WANDERING THE NIGHT COUNTRY

Home with Covid this week. Almost seems retro. Like most of life, it is surreal and odd, perhaps an illusion or dream a butterfly is having. Of course, this could be the Covid talking, deceiving, tricking. In any event, I am stuck at home, and so I am finally putting away the last of the Christmas decorations, catching up on shows I need to catch up on, writing projects, and the final edit of my latest short film, which is a combo short film that stands on its own and a proof of concept, meaning a short meant to indicate what a feature version of this would be like. Plus I have to do a new draft of a podcast episode that is set to record in the next month with an air date sometime in the fall. A scary tale of the North Woods.

I'm rambling, like a lost hiker in a strange forest.

And I like it. 

Shows I am catching up on:

The Traitors, on Peacock. It's a reality show set in a Scottish castle where a bunch of terrible people, most of whom have been on other reality shows, perform various tasks for money, and have to contend with the fact that there are secret traitors in their midst, plotting their demise. It's sort of a glorified version of the game Mafia, which I have played with many a theatre class over the years. The show is hosted by Alan Cumming. It's really fun, the scenery is beautiful, and Alan Cumming is just the best. As a bonus, the castle is just north of Inverness, which we were lucky enough to visit last summer, and one of the great joys in life is seeing some place you've been to on tv. 

True Detective: Night Country, on Max. This is a fucked up story about a bunch of fucked up people in a fucked up part of the world, which I am quite familiar with. Alaska, land of the Midnight Sun and Midnight Souls, lost people who either have had their entire culture and history violated by intruders, or the intruders and their progeny, who mostly live their to be as far away as possible from wherever they came from. I'm sure there are happy, well balanced people up there. I just didn't meet that many. Especialy way up north. It's where I found my father when I was 28. A huge, dangerous country. The show is chock full of the supernatural, alludes to things like the Dyatlov Pass Incident, Murder, and mythology. The writing is tight, the imagery creepy and beautiful, and I can't get enough. 

The podcast episode is based on a short play I wrote a while back that has since morphed into a pilot I am currently working on. The pilot is totally different, but the podcast is basically the play mooshed into a radio play format. It's titled "Alma's Anomalies", and is about a pair of slackers, ill equipped in every possible sense of the word, who journey to the Apostle Islands in Lake Superior in the hopes of resurrecting a ghost. Sadly for them, they succeed. The story is set to air on Coffee Contrails. More info to come soon.

The short, Burning the Old Man, is based on my play of the same name. The play has been my most successful writing project to date, and has been produced all over the world, in NYC, Prague, Sao Paolo, and various other places. It even had a run a few years ago up in Boulder at CU, which was conveniently located for me. The short takes the soul of the play, boils it down to its essence, cooks it for a few months at a high heat, and now is ready to serve. It is the first film from McSquared Productions, my new film company I've formed with my great friend Tim McCracken.  It features an original score by Bob D'Haene and Matt Vogel, who are fucking awesome. More info on that soon too.

So, my thought for the day, as I sit, housebound and wanting to get out, is this. I think we manage to keep our minds closed to most of what is going on, most of the time. We create our explanation of existence, which seem to be variations on either "the world is terrible" and "the world is fantastic", all the while ignoring events as they unfold in real time. (if such a thing as time exists. I'm going with our existence being real, for the sake of this blog entry) The world has all sorts of shit in it. good and bad and bold and beautiful. Music, nature, violence, sorrow, death, birth, and on and on. We bounce through it all, and I think we need to experience it all completely, with as few filters as we can manage. I realize sometimes we need to keep some of it out. But I think we keep too much out too often. 

Now that I've written that down, it doesn't sound as deep as it did while I was laying in bed ruminating. 

Ah well. Two songs today. Into Dust by Mazzie Star, which was featured in episode four of Night Country and which I first came across while dealing with my mother dying. It both comforts me in the loneliness and makes me want to cry yet again. The other is Hallelujah by D'Haene. It is featured in the short of Burning the Old Man. Enjoy.

New Year, Goals, Worries. New Odyssey.

