over the summer, was my tour guide that day. He turned out to not be the best room mate, but I was glad to have him with me that day. He lived in Jersey, and knew the city fairly well. We of course went to the Empire State Building, to see where Kong fell. Then down to Union Square, where we met up with another friend from the summer, a young actress who was in her senior year at NYU and lived in a dorm. The plan was to dump our stuff at her place, roam the city, and then meet up later to go to the Halloween parade. And of course, being in our early 20s, to drink a lot. 

Which we did. 

I remember Blackberry Kamikazees at a joint in the village called Rock Around the Clock. And getting cheap Japanese food at Dojo's on St. Marks. And feeling like I was in a dream or movie or hallucination. I was in NYC! I was leaping into the unknown. Besides a handful of people I had met over the summer, I didn't know a single person who live there. I didn't have a job. I didn't have a ton of money. I didn't have an apartment. 

And I didn't care. I was alive, and doing what I wanted to with my life. 

We drank and wandered all over, a bit tipsy and very ecstatic. It felt like the entire world was my personal Disneyland. The parade was magnificent, strange, and to this day the best I have ever been to. And there were these giant skeleton puppets of blue whales that were truly amazing.

Then we all went back to our friends apartment. And things go funky, a lovers quarrel broke out, and at around 6 in the morning, we were asked to leave. 

Wandering though NYC in the early hours after Halloween is a surreal experience. Felt like I was in a dystopian 1970s movie. I was hung over, tired, and hungry.

And I was alive.

And it was glorious.

There will be more days and nights and mornings like that. There will be new cities, and situations, and parties and parades. 

There will be Halloweens.

And there will be more dreams for all of us to follow.

FIND SOME JOY

It's TEN DEGREES outside. Hath Hell frozen over? I like cold weather. I love it. Snow, icicles, having your breath steam out of your mouth. All awesome. But when it gets down to single digits, I find I prefer staying inside. I'm glad it snowed. I'm glad it might help mitigate the nasty fires. I see all sorts of metaphors for the year 2020, Trump's cold heart, etc. Even so. Enough. Enough of this. 

Enough of seeing the numbers rise and rise of those who have gotten sick, and those who have passed, from this virus. Enough of people closing their minds and hearts to their own best interests. Enough greed, fear, anger, and sorrow. Enough.

We live in this amazing miracle of a world. We have so many wonderful things to experience: love, friendship, music, art, theatre, movies, dancing, laughter, nature, pets, cooking meals, reading books on cold days, finding a parking space, finding a dollar bill in an old pair of jeans, complaining about cold weather. We have all these things, these moments, these experiences, that are free and open and available to all of us. Why spend our time gnashing our teeth, living in fear, worrying about the other person? 

I watched Sixty Minutes last night, because I wanted to see this interview with our current president, see if it was as bad as I have read it was. And it was. The president, the most powerful person in the world, came across as a petulant, insecure, neurotic mess. And this guy has the nuclear codes. And in in charge of the federal government, which is in charge of our nation's response to the virus. And on and on. Then I watched the interview with Pence. He just seems like a yes man. What some would call a KissAss. And a robotic one at that. 

I think Trump and Pence need to take long walks, listen to more music, laugh more, try to tell jokes more, look at the stars and see if they can remember any constellations. Maybe they should take a camping trip together, get some bonding time in. Be human beings. Find some joy. 

They just don't seem to have any joy in their lives. None. And while it is sad, it is also dangerous, given their positions and power to shape the course of current events. 

I have had many people influence my life. And the ones who have had the best and longest effect, who I remember to this day when I need guidance, are the ones who always found the good in this world, the magic, the joy. 

The Love.

I think whomever wins the elections next week needs to find some joy in being alive. In their friends and family. In themselves. They have to remember that in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. They have to publicly hug their children and spouses more. They have to sing loudly and off key at least once a month on live national television. They have to do an improv game with the Cabinet. Write poetry. Put out their top ten album lists. Make a playlist for days their legislation gets stalled in congress. 

They have to bring humanity and humility to the Oval Office. 

And if it gets cold, write long, meandering blogs about life, the universe, and everything.

Here's a song. It's The End by The Beatles. 

THEY SAY THE MEEK SHALL INHERIT

So, in the midst of what sometimes feels like the end of the world, I am directing a production of Little Shop of Horrors at the PACE with my company, Sasquatch Productions. I am the left foot of Sasquatch, and the right foot is my buddy August Stoten. I love having a theatre company. It has been one of the great joys of my life, profession wise. We started out a little over a year ago, and have done three shows so far: The Full Monty; Little Women; and Matilda. Matilda in particular did extremely well- garnering huge crowds, many nominations for awards, and setting our bar very high. We were all set to do Sound of Music in the fall, and then along came Covid.  So we're doing this weird little story of temptation, madness, and doom. 

