What a waste : Election Day 2008

I totally feel like I'm wasting my vote.

I don't agree completely with either major political party; all the "assess your political position" polls that I take fail to put me in the Red or Blue camp - I'm really more of a Libertarian.

But it will be cold day in Hell before the Libertarian party stands a chance at winning a presidential election. (Even with global warming it ain't gonna happen.)

What a bummer.

I can't in good conscience vote for either of the main candidates - so I resign myself to being one of the 2% who vote other.

The story of my life... surrounded on all sides and still alone...

Would you intervene if you saw a woman being attacked?

I was asked this question the other day and had this tale to share:

I was in a nightclub one night, sitting at the bar, minding my own business. Next to me, a young lady was sitting with one or two of her female friends, having a drink - looked like a "girl's night out" sort of thing.

Some guy walks up to the lady sitting next to me and gives her a straight right cross square on the jaw. She flies off the barstool and lands hard on the ground, stunned.

Being the ever chivalrous gentleman, I stood up and told the guy that wasn't any way to treat a woman, and suggested he try that move on me.

We went at it, and I was doing more than well against this sorry fuck; I had studied Vunak and Cucci along with a few others and could more than hold my own in HTH. All of a sudden the bouncers grab me and hold me, completely ignoring the fool who started this whole encounter. The girl on the floor gets ups and starts hitting me, screaming "Don't hurt my boyfriend" and now that I'm restrained by the bouncers, mr. lame fuck girlfriend beater takes a free swipe at me with a bottle. I have a nice "Harrison Ford chin scar" to show for that chivalrous act, and a few stitches on my head somewhere.

So no, to be quite honest, I don't think I would lend a hand again. I did it once because once upon a time it was the right thing to do - today I'd probably get sued, or shot, or both.

I'm so disillusioned with most of the @$$-wipes out there I couldn't care less what they all do to each other. I know it's a selfish mentality, but years of disillusionment with people in general will do that to you.

My public key for PGP encryption

In case you didn't know, email is the electronic equivalent of a traditional "snail mail" postcard.

No envelope, readable by anyone who happens to be between you and your recipient.
Not the sort of way you'd want to send delicate information. For those with "conspiracy theory" mindsets and other Orwellian fears, having email so open is scary.

There are a lot of ways to protect the privacy of your message; PGP (pretty good privacy) encryption is easy, and FREE.

It is not within the confines of this post to explain PGP and how it works, but, a Reader's Digest condensed version would be:

You have a private key, and a public key. Your public key is shared with anyone who wants to send you an encrypted message.

When you receive an encrypted message, your private key decrypts it.

Of course, you have to find a way to get your public key into the hands of anyone who is going to send you an encrypted message, and you have to have the public key of anyone to whom you are going to send an encrypted message, but once that's done, you're ready to begin.

What does an encrypted message look like?

Well, the post you've read so far would look like this if I sent it in an encrypted email...


-----BEGIN PGP MESSAGE-----
Version: GnuPG v1.4.7 (MingW32) - WinPT 1.2.0
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=LMqc
-----END PGP MESSAGE-----



Now, you'll need software to generate the private & public keys, and to encrypt and decrypt the messages. You can download a free, easy to use program for Windows at

http://www.gpg4win.org/


If you are comfortable with the command line interface, you can learn more here

http://www.gnupg.org/



I realize I'll probably NEVER receive an encrypted message from anyone, but, JUST IN CASE, here is my public key...



pub 1024D/7C1ED339 7/6/2009 Christopher Cho
Primary key fingerprint: 7217 33ED 1BC0 BC2D 8339 E741 0559 FFF2 7C1E D339

-----BEGIN PGP PUBLIC KEY BLOCK-----
Version: GnuPG v1.4.7 (MingW32) - WinPT 1.2.0
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=gsIg
-----END PGP PUBLIC KEY BLOCK-----




Feel free to send me a message, and include your public key so I can return a nice private message as well.

Is the safe choice the wrong choice?

