A couple months ago I tried a blog experiment with a friend of mine. If you follow this at all, you may remember when Deena and I both took the same topic, and wrote from a different perspective. There is no measure of success on something like this. There is no mark of failure. This is...well for me...simply fun. I am doing something with someone I respect as an artist, a writer, and a person. I hope its something that we occasionally continue to do. It's something we're doing again today.
Although her residence, home, and family are all here in Salt Lake City, Deena has been on an extended stay in New York City, honing her craft in all ways. Acting Classes, courses, auditions, watching, and being part of all things theatre, in the living heartbeat of the American theatre world. I am painted with admiration and jealousy.
It was decided that a fun writing topic would be to both of us, from different sides of the continent, with a similar life passion, just do a "Day in the Life" type blog. It's broad. It's open to go anywhere...and who knows...maybe it will. So as I did last time around, if you are reading this because you came here first, and would like to see the other side of all of this, please follow her blog here...
A Diary of Today
If you are reading this because you connected to me through her...thank you.
And off we go.
Saturday November 3, 2012.
7:42 a.m.
I shouldn't be awake. Like most 9-5ers, I get two days a week to sleep a little more in the mornings, and this is one of them. My stupid eyes opened up though, and here it is. I'm awake. I'm not all that thrilled about it, but I might as well accept it. Deal with it. Not like I was in the middle of some great dream anyways. In fact the last thing I remember I was chatting online with a friend of mine. Fell asleep mid conversation, and now I'm waking up. I've been becoming a bit curious about this lately. Sleep has become like this big blank spot that separates precise moments of consciousness. I mean of course it is. It's probably that way for everybody, but I've really become aware of it lately. I'm doing something...doing something...doing something...waking up. There is nothing in between there except the passage of a few hours, and it always seems to happen exactly that fast.
I wake up, like I do every morning with this driving need. Urge. Nearly uncontrollable, and has become habitually instinctive. I don't even think about it anymore. It's beyond routine. It is simply the first thing I do...every single morning when I wake up. I don't even tell my hand to do it. It just follows the same simple pattern that it always does. The first movement I become aware of, is my hand reaching down to grab my phone. I start my day checking all the messages I missed. There are a few. A conversation I'd been having that I fell asleep in the middle of. Comments. Voicemail. Birthday alerts. I love being connected. I do. I live in isolation by choice. I don't have a lot of human contact, outside of that forced on my by work and life schedules. The people I care about most are all in the palm of my hand, and I talk with them often through plastic and magic. All these things I read, before I even crawl out of my bed, make me smile, make me laugh, and that is a damn fine way to start any day.
Sometime between 7:50 and 8:10
Breakfast. It's a gorgeous morning already. There is sunlight. Dead golden leaves litter the ground, and a few remain on the trees in my back yard. I step out for my morning breakfast. It's the exact same as it is every morning. Caffeine and nicotine. I often talk about quitting smoking. I need to. I'm going to. I simply don't have the discipline to do it cold turkey. I've tried. The longest I made it was two weeks. I one time was absolutely determined to quit smoking, made the mental decision, threw away all my cigarettes, and lighters, and two hours later lit up again. So I'm a non-quitter. I quit quitting. I gave up believing I could do it on my own, and realized if it's going to happen, I will probably need pharmaceutical help. My waiting period at work officially ended November 1st, so as of three days ago, I can now go see a doctor, and get whatever drugs I can to assist in my efforts to become nicotine free. There is a part of me that wants this...that is ready for it.
There is another part of me that is very much not. There is a certain joy, a particular quality, a love affair of sorts with cigarettes. I've heard that one of the keys of quitting the habit of smoking, as actually quitting the HABIT of smoking. Figure out the cigarettes that are very much part of the routine, and quit those ones first. The hard part for me, is those cigarettes are my favorite ones. The first cigarette of the day, and the last of the day, are quite frankly the best of the day. These are my moments of zen. The times I really go into the nicotine haze of beautiful introspection. I will miss them when they're gone.
I watch the morning through smoke. I go into the labrynth of my mind and journey through plans, and timetables, and well...hope. Hope for all the things I haven't planned or timetabled. Curious about all the little things that could happen. That I would like to happen. This is my breakfast, and I love feeling the dry lazy burn in my throat as my mind takes its morning journey.
Shower.
To shave or not to shave. (Not)
Clothes? I guess. I kinda have to, but I'd rather not, so it doesn't really matter what. Find a shirt, put it to my nose. It passes inspection, put it on.
Read script.
Text mom.
Check rehearsal schedule.
Read a few pages of book.
Have about half an hour to kill...
contemplate masturbation...
decide against it...
Keep reading book...
9:45
Since the beginning of June, I have not had a week go by that I didn't have a rehearsal to go to. This thrills me to death. This morning it's Screwtape. I didn't audition for this show. Auditions themselves, and the first few weeks of rehearsal conflicted with another show I was already doing. Just as that show ended, I got a call, asking if I could step into a role in Screwtape. Sure I said. It's a small role. Tiny in fact. What in the Film and TV world we call a cameo. I'm thrilled about it. I absolutely love that I can still step on the boards, say my words, and leave the stage. I don't have the responsibility to carry anything, but I still get to be part of the overall process.
So off to rehearsal.
Walk to bus stop.
Get on bus.
Buy ticket.
Take seat.
Put in earphones.
Watch the streets roll by.
Three stops later, I look up and notice a new passenger boarding. She's pretty. Blonde. Bouncy, low cut shirt. I hate that I'm such a typical guy...but...I'm a typical guy. I notice all the things. She see's me seeing, and smiles. I smile back. She sits down a few seats away, and thus ends this small human encounter. Another simple, elegant reminder that my emotional connection to even the idea of romance is completely, totally, absolutely locked up, but the physical drive, and interest is still very much alive and active. Sigh. Conundrum. Absolute interest in the most banal. Complete disinterest in the most beautiful.