It's awesome.

I've done this show several times, and I alway dig it. Because it's about those on the edge of society, the poor and oppressed. The damaged and lost. The meek.

My people.

In this production, we have to socially distance the actors from each other, and the audience. There will be masks. It will be different. And I couldn't be happier. Theatre, and art in general, is supposed to be about the world we live in. I suppose some theatre these days can be the equivalent of comfort food, thick and filling and giving momentary bliss that slowly morphs into fat. But I am not interested in that. 

Frankly, I never am. If I want comfort food, I'll make myself some Mac-N-Cheese and revel in the processed goo, and vow after to eat nothing but greens for a week.

But I care more about theatre than I do about my diet. 

So, I'm heading to Skid Row, where Seymour makes a deal with the devil, and Audrey can't find a place that's green. And I'm going to rock out, and explore new terrain, and hopefully share something pertinent to these mad times.

And they are mad. Our president has lost his damn mind, and seems to be holed up somewhere in the White House, tweeting away while watching several TV shows at once. 

But I feel hope. I think there is light at the end of the tunnel. And that light is the election. 

We have had the shit kicked out of us this past year. And it ain't over. But we have had enough. On top of that, we were forced during the lockdown to find out what is important to us. And it ain't money, or burning fossil fuels, or doing better than the folks next door. What's important is living in a world where we can hug each other. Where we can breathe fresh air and marvel and the miracle that is our planet. Where we put down our phones and listen to actual voices in the room.

They say the meek shall inherit. Let's see if that's so.

Here's a song. It's The Meek Shall Inherit for Little Shop of Horrors.

ACKNOWLEDGE THE WRONG BUT SEEK THE RIGHT

It's Friday. End of the week. Time to relax. I remember when that was so. Not now, of course. This is the age of uncertainty. 

I suppose it is always the age of uncertainty, and we just pretend life is eternal and unchanging, but it used to be much easier to pretend. Nowadays, there are constant reminders of the impermanence of it all. Things are bad. We all know it. Covid is very real. Global warming is galloping apace. The powers that be seem to be hell bent on minority rule, with a small clutch of very powerful people dictating policy with only their best interests in mind, to the detriment of the rest of us, and to the world itself.

So I don't want to focus on that today.

I have things to do.

I need to write up a treatment for a new musical I'm working on.

I need to gear up for callbacks for a socially distanced, mask wearing production of Little Shop I'm working on down in Parker. 

I have to tend to my garden, both literally and figuratively.

I am not saying close your eyes and pretend this isn't the most serious time of your life.

It is.

I'm not saying just climb onto your roof top and watch it all burn down.

That way lies madness.

I'm saying acknowledge the wrong but seek the right.

Listen to your favorite music.

Tell someone you love them.

Call an old friend.

Meditate. 

Lose your fear.

Find your courage. 

Love life even when it is harsh.

Love life.

Love.

Live.

Love.

Here's a song. It's All Alone by 1 Giant Leap

WE'RE ALL MANBATS HERE

When I was a kid, the world was crazy. Watergate was in full swing.  The Beatles had broken up. Jimi and Janis and Jim were dead. The Zodiac was on the loose, and the Manson Family still had a few members taking shots at Ford. When they announced we would be pulling out of Viet Nam, I remember a fellow kindergartener saying to me "I can't believe we lost".  He seemed to take it very personally, which seemed odd to me, being all of five year's old and not feeling like anyone, anywhere, was truly invincible. Not on the playground. Not in my family. Not on TV. Not in life. 

And culturally? We were so divided. There were people who still dressed like it was 1955, and those who dressed like Woodstock never ended. The hippies and the hard asses. I liked the hippies because they had better music and didn't seem as angry. Move love, less fear appealed to me. 

There were good things too. The Planet of the Apes movies. Micronauts. Evel Kneivel. Slurpees. And Comic Books. 

I think one of the many things from that time that sort of summed up the state of the world was Manbat. He was this sort of reverse Batman werewolf like character who wasn't evil or good, but messed up and lost. 

I dug him a lot. 

And I think we are all Batpeople now. Struggling to retain our humanity in a world full of contrasts, short of love and tall on anger, not sure if we are doing the right thing, or even what the right thing is. 

But back then, and now, one thing is remains true. We try. We seek answers. We don't often get them, and when we do, lots of times we misinterpret them. But we keep on trying. We have to. What other choice do we have? 

I grew up in a dysfunctional, alcoholic household. Dismay and terror were part of the daily routine. Paired with the state of the world at the time, I had no choice but to be optimistic. It was difficult, and there were plenty of times when I let the dark side take over, when I was more bat than man. But I kept on. 

And I keep on today. I think the world is gone mad. I think people are lost and afraid and angry. I think we are facing the very real possibility of the end of democracy in America. But I keep on. I have to. 