Last night I put up some work from a play titled "Guilty Conscience." I feel my work was pretty good, considering I have no director, and I had to edit some of the script to make it a workable one man scene. When I was asked how I felt about my performance, I said I thought it was pretty good - I wanted to work on showing the choices I had made for this character - detail oriented, obsessive -compulsive, analytical, and competent almost to the point of being arrogant, and I wanted to see if I could portray the character, his alter ego, and characters that the alter ego references all onstage. (It would be much easier to do on film with camera angles, wardrobe, etc.)

All of my objectives I accomplished with great success, he indicated.

Then he made an interesting observation.

The work that I've done so far (granted, only two pieces, but that is what he's seen) has been very clinically precise. My choices are clear and well presented, but they are, to use his term, "safe choices." There isn't any "thinking outside the box" for lack of a better term.

Now, in all honesty, I probably do tend to take the safer choice. Is that the wrong choice? I debated some on the way home last night--does thinking "outside the box" allow you to disregard the intention of the writer? And how far does that translate in casting?

For example:

Let's say the role calls for the following:
A tall, elegant man in his late 40s, dressed immaculately in a three piece suit. His attitude is one of absolute self confidence - his enemies would call it arrogance - that is tempered by a wry and amused self confidence.

It seems to me that playing this guy like a young Robin Williams on crack cocaine would be an prime example of thinking outside the box, but totally wrong in regards to the intention of the writer. So how does one resolve this conflict?

Wimping out and letting the director have the final say is one easy route to follow, although I seem to think that generally the writer and director are somewhere near the same page in regards to the vision of the project. This is one time where I think my intellect is getting in the way of my creativity.

I'll have to stew on this for a while, no doubt....

Discipline vs Perfectionism

Last night in class, a pair of young actors put up a scene from one of my all time favorite movies, "Broadcast News." The scene was the one in which Jane comes over to see how Aaron's shot at weekend anchor went, and ultimately Aaron confides that he is in love with her.

Now, maybe I was being particularly harsh because I love this movie.

Maybe it was because I've done this particular scene before.

Maybe it's because I write as well, and I'm a HUGE proponent of sticking with the script.

Maybe it's because I'm a perfectionist.

Maybe it's because I'm older than most of the others and my age is showing.

But I had a hard time giving the scene anything more than a C+ because they both were VERY far off the script that I remember reading. The actor playing Aaron was really just taking the idea and putting his own words to it, using what he could remember and filling in between with his own stuff. I guess another way to describe it is the explanation in Jurassic Park about where they got dinosaur DNA - they took what they had and filled in the rest with frog DNA - that's sort of what he was doing... except his dinosaur was more like a gila monster.

As I drove home, I reflected on why exactly I was grading the scene so low, and a large part of it was the actor's disregard for the script as it was written, which in turn may have tainted my evaluation of whether or not he was really emotionally involved in the scene. So then I started to wonder if my desire to stick with the script is getting in the way of my creative process.

I've always thought the actor's job was bringing the character that was written to life - unless the director tells me that the script is just a guide, I try to nail the lines exactly as written - I might be a halfway decent writer myself, but it seems to me that if the studio/network/producers liked the script, it's my job to bring that script to life, not make up my own.

I guess I'm gonna hafta think about this... maybe I'll write a monologue on the subject while I'm at it...

A personal sort of revelation

I recently joined an acting class after a hiatus of many years. I attended for about a month before putting up a monologue so I could get a feel for the class and the instructor.

Personally, I loathe monologues, but it seemed a logical choice for several reasons. No one in the class knows my level of proficiency onstage, and no one really wants to go up with someone they've never worked with before and risk embarrassment in front of their peers. In addition, right now my schedule is such that rehearsal with someone else would be very tough to schedule, so in the interest of expediency I chose a monologue from a play titled Key Exchange.

I did my piece and then the instructor and I had a brief dialogue. His first question to me was asking how I felt about the work I just did. I answered that I felt rusty - it's probably been 10 years since I've set foot in a classroom environment. Yes, I've worked on the set, but even there it has been over two years since my last gig. I felt rusty.

"Yeah," he answered dryly. "Rusty like a well oiled bicycle."

