I AM CACOETHES, ASK ME HOW

I get up every morning and go through my eternal list of emails. I get so many updates, ads, pleas for money from various causes, it takes a good five minutes to delete them all.

I don't read them. I just delete. Even so, I have over 95,000 unopened emails in my inbox. And that's just the gmail one.  

That's kind of sad. All these unread messages. 

Sometimes, I take a few minutes and try to clean up old messages, deleting page after page. It's a fool's errand, I know. But still I do it. I am not sure why.

One of those emails I get but mostly ignore is my daily word. I opened today's, a rarity, a sign I suppose that I got a good night's sleep and woke up feeling energized and ready to take a long walk, eat the right things, get in at least two hours of writing on the new screenplay, and answer the emails I actually do open and need to get to.

And the word today is cacoethes, which roughly means the urge to do things you maybe shouldn't.  

That word describes my first thirty three years of life this time around. 

At least, that's how I am choosing to interpret it. Though I supposed it could mean urges to do really stupid things like stick your hand in the garbage disposal to see if this reality is actually reality or merely a dream a butterfly is having in some other dimension. Or pick a fight with Cad Bane.

But the way that word resonated with me was in reference to things I have done and survived. Like jumping from one building to another six stories up while at a theater party, or running across a freeway in the wee small hours of the morning after another theatre party.

You know, a lot of my past poor decisions were made at or after theatre parties. 

What was that urge? I think a desire to keep life exciting, to seek a reality slightly more exciting, more real, less dull. And yet, those were things that could have killed me. Was I defying death itself? Or embracing life? 

I don't know. 

But I do know what it means to feel the urge to do crazy things. 

In my experience, they've all paid off. My wife always says "leap and the net shall appear". 

I've leapt a lot. 

This past week, I closed a production of two one acts, one by me and one by Shannon Brady, a former playwriting student who is just amazing.

This was in the middle of putting up a huge production of Wizard of Oz down at the PACE with my company Sasquatch Productions, rehearsing A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Logan School, casting and beginning rehearsals for The Wedding Singer up at StageDoor, as well as beginning a production of Chamber of Secrets for young actors up at Reel Kids. And beginning prep work for another new play called Puerto Rican Nocturne. 

Holy shit, I do a lot of theatre.

And I am writing the aforementioned new screenplay, as well as getting ready for a new draft of another.

And I feel like I am living well. Doing what I am supposed to be doing. Living. Writing. Directing. Teaching. 

I am absurdly lucky. And all it takes is listening to the mad voices, the ones that say "go ahead, write it", or "add a wizard's duel for the witches"; or "yes, take on yet another show". 

I am not interested in life without these things. 

The One Acts, under the title Dates with Death, sold out three of four shows, and got very positive feedback. Oz is selling out every show, and has one more week end. The scripts are coming together and there is a very good chance the new one will be shot this fall. 

There are plenty of things that suck in this life. But taking risks is not one of them.

Here's a song. It's The Legend of Xanadu by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick, & Tich. It captures how I feel sometimes. Absurd, joyous, insane.

MEATLOAF AGAIN

Ah, Meatloaf, we hardly knew ye. And there's a rumor on the electric wind that you died of Covid. And now there are all sorts of weird back and forths about whether or not the album Bat Out of Hell is some seminal happening or a blight on the aural landscape. 

For those who don't know, Meatloaf was a singer/actor who died recently. Long ago and far away he had an album called Bat Out of Hell, full of songs by a guy named Jim Steinman, that was very huge. The most famous song on it is Paradise by the Dashboard Light. He also played Eddie in the movie Rocky Horror Picture Show. For that alone, attention must. be paid.

I first came to him not from that huge album of 1977, but at Cinema 150, on Camino Royale in Santa Clara, in 1979. That was the year my brother took me to Rocky Horror for the first time. And the second. And third. And on and on. In my mind, we went every week end that entire year. I was all of thirteen, navigating eighth grade in your average American dysfunctional home. Which seems to be what most kids were doing at the time. Rocky Horror was scary, exciting, and liberating. I felt at home going to that movie. Nothing was taboo, everyone seemed cool with everyone else, regardless of how they looked or dressed, and I was accepted as I was. 

