The last 48 hours.

I thought I was prepared. I had mentally walked myself through this.  Or so I had supposed.

To preface.

I am incredibly proud of my mother.  I say this with no irony, or subtle hint of disparagy.  Since I was a small child I remember my mother talking about how her greatest goal was to get a college degree.  She married at 18, had me at 19, and before my birth had only gone through one semester of college.  She put all of that aside for her family.  Despite anything I, or you, or anyone may have to say on life choices...this was hers.  She gave up her dreams and goals to focus on her new and over the years growing family.
When I started middle school, she began attending a community college located eighty miles from where we lived.  She would travel nearly an hour and a half each direction two or three nights a week for classes.  After a few years of doing this, she finally got her associates degree from Western Wyoming Community College.
Now, decades later, through the magic of digital technology, and internet communication, she received her Bachelors from BYU-Idaho.  At the tender age of 58, she has reached her lifelong goal of a degree from an accredited collegiate institution.  This woman, who truly sacrificed so much of what she wanted, for her children...this woman who I give all credit for any good quality that I may have...has been a prime example that the time it takes to reach a destination, is nowhere near as important as the arrival.  She is my mother, and she is amazing to me.
She is also Mormon.  I am not.  This probably breaks her heart a little.  She raised me to be.  She gave me the education and training in that particular brand of spirituality.  In the end, it didn't take.  It did for a while though.  I was twenty-seven before I made a full break from the religion.
I grew up with the dogma.  The practice.  The songs, and traditions, and ceremonies of it all.  I knew and practiced the customs.  I read and studied the books.  The Bible.  The Book of Mormon.  All of the Mormon scriptural cannon.  I could talk doctrine, and debate theosophic ideas with the best of them.  I went on a mission to do just that.  To convert as many to my way of thinking as possible.
I also attended BYU-Idaho, although at the time it was simply a Junior College called Ricks, located in Rexburg Idaho, about 25 miles north of Idaho Falls.  I went there for one semester before my mission, and a couple years again after my mission.  I made a lot of great friends, some whom I'm even still in contact with.  I met the woman who would become my future ex wife there.  I began my theatrical training there.
I am not like most ex-mo's I meet.  I don't harbor any ill feelings for the church.  I'm not angry.  I don't hold onto any hatred for any offense, real or imagined.  All of those parts of my life led me to become who I am now, and truth is...I really like who I am now.  Still though...still...
I do try to distance myself from it now as much as possible.  I've discovered for myself all the many reasons to not believe.  To not be able to believe.  To know, in my own reality why that (or any other church) cannot possibly be "true".  I don't share my discoveries, or push my own reality on other people.  I simply exist as I am, within my reality, with my discoveries, and allow all others the pleasure of doing the same.  I have no anti-mormon agenda.  Still though...still.

I thought I was prepared. I had mentally walked myself through this.  Or so I had supposed.

My mother's graduation ceremony was July 23, in Rexburg Idaho, on the campus of BYU-Idaho. It was very important to her that I, as well as all of her family, attend.  Of course I was going to.  After a lifetime of giving to me...what kind of a shithole would I be to skip out simply because I wanted to avoid a Mormon atmosphere?

I thought I was prepared. I had mentally walked myself through this.  Or so I had supposed.

Upon arrival in Rexburg, I took myself on a little stroll down memory lane.  I drove past the buildings I had lived as such a young student.  I walked by womens housing where I had formerly had so many friends and crushes.  The apartments where the woman I would marry had lived.  My old theatre building and classrooms.

Anyone who has taken a similar journey, knows the familiar ache of a past now seen through very different eyes.  It was simultaneously invigorating, and heartbreaking.  So much familiar.  So much had changed.  I saw in my eyes the faces of people I had known, whom I haven't seen in decades, who now have families and children of their own.
I sat at a piano, in a practice room where I had created so many memories.  It was overwhelming.  I am not the person I was.  We are not what we once thought we would become.  Some for better, some for worse, change is inevitable...but the circle...the magic circle where we remember a past, thinking about a future, and realizing how both right and wrong we were.