I cannot recount verbatim his critique, but, in short, he was very complimentary-- saying I was extremely talented and that I took to the stage with seemingly effortless grace. I took his praise with my usual stone faced countenance. He even commented on my expressionless response to his praise, saying I shouldn't be dismissive in what he was saying because, although he does say it pretty regularly in his class, it seems that genuinely talented people have a way of finding his class, which is why it appears that nearly every critique bears some testimony to the performers' level of talent.

Now, I'll be honest, I certainly enjoyed drinking from this seemingly endless fountain of flattery, but I admit I was skeptical in its honesty simply because of the situation: I am a tuition paying student - my continued attendance is a requisite for the continuation of his school, and, thus, it would seem a scathing review would be un-wise, especially for the premier performance of a plebe. The instructor gave me one suggestion--something I had considered in my preparation, but since it never blossomed during the performance, I opted not to "push it" and simply remain honest and in the moment. I guess that's a good thing, because otherwise, the instructor noted, he really wouldn't have had anything to say.

As I contemplated all of this days later, I found myself wondering if I was giving the instructor a fair shake; is this simply my inability to take a compliment? I was raised with the philosophy of not singing one's praises, and letting the final result do the talking. I try to keep with this school of thought in everything - it is rare for me to proclaim my proficiency in anything - I prefer to, as they say in certain circles, "let the cards speak for themselves." So why is it that I'm always hearing how good I am, but I'm still standing here sans career? I guess I find it hard to take a compliment when my resume doesn't reflect the same apparent level of proficiency that everyone sees when I do work.

Of course, no one likes to examine themselves closely and find the subject wanting, but since I pride myself in personal objectivity (in of itself a contradiction, I realize) I think perhaps I should give my newfound mentor some length of rope with which he may either hoist me up, or hang himself.

For those who dabble in dream interpretation...

Last night I had an odd dream, highlighted by the fact that I remember a large part of it in great detail.

Some of it I can understand why it's there, but for any who are good at dream interpretation, I'd love to hear what this whole thing signifies.

First, a quick piece of background information: about a month ago, a dear friend of mine named Ivan, who is my acting coach, closed his acting school. Now the dream begins...

In my dream, Ivan had purchased a fairly large house and was converting it to a gymnasium. The house had a Spanish villa /Mediterranean look to it, with a winding paved stone driveway and walkway, lush plants with misters, Spanish tile roof, etc. I remember walking through the home, where there were a handful of what I must presume to be former students of his working on preparing the home/gym for the grand opening.

I walked up to Ivan and asked if he a list of personal trainers that he could mail and offer them incentives to train their clients at his gym. He said he did not and I offered to get that for him. I then began discussing the advertising/marketing plan for his new gym, and pointed out that he should focus on the benefits his place offers that other gyms can't.

"For example," I said, "you have a kitchen. You should point out people can prepare their post workout meals right here without having to rush home. Get your protein and carbs immediately after your workout." There were numerous nods of approval from the others. Ivan seemed excited at the idea, sitting at a small desk he quickly took notes.

"You should also emphasize the more personal feel here as opposed to the huge, uncaring corporate feel you get at those big chain gyms."

On my way out, I strolled around the pool, where there were half a dozen or so swimsuit clad individuals, male and female, and of course all of them with phenomenal physiques. From there I left Ivan's new endeavor and returned to a small, cramped and rather untidy apartment that I must assume was mine (think of a stereotypical slum neighborhood apartment and you'd have it.) And then, I woke up.

Boring and baffling is all I can say...

BUSTED !

There's this guy here at the office who was supposed to be a deity when it came to tax work; before he started working here, I saw him occasionally when he came in to do consulting work; he always appeared to be pretty competent.

Then he joined the firm, and I got to work with him on a daily basis.

Slowly, that image of superior intellect and near invincible work habits began to deteriorate. Lately, it seems, he would frequently come rushing back and retrieve work from the outgoing mail bin at the last second, making excuses about how he overlooked several million dollars here or there because of something the client had failed to divulge. Of course, we grunts in the trenches nodded in understanding, but we always harbored suspicions that he was simply screwing up and blaming the clients.

This last Wednesday he gave me a return to send to the client for signatures. I performed all the normal duties and sent the email with attachments to the client. (Technically I'm the network admin, but I help out with some clerical duties when I can.) This morning he came to me and asked if I had sent the email.