And if I do turn into some from of hybrid bat/human, I will fight for what I think it right. I may get rabies, or have Batman kick the shit out of me, but that's the way it goes. 

As mister Bowie told us, "we can be heroes". 

So let's do that. Let's find the love and hope and possibility of a better world. 

Here's a song. It's Superman's Song by Crash Test Dummies.

CULTURAL EVOLUTION

Okay. I get it. Things suck. And there is no final crappy thing that will mark the end of things sucking. This is life. Things happen. Some good. Some bad. Both will happen in large amounts. Can't control that. Can only control how we respond. How we live. How we treat one another. 

I am choosing as much love and respect as I can. And doing not only the right thing, but the hard thing. Risking oneself for what is right. Speaking out, politely but unsparingly, for what I believe to be true. Well, maybe not so polite. I might tell someone to go to Hell. Or fuck off. Or ask them to pull their head out of their ass. Because a lot is going on right now, and we are all of us, each and every human being, being counted. Where do we stand on: Covid, Global Warming, Science in general, Systemic Racism, Equal Rights, voting rights, education, the Economic Divide, and on and on and on and on and on. 

It's all coming together, it seems. 

It's one of those moments in history when the world is being tested. And we can either rise up to greater glory than ever before, or sink like Atlantis. 

I prefer rise up and flourish. But that's me. 

What I don't feel like doing is giving up. Ever. I don't think I can. I have built into my brain a desire to fight for what's right. I think we all do. Not that we always do the right thing. Far from it. We all have let things slide, given the benefit of doubt to trolls under the bridge who promise us they are up to no mischief. We've all had that moment when we could have said or done things better. And we will no doubt have more. 

But we are living with such gigantic consequences of letting things slide, I firmly believe we will not let that continue. I think of the Velvet Revolution in the former Soviet Union. I think of the American Revolution. I think of the French Underground during WWII. I think of the Underground Railroad. Things have been awful before. And people chose sides. And there were heroes. 

And there are heroes. 

I want the ghosts of Harriet Tubman and RBG to guide us. 

I want us all to have a daily or nightly seance where we call on the spirits of our personal heroes to return to this realm to help us become better at being human beings.

I want every person reading this to get five people they know to vote, and to vote Democratic. 

My words may be jumbled, my paragraphs rambling, my meaning not clear.

But I am clear. I know what I want: Justice. Peace. A Green New Deal. Equal rights for every human being on this planet.  A future for every little kid I see. 

And together, we can make this all happen. 

No more fear. No more madness. No more lies. 

And no more excuses, for ourselves or for those who seem bent on world destruction. 

Let's take that next step of cultural evolution.

I love you all. Here's a song. It's All Is Not Lost by OK GO

EXODUS 8:2

Okay. Can we just all get together on the global warming thing? Shaver Lake, the lake I grew up on every summer as a boy, the lake I swam a mile on, got my certification as a lifeguard, lay on rocks at night, letting their sunbaked warmth keep me toasty in the cool Sierra Nevada evenings, is surrounded by flames. So for me, I have a real place from my life that has been burnt to a crisp. Of course, there's also the fact that is got over 120F in LA the other day, and pylons melted on the pavement. And it got over 130F in Death Valley recently. And on and on and on and on.

But wait. I read something today that made me think maybe, finally, real work will be done on a massive scale and approved by our corrupt system. It was an article in the NY Times, which despite what the Orange One and his followers says, is still a pretty reputable news source, about how global warming is going to start messing with economic markets on a massive scale. 

So greed will get the world moving. Not safety, kindness, a sense of responsibility, love for humanity or nature or animals, or even wanting a world your children can live to an old age in. Just greed. A desire for money. 

What is it with us, as a species? How did we come to value money above all else? How have we been able to ignore the obvious downsides to this aspect of our collective soul throughout our history? I am reminded, yet again, of a line from The Planet of the Apes. It's at the end of the movie, right before Heston sees what's left of the Statue of Liberty. Cornelius is asked by a tied up Doctor Zaius to read from some religious scrolls. Cornelius complies, and reads the following:

“Beware the beast Man, for he is the Devil’s pawn. Alone among God’s primates, he kills for sport or lust or greed. Yea, he will murder his brother to possess his brother’s land. Let him not breed in great numbers, for he will make a desert of his home and yours. Shun him; drive him back into his jungle lair, for he is the harbinger of death.”

It seems like we are making a desert of our home. 

It is time to stop; all this. To either fix this, or go the way of the Dodo. I prefer fixing. And I think we can. I know we can. I firmly believe we are in the greatest period of flux since The Enlightenment. We are being forced to confront the end result of our way of life, of thinking and doing. Oppression, repression, exploitation, and manipulation are up against science, compassion, reason, and love. We have to make a choice. Each of us. We have to get up, and try, and try again. We have to help, both ourselves and each other and the planet we live on. 