A New Year. Lots coming up. Shows. Short Film. An election that could lead to the end of America. All sorts of shit. I'm directing seven plays between now and June. Producing a large budget show that goes up end of June. Teaching playwriting at the Denver Center. 

Life, as always, chugs along. Sometimes, of late, I wake with this feeling of existential dread. Like, what is the meaning of any of this? Which I know is not productive. As far as I can tell, my little brain is not equipped to process, figure out, or solve the Riddle of Being Alive. Still, now and then, I get the blues, the why-am-I-here blues. And I think. And play Greig or Simon and Garfunkel or Phoebe Bridgers, and go through it. 

And what's really amazing, and to me miraculous, is that this simple act of allowing my self to wallow in self pity and dread for a bit sort of exorcises those demons. It douses the vampire with sunlight. 

It gets me going again.

I do not know how long life is, for me or anyone else. I don't know why we are here, or where we will go, if anywhere, once it's time to do the Mortal Coil Shuffle. I just know I love it here. I love clouds and music and dogs and cats and coffee and friends and my wife and my home. I love writing stories, and showing kids how to pretend to be a goblin in the Battle of the Five Armies. 

I love all of it.

I don't think this makes me heroic. I am fairly certain I was just born this way. 

And I must be a bit of an egotist, because I write about all this in my blog sporadically, and in my journal every single day. 

I wouldn't do it if it didn't make me feel good. But does doing something to feel good justify it? I suppose that has to be taken on a case by case basis. 

So.

2024. Goals. Resolutions. Hopes and dreams. All that jazz. 

I hope to read more books. I'm reading a new translation of Homer's The Odyssey by Emily Wilson that is just fantastic. I hope to use it to fuel one of my new projects, a pilot set in the world of another project, Lunatics and Assholes, that I really love. 

I hope to finish the color and sound of my new short, Burning the Old Man, which is a proof of concept for a feature that I made with my dear friend Tim McCracken. We shot it in the fall, mostly down in Gunnison, and it was fucking awesome. Is fucking awesome. Once it's done, we plan to enter it into several film festivals, and also send it to some producers we know, with the goal of getting funding to make the feature. All we need is someone to put up 500K to 10 million. Which seems absurd, yet there it is.

How did I get to a place where that kind of money is in the mix? No idea. But I won't question it. I'll just move ahead, hope for the best, and keep writing, directing, producing, teaching. Being me.

I hope to travel more. Going to Edinburgh last summer reawakened my wanderlust. The world is not one oyster, but a constantly refilling, huge bowl full of them. And they come in all sizes, and flavors. And I am famished.

I hope to go to more theatre, see more movies, hear more music, hike more paths, dream more dreams.

And I hope to write on this blog at least once a week.

Okay. That's now a thing. I will write in this blog once a week.

I now go off to make breakfast, get ready for tech rehearsal, then work on script for new show about Shakespeare, then hopefully catch a few more episodes of The Offer, on Paramount, which is an amazing show and I encourage you all to watch it.

Here's a song. It's Northern Attitude by Noah Kahan & Hozier. I dig it. 

LOOKING FOR SOUL FOOD, TRYING TO BE LIKE BOY GENIUS

Having one of those mornings where I realize that what we really need to do, we writers, artists, thinkers, parents, children... is remember that we are human beings, first and foremost. We are at our best when we take care of each other, because that's part of the deal. When we deal with both the world we dream of and the one we live in now. When, on top of satisfying our immediate, usually no so brilliant needs like having a cookie or doom scrolling or whatever it is that isn't all that important and we know it isn't but still do it, we take a step back and deal with the here and now. We ourselves and each other. With both the pain and glory of life. And I know that seems simplistic, and of course it is-- super clear, obvious, a no shit Sherlock vibe-- 

And yet, I often forget that.

It's hard to not fret about the little things when you aren't sure what the little things are any more.

This happens to me all the damn time.

And then, also all the time but not quite as often, I'll remember that being alive is groovy. That I have lived a life, have friends, stories, moments in time. That I am genuine. That we all are. I do not subscribe to the idea that if everyone is special, no one is. That's a bullshit phrase born in fear and encouraged by people who want to sell you something that, according to them, is the thing you need to be special.