It was the walking around where the other parts started creeping in.  The itchy parts.  The irritaion.  The discomfort that I had known would happen.  That I had mentally prepared for.

Rexburg is not primarily mormon.  It IS mormon.  When I lived there, there were at least two night clubs that I knew of.  They are gone now.  There are no bars.  There is no bookstore that has a "relationships" section.  There is nowhere that you can find anything that isn't in some way church sanctioned.  The ONLY exception I discovered was the no-name convenience store where I was able to pick up a pack of cigarettes.  I was surprised to find that.  When I asked the clerk for my brand...a very VERY common brand...it took her a while to find where they were located.  I had the feeling this might be the first time anyone had asked her for a pack.  I could nearly see her picking it up with between her thumb and forefinger and holding it as far from her body as she could, as she passed it over to me. I could practically hear in my head the discussion she was preparing to have with her bishop, if she should keep a job where she was in fact sometimes, an agent in the distribution of sin.

I stepped out to smoke one of my newly procured cigarettes, knowing that my opportunities to do just that would be very few, and very far between.  Not seconds after lighting up, I counted no less than three drivers of cars, slowing down and literally rubernecking to look at the heathen disgracing the hallowed streets of their fair town.  I honestly don't believe this was a conscious choice on their part, so much as it was something so incredibly out of the ordinary.  They had to give themselves time to register if what they were seeing, was actually happening.

I walked onto campus, toward the building where the graduation ceremony would be.  I had officially entered hallowed grounds.  I saw exactly what I knew I would.  What I had mentally prepared myself for from the moment I knew I would be going.  On a college campus, on a warm day, with summer classes in full swing...there was no frivolity.  There was no mischief.  There was no joy of youth.
Oh there were students to be sure.  Reverently walking to whatever classes they had next.  If they were wearing shorts at all, (not many were) they were past the knee shorts.  There were no tank tops, or clothes of summer, but instead high neck tshirts.  There were rings on the fingers of near children.  I don't care what decision a person makes in life.  If you feel, at the ripe age of 18 that you've found the love of your life, then by all the gods, do what you will...I don't give two shits...but still...still  It seems so much waste.  All of these kids...yes...fucking KIDS...who have been trained, and taught, and conditioned to throw away the best years of their lives.  How could I not be at least a little depressed?
The glassy eyed stares.  The fake, empty smiles.  The light laughter, if there was any.  Where oh where oh fucking WHERE was the goddamn joy?  This, they are taught, is happiness.
Well...who am I to judge?  Maybe it is.
This is what I HAD prepared myself for.
Then came the graduation ceremony.
BYU-Idaho is of course owned and opperated by the Corporation of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  The Mormons.  True, it is a state accredited school, but the rules of seperation of church and state don't really apply here.  Mormon rules all the way.  That's fine.  I had prepared myself for this.  I was ready.  Or so I thought.
For those who may read this who aren't familiar with Mormon phraseology or heirarchy, allow me a brief moment to explain.  At the head of the church is the President.  As recognized by federal government he is the president of the corporation.  He is the person responsible for, and accoutable for all of the legal and financial decisions for both corporate and non-profit divisions of the organization, as pertaining to the government.  He is aided by a first and second counselor.  These three men stand at the head of the church. They are annually sustained as Prophets, Seers, and Revelators, although within my lifetime not a goddamn one of them as prophecied, seen, or revealed a single thing. Within the church structure, directly under him are twelve apostles.  These are the men directly in line to become President if they live long enough.  Directly under the twelve, are about a bajilion men commonly refered to as General Authorities.  Each given different responsibilities over different capacities in church function.  This is church government.  Twice per year, once in April, and again in October, is General Conference.  General Conference takes place is Salt Lake City, but is televised and broadcast throughout the world.  During General Conference, most if not all of these men will stand up and address the body of the church.  This takes place over a combined total of four two-hour sessions for the general church body.  This does not include the meetings that will also take place specifically for men, and for women, during the same weekend.
The talks they give during those meetings are about...well...nothing.  Oh sure, there will be the occassional, "Don't watch Porn" speech.  Don't sin.  Serve more.  Family and the definition of family has been a huge topic the past few years.  Don't sin.  Love.  Love.  Jesus died for you.  Blah blah blah...you know...the usual.  But if one were to actually listen to any of those talks, you realize pretty quickly that these men are fucking professionals at rhetoric.  Saying what sounds profound, without saying anything at all.  They have learned that their words can and will be used against them by people outside the church...so they say 8 goddamn hours worth of words that don't really say a fucking thing.  They are tales.  Told by idiots.  Full of sound and fury, signigying nothing.  In other words.  Really...REALLY...fucking boring.  There is a reason I bring all of that up.

