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.

THE LOST DAYS

T.G.I.F. Remember that? When I was a kid, and my mom had started working again, she would leave us notes on the fridge. Every Friday would start with that. Then a list of chores, things to remember, and something about how we should have a great day and how she loved us. It was nice. And gave us a sense of continuity, of days moving forward in their proper order. When we got a little older, she would start Thursdays note with S.H.I.T., which we found hilarious. Maybe it was a mirror to the deteriorating circumstances, but we loved it. Mom swore! Still, it marked the time, and the days moved in their proper order. Now, time has run amok. Thursday, Wednesday, and Sunday can all come over on the same morning, and then not show up again for weeks. Monday has pretty much moved in, claiming everyday for itself, regardless of what the calendar says. It's like they're all retired, and don't know what to do with themselves, now that their jobs are gone.  And I think March and April have moved into the garage. As for May, we got a cryptic text, and then a postcard which just read "wish I was here".

Have we all become Timelords? Do we race from day to day, world to world, with two hearts beating in our chests? The two hearts would make sense. One heart to weep, one heart to roar. We weep for the thousands who have left this world, and roar for a better life, one not run but incompetent boobs and greedy corporations. Yeah. And if we haven't become Timelords, maybe we should. It beats becoming a couch potato, Tic Tok addict, or conspiracy theorist. And when I say Timelords, I don't mean the nasty ones, who are bent of beating the Doctor. I mean the Doctor. Clever, compassionate, and fun. Always with a bit of sadness, and a tragic backstory, but never morose, of self pitying. And always, every time, when things look their bleakest, we figure out the solution, save the day, even the confused ones, and move on to our next adventure with our companion.

Maybe this is all an episode of Doctor Who, and we just don't have the ability to recognize that we are merely characters in a story. Title of the episode: The Lost Days. In it, Rose and the Doctor come back to Earth to get some fish and chips at this great place they've heard of, only find everyone in a bit of a funk, confused as to what day it is. The confusion has led to some changes in people's behavior. At first, it's all comical stuff. They forget to wear pants in public. They break out laughing or crying or screaming at inappropriate moments. Lots of day drinking. Little old ladies smoke joints at the museum. They buy tons of food, then let it rot in their fridges. But as Rose and the Doctor investigate, other changes come out. Some folks give in to fits of rage, savagely attacking each other in stores and on the street. Others develop this odd lack of empathy, and walk past people who have been in car crashes or have had heart attacks. letting them die on the street as they walk past. And most of the powers that be seem to even acknowledge the strangeness. The Doctor suspects the Daleks are behind it, while Rose thinks it must be the Master.

Yeah. Doesn't seem to fantastical, does it? So, I'm a Timelord. And so are all of you. Now get us off your couch, put some pants on, and let's live properly, with compassion and hope and determination. Let's Kick It In The Ass.

Here's a song. It's Hold Your Head Up by Argent.

TRUMP'S INFINITE PLAYLIST AND THE SECRETARY OF THE WHACKNESS

I dreamed I somehow created a Wombat with human level intelligence. I was part of this group of madcap adventurers, very Doctor Who, and we were in NYC to save the world, which was apparently something we did often, saving the world. We were in Union Station, and I declared that the solution was for us all to go into the world of the Lottery. Not the novel by Shirley Jackson, but the cheesy games that each state has. There were four of us adventurers. One of them was Prue Leith from the Great British Baking Show. We lined up on this catwalk above the throbbing masses, and leapt into these portals. I was transported to a world I could not comprehend. It was all lights and shapes that made no sense. How long I was there I have no idea. Somehow, I came back to Union Station, and had saved the world. But I had also, through some feat when I was in Lottery World, brought about the creation, and transport to our dimension, of a huge talking Wombat. His name was George. And he informed me that he very much liked being alive and had no desire to not exist or to be forced back to Lottery World. He made a good argument, and we all decided he could stay.

Then I woke up. I think it was the milk man that woke me. Or maybe the thought of being able to create talking wombats. I thought "must put this in the blog", and went back to sleep. I was tired. Stayed up far too late, watching Good Omens, a documentary about myths and heroes called Myths and Heroes, and then The Midnight Gospel, an Adult Swim type of cartoon about this boy in the distant future who takes trips through time and space to interview people for his podcast, which has one follower. It's trippy and hilarious, full of dialogue that made me think of Richard Linklater's Slacker, a sort of stoner existentialism.