And on Cinemo 150s huge screen, along with Tim Curry and Susan Sarandon and Richard O'Brien and Little Nell and Barry Bostwick and that narrator with no fucking neck was this chubby biker dude who came out of a frozen sort of suspended animation to sing a song about Saturday night, only to get axed, literally, by Frankenfurter.

This was my introduction to Meatloaf. 

It was glorious. 

Years went by, and suddenly I was in High School and there was this thing called MTV, which showed music videos, and since this was a new format, we got lots of old vidoes at first. And one that seemed to be in heavy rotation was Paradise by the Dashboard Light. Very awesome, dirty, cool. Some of my more musical purist friends spoke of Meatloaf with disdain, but I liked the song. It didn't change my life or anything, but it was fun. 

More years go by, and I am out of college and seeing a gal who was going to UC Santa Barbara, and while waiting for her to get out of class, I went to a matinee of Wayne's World, and there was Meatloaf, playing a bouncer in a club.  I watched that movie a lot. Not as much as Rocky Horror, but a lot. 

So Meatloaf again had a presence in my life, now as a sort of has-been showing up in the movies. 

And then, in the summer of 1993, I took an extended road trip with my brother, and at some forgotten gas station bought a cassette of Bat Out of Hell, and played that sucker over and over, across Arkansas, over to Graceland, up to Chicago, and on to NYC. 

And I realized that the album was pretty fucking great. A pop album, yeah, and a bit juvenile, but there was a kind of glory in that unvarnished teen age angst and lust. I would play it from time to time, and some of my friends would smirk, roll their eyes, or worst of all, ask me if I could play something else. 

More years go by, and then Meatloaf and Steinman get back together and make Bat Out of Hell II. 

Now that sucked. It was like they wanted to make an album that was as stupid and shallow as some had said their first effort had been.

And they succeeded. 

I think the last big thing I remember Meatloaf doing was sing the National Anthem in what I hope was a drunken stupor and not just where he was, singing wise, for a rally for Mitt Romney during the latter's run for President.

I think about that moment from time to time. Here was this guy who at one time had a multi-million selling album, a dude who was in the movie Rocky Horror Picture Show, who I later learned was in the original cast of the musical Hair, standing in front of a crowd, singing horribly in honor of a man who bore a striking resemblance to that neckless narrator from Rocky Horror. 

What a downfall. Or so it seems to me. Who knows, really? Maybe that's what he wanted to do. To make bad follow up albums trying to recapture that lightning in a bottle. To support what seems to have been the polar opposite of what he stood for in his youth. To become the butt of far too many jokes.

I don't know. 

I do know I loved him in Rocky, and I still listen to Bat Out of Hell from time to time. 

Here's a song. It's Paradise by the Dashboard Light. Crank it up.

RUDY CAN FAIL. AND DID.

This morning, I am thinking about Rudy Giuliani, and how as a character in a play he is quite interesting. Here is this public figure, who was given this global spotlight at a very dramatic time. He could have become some kind of political super hero, a person who through this horrific experience finds complete moral clarity and salvation, and then uses his powers for good.

Sort of a political Spiderman.

But when his chance came, after Uncle Ben gets killed by the crook he let run by, Rudy doesn't connect the dots. Doesn't realize that with great power comes great responsibility. No. Instead, he tries to join the Sinister Six. But he can't even get into that group of super baddies, because he instantly loses his super powers. 

I am thinking of him and his odd fall from momentary grace because of two things. First and foremost, he is in the news a lot thanks to his trying to help the former Lunatic-- sorry, former President -- steal the last election. A lot. He actually wanted to overturn a democratic election in the land of E Pluribus Unum. I always thought that when someone tries to stand for Law and Order, they should do just that. Stand up for the law. And order. But no. Rudy just wanted to keep his buddy in power, regardless of who actually won. 

