Wednesday, June 25, 2008

The End of Innocence

This morning my six year old son sat down to the breakfast table, full of energy and ready to face the day. He waited for me to turn around before announcing proudly,

"Look Dad, I don't have bed head this morning! I wonder why that is?"

He usually has a pretty severe case of "bed head" on the morning following a bath or shower.

I smiled at his inquiry and mustered the most serious voice I could.

"Perhaps the hair fairy came while you were sleeping and combed your hair."

He picked up his fork, speared a piece of his waffle and held it in front of his face.

"Actually," he said, "to be more realistic, I think the air conditioner blew my hair down and dried it so that it would be flat."

I had to pinch myself under the counter so I wouldn't burst into laughter.

"Yes, you're probably right" I managed to muster as he shoved the waffle piece into his mouth.

"The hair fairy," he muttered. "Really Dad."

Looks like it's time to move up the ladder to sarcasm... he's obviously ready for it.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Last I looked this was a place to RANT

Originally posted on the Rants & Raves section of Craig's List - Los Angeles

I hate the arrogance of those who have been handed everything and fail to appreciate it or do anything worthwhile with it.
I hate the ignorance of those who think the most important thing going on right now is who wins on some reality television show.
I hate drivers who don't use turn signals.
I hate people who feel it's their responsibility to shove any sort of organized religion down someone else's throat.
I hate confirmation messages asking if I'm sure I want to delete a file.
I hate big oil.
I hate our indifference to what we are doing to the planet.
I hate pretty people.
I hate people who take up two parking spaces.
I hate people who pepper their sentences with the word "like."
I hate fuckers who take more than 15 items thru the express lane.
I hate calling customer service and speaking to someone halfway around the world with an accent so thick you could choke an elephant with it.
I hate punks who have no respect for others, yet expect it in return.
I hate people who are self centered and inconsiderate of others.
I hate the fact that I can't afford a home.
I hate the "transaction fee" banks charge for using another bank's ATM.
I hate computer viruses.
I hate the fact that corporations have more voice in the government than the people.
I hate my neighbors.
I hate our fucked up health care system.
I hate people who are truly incompetent but get paid exorbitant amounts because they bullshit well.
I hate inconsistency in thought and behavior.
I hate automated answering systems that loop you in circles.
I hate pressing 1 for English.
I hate telemarketers.
I hate Christmas decorations displayed in August.
I hate close minded people who think they already have all the answers.
I hate the fact that all of my enterprises to date have failed miserably.
I hate fools who can't remember their own password.
I hate the general public's obsession with youth and good looks.
I hate the "baggy look."
I hate putting commas, periods, and semi colons INSIDE the quotation mark.
I hate those of you reading this who are already mentally drafting some smart ass reply.
I hate gun control.
I hate the corruption that has permeated our political system.
I hate people who blame everyone else for their problems.
I hate people who interrupt.
I hate thinking of a witty retort 15 minutes after it's needed.
I hate people who have ulterior motives or misrepresent their intentions in dealing with you.
I hate the majority's pre-Victorian views on sexuality.
I hate affirmation action.
I hate being a minority.
I hate so-called "experts" who never give a definitive answer when a question is posed.
I hate bicycle riders who don't follow the rules of the road.
I hate people who are so unaware of their surroundings that they'll block a doorway, aisle, or hall.
I hate people who perform any secondary or tertiary action while driving.
I hate people in the drive through who change their order at the second window.
I hate waiters who don't do their job but expect a tip.
I hate hypocrisy.
I hate fingerprints on my monitors.
I hate people who don't understand the concept of personal hygiene.
I hate people who pound their keyboards while they type as if they were trying to drive nails through a steel plate.
I hate personality tests.
I hate rap.
I hate people who either don't understand or don't want to acknowledge the difference between legal and illegal immigration.
I hate misplacing or losing stuff.
I hate the plastic packaging that requires a blowtorch and a chainsaw to open.
I hate the comforts and amenities that are granted to those that are incarcerated.
I hate people who abuse the system.
I hate cold spots in my microwaved food.
I hate people who cut in line, whether it's traffic, the box office ticket counter, or an amusement park.
I hate low water pressure.
I hate that I only have one parking space for my two bedroom apartment.
I hate the industrial grade "beep beep" one hears when trucks or large vehicles are put in reverse.
I hate empty ice cube trays.
I hate watered down drinks.
I hate people who suck out on the river.
I hate micro-managers.
I hate those who generate drama in their life for the sake of drama.
I hate software updates.
I hate clutter.
I hate the dumpster diver who wakes me up everyday at 5:30 am.
I hate rain checks.
I hate rebates.
I hate the IRS.
I hate people who don't know how to execute a left hand turn.
I hate spam. (junk email, not the meat product.)
I hate people who can't parallel park.
I hate coconut.
I hate crowds, but at the same time,
I hate being alone.

