I AM A NUTJOB AND A LUNATIC AND A FREAK AND SO ARE ALL OF YOU

Started to watch the Tod Browning version of Dracula starring Bela Lugosi last night. I know for a lot of people, when they think of Dracula, they base it off of that movie. And I can see why. It's just creepy and weird and kind of awesome. And when it came out, it must have freaked people out. We all kind of expect to see vampires coming out of coffins, but we've all seen either that movie, or some knock off of it, or at least a variation of it on commercials around this time of year. But when that movie came out, I bet the first shot of a coffin sitting in that castle probably seemed shocking. And then to have it open and have Bela Lugosi, all decked out like a man about town in his funky Tux and cape outfit climb out of it must have been crazy. And then to have this three creepy wives, who I was never sure were real when I was little, dreamily walk up to him. It's bizarre. Like nightmare bizarre, where it gives me the creeps and I'm not sure why. 

I love stuff like that. Things that are dreamlike, ethereal but somehow familiar, speaking to some part of my soul that fears what I am being presented with is an accurate representation of the world. A world full of people who sleep in coffins, of lost souls wandering abandoned castles, of madness and sorrow wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

I think horror appeals to people who live in this world.

And I'm not alone. There's a great article in the NY Times about horror themed restaurants, and if you click HERE you can read it.

Horror films are by far the genre that gets produced the most. You want to get someone to listen to a pitch for a movie? Make it a thriller. Scare them. Excite them. And also give them a little bit to chew on, to reflect on as they lay in bed at three in the morning after being woken up by some car alarm, waiting to go back to sleep, seeing the shadows take shape, reflecting in various and ever changing manner the world they live in. Zombies, werewolves, ghosts. All things we see on a daily basis. I feel like a zombie as I trudge to work. I am a werewolf by night, howling at the moon with my pack. I am a ghost each time I look at a photo of someone from my life who has gone on to the next world, for in my mind they are the living and I am the one banished to this strange world where I can't be with them anymore. 

Happy Tuesday, folks. 

I have lots of things like that in my stories. My first play centered around a man haunted by the love of his life. My latest pilot has a small town taken over by malignant ghosts who bring out the worst in everyone. The script that is a Second Rounder at Austin Film Festival this year has the main character saved by the Ghostboy of Thunderbird Island. 

I'm kind of a nut. But as Ghandi said, "I am a nutjob and a lunatic and a freak, and so are all of you". 

Tomorrow, I head off to the Lone Star State. I wonder how many monsters I will see, how many ghosts? Will there be ghouls waiting at the airport to eat us up? Coffins in all the basements, where they sleep at night? What if the film festival turns out to be this secret cult of weridos? I hope so. I have to just leap, and pray that the net appears. 

Here's a song I found last night on a playlist of spooky songs. It's Haunted Heart by Christina Aquilera.

THE WORLD IS MYSTICAL AND MY COFFEE, AN ELIXIR

I get up every morning at 5:30. It's weird, but true. I used to be able to sleep all day, no problem. I was famously impossible to wake. I remember laying in bed before school upstairs at my home in San Jose, long after my old clock radio had been snoozed at least five times, and my mom yelling up that I had to get going. Now, this was early, so there was a little justification. I had a paper route, and I needed to get my ass out of bed, fold my seventy or so papers, load them into my basket attached to the front of my bike, and hit the road. But there I would be, trying to continue to sleep, my mind still at least partially connected to that deep, dark world of sleep that lies at the bottom of the ocean or the vast reaches of outer space or some other dimension that is very warm and thick. And Mom would yell up. And I would reach over the side of my bed and smack the floor with my shoes to make her think I was up and moving. 

Now I wake up before the alarm, on a daily basis. I still feel that connection to Dreamland. But I awake. And the first thing I do is put on a kettle to make a fresh pot of coffee with our French press. It may sound snooty, but as those who know me will attest, I really don't care what people have to say about my coffee habits. So I put the water on, fill of mug of cold coffee from the day before and put it in the microwave, and then sit down to write in my journal.