The ceremony started off normal enough.  Family members seated in the auditorium.  The processional.  Pomp and Circumstance, and all that jazz.  Then the President of the College stood up to the podium, and everything changed.  I was still okay.  I knew this was coming.  He was a man full of charm and smiles.  He warmly welcomed us, and informed us that although we were here to celebrate the accomplishments of the graduating students, this was still a solemn event.  He invited us to not give in to the whims of cheers, and whistles and yelling, but rather polite applause.  A feeling of appreciation that would welcome "The Spirit."

Mormons LOVE "The Spirit".

"The Spirit" fucking HATES...well...everything.  Loud laughter.  Crying children.  Noise of any type really.  It hates sex, and boobs, and r rated movies, and caffiene, and I'm pretty sure single women, and the hours between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m., and skirts that go above the knee.  Water parks.  Rivers, oceans, okay...all water that isn't contained in something you drink out of.  It hates democrats, and foreign countries, sitcoms, and most contemporary literature, (unless written by Stephanie Meyers of course).  It hates normal underwear, and evolution, and naturally homosexuals.  "The Spirit" is a mind reader, and a voyeur, and a tattle tale, and will report all of your activities to God at some point in post life judgement.

So it stands to reason, that if our clapping was subdued, our thoughts were pure, our bodies properly covered, and every woman in the room over the age of eighteen was wearing a ring, then perhaps "The Spirit" might feel welcome.  To...um...I guess...  attend a GODDAMN COLLEGE GRADUATION CEREMONY.

Sorry.  I may still be a bit irritated.

Funny thing is, at this point I was still okay.  Twenty-seven years of indoctrination had prepared me for this.  I knew it was coming.  There was nothing about this that was surprising.  I was actually doing quite well, entertaining myself.  I made it through the opening prayer.  Yes...everything opens and closes with prayer.  I made it through the presenting of colors.  I even made it through the Mens Choir singing some godawful hymn.

Hymns are boring.  They are typically melodramatic, meloncholic, musically predictable tripe.  People love their fucking hymns though, so I accepted it as inevitable.

Then the speeches.  And this is what I had not prepared for.

I knew that there would be references to, or allusions of and about all things Mormon, but the reality is I was expecting the standard congratulations graduates, you've accomplished great things, now go, do, be speeches.  I was not, (and in retrospect perhaps I should have been) expecting fucking General Conference.

Not once in all the talks, did anyone ever congratulate the graduates.  Never did they use the word education.  It was all about...well...fuck. Where to even begin.

I'm going to save you the tedium actually.  You can imagine it.  Your imagination won't fail you.  If you've ever in your life heard any type of religious pontification, you know what I sat through.  For two hours.  For no apparent reason.

The one that got me though, the one I have to share.  The reason I went through all the explanation of church heirarchy...