We have to wise up. 

Please. 

I love lakes and forests and beaches and trees. I love open fields, going to the movies, concerts at Red Rocks, live theatre, hugs. I can take heart ache and being stupid and arguments about chores. I can't take us killing the planet. I can't. And I won't. I am in this to the end. 

Here's a song. It's Aimee Mann singing Wise Up, with footage from the movie Magnolia. 

FIRE AND ICE AND SMOKE ON THE WATER

Well, life in the Upside Down continues to warp and woof, to mutate on a constant basis, always in surprising ways even when I am certain surprise is no longer possible. For the past few days, the skies of Denver have been this creepy pale dullness that looks like the photos of what the skies of Mars look like. Dead, lifeless, barren and forsaken. This is because a ton of the state is on fire. A ton of the country is on fire. And don't tell me this isn't due to global warming. Don't tell me anything about global warming, unless it's about how we need to change our habits right the fuck now. A bunch of greedy, lost fools have sold our planet for a fistful of dollars, and it sucks. We need to fix it, and that will be painful. Doable, but painful. That, too, sucks. But that's all I really care to discuss on the matter of global warming. At least for this paragraph. 

I was talking about the sky. How strange it has become. How drab and dreary, like that Once Upon a Midnight Poe wrote of. And what really makes that sky so sad is that we all got to see blue skies for a bit, at the beginning of the lockdown. Blue skies, clear streams, birds singing. I dig that. I love that. Earth is this huge love planet, and all we did was pause our so very important business for like a month, and POW! that planet was reviving, recovering, refilling. I want more of that. Less smoke and sorrow, more life and joy. 

Speaking of joy, I'm gearing up to direct a production of Little Shop of Horror. Which fills me with happiness, trepidation, and a desire to create something pertinent to the now. To right now. To a world of masks, protest, fire and ice.

Oh yes. The ice. 

Yesterday, it was in the 90s here in the Mile High City. Today it's in the 30s. That seems a bit severe. A bit unkind. But undeniable. We now live in a world where the temperature can swing over 60 degrees in a day. Where is gets so hot in some cities that traffic pylons melt on the pavement, while not that far away, late summer tomatoes freeze on the vine before they've fully ripened. 

Wow. I'm feeling like I might be veering towards the negative. And I don't want to do that. I don't. We have so much trouble right now. So much heartache. Time for heal. To put out the fires, bundle up the cold, and sing songs of love and laughter for our fellow human beings. 

I am going to try and do just that. I write stories. I direct plays. I teach children. 

And I play you songs like Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple.

Enjoy.

ONE FOR EVERY YARD ON A FOOTBALL FIELD

Every morning,  well, most mornings, I get up and make a French press pot of coffee. While I wait for the water to boil, I heat up a cup from yesterday's pot, let the dog out, and listen to the news while going about the business of wandering around, waking up. I have an Alexa, and while I do this it plays a series of little news snippets from the NY Times; NPR; Fox News, and so on. I think they're trying to be fair and cover all bases by having all these different types of news shows. Today, Fox was really trying to get me excited about the NBA playoffs. And I realized how much I don't really care about them right now. And I started thinking about what has changed for me during this pandemic. What I care about. What excites me. What feels important. And it ain't sports, much as it feels like the powers that be would like them to be. I don't connect normal with professional sports. Or rather, normal as in healthy occupations that I am happy to do for the short span of this life. I think the virus has increased my need and ability to critically think. To parse what people are trying to sell me. Don't get me wrong. I love watching sporting events. Especially baseball. But I find the way most people on TV and radio talk about it is out of touch with reality. There is this strange lionization of sports, like this is what gives our lives meaning, as opposed to it is something we enjoy passing the time with while living our lives. 

Usually, this over exaggeration of the importance of professional sports doesn't bug me. But this morning it did. The only think I find really pertinent about sports these days is how there was a walk out during the recent protests, and that walk out resulted in a lot of arenas being turned into voting centers. That is cool. That actually does have meaning. 

We are still in the midst of a global pandemic. Over a thousand Americans died yesterday. Ten people for every yard on a football field. Imagine them. A thousand people, standing in a line on a football field, from field goal to field goal. 

Now imagine them laying there, dead. 

What I'm trying to say is, I'm tired of people telling me via advertisements and sponsored newscasts what they think I should consider important. Because I don't think they care so much about what is right as they do about making money. 

And money, as Ringo, John, Paul, and George taught us many years ago, can't buy me love. Or more time on this earth. Or joy. 

I would love to go to a ball game. 

I would love more for less people to die every day. 

For more people to take this thing seriously.

For our better angels to finally make an appearance.