Fuck that.

I'm thinking on this for three main reasons.

Number One: I'm working on a show that's going to Scotland for the Edinburgh Fringe. Eigg.  (for more info on that, go HERE) And it's reminding me of why I chose to live the life I live. Because making theatre is hard, crazy, and at times, once in a while, magic. And the secret sauce to the magic is to just be in the moment, leaning in, using all the skills and structure while at the same time letting myself into the process- who I am, warts and all. And encouraging/celebrating everyone else in the show doing the same thing. We are doing that, kicking it in the ass, and having a hell of a time in the process. There will be come shows in Denver late July, then off to Scotland! More info will be on these pages soon.

Number Two: I just started work on a short film/proof of concept for Burning the Old Man with Tim McCracken. It's based on my play of the same name. Tim and I met for coffee, talked it over, and something in my brain exploded. I came home, started writing-- and I felt like some sort of magician, conjuring worlds and people. I haven't felt this creatively excited in a long time. A lot of writing is keeping structure in mind, format, using the logic of plot and all that. Which is vital. But I think without that spark that got you there in the first place, with out the vulnerable, strange me/you of it, whatever you're working on becomes a knock off, a bit of the same old thing, and not so exciting. I am finding the me/you in this. The words are flowing. More on this soon. 

Number Three: I saw a movie yesterday. A big Hollywood blockbuster kind of movie. And it was fun. But it didn't have that organic, specific and therefore universal moment, that made me believe. And I need that, both in what I watch and what I write. If there isn't some moment that makes it clear, on an emotional level, that this thing is being made not just to make money but to express some aspect of the artists life, why should I give a shit. 

Often, I find movies with flaws very inspiring. 

So. that's today. 

I plan to write more blog entries between now and Edinburgh. So stay tuned.

Here's a song that I think exemplifies sticking to the rules while not sticking to the rules, baring one's soul, and using the very specific to make the very universal. It's BoyGenius, who are fucking awesome, and the song is "Not Strong Enough".

STRAWBERRY PARK WE LOVE THEE

Smaller and different and totally the same. That's what it feels like to be here in my home town of San Jose. Got in yesterday, drove to my old neighborhood, past the Winchester Mystery House, down Moorpark, past Blackford High which is now part of Harker Academy but at one time was just another public high school in the Campbell Union School District. Eased past the house I grew up in. So strange to think a different family lives there now, in the same house, the same rooms. And how it's not the same house the same rooms anymore. The trees are there, but look unloved, unclimbed. 

And yet, Mount Hamilton still looms to the East, and the Santa Cruz Mountains shadow the west, like they always have and always will, for at least a few more millennia. The air yesterday had that fresh Bay Area thing going which happens from time to time, where you can see for miles, and just breathing it in feels like drinking a tall glass of spring water. There is a life force in the Bay Area, and it just is.

There is something about returning to where you grew up that reminds you of who you are, who you were, and who you want to be. About seeking out places and people who are still part of your life. And also seeking things that no longer are, and that feeling of how it must be some kind of magic trick, this not having everything being just as it was. Like maybe, Blackford is still Blackford, Carrow's is still Carrow's and not a Denny's. 

Maybe Life really is a dream.

Well, in today's dream, I'm sitting in a hotel that is right where there used to be a 7-11, which was my main place to get comic books when I was a kid. Comic books and Slurpees. Behind it there was a vacant lot that had been turned into a sort of dirt bike track with little ramps we could jump our bikes over. I don't know who, but someone, some Johnny Appleseed of bicycles, roamed the South Bay and turned all the vacant lots into places you could do your best to endanger your life by riding really fast and then taking flight on little ramps made of dirt. 

This same Appleseed seemed to have a penchant for dirty magazines, as there was always a stash in all these vacant lots. We had the one behind the 7-11, another one over near Manor Market, one near the Mormon Church over on Borina Drive, and many others.

San Jose, at least the Strawberry Park area, was a magic realm full of danger and dirt of all forms.