"Yep," I answered. "Went out about 15 minutes after you gave it to me."
"Oh, " he said. "We'll need to resend it - this morning the client changed a bunch of numbers."
"OK," I said. "Let me know when it's ready."

One of the other grunts IM'd me.

"Funny how it's always his clients that change the numbers," he messaged.

"Bull," I IM'd him back. "He missed something and now he's trying to cover his ass."
Later, I received the corrected file and sent a second email to the client, mumbling under my breath about how incompetence can be so fiscally rewarding.

Hours later I get an email from the client, asking why I've sent the documents again and asking what to do.

BUSTED !

Me and my co-worker had a good laugh over the fact that we were both right on our call. The devil in me wanted to write back to the client and say something about how he is receiving this email as a result of the changes he provided this morning, but I decided to be nice.

Don't ya just love it when you make a situational assessment and learn you nailed it right on the head?

I give myself a virtual high five... I rock...

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

The Passing of the Torch

Last week was a bittersweet milestone for me, or rather, for me and my 6 year old son.

He had secured himself a role in his school's production of "Oliver!" Over the course of the rehearsals his role had been increased to the point where, considering his age, it was a pretty significant sized part.

The night of his performance came, and we watched with eager anticipation as my son came out and put his acting chops to the test. After the first scene there was little doubt that he has inherited his father's flair for the stage. At one point, a fellow actress delivered her line and received a sizeable laugh from the audience which overwhelmed my son's delivery of his punchline. Without missing a beat, he waited for the laughs to subside, and then repeated his line, resulting in another round of laughter from the audience. I asked the director if she had taught him about holding for the laugh, and she said that they had discussed it once, and just briefly.

"He's a natural," the director said enthusiastically. "He's really good."

After the show, the praise from the audience continued; my son was pretty overwhelmed by the outpouring of congratulations and compliments. I remembered my senior high school production of "A Christmas Carol" where I received similar accolades, and I realized with a twinge of sadness that the spotlight was slowly shifting focus from me to my young son.

We celebrated by going to our local Chili's, which is one of his favorites. Over dinner, we engaged in another favorite pastime, chess. I taught it to him at an early age and he's gotten quite good, having already entered a tournament and nearly placing. I myself was the school champ in 5th and 6th grade - the 1st to ever win both years, so I'm hardly a slouch in the game.

That night, however, his play was awesome, and after a blunder on my part he had me. I was forced to resign.

The torch had truly passed.

Despite a slight twinge of sadness, I am excited. He has so much ahead of him, and enormous gifts to bring to bear to all the challenges that lay ahead. In a way, I'm envious of all he has, and in another, I'm proud to think that I had something to do with his accomplishments thus far and yet to come. I can only hope as the torch passes that I am granted the opportunity to watch him carry it boldly forward and illuminate the paths that I have failed to tread myself.

The Acceptable Double Standard

There is an advertisement running on network television right now that caught my attention last night. In the ad, a young, hunky model is escorted through a retail department store where he is introduced to Martha Stewart, who remarks that she's really looking forward to working with him and as he turns to continue onward she makes no effort to conceal her checking out his ass.

Maria Carey is also in the store, and she oohs and aahs over him as he walks by. Many of the other female shoppers / employees in the store are similarly affected; at one point a crowd of women are standing nearby practically dripping with desire and when our young hunk notices they all scatter and pretend to be busy. Eventually, when this choice piece of eye candy finally arrives at his destination, a rather glum looking Donald Trump is seen standing off to the side, and he comments how they're all so shallow.

Of course, right now, for the life of me, I can't recall the store that is being advertised, and based on that, it's not an effective ad. (My sister used to work in advertising, and this is one test of an effective ad that I remember her mentioning...) BUT the point I'm making here is the interesting double standard that is virtually unmentioned yet seemingly accepted.

If the roles were reversed, and this was a sexy young lady and a bunch of men were ogling her tits and ass, and an older guy sneered at her "I'm really looking forward to working with you!" I am positive there would be such an outcry of protest from women's groups across the country that the ad would be pulled. Yet, there is nary a peep about the same sexual harassment if it's applied to a guy. Why is that?