Okay. Here's a song. It's the foreshadowed Can't Buy Me Love by The Beatles.

BROTHER BROWN AND GOOFY GREEN

And still, it goes on. I think I've semi-forgotten, or managed to push to the back of my brain, the fact that every day hundreds, often over a thousand, people die of Covid right here in the USA. And world wide, the numbers are even worse. Part of that is probably human nature. We adjust. But I think another large part is the fact that we never see images of what people look like in those ICUs, as they slowly, horrifically die, isolated from their friends and family. I think I've mentioned it before. I'm not sure, as these blogs are written first thing in the morning, as I drink my second cup of coffee after letting the dog out, watering the plants, and all those things you do in the morning. Anyhow, I have seen what it looks like, because a woman I barely knew, one of those Facebook friends you have whose posts you read but whom you've rarely actually conversed with, had it, took a lot of selfies throughout her ordeal. And then she died. She was a mother of three. In her mid-forties. Married. Seemed really nice. The images were awful. Like something from a scary movie. I am very tempted to share those photos, but out of respect for the dead and her family, I don't. 

Maybe I should.

Maybe if more people saw what it looks like to have Covid, it would be real for them. 

Maybe not. 

There is video of that kid in Kenosha killing people, but there are those who have managed to bend reality so that in their minds, it was self defense. That this angry mob, for no reason other than they were savages, had attacked this angel who was out there with his trusty rifle to protect America. 

Maybe images on social media are just a bad way to try and convince anyone of anything. Maybe I need to engage on a more immediate level with people I actually know, right here in Denver, who think everything's great, the virus is over, and all is well in the world.

What seems certain is that we are still in the middle of some seismic, tectonic shift in how we think, live, breathe, interact, move. 

And that when I speak with people, listen, learn, try, write, express, things get better.

And life is short. Absurdly, stupidly short. 

And War of the Gargantuas, a classic Kaiju movie I watched many times  on Creature Features in my formative years, is a tale for our time. Basically, there are two gigantic monsters, who have the ability to destroy entire cities, but also to save us from certain death. They're like this obvious metaphor for our inner demons and angels. We used to call the good one Brother Brown and the bad one Goofy Green. Green is basically got a lot of issues, and enjoy snacking on people and destroying buildings. Brown lives in the mountain and communes with nature. Brown loves Green, but when it becomes clear Green can't change his evil ways, shit gets real.  It's streaming now, and I think, if we all watched it, the world would be better. Or at least distracted for a bit. 

Okay. Here's a song. It's Feelin' Human by D'Haene.

ON THE POTENTIAL OF BEING AN ASSHOLE

Tuesday morning, and the weather changes. Almost chilly. At least for the moment. I pulled out a hoodie for the first time in ages. Feels nice. One of those parts of life I didn't realize I liked so much. Putting a hoodie back on as summer starts to let Fall give us little sneak previews. I have a hunch we are going to need the little things even more in the coming months. Bad moon rising. Well, not bad moon. Bad mojo. Anger and Fear. Lies and Exaggerations. Accusations and Revelations. Not the Book of Revelations, though it does feel like it these days. So pull out those hoodies. Order your favorite tea. Watch that movie that keeps you going. Do whatever it takes, because we are not through the woods. We are in the thick of it. Cases rising in Europe. Unrest across the country. And this election is going to be nasty. Probably violent. And Election Day itself? I can easily imagine little skirmishes all over. Trump cultists insisting on a win, regardless of reality.  We will need to be strong. 

Not that we can't get through this. We will. It is going to be ugly, and there will be more and more difficult conversations. People we love, friends and family, will spout things that sound, and most likely are, insane. Things that will make the Flat Earthers sound almost reasonable by comparison. Things like "there are really less than ten thousands deaths from the virus"; "It's a worldwide conspiracy designed to get rid of Der Fuhrer... I mean the President!"; "Jar Jar was a great character"; and so on. 

It is heartbreaking when people we love act foolishly. When they succumb to fear or greed or vanity. I think most of us assume those close to us will always do the right thing, see the world the way we do, and never break those unspoken bonds of love. But they do. Sadly, the longer I live, the more I see that happen. But, happily, I have also experienced first hand many times where out of troubled times comes love. Where when something that seemed flawed was addressed, those same friends or family who seemed to be in the wrong got it together and adjusted to reality. And of course, I've adjusted to that same reality myself. We all have the potential to be assholes. And we all go there from time to time.

I don't know if we will all make it out of this unscathed. I don't think every asshole will wise up. 

But I do know we all gotta keep on trying. Reaching for the stars, for understanding, and for each others hand. In a socially distant, safe way. To tweak Burr's advice to Hamilton, if we talk more, smile more, things will get better. 

So pull out that hoodie, put on your favorite song, and change the world.