I find this gives me peace, joy, a sense of self. And reminds me that I am a writer. This is something I think I need to do, as often as possible. Because it is easy to not think that way. To think "I need to do A, B, and C", which are usually the mundane requirements of life like cleaning the house or paying the electricity bill, and still be able to then think "And I need to sit down at the computer for at least an hour and rework that scene, adding in what he writes in the letter to his dead dog".  Whatever A, B, and C  are, day to day, they are of course important. But not as important to me as being me, as expressing myself, writing down whatever I am thinking. I have to say "yes, I am a writer, and I need to let these things loose that are rampaging through my brain". So I write in my journal. Next, I take a long walk with my wife. Today, the sun rose against clouds, and the world was this insane color, first gold then pink then gold again. It was like being in a Maxfield Parrish Painting.

Next, I help Lisa get ready for work, then I write this blog. And that is my morning routine. I recommend it. There is something to be said for doing what makes you happy first thing. Coffee, writing, walking, nature, love, and more writing. That does not suck. I can take most of what the world has to sling at me when I am able to do those simple things.

So. Week two of Return of the Blog, and it feels right. You know how some things just feel right? How, from the moment you start, there is this sense of being where you are supposed to be, doing what you are supposed to be doing? I feel like that with this blog. I don't want to think about it too much beyond that, as over thinking can lead to some really bad writing, some phoney, convoluted poop. I think it was Aristotle who wrote "To over think is to create a lot of bullshit". 

He was wise.

What else? Well, had our first cast meeting for Wizard of Oz last night. Very exciting. I forget how awesome that story is, how bizarre and clean and scary and fantastical. My cast is excellent, and I feel like we are about to take an incredible journey together. Also, in two days, I head to the Austin Film Festival. Which feels to me like going to Disneyland. A whole week, focused on screenwriting and movies. Panels, pitches, parties. As Aristotle also wrote, "Fuck yeah". 

I don't know why I felt compelled to give my daily routine to you all today. Honestly, when I write this blog, I don't prep at all. I just sit down and write whatever pops into my head. Today it was my routine. Tomorrow it might be a treatise on the joys of ascribing foul language to the greats. Who knows? Only The Shadow. 

I think that's it. For the moment. Need more coffee. More music. To go over my pitches for The Belvedere Jungle, American Spirits, Burning the Old Man, and Out of the Past. I have to run errands. You know, A, B, and C.  And then I have rehearsal for Holiday Inn up at StageDoor Theatre in Conifer. That show is going well, and that place is special. Full of energy and magic. In fact, both the Scarecrow and Dorothy in my upcoming Oz are former students from StageDoor. On top of that, a Jitterbug and an Ozonian are former students from the Denver JCC. How cool is that? One of the greatest things about teaching is when your students grow up and start to excel, to work in the field you teach. It's quite amazing. As amazing as the sunlight was this morning, turning the world into a mystical experience.

On that happy note, I shall go forth. 

Here's a song. It's The Jitterbug, a song deleted from the original movie but put back in for the stage performances of The Wizard of Oz. Dance, you maniacs, dance.

BLUE FRIDAY

Dreamt of this strange temple of sorrow. I was in a line with people I know, or have known through out my life. We were in a long line that stretched back as far as the eye could see, in front of what looked like, or rather felt like in that way things feel in dreams, a church or temple. I was at the front of the line, over to the side. As each person from my life got to the front of the line, a person in some kind of pain would be brought out of the temple and placed in front of those in line. Then a voice would ring out, telling everyone what was ailing the person in pain. "Brain tumor". "AIDS". "The Virus". And so on. 

This went on for a while. Then a kid, a boy of about 12, was brought out. He was clearly in great pain, and it looked like he had been through several operations. His parents were on either side, weeping. It reminded me of The Pieta by Michelangelo. Only sadder. The voice spoke.

"He is racked with pain. He has many afflictions. It has not been detected yet, but a cancer will slowly kill him in the coming months and years".

His parents lost it.