I am here to collect things out of storage from when we sold the house I grew up in last year. Also to see old friends, go to the beach and gaze at the Pacific and hear the Sea Lions, eat the best Falafel sandwich known to man, and wander the past, catching up with ghosts and phantoms, letting them know where I'm at and asking them what it all means and meant, to live and die, to be here, in this town, this world, this motel room that once was a 7-11.

I feel the urge now to take a walk along my old paper route path. 

And to find some coffee.

I remember, when the house on Belvedere was my home, waking each morning very early, and already my mom would be up, and the coffee would be percolating on the stove, and I would lay in bed, knowing a cup of life would be waiting for me downstairs as I started my day.

On.

Here's a song. It's Corral Nocturne from Copland's Rodeo. It makes me think of bicycles and huge oak trees and the cool morning air, of neighborhood cats and the world lighting up as the sun rose, filling our little houses all the same with gold and glory, of a brief moment each day when all the madness of the world was confined to the papers in my bag, and a new day was open. I didn't have the easiest life. I don't think anyone does. But I did have golden mornings and dirt tracks for my bike, and a best friend and a dog, and a mom who made coffee, and music like this.

Enjoy.

THE BUY IN; OR LIFE'S RARE JOYS

Ah, Monday and Daylight Savings Time. That's the fun morning. No longer is the sun peeking out, filling the world with that light, that Hour of the Pearl light.

No. 

It's dark, and feels like it's freaking 4:30 am when the alarm goes off. 

Because it is. The clock may say 5:30, but it's lying. And it doesn't even feel bad about it. Just displays its numbers and pretends, and expects you to pretend as well.

Usually, at this moment, I'd be out with Lisa strolling the neighborhood. But that was an hour ago, and here I am in front of my old computer, eyes feeling a little baggier than normal, on an extra cup of coffee, considering what there is to say.

Well, there are a few things, as usual. I find if I just get my butt in a seat, and start writing, things do pop up. And the less expectations I have, the better the writing. Form and function and all that comes later anyway, so there.

We went to a ballet of Wizard of Oz recently. It was pretty great, but there were a few things story-wise that puzzled me. Having just directed a stage version of Oz, I was quite familiar with each scene, as both the stage version and this ballet based the plot on the 1939 movie. And there was one moment that the ballet glossed over. 

A key moment.

When Toto gets taken away by Miss Gulch. 

This has to be tragic and real and horrible. No two ways about it. I realized this while directing the show. Dorothy has to have Toto, her dog and best friend, literally taken out of her hands and given to a woman who has made it very clear that she is going to kill that dog.

That's an awful moment of betrayal and sorrow for Dorothy. 

It also happens to be key to the entire story, The inciting incident that sets her on her journey. Yes, a twister picks her up and carries her off to Oz, but it's the moment of betrayal that sets it all in motion. Dorothy has to run away from home, meet Professor Marvel, realize she needs to get home, and then get torn away by powers beyond her ability to contain, and then spend the rest of the story trying as hard as she can to get home, even though she is finally over the rainbow. 

Maybe this isn't a huge revelation to most people. But for me, it was important. The idea of that moment in the story where we the audience buy in, when we invest our hopes and fears into the main character. 

And in that story, it's Dorothy, alone against the world, pleading with her friends and family to not lead her little dog be taken away to certain doom. If that scene isn't heart wrenching and terrible, who really cares what happens after that? Then, it's just a story about a kid in a magic land who could just tap her shoes three times and go home. 

She wouldn't have to learn a damn thing. 

In the ballet, the whole moment is glossed over, and it's not really clear that Gulch will kill the dog or that the adults in Dorothy's life bending their knees to Gulch and her demands. 

As I chewed on this idea yesterday, I started going over all my stories and scripts, especially those on the front burner, and all these possibilities presented themselves. 

Writing can be maddening, frustrating, and horrible, while at the same time filling you with a sense of purpose and wonder. 

Having a little revelation after going to the ballet is one of life's rare joys.

Here's a song. It's Happy Phantom by Tori Amos. 

 

LIFE IS SHORT, MOVIES ARE SHORTER

My last post mentioned Uncle Vanya, one of my favorite plays of all time. I've been in it once, playing the idealistic doctor Astrov; written a stage adaptation of it called Fenway: Last of the Bohemians, which sets the story on a faded hippie commune in the 1980s had a run in NYC in 2007; and wrote a pilot for a series based on Fenway, called Sunny. 