Here's a song. It's Hey Ahab by Elton John & Leon Russell.

MONDAY MORNING QUARTERBACK SAYING GET IT TOGETHER

I told everyone last Monday, and I don't think anybody listened. It's like we are in one of those monster movies where until we figure out the nature of the beast, it will keep on showing up night after night, killing people, wreaking havoc, causing our social roles to break down, until finally the last bunch of people, holed up in a cabin, suddenly figure it out, and some one say "Oh my God. It's us. Don't you see? The monster is us! It's our hatred and pride and greed and vanity, manifested in Gorgo!" The trope Lisa Simpson used at the end of one of the Treehouse of Terror episodes. The one that was a take off on the classic Twilight Zone "To Serve Man". 

I want to say this as clearly as I can. 

Killing people is bad. 

We need to stop this shit. 

If we want law and order, we need to have the laws be equally enforced. If we want order, we need to be orderly. 

And I am sorry if any Trump supporters read this and get offended, truly I am, but the POTUS is acting like a gigantic POS. I don't see him doing anything to help the current situation. Any of the current situation. Social unrest has grown exponentially under his administration. The pandemic has been handled horribly, in every possible way. The economy is like some bizarre magic trick, where the stock market soars while everyone I know is struggling to pay bills. And the environment? That will require a new paragraph.

When the lockdown happened, we were given a brief glimpse at the world without us actively trying to kill it. And it was spiritual, mystic, glorious, and instructive. Skies were clear. Oceans healthy. Animals seemed to appear from some other dimension and roams the world once more. And what did our countries leader do? Get rid of laws regulating air pollution. Try to start drilling in one of the last great preserves in our country. Try, in every way conceivable, to get us back on our planet killing habits. He's like that friend of the recovering alcoholic who keeps trying to get them to drink again. 

I know this might sound crazy to some, but I prefer a clean, healthy planet with happy people who don't shoot each other in the streets or terrorize people based on how they look over an economy that provides more money than can be spent in several lifetimes to a smaller and smaller group of people. 

If that makes me a hippie/communist/socialist/leftist, so be it. When I die, I don't want a ton of money. I want a world that sings joyously, with clean air and happy people. With law, order, peace, love, and understanding, justice, tolerance and harmony.

Here's a song. It's Laura Nyro singing her song And When I Die. 

SEEING AND FEELING AND SEARCHING FOR GLORY

And the beat goes on, the band begins to play, the world spins round, the tide comes in and out. On and on in this relentless motion. Events of late, of this year of madness, continue to do their thing. Another police shooting of a black man. Protests. A massive hurricane. More protests. A young man, encouraged by the rhetoric of our current President, drives to protest and kills two people, then walks past police as others scream "he just shot someone." And in that same week, ten thousand more people die from Covid here in the USA. And the RNC had a bunch of people rant and rave and tell us the Dems are socialists, the virus, the same one that kills an average of a thousand people a day, is over. WTF? And now, articles and pundits tell us that we better not let the shootings in Wisconsin play into the GOP's hands. 

How can that be? How can the blatant shooting of a man in the back seven times at point blank range be a good thing for Trump's chances? How can another shooting and killing if two protesters by a teen aged militia Trump supporter be bad for the Dems? What new madness is this? I would think that this would energize people even more. Under Trump, racial injustice seems to have exploded. Worse, he has shown absolutely no leadership skills. Yet again. Indeed, he seems to fan the flames, infuriating both sides, raising the level of violence and discord. 

The proof is right before our eyes, caught on video after video. What do we see, over and over? Shootings. People screaming. Fires. Anger and grief are running through the streets of our souls, and the President doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems to kind of like it in this perverse "see, I told you so" kind of way, which comes off as wildly inaccurate and shockingly nasty. 

What we need, what we always need, is Love, Truth, and Justice.  And with those will come Peace. 

We have so much to do. All of us. We can't wait for heroes. We have to be heroic. We can't wait for a leader. We have to lead. We have to put our families, our country, our world over our selves. We have to stop killing each other. We have to stop killing the planet. We have to stop deadening our souls. 

We have to grow up. Evolve. Change.

We can and we will. 

If it seems like there is no hope, we will be the hope. If it seems like all the love has evaporated in the heat, we have to be the love. If it seems like the world is blind, deaf, and dumb, we have to be the eyes, ears, and voice that sees and hears the truth and speaks it to the powers that be. 

We must be the glory.

Here's a song. It's a two parter, because it's long. This is the finale from Ken Russell's movie of The Who's Tommy, which I first saw in fourth grade. It's awesome, weird, and I think ultimately uplifting. 