I had that weird thing where, overcome with sorrow, I try not to cry, which only makes it worse. It's like clinging to the last shred of sanity before giving over to complete and utter dismay. My friends in the line, a couple who divorced many years ago but in the dream were the age they were when I met them, turned to me and told me I had to tell the parents of the sick child what was going on, because in their grief they couldn't hear what the voice had said.

I couldn't. I just held on by a thread, so very sad.

Then the alarm went off and I awoke to a chilly Friday morning.

I do come across a lot of sorrow, and have my whole life. I think that is true to greater and lesser degrees for all of us. Am I telling myself to stop holding the sadness in? Am I telling myself that when I let it out, which I do in my writing probably most of all, to address the truth of our pain and suffering? Was it a reflection of what I have seen of late, people angry and lost and scared, feeling powerless as day after day and moment after moment, strangers tell us of another tragedy while we stand in line, waiting for our own particular pain to be presented to us?

I don't know. "Dreams are toys," as Shakespeare wrote in The Winter's Tale, "And they can fuck with you". 

Whatever the reason, it resonated with me and I feel more connected to reality after experiencing it. And I still find life magical and amazing and joyous, even with all the pain and suffering. Indeed, I think the pain and suffering necessitates our need to revel, to eat, drink and be merry- for tomorrow we die and today is probably going to have a lot of rough patches. 

So let's put on some music that elevates our mood. Let's hug the ones we love. And let's be honest about what is going on out there and inside our souls, about our sadnesses and about our joys. Let us relish this life while we can.

Wow. Deep thoughts. A Blue Friday. 

Maybe this song, a cover of New Order's Blue Monday by Orkestra Obsolete, will cheer us all up.

LORD HELP ME I CAN'T CHANGE

I am thinking of change this morning. Our resistance to it. Our need of it. And how Change could not give two shits about what we think, want, and/or need. Change comes at all times. Change is really synonymous with life. We are in a constant state of flux, whether we like it or not. A lot of it that flux is in the "or not" category. Physically, we are nothing more than a mass of atoms and molecules and so forth, all in constant movement. We grow, hit our peak early in life, then slowly hit our not peak. And that one sucks, but I think we age because the universe knows that if we didn't we would pretend that nothing ever happens, nothing changes, nothing evolves. And that, as Socrates once said, is bullshit.

And I don't always feel this way. But I do today. My outlook has changed. 

See what I did there?

I think about the bands I love the most. And the thing they have in common is that they change. They don't try to recreate their first album. They create the album or song or concert they are working on at that moment. They navigate the room they are in, and don't try to pretend it's a different room. Often, when a musician or band comes out with a new sound, feel, attitude, the fans freak out. At least at first. We want the music to make us feel like we did when we heard it the first time. I think what we really want is to be the people we were when we heard it the first time. But those people have gone Elsewhere and are playing hide and go seek in a graveyard in another dimension. 

Now, for me, if I am in a phase of my psychic moon that allows for change, embraces it, I listen to the new sounding album for a bit, and after awhile I fall in love with it and now want the band to make me feel like I do at that moment again and again. And the cosmic dance of funk continues.

I think about the planet, and how right now the world is seriously fucked because a lot of us are resistant to changing our lives or lifestyles, which have created an atmosphere that heats up and changes everything is really nasty ways, leading to oceans rising, forests burning, species dying off, and so on. By resisting change, we bring about greater change.

Put another way, we are stupid.

We really are. And one thing that doesn't seem to change is that we hate being told we are stupid, so very much. But sometimes, we need to be told we are being stupid. Foolish. Ill advised. 

The doesn't change either. The way, if something is said in a nicer sounding way, we more easily accept it. 

Ego. Fucking ego. Not only a poorly written bad guy in Guardians of the Galaxy vol. w, but a dangerous aspect of our humanity that, while essential to being a human being, can and often does get us into a lot of trouble.

We need change. We fear change. We love change. We hate change. 

I think we are all crazy. And I love us all. I do. I think that is about the only way to deal with things, before anything else. Accept and love and forgive and move on. I think the more crap you have thrown at you in your life, the more you need to do that. Not more, maybe, but the clearer the need for it. 

And that's difficult to do. 