I clearly dig it.

The other day, I went to a matinee screening of Drive My Car, which follows a man in Japan who is directing a production of Uncle Vanya and dealing with loss, grief, infidelity, and life in general. 

I dug it the most.

The movie is three hours long, which I suppose is a long time for a movie.

Even though I can binge watch four or five hours of The Clone Wars in one sitting, no problem. And I can play Contest of Champions on my phone forever. I can also sit on a plane pretending not to worry about crashing for many hours as well. 

So I guess three hours isn't really all that much of an ask for a film. I mean, I love movies, stories, images and sound. I love popcorn, sitting in the dark, and losing myself in other worlds. Three hours is nothing, really. 

Life is short, and movies are shorter. 

So I spent three hours lost in a world full of people who have sorrow and regret and joy and hope. People who mourn the dead and are haunted by memories of what could have been, what should have been, and will never come to light now. People who have had their hearts broken, and broken hearts as well. People who makes huge mistakes. Some mistakes are made due to a passion they can't control. Some are the result of a sense of anger that can't be fully articulated and so comes out in unintended ways, with unintended consequences. 

Three hours with people who struggle with their daily lives. 

So I spent three hours in an alternate reality that was shockingly like the one I live in.

Not only is there a lot of Vanya in the film, there is also a bit of Waiting for Godot, another favorite of mine. 

I seem to like stories about life being rough that are supposed to be funny but that lots of people find maudlin.

I think there are some folks in the world who find tragedy humorous. And comedy to be full of sadness and frustration. 

Maybe the theatre masks, comedy and tragedy, should just be called The Masks of Life. 

Now masks are things we put on to present a certain trait or character, to hide who we really are and what we are really feeling. As I think of this, I think of how I present myself to the world. Usually, I wear the comedy mask, and point out all the contradictions that race back and forth over the field of our lives. Other folks I know seem to wear the tragedy mask, and come off as most happy when relating to others the worlds woes, as well as the travails of themselves, their families, their co-workers, the Kardashians, you name it.

We are a strange species, to be sure. 

But we are also glorious. 

I think that is the main thing I got from Drive My Car. That even though we make gigantic mistakes, and don't do what we should; even though we betray one another and ourselves, there is within us a greatness, a possibility for kindness and love, when confronted with the horrors of existence. 

We can laugh and cry and hold each other's hands. And we can have compassion for ourselves and others when we aren't able to do any of that.

And we can sit in a movie theatre for three hours.

Today's song if Frente!'s cover of New Order's Bizarre Love Triangle.

And for today's bonus material, here is the final bit from my play Fenway. Fenway is the Uncle Vanya Character, and Reality is Sonya, his niece.

FENWAY

I can't do this. This isn't my life. It can't be! I don't know what to do. I don't know who to be. How do you go on living in this God damned world? Can anyone answer that for me?

REALITY

By living your life. By trying to make a difference. By trying to do something worthwhile in this world. I know you feel terrible. I know it seems like the end of the world. But it isn't, not really. This is just the hand we've been dealt, pure and simple. I can’t tell you why. But I can tell you that we'll live with it. We'll deal with whatever life throws at us. If we have to, we'll work crappy jobs for crappy people we don’t like or even know. Maybe we won’t find the love we want, or the home we need. Maybe our nights will be long and empty. Our lives might seem nothing more than a sad, lonely parade. So what? We'll do the best we can with what we have, quietly, with dignity. And when we get to Heaven, and I promise you we will get there, we'll talk about all the hard times, the tears and frustrations and injustices. We'll cry for a hundred years if we have to. And God will cry with us and hold us in her arms. We'll just cry for as long as it takes. And then, after we let it all go, we'll realize that we're in Heaven, and all is well. We'll be able to talk about our lives and actually smile. Won't that be something? To be able to smile at our lives? And finally, we'll sleep the sleep of angels and dream dreams that defy explanation. That's what's we'll do. I have faith, Uncle Fenway. I know that sounds crazy, but I do. I believe.