MONDAY IS HERE. DON'T BE SELFISH OR A DUMBASS

Monday morning. Got a good night's sleep. Had a weird dream, but it vaporized as the alarm rang. I remember thinking, as I often do when a dream gets interrupted, that I wanted to finish the dream before waking up. But I awoke, and left that plain of existence. It's back to school time here in Colorado. And of course, like everything else, it's completely different. One of the schools I work at has all these outdoor tents, and a plethora of health checks, safety precautions, and so on. As it should be. I am fine with being safe, and having to do things differently while this virus persists. Seems like the thing to do. I am on the side of doing something to be safer isn't an infringement on my rights, but rather common sense. 

Here's something annoying. I don't like to dwell on the negative, but it is Monday, and if there is ever a time to bitch, it's Monday morning. So here it is. I can't stand the joggers who run down the sidewalk with no mask, no inclination to move to the street when they see they are approaching pedestrians, and who clearly aren't carrying masks. WTF? How can you think that is okay? Is everyone of these obnoxious jogging enthusiasts under the impression that the virus is gone? That it's all over and this is all a plot by the baby eating left? It seems counter intuitive that a person who is obviously into their personal health doesn't want to do everything to keep their bodies healthy. I don't think you can do much jogging if you have Covid. If you are one of those folks who run down the sidewalk, maskless and refusing to move to the side when passing your fellow citizens on the same sidewalk, please make a choice: either be a dumbass, or selfish, but not both. To spell it out: if you opt for being a dumbass and insist on not wearing a mask while huffing, puffing, and sweating in public, don't tread the sidewalk. Stick to the road. If you insist on hogging the sidewalk, never swerving to the side as you pass or push through your fellow Americans, wear a damn mask. If you do both, I am going to start carrying bags of my dog's poop and hurl them at you every chance I can. I know, it might seem extreme, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Ugh. That was negative. Sorry. I think it's better to let those bad vibes out than to keep them inside, where they fester into bad ideas like taking Flat Earthers seriously. 

So, on to positive things. I've taken to watching David Lynch's daily weather reports on YouTube. They are amazing. Quirky, soothing, and there every day. If you want to check then out, go HERE. 

We are all still alive. We have the chance to do something good today. We can be kind. Strong. We can rise up to the challenges of the day, be it a jogger who got you angry, or a prolonged botched reaction and response to the virus, or the corporations who seem intent of making the planet uninhabitable. We can do things large and small, every day. We don't need permission from anyone. We don't need to be given permission to do the right thing. All we need to do is get up, back on our feet, and do the best we can do. 

Ok. Monday is here. School is back in session. The election is coming. Global warming is real. The world is round. Face masks and social distancing work. Being kind is good. Being selfish is counterproductive. Love is the way. The only way. 

Here is a song. It's Fooling Yourself by Styx. Long ago, I would listen to this when things were rough. It's cheese from the 1970s, but good cheese. 

SEPTEMBER'S COMING SOON, AND PINING FOR THE MOON

It's an R.E.M. kind of day. Take a walk, do some gardening, clean the house, and listen to Automatic for the People or Murmur or whatever floats your boat. I opted for Automatic and as Mister Stipe told me he would try not to breathe, I thought of the future, of what will be after all this is done. The fires and the protests and the election and the virus. Who will we be then? What will we have learned? How will it inform our decisions? I hope we listen to scientists more. Love more. Hug more. Appreciate being in a room with a friend more. I hope realize that if we think the virus is a drag, the coming environmental crisis is going to be like ten times worse. I hope we change. Evolve. Grow. That we don't exhume McCarthy. Rather, we channel the spirits of Roosevelt (Teddy or FDR, either will do) and Susan B. Anthony. We need to get our act together. We need to end our addiction to fossil fuels. We need to rethink our entire economic system. We need to grow the fuck up and take care of this beautiful planet. As far as I know, it's the only one we have. 

And if the aliens land, let's make them glad they did. 

I want to sit in a crowded movie theatre.

I want to go to a concert at Red Rocks.

I want to see some theatre in a packed house on opening night, when half the audience are friends and family and everyone goes crazy when the house lights fade.

I want to go to Disneyland. I know, they're corporate jerk offs. I cant' help it. I dig it.

I want this thing to be over. 

And I want everyone to be well. To be healthy and alive. And unafraid.

So I pay attention to what is happening. I walk the neighborhood. I say hello to strangers. I read as many different news sources as I can online. But I really don't need any newspaper or show to tell me things are messed up. The sky is thick with smoke. Everyone looks anxious. And after that brief bit of time during the lockdown when we got to see nature unbridled, I am certain we need to the world to be like that all the time. I have had enough traffic jams, ozone alerts, oil spills, extinctions, ice cap meltings, thank you very much.

I made my way through Automatic, Green, and a bit or Monster. It was sublime. 

Here's a song. It's You Are the Everything by R.E.M., natch. 