But whenever I've managed to do that, I have been rewarded with peace and love and understanding.

So. Today, if possible, don't be like the dude in Freebird who sings about how he can't change, the Lord help him he can't change. Because he was lying. He was changing as he sang. He is changing still. And so are all of us. 

I feel like maybe that was all a bit preachy. But isn't all writing a bit preachy, on some level?

Okay. On to meetings, teaching. more meetings. And change. Evolution. Life.

Here's a song. It's Changes, by Bowie. 

MY PERMANENT COSTUME

Halloween is almost here. My favorite time of year. Crisp skies, leaves changing color, lots of monster movies, what's not to love? On top of that, the Giants are in the playoffs, going up against their ancient rivals, the Dodgers. Among the things I miss the most about being a kid, I miss Halloween and trick-r-treating. We'd cover a huge area in San Jose back then, and I would fill at least three pillow cases with candy by the end of the night, then go home, divide the goods up, trade with my fellow ghouls, and stay up late watching Creature Features. In my mind, every Halloween was on a Friday or Saturday, every time the weather was perfect, and the candy bars were all full size. 

What is it about dressing up and acting like a monster, vampire, zombie, pirate, and so on that is so satisfying? Wish fulfillment? Escape? Madness?

Now, way way back, I also thought the Moon was full of green werewolves with bat wings for ears and that when said Moon was full, they'd fly out, coming down to Earth to dine on anyone fool enough to be outside. On top of that, the Boogie Man lived up there too. In my mind, the Boogie Man was a psychotic variation on Chef Boy-ar-dee, with a huge butcher knife, but he would come out from mirrors, so those were to be avoided.

I had some issues, I suppose.

Still, I'd like to go trick-r-treating in that far away land of Back Then. 

I think my writing is all an attempt to do just that. To fill the world with absurd monsters, plucky young heroes, and candy. I did this Twitter thing today, called ScreenPit, where you tweet out a logline for a movie or limited series of TV pilot. My four tweets were:

Kelly McAllister

@rkmcallister

·

3h

AMERICAN SPIRITS When her two best friends drastically change overnight, an idealistic young woman is drawn into a paranormal mystery surrounding a dark force taking over her hometown.

BOOGIE MAN A deaf woman who can communicate with the dead teams up with an obnoxious Paranormal Reality TV host to fight a homicidal ghost.

BURNING THE OLD MAN While taking their father’s ashes to Burning Man, a high strung young man and his estranged brother break down in the desert and are forced to confront their complicated past.

THE BELVEDERE JUNGLE Coming of age story of a gifted boy who escapes into wild fantasies to escape his dysfunctional, alcoholic home. Notice a trend? Everything is either a scary movie or someone trying to fix the past.

They say as a writer, you need to find your voice. My voice is a wolf howling Angry Young Man by Styx, in monotone.

Oh! Speaking of writing, I was working on Belvedere Jungle, going over the story arc, them, tone, and all that. When I write, I do a lot of rewrites, which usually involves lots of staring at the screen, listening to music, staring at the screen, cleaning the house, staring at the screen, reading a new book, and staring at the screen. And now and then, some actual writing.

So, I'm doing just that, and for some reason I decide to finally read Doctor Sleep. And the first thing in it, the first damn thing, is a quote about letting go of anger. Which is basically what the main character in Belvedere Jungle learns to do over the course of the story. It seems not like such a big deal now that I write it down, but at the time it seemed to me a sign from the Writing Gods that I was on the right path, I was where I needed to be, and all we well.

I am a magic thinker. A fool. Me.

Still, I do take it as a sign, silly as that may sound. I have chosen the Foolish Magic Thinker for my permanent costume, so what else can I do?

I hope you have chosen yourself a good costume as well. One that thrills you, at times frustrates you, but that fits you like a glove and brings joy to your weary heart on those long days that always manage to find you.

And that you avoid mirrors and green werewolves when the moon is full.

Here's a song. It's a cover of Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London by Reina del Cid & Toni Lindgren. Hope you dig it. And if you do the Twitter thing, go and give my tweets some love.