I'm sure some critics out there will wave me off as jealous; certainly I wouldn't take issue if I were similarly desired by the same type of women depicted in the ad (they are, of course, all gorgeous.) But I don't think so--this is really more of an issue with a lack of consistency in standards, which is a big deal to me.

So guys aren't allowed to ogle women, but woman are allowed to gape and stare and men.
If a guy stares at a woman, or makes a suggestive remark, or some other visual or audible indication of arousal, it's harassment...but if a woman does it it's fine.

That's bullshit.

Quite frankly, I'm sick and tired of people making all these rules that apply to everyone but themselves. If you're going to cry foul when someone kicks you in the nuts, then it isn't ok for you to run around kicking every else's groin. Honestly, is this concept so foreign that everyone has forgotten the saying "What's good for the goose is good for the gander."?

I'm sure there are women out there who are pointing fingers and saying "See what it feels like to be a considered a sex object??" It has nothing to do with that (in fact, quite honestly, I would be lucky if even one woman took notice of me as I walked by); it has to do with a double standard that, in my opinion, is lending itself to a mentality that condones capricious dictates that lack equality for all.

All right, that's off my chest. I'm going to go look for my steel toed boots...

Who Is Living Your Life?

No, this isn't a post on identity theft, although it would make a catchy title, don't ya think?

A rather commonplace event has led me to this post today, and it is a rather philosophical topic as opposed to my usual offerings of humor and occasional rants.

The origin of this post is the recent rear-ending and subsequent classification as a 'total loss' of my beloved Toyota 4 Runner.

We purchased our 4 Runner back in 2000, when our Rav 4 was totaled in a head on collision. For 8 years (almost to the day) our 4 Runner, which I'll abbreviate to 4-R in homage to Star Wars, ran well and worked hard. 4-R had over 175,000 miles when she was picked up by the insurance company, and we got nearly 1/3 of our original price back in the settlement, so, even in her passing, she was a giver.

My thoughts, however, wandered to the fact that we are now looking for a new car only because of what happened. Life sort of 'forced itself' upon us and made us replace our car--in all honesty, we would have kept 4-R until she totally died of old age if we had our choice.

It seems that life has a funny way of handing down decrees to me--and I find myself wondering if I'm living my life, or if I'm just a participant in it. Are the choices that I think I'm making already made for me? When I deviate from the path set out for me, does life find a way to, as Capt. Picard would say, "Make it so"?

My wife and I had no plans for having children until I was successful in Hollywood, but it seems life dictated otherwise, despite our efforts to the contrary. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it happened-- our son is the child that every parent dreams of, and we are blessed beyond description, but I find myself wondering sometimes "What happened to my say in this matter? How or why did the powers that be decide otherwise?"

Of course, one could argue there are no powers that be; there is no greater power deciding one way or the other what will happen to us. But, if that's indeed the case, how is it that so many people's lives end up nothing like how they planned it? I would venture to say most people are nowhere near where they dreamed they would be--is this a result of poor planning on their part? Poor execution? Were their dreams immature and thus unattainable? Is it because they had no dream or plan? Are we really in "The Matrix?" (BTW, I totally think the Europeans got it right when they decided to put the question mark OUTSIDE of the quotes...)

If you think about it, almost anything that can be dreamed has been accomplished. People used to only dream of traveling into space; today there are such possibilities (if your pockets are deep enough.) Businesses are launched, and for some, fortunes are made, while for others, fortunes are lost. How is it decided what works, and what doesn't?

Are people who are considered failures simply people who decided to go against a preordained path that life had in store for them? There are many who say I'm not a failure, but, if you were to sit and take stock of everything I've done, I must say that, in the field of my choice, I am a failure. One of my co-workers graciously labeled me as a "deferred celebrity," borrowing from the accounting definition of suspending or withholding until a certain time or event. While it is a rather funny thought, I do, on many occasions, find myself wondering if my lack of success is indicative of my choosing the 'wrong' path. Was I supposed to do something else with my life? If that's the case, is it really MY life?

There is that familiar saying "Man makes plans and God laughs." It must be true, because, based on my life to date, he obviously has one hell of a sense of humor.