STAR TREK OR ROAD WARRIOR

Riding home from work last night was scary. Not because of the traffic on 36. Not because it was so warm in early March and seems to be yet another sign that Global Warming or Climate Change or whatever you want to call it is racing towards up at the speed of light. Certainly not because I'm worried about Inflation, which seems to me to just be the greedy raising prices because they can and to keep the downtrodden downtrodden.

No. 

I was frightened because I was listening to reports about the biggest Nuclear Power Plant in Europe being set on fire after getting shelled by whatever you want to call the Russian Army.

That's some scary shit.

Some China Syndrome, Three Mile Island, Chernobyl meets Strangelove kind of scary shit.  

I think most of us like to think that the threat of nuclear annihilation is over, that the possible end of the world due to our own stupidity went down with the Berlin Wall and now we are headed to the future promised to us all in Star Trek.

But we ain't there yet.

First off, we still have all these missiles. And by we I mean: USA, Russia, Chine, the UK, France, and Chine.

Oh, also North Korea, Israel, India, and Pakistan.

Maybe more.

What could possibly go wrong?

Oh wait. I know. You could have a total asshole who seems kind of crazy be in charge of at least one of those countries.

It really feels like we are at this moment of do or die. Either we get our collective shit together and start living that Utopian Star Trek existence, or we go down the path of Mad Max and the Road Warriors of Doom.

I remember having a conversation about this long ago, right after 9/11, on a balcony with an old friend, in Mid-Town Manhattan. 

Star Trek or Road Warrior.

Life or Death.

I happen to think we need to aim for Star Trek. Seems like that would be a. more enjoyable future to live in. Transporters. Space Exploration. The Holodeck.

Bring it on.

I know it's hard to do. I watch the news and I think, let's just go into Ukraine and fuck shit up and wipe out the Russian Army and then march on to Moscow and kick Putin's ass. Right in the middle of Red Square.

If it weren't for the threat of all out nuclear war and mutually assured destruction, this would be choice number one, violent as it may be.

But that threat is real.

And now, Putin the Fuckface shells a huge nuclear power plant. 

So what to do? 

I have no idea. But I think whatever course we take, right now and in the the future, has to involve changing our whole idea of how the world works, how finance happens, what worth there is to having rich and poor, haves and have nots, and all that.

Like what Jesus tried to talk about before the powers that be said "Fuck that guy" and nailed him to a tree.

I wonder if this is what happened to Atlantis.

We need to stop this. We need to start loving more. Listening more. Giving more. Striving more.

We need so much more, spiritually.

So I write blogs and screenplays and teach theatre and produced shows. 

Hopefully it makes people have a little more hope, a little more compassion, a little more determination to make the world less likely to blow up.

Here's a song. It's Untitled by REM, but I usually call it This World Is Big.

PS: I am co-producing a new play, and we are doing and Indiegogo camapign. If you can, please donate. If not, please share the link:

 https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/higher-ground-presents-puerto-rican-nocturne/x/3385268?utm_campaign=contribution_receipt&utm_content=receipt-campaign_link&utm_medium=email&utm_source=lifecycle#/

PPS: Please take a moment to breathe. Right Now. 

FORTUNE FAVORS THOSE WHO SAY FUCK IT

Ah, Friday. End of the week, even if you work all week end. It just has that feel to it. And yet, work work work. I'm feeling a little tired, a little cranky, and little in need of a little more coffee.

And also need to stop using the word little, at least for the next few paragraphs.

I listen to a lot of podcasts of late. Mostly about screenwriting. There's a lot out there. Some are better than others, some resonate, while some just come off as people trying to sell me something.

My favorites, in no particular order, are The Screenwriting Life; ScriptNotes; On Story; and Write Your Screenplay. They each have a distinct tone, and I often find what they have to say useful for my writing. On top of that, the hosts are funny, smart people who I enjoy listening to as they discuss the craft and also the day to day business of being alive. 

The Screenwriting Life (TSL) the other day had an episode that included the all important idea of being able to say "Fuck it". When you are nervous. When you're shooting for the stars. When you're playing baseball, or pitching an idea, or basically taking any sort of risk.