That's a lot of fantasy. I guess I needed it. High minded fantasy with large ideas, exciting characters, non-sensical plots, and compassionate humor. Maybe I should figure out a way to hang out with our POTUS during this crisis, and talk some sense into him just by hanging out with him and discussing the unbearable lightness of being, the strangeness of life itself, how improbable it all is and how we still strive to find meaning. Maybe, instead of watching Fox or whatever it is he watches, Trump should become a Doctor Who fan. It couldn't make it worse, could it? The guy has no humor other than sarcasm, no sense of irony, and doesn't seem to have much sense of wonder at this glorious and bizarre universe. He's limited. And that is sad. Maybe we should all make him a playlist of songs that lead you on paths of discovery and joy. Maybe, if we sent enough, he would break down and listen to one. Maybe he would then show up at one of his strange briefings, still in his PJs, with a large cup of coffee, and announce that he needs to let the love in, that he was going through some things, and that  he was appointing Sufjan Stevens Secretary of the Whackness, and that he was going to let the scientists in the room run things in regards to the virus while he took some "me time". Usually, I would not want the leader of the free world to take some me time, but I would be cool with this.

Here is a song. It's the English Beat's cover of Tears of a Clown.

 

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Dreamt of a cross country road trip. There was a time I was on the road quite a bit. Something about the open highway, the vastness of the land, the strange glamor of cheap motels and bad gas station food, appealed to me. I drove from NYC to California a lot when I first got out of college, drove from San Jose to Michigan, took a circular trip from Arkansas to Memphis to Chicago to NYC to Missouri to Iowa. Like Johnny Cash sand, I've been everywhere. Or at least it feels like it sometimes. Indeed, one of the seminal events of my life was a road trip I took with two buddies from Salinas to Vegas to Grand Canyon to Telluride to Denver to Columbia MO to the Twin Cities to Chicago to NYC. We just went where the wind blew us. And I remember, clearly howling into the Grand Canyon my joy at being alive. It felt a lot like the 8 pm howls we do nowadays. So last night I dreamt of the road. First, I was at The Western Stage, a theatre I did a lot of work at when I was a young actor. I was seeing a bunch of old friends, who were quarantines at the theatre. One of them was a mom, and she was far away from her children and missing them. Then, somehow, I was given dispensation to not only travel about, but to take a few folks with me. So about five of us loaded up a van and headed north. We drove past lakes and farmland, and then I decided we would go to Mount Shasta, an old volcano in northern California said to be full of mystic energy, and a place I loved when I was a kid. We drove past a town on the Pacific coast that looked a lot like Kansas City, then on to the mountain. The main thing I felt was a connection to everything. To the road, to the things we were seeing, to the stories people were telling me, and the stories I was telling them. I felt present. And that's something I feel all the time now. Present. One thing being shut in has given me is that feeling of being in the moment much more often. I still have flights of fancy where I stay into space, gone on a thought walkabout. But even then, it feels more germane to the here and now. Maybe it's the meditating I've been doing. Or the inability to go anywhere. Or the fear of mortality bringing out the brevity of this life. I don't know. I just know I feel more alive.

Speaking of feeling more alive, I took part in a group Zoom for writers last night. There were about fifteen of us, and we took turns talking about what we are working on, how this is effecting us, what we need, and so on. Several of us mentioned howling. The meeting felt both long and short at the same time. I felt like each person spoke forever, while only using a moment. Time has really gone elastic, hasn't it? That's something that has become quite apparent, now that the veil of busy work has been lifted. Instead of life rushing by, over before you know it, time has slowed, even stopped, and it seems as if I could almost move back and forth in it, like I'm a Time Lord. Yeah, I'm freaking Doctor Who.  Anyway, this Doctor is writing a new screenplay, and it feels so good, so where I want to be, so relevant to what I am feeling and so fun to write. And I'm writing it for myself. And yet, I think it might be the most commercial script I've written. Fact is, every script I've written that's done well has been written for me first. Not for me. For the story itself. When I let the cosmos dictate what should happen, when the story takes a life of its own and goes where it wants to go, be it NYC or Mount Shasta or San Jose circa 1976, that's when the magic happens. So I'm a Magic Time Lord. I'm Doctor Strange Who.

Today I've started getting up at 6 am. Set the alarm and everything. Part of that is because both Lisa and I start teaching during the day again today. Part of it is that it just feels right. I like writing in the morning, and by setting the alarm, I give myself this hour of quiet, making coffee and letting whatever comes out come out. Of course, having set the alarm for six, I woke up at quarter till, and lay there pondering if I should just get up or try for that extra fifteen minutes. I opted to just lay in bed, enjoying the moment.

Not much to rant about  this morning other than the usual: we still need to improve our national response; we need to continue to keep the curve down; our Dear Leader is an incompetent boob who should be thrown out of office immediately; and we need Universal Healthcare. Not shocking, but worth saying every day.

Ok. Here's a song. It's Rodeo, by Aaron Copland. We played this on that seminal cross country trip that started in Salinas.