10:15
Stepping into my realization. I'm sitting on a park bench in Sugarhouse. If I think about it, of course I can remember how I got here, but its all a blur. None of the in-between matters, but now...all of a sudden, I step into my realization, and see myself sitting on a park bench in Sugarhouse. It's a moment of clarity. Everything in this moment is real, and stopped. Everything leading up to this moment is already over, and it hits me that every single second of my life...every decision...every choice made at each pivotal point...has led me to be right now, at 10:15 a.m. Saturday, November 3rd, 2012, to be sitting on a park bench in Sugarhouse. This is always true, no matter who, or where, or when you are, but sometimes it's fun to think about.
I take a couple minutes and just look at all the people, walking, running, or driving by. All of their moments have led them to that moment as well. Each person in their own reality bubble, doing all the things that are simply the most important things in the world to them, in that instant. Neat.
10:30 a.m. - 3:00 p.m.
Rehearsal.
As I mentioned earlier, I have a very small contribution to this production. It's a long rehearsal, and although I'm only needed for a small part of it, I stay the entire time. I watch the other actors. I watch the director. I watch the stage manager. I watch the process. I love the process. I love studying how each person approaches it the same...and differently. I love the different philosophies brought into the room. I love the technique. I love the creation, and discovery.
I know that at some point I will be writing about all of this. I wonder what it is I'll write. I wonder if I'll have anything interesting. I think about Deena in New York, wondering what she'll be writing about. I wonder if she's in a rehearsal, or a class, or an audition. I allow myself a moment of broad contemplation. There is probably a rehearsal for some show, somewhere, in most cities in America. People just like me, connected with an invisible thread of passion for telling stories. People like me who sit in rehearsal and watch. People like Deena who travel thousands of miles away from friends and family to study, learn, and improve her craft. People in all the places in between, to some degree or other, doing pretty much the same thing. We are all a certain monster driven by the intangible to do the impossible.
4:00 p.m. - 8:00 p.m.
My parents are in town for a family event on Sunday that I will miss, and The Utah Symphony that night that I won't miss. I've often joked that I could never make it as a rockstar or broken celebrity, because I don't have any parental issues. I love spending time with my parents. Although over the course of my life I have developed my own religious, political, and life philosophies that are pretty much polar opposite of my parents, and those they tried to raise me with, we are all still so incredibly close. Naturally over the course of dinner, discussions regarding all those philosophies come up, and we gently glide the surface of all of them, but we do it with civility and respect. We understand that although we are diametrically opposed to all the things the others are saying, we are still valued as people with the common bond of love, respect, and friendship. Although we know we have different ideas on which road and direction to travel, our desired destination is pretty much exactly the same. Oh that all America could have dinner with me and my parents. It is in fact quite possible to completely disagree on everything, and NOT hate each other. In fact not only not hate each other...but really really enjoy spending time together.
8:00 p.m. - 10:00 p.m.
RHAPSODY IN BLUE
I am so excited for this. I've always loved the Rhapsody in Blue. I mean really...who doesn't? It is ear candy. It's excitement, and joy, and achievement, and celebration. All wrapped up in music. From the opening scale wail of the clarinet, to the final orchestral explosion, I am in rapture. I have chills, and I can't stop grinning. Every member of the symphony simply tore it up. The pianist was on fire. Strings, brass, percussion, wind, all of it blowing up the stage. There was life in front of me not dancing...but soaring through the roof. It was breathtaking.
My parents have been season subscribers to the Utah Symphony for years, but it often happens that they aren't able to use tickets for certain performances, so they pass the tickets on to me. I have never, nor will I ever, decline to use the tickets when I have a chance. As a result I've seen the superstars of symphony. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms, Hayden, Rachmaninoff, Stravinsky, Bizet, Ravel, Stravinsky, and so many others. I have never until tonight seen a sold out audience. Every single seat was full. Gershwin sold the place out. Now I can't say, because I haven't ever been, but I imagine the yearly Messiah sing-a-long also packs the house.
I thought about this. Is Rhapsody in Blue something easier on the ears than perhaps Beethoven's 7th? (Which was also pretty damn amazing by the way.) I don't think so. Is it more appealing? I don't know. Is it simply more familiar? Perhaps. I don't have an answer really, but it was interesting. An observation that made me ask questions that I really can't answer, but certainly opinions regarding that answer are interesting.
10:00 p.m. - ???
And now the empty night. I come home and listen again to R.I.B. A few times. It still tastes amazing, but nothing beats live that's fer damn sure. I piss about the interwebs. Stupid FB shit. Some facetime with my PS3. I love my aloneness, but sometimes not so much the loneliness. I crave physical human contact, but not at all human emotional contact. That need is already met in the most amazing and incredible can never be met sort of way. Hard to explain and I have no intention of trying.
I spend I don't know how long, or how many hours, just being. Doing. Nothing significant, but probably mildly entertaining. I write. I listen. I watch. I play. I chat. I eat. I do. Just do.
And then it ends as it began.
The ending cigarette.
Under stars and moonlight. Surrounded by the death of the season.
I do this every day. I wrap it up in nicotine, and thought, and imagination. I taste the pleasure of it all. I recognize my gratitude for all of it. I think of you. All of you. I flash you through my mind. I remember my friends. I remind myself that they are there. That they are meaningful to me. That they...you...are part of who I am, and why I am.
And I think of her.
I think of her, and inhale.
I think of her, and inhale, and tell myself...
For now
For always
That's enough.
That'll do.
And with that lie...
I go to bed.