Great advice, something I have found works. It's not always easy to do, and fear is relentless. There is always a reason to doubt, to remain silent, to shut down. Most often, those reasons are bullshit, but there they are, manifested in our imagination and quite unwilling to leave peacefully.

But somehow, when we manage to say Fuck It and go for whatever it is, those fears crumble, dissipate into mist, and vanish, and we stand there, amazed at ourselves for having taken that risk, and feeling like that was way easier than we thought it would be.

I don't always manage to say Fuck It. But I try. 

Today, I have a rather big Zoom meeting with some important folks about funding a new theatre project that would be a dream come true. I don't know what will come of the meeting, but I am fairly certain that one of the main reasons it's happening is because I said Fuck It, and pitched the idea to one of the theatres I work at, and then to a friend with connections, and so on. And then I have another Zoom meeting. about another theatre venture going up this summer as well. That one is the result of a writer I know who also decided to say Fuck It and get his play produced. 

Fortune favors the bold, and those who say Fuck It.

Yes, Fuck is a bad word, and throws some people off. That's why I usually say it to myself in my head, and not out loud. 

Sometimes it slips out. I have a habit of blurting out what's on my mind, and I think that might upset some folks. But it's how I'm wired, and has been since I was a kid. In fact, one of the first big Fuck Its I said was when I first stood up to my step-father, a very sad man who happened to be an alcoholic and quite scary when he drank. 

It was scary.  I think I had simply reached a point where if he killed me, I didn't care. I just couldn't take it anymore. 

Happily, most Fuck Its don't involve risking your personal safety, and I am not saying it's a good thing to say when you're on the Golden Gate Bridge and wondering if you could survive jumping off. That's not saying Fuck It. That's saying I'm Crazy.

Don't do that.

Do take risks. Even if you think you will fail.

Say Fuck It this Friday. Tell that person you like them. Tell your boss they need to give you a raise. Apply for that better job. Have that Zoom meeting. Have two. 

Just say Fuck It. Life is too short not to swear in public now and then.

Here's a song. It's Salute Your Solution by The Raconteurs. I dig it. 

THE DURATION

Waiting for the cabin fever. The worms. The Man. Godot.

Not really, though. Set up a sort of schedule yesterday, and that was great. Cleaned house. Worked on script. Played a game called Hunt a Killer. Got set for a campaign of D & D. Watched Schitt's Creek. Watched it Snow.

It snowed here yesterday. Several inches. I've always felt snow is magic, that it portends to good things. Sometimes, I think it is a sign from my old mentor Taft Miller. I remember, in the spring of 1993 I think, there were floods all over the country. Huge floods. And Taft talked about how Mother Nature can only be contained for so long. That levee's break, hurricanes and earthquakes are part of the deal. We can't control everything. Much as we'd like to. Makes me think of my favorite quote from The Lord of the Rings, which I remember being on posters after 9/11.

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” 

That's pretty straight up accurate.

Speaking of these times. As I was working on the script yesterday, I came to a scene that involved a line of people at Costco, waiting for free samples. Remember those? I wonder if they will come back, or if that will go the way of the DoDo? It was always a chance for grown women and men to cut in line, hover like vultures for scraps of food they most likely didn't need and often didn't even like all that much, and behave badly. Not that samples was a bad idea in and of itself. Having some nice person say "here, try this, you might like it" is quite nice. But there were times, on a busy week end day at Costco, where people would go a little nuts, mashed around the hot sausage or pizza tots or whatever.

So, not sure if scene will stay or not. The plan for the moment is to finish the script- episode two of a ten episode limited series. I want to finish at least three episodes. Maybe, after the Duration, I'll have something to sell. Lord knows I'll need the money. No work sucks. And not knowing when I will work again, or how bills will be paid, sucks even more.

But enough. Things suck all over. Just have to decide what to do with the time I've been given. Things suck, yes. Things have been bad before, and will be bad again. But things will also get better. Victories will come. Joy will arrive. This too shall pass. We will get through the Duration.

That's what I'm calling this time period. The Duration. A rough patch that will require ingenuity and courage and determination. I think it's what they called World War II while it was going on. The Duration.