Everybody's a Time Lord

My habits have changed. My taste in movies. Music. TV shows. How I sleep. How I drive. How I function as a human being. How I consider humanity, my own and everyone else's. My perception of time has warped and woofed. I am my own TARDIS. I am a Time Lord. 

Last night, I got to the end of the first season of the current run of Doctor Who. The one that started in 2005. It is a rather awesome show, part action Sci-Fi, part comedy, part drama. Quirky. Strange. Thought provoking. The main character, the Doctor, has this thing that happens now and again. She, or He, regenerates their body. Completely. New body, new personality, new everything.

I can relate to that.

I think we all can. Doesn't it feel like a new world we are living in? Doesn't a year ago seem like some alternate reality that we were a part of but is now as hazy as a vivid dream- we remember most of it, and know we were there, but the person in that dream is not us. 

We have metamorphosed. Evolved. Taken on a new form.

This can be scary, or exciting. I opt for exciting. A new adventure for us to take. 

So, on that road we go. I am directing three shows right now. In order of performances, they are: Matilda; Gleeful, and Little Shop of Horrors. I think they will all be quite the experience. I think the first time we all get to be in a theatre, knowing that the virus is contained, that herd immunity is imminent, and that everyone has gotten vaccinated will be an insanely glorious, fantastic ride. I can't wait.

For those of you thinking of not getting the shot, I have one question.

Are you fucking crazy?

The world is round. The virus is real. And Doctor Who is an amazing show.

This are incontrovertible facts. So do the right thing and get your shot or shots.

And if you are near Colorado, come see my shows.

Beyond the shows, I'm writing, teaching, living. I have not idea what will happen in the coming year. But I'm ready for it. I'm ready for ups and downs and inbetweens. For unexpected phone calls. Alien contact. Break throughs of all sorts- political, scientific, artistic. 

One thing this past year confirmed to me. Life is quite unpredictable. Sometimes deliciously so. Sometimes sadly so. But it does keep moving. We are all so lucky to be alive.

Rejoice. Revel. Rebirth yourself into your new form. Take a walk. Sing a song. Dance a dance. Recite poetry to strangers. Cook something you've never heard of and eat it voraciously. Try to communicate through ESP with your pets. Donate to a worthy cause. Donate to an unworthy cause. Go out and blow some money on something ridiculous. Take up gardening. If you already garden, tear up some or all of your current garden and create something new. 

I am feeling groovy. Spread the love. 

Here's a song. It's Everybody's Everything by Santana. Blast it and dance in the kitchen please.

RUNNING WITH THE DEVIL

So right now I am rehearsing, in various capacities, a couple of shows. It is hard, with social distancing and masks and all that. But not impossible. Nothing much seems impossible, really. Immortality. Talking sense to Trump supporters. Incontrovertible proof of Bigfoot. But other than those, most things are in the realm of doable, with a little work. And I feel like these times make the need to do things that might seem difficult greater. Like somehow, by doing what is hard, we get a sense of light at the end of the tunnel and all that.

So here I am, directing an original musical with a bunch of high schoolers up in Conifer, at a theatre called StageDoor, a place I love and have been directing shows at for several years now. We were in the middle of one of my all time favs, Sweeney Todd, when the shut down hit. That was a drag, because it was going to be an amazing show. I still hope to one day get the band back together and do the damn thing, lock, stock, and barrel. But I digress. We were rehearsing last night, going over music and dances and scenes, like one does at rehearsals, and everyone seemed a little lackluster, a little not-into-it as much as they should be. So I got them all up and out and we ran around the building complex the theatre is in. This was at night up in the mountains, and it was cold. But it felt right. I ran with them, which also felt right. I didn't think it would tire me out as much as it did, but even so, it was awesome. Sometimes, you have to mix things up, take a step back and examine the world, and then run with a bunch of fellow human beings.