Friday, June 20, 2008

The Van Mar Academy

My acting school closed the other day, after 40 plus years of teaching the craft of acting for film and television.

I find that I am oddly saddened by this.

The Van Mar Academy was the first acting school that I attended after moving to Los Angeles from Texas. Its founder and owner, Ivan Markota, was a dynamic, energetic, and at times, intimidating man.

I attended Van Mar for 8 years. I taught there for a few years, directed a series for the school, and learned a lot more than just acting. While I was there, the VMA seemed to be an institution that would go on even after Ivan's passing. He often talked of passing the school on to some worthy heir (in fact, for a while, I believe I was one of those on the list.)

There are a handful of students who have passed through the VMA that have moved on to fame and riches; of course, there are thousands who are still and will always be unknowns, but the VMA offered a home to us-- a place to meet, to laugh and cry together, and to grow as individuals. I remain in touch with and very close to many of my classmates from VMA; bonds that have remained intact for over 18 years. There is something special in that--other than high school, I have no deeper friends than those I made at the VMA.

Now, the school that helped forge those bonds is gone.

What I saw as an ongoing legacy to the life and efforts of a man I idolized at one time is now nothing more than a fading memory. What was to be the testament to man's life work will now be simply a recollection in the minds of those who attended. It is an unfitting end to an establishment that, like most of its students, had aspirations of greatness, of fame and riches, of immortality.

I am not privy to all the details behind the collapse of the school--I can surmise that there must have been some sort of fiscal mis-management that resulted in the eviction and subsequent closing of the school, and I'm sure when the dust settles my friends who are still involved with the school will provide more detail, but regardless of the events that transpired, nothing changes the fact that the school which provided the foundation of my professional aspirations in Hollywood is no more.

Farewell, Van Mar Academy of Motion Picture and Television Acting.

Your lessons will not soon be forgotten, nor the bonds of friendship forged in your classes soon severed, but you will be fondly remembered and greatly missed.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Rebooting the campaign of life

I learned how to play Dungeons & Dragons back in 1981 or 82. My dorm mate and I had walked to a small strip mall, and in a Woolworth store we found some small boxes of plastic miniatures. They were little one man scenarios that we played, and another friend who had heard of D&D said we should learn that. Thus I was introduced to D&D.

When we started, the rulebook was just a softbound booklet that was maybe 100 pages total. it was titled "Basic D&D" and the rules were childishly simple. Even today, I can still recall the awe and thrill that we all experienced when we discovered our first magic sword - encased in a wooden box, it illuminated our faces as we cautiously lifted the lid, garnering an audible "oooh" from all of us as we imagined it in our minds.

We played Basic D&D for a year or so before moving on to the more expensive, hard bound "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons." This was made up of 3 hard bound books, each one in the two hundred or so page area. It was a lot more complex, but we loved it.