He wanted to cheat. 

A lot.

And thus, became more of a joke. And man, what a joke. Hair dye running down his head during a press conference. Farting on mic during a hearing. Holding that other presser in front of that run down warehouse. You can't make this shit up. It's too weird. Too on the nose, to use screenwriting speak. 

Besides his clear involvement in the attempt to kill democracy in America, I am also thinking of Rudy, who I think looks more and more like Nosferatu, because of the series Dopesick, which is where I learned that shortly after 9/11, he became a lawyer for Purdue Pharma. He decided, after being declared America's Mayor, to represent a company that pushed some very addictive and not good for you drugs, through lies and more lies, into the mouths of millions of his fellow Americans. 

What a dick.

What a sad, pathetic, waste of space dick.

I lived in NYC when 9/11 happened. I did not think he was a good mayor. He was clearly in bed with landlords and corporate interests. He pursued laws against small time crime, but was never that good going after corporate goons. 

Then that horrible day came, and he stood up. Briefly. And became a true leader. 

It didn't last long, but he had a shot, a chance to wash his hands of his past imperfections and become something better.

And he didn't. 

He failed. 

How sad.

So, on this Tuesday, I am going to try and remember old Rudy, how he failed when opportunity knocked, and do my best to not make the same kind of mistakes if I am lucky enough to be given a chance to do something good.

Here's a song. It's Rudy Can't Fail, by The Clash.

I NOW LIKE MONDAYS AND SO SHOULD YOU

Monday comes, and is different than it used to be. Long ago and far away, Monday was the Day of Dragging My Ass; the Day of Droop; Ragnorok Here on Earth. But I think that had more to do with my bad habits and wild ways than with the day of the week. Indeed, pretty much every morning was like that. 

 

How sad was that?

We all agree life is too damn short. There is never enough time spent with loved ones, ourselves, nature, or anything really. And yet, most of us manage to gripe about Mondays, Rainy days, Hump Day, Tax Day, Turkey Day- you name it. 

In my opinion, life is too short for complaining about it being Monday. You're tired? Don't want to go back to work? Boo hoo. Grow up. Enjoy the day anyway. Here's a photo of polar bears in an abandoned weather station. Lighten up. 

So yay Monday. Hello, I love you, and let's get this week going.

I probably feel this good because I felt so crappy last week. Had a cold of some sort present itself, then got my second Shingles shot later in the week, which kicked my ass three ways to Wednesday. It was like how people getting off of heroin is presented on most tv shows and movies. Hot sweats, aches, and a bit of delirium. 

And this was a week I opened a pair of one acts, was supposed to start rehearsals for The Wedding Singer up in Conifer, as well as more performances of The Wizard of Oz down at the PACE.

Yowsa.

But enough of me and my woes. 

I want to talk a little about Dopesick, currently streaming on Hulu. It's fantastic, engrossing, tragic, uplifting, and mind blowing. It's based on the book of the same name, and is all about the Oxycontin epidemic and greed and need and human beings and all the crazy things we do. It is well written, never dull, and has some of the best actors out there doing some amazing work. Watch it. Now.

My wife wondered, after we finished the series, if maybe one of the reasons there are folks out there who are vaccine hesitant is a result of the lies that Purdue Pharma shoved down people's throats via the doctors who prescribed their poison. 

Maybe we should separate money and medicine. To paraphrase Jesus, money and the constant want of it by powerful assholes fucks up the world over and over.

Okay. That's my sermon for the day. Now I am off to work on Indie script for possible shoot in Texas this fall. More on that soon. 

Also, my production of Wizard of Oz got some good reviews. You can read them HERE and HERE.

And you can find info about the pair of one acts, which we call Dates with Death, HERE.

Oh, and about the Book of Boba Fett. Last week's episode was all about the Mandolorian, and was exquisite. A must see.

Here is today's song. It's I Don't Like Mondays by The Boomtown Rats.