It reminded me that we are all here, now, and in need of being present. I know that I can sort of drift along sometimes, sort of here and sort of not. And I don't like that feeling. In fact, I think it sucks eggs. 

What was really cool about the run was how everyone seemed energized and awake and everyone was conversing and laughing and breathing hard. Friggin' awesome. I think if I hadn't run with them, it would have not been as fun, for them or me. For them, the joy of seeing me huff and puff was probably a good thing. And for me, seeing them all laughing and enjoying being in the moment was priceless.

So yay me. Sometimes, I don't suck.

I hope when we get to performances that we can have something like a real audience. And be able to stand more than six feet from one another. 

Wow. Just realized that the prescribed distance we are all asked to stay apart from each other is the same distance we usually bury our dead at. Kind of creepy.

Still, the show will be monumental, and I think we will all have more than a few good cries when we do it. Because it will be a huge affirmation of life going on, of not letting things get us down, of proving ourselves and each other that we could indeed make it through the duration, taking care of ourselves and our loved ones, and still make some art.

Yeah, it has been rough. Be we go on. We write shows and tell jokes and run through the night with glee.

Here's a song. It's Van Halen's Running with the Devil. Enjoy.

A FINE MARCH HARE MADNESS

I was once the March Hare. I had tea parties with my brother, the Mad Hatter. This is my month. Truly the month for Madness. Just ask the NCAA. I get my second vaccine shot this month. I get to rehearse two shows and do some pre-production for a show that is coming back online after being banished by COVID. And I get to watch the finale of WandaVision. 

Life is good.

Yes, it is also all too short, at times confusing, full of sorrow and anger and dreams unfulfilled. But still, I find it amazing to be alive. I love it. I always have, and suppose I always will. 

Maybe I'm the village idiot, happily skipping along in blissful ignorance. But ignorant of what, I know not. I've had my share of death and fear and loathing. Of friends and family acting insane in the face of science and reason. I was in NYC for 9/11, the Bay Area for the big earthquake of 1989, lost people I love, been broke as can be, lost races, been rejected by what at times feels like every agency in both LA and NYC. 

In short, I've seen my share of shit. As have we all this past year.

And yet, I still love being alive. Last night I was doing the dishes after making a triumphant batch of Mac-n-Chees with chorizo and a mix of cheddar and gouda that will be spoken of long after I shuffle off this mortal coil (if I do ever do that. I often think I am immortal). As I washed, I turned on the Stone and dance about the kitchen. Just because. 

I am so lucky. I think a lot of us here in the USA are lucky. There are so many places that have a rougher quality of life. I mean, how many places can you live where not being able to get a hair cut is grounds for freaking out? I would have thought that this last year would give us all perspective, and appreciation for all the good things we have. And maybe it has. I hope to find out soon. 

I am sure the lessons of this disease will continue for many years. Some will be pleasant. Some not so much. 

Still awesome to be alive. 

So. I the midst of all this bliss, my dog Padfoot is getting old. Very. I hate it. He is having pains in his joints, and things like climbing the stairs have become next to impossible. Sometimes, out of the blue, he gives a little squeal of pain. When I say I hate this, I mean I fucking hate it with all my being. I love my dog so much. He is the weirdest, best dog in the world. I want him to be young and healthy forever. To eat more of my wife's shoes. To get out and make me spend hours looking for him. 

I want him to live forever. 

Is that too much to ask? I suppose so. I've had some of the best dogs ever. I think we all have, because each dog is the best dog ever. There is solace in knowing that he will one day get to meet my first dog, Gigi. And I am sure they will get along and tell each other stories about life with me. So that's cool.

But the house will be so quiet when he goes. So unbearably clean. 

But he ain't gone yet. There are still hugs to give, ears to scratch. Love to share.

And life is still beautiful, even with it's stupid brevity.

Here's a song. It's Marching On by The Alarm. Lots of big hair in this video. Enjoy.

https://youtu.be/vxkhr76SydA