SUCKERS AND HOPE

Day Two of the Comeback, starring yours truly as the playwright/actor/director/screenwriter/school teacher/full time lunatic/Stephen King fan/Mystic/Left Foot of Sasquatch. Yes. That last one works for me. I am the Left Foot. And that foot dances. It is my official title for Sasquatch Productions, my production company that's been around for a few years now, and one of those things that has felt right from the moment of inception to the right now. 

I think sticking with things that make you happy is a good thing to do, but somehow not something we manage to do enough in our lives. We stay at jobs we don't like all that much. We stick it out in relationships that are lopsided, unhealthy, or worse. We smile and nod at friends who inform us that they have "done some research" and know a few things about medicine that we don't. We patiently wait for the powers that be, who have profited for generations by exploiting the planets resources with little to no remorse or concern, to finally do the right thing. And then, after putting up with whatever particular bullshit we are putting up with for far too long, we lash out at some other, easier target, and think we have spoken our truth. 

At least it seems that way to me.

As you can probably tell, I listened to the news this morning while making my toast and coffee. There was a story about Southwest Airlines cancelling thousands of flights, and vehemently denying it had anything to do with their pilots, who seem to have all drunken the proverbial Kool Aid of Dipshits and are protesting vaccine mandates. 

Because freedom.

The above is from Easy Rider, written by Terry Southern, Dennis Hopper, and Peter Fonda. That speech hit me like a mack truck the first time I heard it, and it has only gotten more resonant with me the longer I have lived in this world. Yet another example of writing, of art, helping me understand the world I live in. Not that I didn't already suspect that what that speech says it true. I did. But it articulated that truth. Gave it some definition. And better still, some humanity.

In the movie, right after that scene, a bunch of drunken local yahoos show up and kick the shit out of all three characters. Nicholson's character gets killed. 

Yay freedom.

It just seems like people are determined to prove Barnum right, that there is indeed a sucker born every minute, and all you need to do is cater to their fears and hopes, give them a straw man, woman, or government cabal to blame their ills on, and you can do whatever you want. 

Okay. Enough. I could rant on and on about this subject, and I am sure there will be more on this soon, right here in River City, with a capital R that rhymes with Gar, that's a type of fish. 

What else? I am listening to a playlist curated by Edgar Wright, put out to promote his upcoming film Last Night in Soho. The list is called Edgar Wright's Soho Nights, and you can find it on Spotify and Apple Music. I love it. All these great tunes that have an inherent grooviness. I dig the movies of Mister Wright. I'd like him to direct one of my scripts. I think he would get my style. 

I am sorry if I went to the dark side up there. I'm just worried about our nation, the planet, my street. All of it. I love being alive so much. I love music and people and trees and oceans. And music and movies. And I am fairly certain we could have a really great thing going on here on Earth, if not for the Great Greedy Goon Squad. 

Happy things: I am working on a pitch for a ghost story movie. I have several to choose from, as I love scary movies, and have written a ton. There's one about a deaf woman who learns she can communicate with the dead after going to a seance for a cheesy reality show in the hopes of talking with her deceased sister. There's one about a high school theatre group that find out just how deadly it can be to go against superstitions. There's another about a forgotten factory town in the Rust Belt betting taken over by a couple of obnoxious ghosts who treat everyone like shit, drink like fish, fuck everything in sight, and have an overblown sense of how awesome they are. The town falls in love with them and do their best to emulate the ghosts' nasty behavior. 

I am leaning towards that last one. It's working title is American Spirits. I hope to be able to pitch it at this ghosty story pitch party at the Austin Film Festival. I put my name in the hat, now it's just a waiting game. 

On top of those projects, I have another one, a variation on a writing assignment I did a few years back, a sort of mash up of Men in Black and Finding Bigfoot. 

I find happiness, and understanding, in stories about monsters, possession, and madness. Holding the mirror up to the world and all that, I suppose. Not that I focus solely on the negative. No. A good story, I believe, is one that shows the world is all its glory as well as all its shame. And there is a lot of glory. A lot of goodness and joy and magic. Yin and Yang, duality of nature, Suckers and Hope, and on and on.