 

WONDER IS WHERE YOU FIND IT

A cold Wednesday morning. I am sitting in my den, listening to the soundtrack to a movie that was once called Star Wars but is now called Episode Four: A New Hope.  I love it. I first saw Star Wars as an 11 year old boy, and it was love at first sight. Actually, I fell in love with it the first time I saw the trailer. We all did. I remember it so clearly. It was at the old Century 22 theatre in San Jose, one of those movie dome type structures so popular in the 1970s. Back then, there were a lot of movies that were sort of depressing. It seemed like whatever the film, by the end of it, the main character would either die or sell out or learn something sad and depressing. Not that they were bad movies. A lot of them were amazing, and hold up well. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Bonnie and Clyde. Who Slew Auntie Roo? 

Still, there was this sense of dread. Or corruption. And no wonder. America at that point in time was dealing with itself. We had just had the Viet Nam War, the whole 1960s, with it's cultural upheavals and generation gaps. Watergate came along, and everyone was either angry or high or drunk or otherwise lost. 

As for me, my family was a few years into a very dysfunctional time of alcoholism and denial. 

Things were bleak.

And then along comes this film, full of heroes and wonder and space magic. 

And the Force. 

Now that was something appealing. A sort of marital art that anyone can tap into, a power that connects all the universe, every rock and being and speck of dust. 

I saw that movie 21 times in the theatre. 

Where has that sense of wonder gone? I don't think I've ever lost it. I am a sucker for a good story, a rousing heroes journey, and all things fantastic. Hence my love of the Lord of the Rings movies, the Harry Potter series, and so on.

As for the Star Wars franchise, it has become... well, not the same. It's a whole universe. Some of it is still spot on and brilliant. Some not so much. After watching and loving the first two seasons of The Mandalorian, I was very excited for The Book of Boba Fett. 

It sucks. 

A lot.

But then I started watching The Bad Batch, an animated series following a group of clones in the Star Wars universe.

I fucking love it. 

A lot.

Wonder is where you find it. And usually not where you expect. It's in that movie you stumble across that already started but grabs your attention. It's in a conversation with a barista while you wait for your coffee. It's in the act of writing a blog. 

So off to today. I also think you should all watch Dopesick on Hulu. It's a bit depressing, so watch that, and then cleanse the palate with The Bad Batch.

And May the Force Be with You. Always.

Here's Luke watching the double sunset, a moment that spoke to the world of yearning.

MONDAY PLAYLIST: SPIKE, HELA, TROY, & KILL ME NOW

Monday morning, cold and bright. Clear as can be, really. Took our morning walk, and the mountains were so perfectly visible it didn't seem real. Snow capped and pink in the dawn, they seemed to exude glory and hope and magic, while maintaining the aloof mystery that nature keeps at all times to remind us we are but fleas on the backs of giants. I'm sitting in my little den, listening to suggested songs from Apple Music, an eclectic mix based on what I've played before, a little Courtney Barnett, a bit of Jane's Addiction. The songs wander my mind, mixing with the coffee and toast. 

And I stare at the screen. 

I jumped back into this blog when the lockdown happened. Back in that other dimension known as the past. Isn't time fucked up these days? In every sense, I think time has gone out of joint, that we've all taken Billy Pilgrim's cue and gotten unhinged, bouncing back and forth from then to then, now to now, with no rhyme or reason or proper sense of the season. Some days last a month. Some months come and go unnoticed. 

And I don't even care that much that I live in a different universe than I once did. I still hear the music. I still see the mountains. I still enjoy the warmth of my covers when the alarm goes off each day. And somehow, even within this disjointed timey-wimey reality, I wake up three minutes before the alarm, with out fail. So maybe somewhere in my brain, in my soul, in this Elseworld, a little timepiece clicks on in precisely measured steps.

Who knows?

Whatever the case, I am working on several projects, and I think the next chunk of this blog will be about a new script I'm working on, my journey while I create it, and all that jazz.

The script has no title as of yet, but I am leaning towards Kill Me Now. It's loosely based on my play Burning the Old Man. And when I say loosely, I mean it. 