As time went on, the rules got more and more complex. AD&D released version 2, then 3, and now is coming out with 4. Each one become more complex, with more and more rules covering virtually any scenario one could envision. There were rules for the weather, for sickness, for advanced combat maneuvers, special weapons, special armor, even rules for pregnancy and fertility! One could spend days just reading the guidelines for handling a forest fire in the wilderness!

The problem, of course, is that now it's so complex you spend more time reading the rules and less time actually playing the game. Unless you have a DM who can dedicate serious energy to keeping up with the system, it becomes a snail's pace game where every single move becomes a look up into a variety of rulebooks. Certainly not fun, no matter how much you're drinking. The magic of the game was lost.

I tried to re-capture the magic by going back to the basic rules, but it didn't help. Now the simplicity of the rules seemed to work against me; I wanted to do so much but I didn't have the resources in the game system to accomplish what I wanted. I found myself struggling to find the balance between a simple, playable system and enough versatility and flexibility to accommodate my rather complex story lines.

In a weird sort of way, this is how I feel about my life. It was simple, and exciting, and I looked forward to each day's challenges.

As time progressed, however, things have become more complex. To continue with my analogy above, I remember when we introduced the idea of critical hits in combat to the game. It was gruesome fun, and combat became a blood soaked gore fest as we gleefully rolled dice to learn the fate of our vanquished foe. Eventually, however, as player characters dropped one by one from being on the wrong end of a critical hit, we began to see that “crits”, as we called them, were not as great as we thought. It seems today that my life has way too may critical hits, charts and tables, and not enough actual adventure.

As I contemplate where I am in my life, I think that I have reached the point of “rule saturation”; I know life is not a game, but, to continue with the theme already established, I think I may be in serious need of a revamping of the game system.

But what exactly does that entail? In D&D, we could simply start a new campaign. Roll up new characters and start a new story – sort of like a new season of a show. Unfortunately, it's not so easy in the real world. I can't suddenly make myself 28 years old again, with my 7% bodyfat, tanned muscles and elevated testosterone levels. Even if I decided to push myself and get back into physical shape, there is a spiritual resuscitation that is needed as well, and I'm not quite sure I know where to go to do that.

Too bad I can't just pop down to the local wizard and be reincarnated as something new.

Yes, of late that has been something I find myself wishing for... if you're a wizard you should certainly get in touch with me...

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

A Ghost Tale

For college, I selected a small, private university in Austin; at the time they had one of the highest rated theater arts departments in the country.

The campus had a large cathedral like main building; it used to be a private school before it was expanded to a university. When it was first founded, the students slept in the main building on the 2nd or 3rd floor and the brothers/teachers slept on the 4th floor.

The campus legend was that one of the brothers hung himself from the bell one night, and that his ghost still haunted the 4th floor of the main building.

One night, a bunch of us decided to check out the 4th floor of the main building, which was off limits and locked away from the student body. A group of us scaled the fire escape and pried open a window on the 3rd floor.

We made our way to the locked stairwell that led to the 4th floor, cursing every creaking floorboard. One of the guys knelt at the door and tried to pick the lock; another held the flashlight, me and two other guys just held back, watching and waiting; I was the very farthest from the door, with my back to the hallway behind us.

I'll never forget the sudden chill I felt- all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. (I'm getting goosebumps remembering it right now.) I just had that feeling that someone was behind me, and I slowly turned around.

Standing in the hallway intersection, I swear I saw the faint shadow of a catholic priest, with his long robe and bald head. He was looking at us and shaking his head.

I let out a yell that would have given any helden-tenor a run for their money and I bolted down the hall, away from the apparition. The others chased after me. I tore open the window and bolted down the other fire escape, my comrades in arms screaming at me to slow down and asking what I saw.

When we reached the ground and assembled under a small grove of trees, the guy with the flashlight shined it on my face-- he said I was white as a sheet; I don't doubt it--I was shaking like a leaf.

I'm sure many will dismiss it as an overactive imagination... if I heard this tale myself I probably would be skeptical too. But 20 odd years later, I still get the goosebumps and the sweat when I think of that night.