Wow. Meandering thoughts today. Well, that's where I am, and so I write it. I hope you all find compassion today, and humor, and a cool set of music to pick you up when you are low.

Here's one. It's Dusty Springfield doing Spooky.

LET'S SEE WHAT FATE BRINGS US

As Robert Plant said, it's been a long time sing I rock-n-rolled-n-blogged. But I have had several people tell me that the blog helped them get through the shut down, and that made me think maybe there is merit to my blog beyond just me letting my thoughts land on this electronic page. Also, I felt like writing on it again. So here I am, rock me like a hurricane, to use another song reference. I think most of my language is either a song or movie or tv reference of some type. Books too, and a bit of poetry. And of course theatre. I suppose we all are quoting something we heard or read at all times, making verbal collages of our memories. 

In any event, I am here again, with more of said verbal collages for you all to read. I hope you dig it. I hope I dig it. I hope. I hope. I hope. That's a reference to Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, the short story by Stephen King made in to the movie The Shawshank Redemption, one of the few film adaptations of a book I thought did it right. I love Stephen King, always have. Since I was around twelve and got handed a copy of Night Shift. Something about the way he describes people and places resonates with me. Makes me think we live in the same world, experience life in a similar way. I ate up his novels as quickly as I could for many years. I remember camping at Pinecrest Lake with my buddy Chris Carver and his family and reading The Shining, and getting completely lost in that story. The fact that the main character is a father losing himself to alcoholism probably contributed to my immersion in that one seeing as it was something I had witnessed and was still witnessing when I read that story. On top of that, King has a clear love of rock-n-roll, which I do as well. And he quotes some awesome writers, usually at the start of a chapter, or by having some character in one of his stories talk about a book they've read. I never would have read Watership Down if not for it being mentioned in, I think, The Stand. 

If you haven't read The Shining or The Stand, please do. Right now. I'll wait.

Okay. Everyone back? Good.

Moving on. Somehow I went to Stephen King. Maybe it's because it's Halloween time. Or because I am speaking of writing, and he is one of my heroes. I read his book On Writing over the summer, and was reminded yet again of how much I adore his work. I am fairly certain I would not be who I am, or communicate in the way I do, if I had not read so much Stephen King growing up. No doubt, there is a whole generation of people who speak the way they do, think the way they do, in part due to The Hunger Games. Or the Harry Potter series. Or Percy Jackson. You get the idea.

I wonder if anyone thinks a little bit differently because of what I've wrote? I suppose that is something I can't worry about all that much, or I'll become like a self conscious actor, unable to be in the moment, constantly second guessing my each and every word.

Well, sorry if I've made you think things... No. I'm not sorry. Not if I made you think, or feel, or do something in your life. Unless you've become a serial killer or some other terrible thing. In that case, I am very sorry and hope you stop.

So. A quick update on me. I am working on several shows right now: Holiday Inn at StageDoor; Spike at the Mercury Cafe; Harry Potter at Reel Kids; and The Wizard of Oz with my company, Sasquatch Productions, at the PACE. 

I'm also going to the Austin Film Festival next week. Very excited. My script The Belvedere Jungle is a Second Rounder there, as is my play Burning the Old Man. I'm going to take part in a Pitch Fest, go to a ton of panels, and eat lots of breakfast burritos. Beyond that, let's see what fate brings me.

Let's see what fate brings all of us. So much going on in the world. Trump fans still living in an alternate universe. Global warming getting worse. Pandemic not gone yet. We got a lot of fixing to do. A lot of anger to let go of. A ton of love to find. We can do it. I know we can. But we are still in that time of flux. I do not know when it will end or where it will lead us. But I do think writing, singing, acting, laughing, and loving will get us where we all need to go. 

Here is a song for you. It's See the World by Gomez. I dig it. Also, if you get a chance and are in Denver, go see: Young Frankenstein at the Vintage; Steel Magnolias at Cherry Creek Rep; and Murder on the Orient Express at StageDoor. And read some damn Stephen King!