But the spirit is there. The essence. The idea of how we are all haunted and crazy and in need of love. Not very new, but what is? I find most movies and shows that claim over and over how they are new and different are anything but that. Let's face it, when someone has to tell you what they are, how what they are selling is the next step in evolution, it is more often than not a bunch of bullshit wrapped in glittery paper.

So Kill Me Now. Set in Texas. Funny, sad, maybe exciting. It's the result of meeting a director at the Austin Film Festival and hitting it off and deciding we should do something together. From there, director introduces me to producer, we have some phone calls, and next thing you know, I'm working on getting a draft out by the end of the month.

End of the month. Fuck. That's soon. And in this month, I've opened a large production of Wizard of Oz down at the PACE, am about to open a pair of one acts, and began a high school production of the Wedding Singer up at StageDoor. 

The one acts start Thursday, at Chaos Bloom, a little performance space on Broadway here in Denver. The first is a play called Spike, and it is intense and brilliant and written by my good friend Shannon Brady. It's about a woman coming to terms with her past in the form of an old friend coming to town on a dark mission.  The other one act is Hela and Troy, by yours truly. It's about what happens when the Norse Goddess of Death goes speed dating. 

If you want to come see it, click HERE.

So yeah. 

That's me today. Hope to see you at the theatre, or on the street so we can gaze at the mountains in wonder, or in my eclectic mind as I write these stories of lunatics and poets.

Until then, here's a song from this mornings suggested playlist. It's I've Been Down by Haim, a group I've been listening to a lot lately as I just discovered them. 

I'M POPEYE, YOU'RE POPEYE, WE'RE ALL POPEYE

So a year ago, things were bad. The riot, of course, Trump still in office trying to become President for Life, and the Corona Virus all over. A lot has changed, and a lot hasn't. I watched President Biden's speech this morning, and I thought he said all the right things, but I wonder if it will change any minds. People seem determined to believe what they want, regardless of what is right in front of them. I've seen this on a macro and micro level, over and over, particularly this past year. 

When I was a kid, there was this Popeye cartoon where Wimpy, the burger loving friend of Popeye, decided it would be better to be Popeye for some reason, so he got a disguise to make him look exactly like Popeye. And of course he runs into the real Popeye, and they get into this argument over who the real Popeye is. From one level, this made me question reality and if we are truly who we think we are. But on a very basic level, I found it hilarious because the real Popeye actually engaged in this debate with someone pretending to be him. 

How can there be a debate? 

I figured Popeye was your typical grown up, stupid and crazy. I know it is a bit harsh, but I think also accurate. We got a lot of stupid and crazy going on these days. Biden won. The virus is real, and killing people every day. The vaccine works, and doesn't have microchips to take over your mind. (also, if there are microchips that can take over your mind, it's game over anyway). Climate change is real, and the fires everywhere are real, and the super storms, and the droughts, and the floods. The rich are super rich and the poor are super poor. 

We have a lot of Wimpy's lying their asses off to get free hamburgers, at the expense of friendship, honesty, and integrity. 

All those things are real and terrible, and if we don't do something, we are toast. And not delicious cinnamon toast, or fresh sour dough, buttered with a bit of sea salt on top. 

No. I mean Dodo bird toast. 

It is frustrating, because, stupid and crazy as we all are, I do love the human race. We have so much potential. We make music and art and poetry. We dance. We laugh. We hug. 

I felt this a year ago, and I will feel it a year from now. Love and sorrow. Hope and fury.

So. On we go. 

Love to you all. Happy New Year. If you haven't, please, pretty please with sugar on top, get vaccinated. Do everything you can to address climate change. Be nice to strangers. Listen to music. Dance in the kitchen. 

And if you come across someone who looks just like you, or who insists up is down and wrong is right, do not let them have your hamburgers.

Here's a song. It's Ladyfingers, by Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass, which a student played for me the other day and gave me hope and joy and a belief there are still good things to come.