GETTING THROUGH THE LONG NIGHT

Remember when the biggest thing everyone on social media was freaking out about was the last season of Game of Thrones? Ah, for those heady days. Seems like another lifetime. And yet, there were hints at things to come in that. A rage against things not turning out the way we envisioned them. A denial of what was happening. A belief that if we just got enough people to jump on board, we could rewrite what had transpired and pretend that the last season didn't happen. Within the story there were foreshadows of things to come as well. An army of darkness marching forth to kill us all. Political intrigue. Betrayals. Indifferent, cruel leaders with extreme lack of sympathy for their people. A world where a few people try to tell the rest that there is trouble brewing, that the Night King was on his way. That we had to prepare. And most people ignoring these unpleasant predictions. Worrying about money and their fair share of it. Worrying about this ephemeral thing called power. 

We watched the scene from episode three this morning on YouTube, the one where Arya takes out the Night King. For me, that was one of the best, most exciting, unexpected moments in the series. And yet it totally fit. Here's this young woman who had been through the worst things imaginable, from watching her father getting his head chopped off to slavery, using all her experiences, to rise up and take out this nasty evil blue dude who seems intent on killing the world. I know some people wanted the classic hero versus hero fight of Jon Snow going one on one with the Night King in an epic sword fight. But not me. I watched Game of Thrones because it didn't follow the tropes, doing the same old thing we've all seen time and time again. I loved having the world saved by a young woman at the last moment. I love hope springing up from unexpected places. I love the forgotten finding strength. I love moments that feel true, not contrived to please what the fans want. Not that there's anything wrong with those kinds of stories. They exists for a reason. They just don't feed my soul. 

Watching that scene again this morning I felt like we are all Arya. We've all seen terrible things these past few months. Months that feel like years. We've seen a strange new threat pop up out of nowhere, in a distant land, grow exponentially. We've seen friends and family laid to waste. As of today, in less than a year, over 175,000 people have died here in America. Worldwide, we are closing in on 800,000. That's more than the population of Denver. On top of that, we live in a country divided, angry, and lost. For months now, protests have raged in city after city over systemic racism. On top of that, the world is on fire. Here in Colorado, the sky is a sickly brown. Everything stinks of smoke and disaster. In California, the size of the fires is greater than the state of Rhode Island.  We are being put to the test in ways we haven't been since World War II. Put bluntly, we have seen some serious shit.

Like Arya, we have to overcome our rage, our woes, and our grief. We have to remember who we are and what's important. We have to let go of the past, find our souls, and in the darkest moment, leap up to strike down hate and ignorance. 

And we will. 

We will speak truth to power. We will not deny what is happening to our world. Covid, global warming, racism, economic inequality- they all have to go. And we are the chosen ones to do this monumental, seemingly insurmountable task. It will take sacrifice. And courage. And hope. And Love. 

But we shall overcome. 

When the Night King grabs us by the throat, and all seems lost, we will find the strength to do what must be done. 

What do we say to the God of Death?

Not today.

Here's the scene I was talking about. 

THE THING WITH FEATHERS WAS ON TV 4 NIGHTS THIS WEEK

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson wrote that long ago, before any of us were around to fret and freak and deal with the world as it now is. Of course, she dealt with the Civil War, life before modern medicine, and never heard the Beatles, so she did know a thing or two about despair. And yet she wrote this beautiful poem.  Because it was true. Because that was how she saw things. Because, even though the world is often run by a bunch of selfish, stupid assholes, there is still the possibility for grace, for joy, for love in a weak and weary world. 

And I felt hope last night, watching Joe Biden give his acceptance speech. I felt joy the last four nights, listening to people with great spirit and conviction speak to our aspirations, to our loss, to our determination. I felt pride in humanity. There is still some goodness in us. All of us. Even the Orange One, I suspect, deep down in that damaged, wounded soul, has the faint glimmer of goodness. 

We have been through the wringer of late. Pain, fear, anger, sorrow. We've had the shit kicked out of us over and over. But we keep getting up, like Chumbawamba. We rise. We do whatever it takes. And we will get through this. We will have to deal with those who see things differently. With those who have listened to the crazy for too long. The Kool Aid drinkers, the Luddites, the Cranky Pants who try to convince themselves and whomever reads their FB posts that Hillary eats babies. 

Bring it on. 

I find too much of this world delightful to give up. Ever. There is sorrow and regret, but there is also love and laughter and music and The Beatles. And The Stones. And Nature. And Theatre. And Art. And Family. And Romance. And Dance. And Stars at night that form half remembered constellations. 

And Hope. 

We have two options. Lay down and fade away, or stand up and dance 'til the dawn. 

I have put on my boogie shoes. 

Let's do this. 

And for the love of God, VOTE!!!!!!!!

Here's a song. It's I Get Knocked Down by Chumbawamba.