So there was a General Authority there.  One of the top brass.  A MAJOR player in the church system.  I don't remember his name, and I don't care to, but he's really one of the big guns, also spoke.  It was...General Conference.  It was.  It was the same rhetoric.  The same bullshit.  The same faith promoting stories repeated ad nauseum to ensure the members that they are really part of the true church.  But then...THEN...as I was doing my best to just let it flow...he let out the whopper.  The one that I wasn't able to let go.  The one that I CAN'T let go.  The one that will in all likelihood haunt me for the rest of my life.  And before I relay it to you...please remember...he's telling this story to promote faith.  He's telling this story to relate an example of the truthfulness of Mormonism.

It all starts as a story of how members should listen to "The Still Small Voice" (another nickname for "The Spirit") to do good in the world, and spread the gospel of Christ.

He and his wife are finishing up a two year mission in Africa, and about to come home to the States, when his wife, hears "The Still Small Voice" tell her that she needs to find a 9 year old girl they'd been preaching to.  That's right...they were preaching to a 9 year old girl.  I'm not even going to touch on that part of it...just let that sit with you.  So they go back to this little African village to find this girl.  Turns out she's not there.  They ask around, and no one seems to know anything.  He himself is ready to give up, but his wife, just knows by the power of "The Still Small Voice" that she needs to find this girl.  The keep searching...asking...looking...and through some means never actually communicated in the telling of the story, they discover that this girl, and her mother have been sold into "The Sex Slave Trade.".  I guess that's what we call it, because I could practically hear the quotations around it as he was telling the story.  So yes...little african 9 year old girl, and her mother have been sold into sex slavery.

Now this is a very real...and very horrifying thing.  This is as I understand it, the worlds second largest industry.  It's NOT something to lightly toss about in stories to promote faith.  I...even as an absolute non believer in anything Mormon, am absolutely captivated by this story now.  I have to know how it ends.

So...turns out they discover this girl has been sold, and dude's wife just has to save her. He continues from that point to tell an incredible tale of intrigue.  Crossing four borders without papers.  Negotiating with nefarious men.  Travelling in the back of rickety trucks to find this girl...which of course...THEY DO!!!  They are able to buy this girl AND her mother, and return them both home safely.

This fucking douchebag...told this fucking story as I've related it to you.  I shit you not.  I wanted to jump from my chair and scream as loud as I could "YOU GODDAMN LIAR".  That never happened.  I am sorry, but you are going to have to confirm that story with at least 4 reliable outside sources before I can even remotely consider one iota of viability.  If what you say is even remotely POSSIBLE..why haven't we...by the power of grandma...ended the most horrific business practice on this planet?

This man, who represents this church, which claims to be God's one true church on the planet just told the most outlandish story, exploiting the worlds worst crimes, for the simple purpose of promoting a ridiculous idea. AT A GODDAMN GRADUATION CEREMONY.  Can you blame me for being a bit disgusted?

I looked around the room, for even one...just one fucking person with an astonished look on their face.  Someone who would realize what just happened.  I saw stone and glass.

I hate the term brainwashed.  I don't believe in it.  I don't subscribe to the idea.  It's a word that a lot of exmos LOVE to use...but I personally hate it.  Still...here in this room was evidence of...well

I'll say conditioning instead.  Conditioned to wholeheartedly, and without question accept any idea or word that leaves the mouths of these men.  Conditioned to never question.  Never stand up.  Never say... "I don't believe you."

I sometimes wonder if these leaders intentionally see how far they can push that conditioning.

I wanted to cry.  To cry for these people.  To cry for that girl in that OBVIOUSLY fictional story.  To cry for myself.

I didn't.  I don't cry.  I am incredibly hard to even get any type of emotional response from.  I emotionally responded to this experience...and not so positively.

I wanted to celebrate that I had gotten out of this mindtrap.  This double bind.  This horrifying state of existence, but can't...because in so doing I have left so many behind.

There's more.  But I've written a lot.  If you made it this far...you've read a lot.  I am physically and emotionally exhausted from the past 48 hours, and really..even with the more...I'm not sure that there's more that I can really communicate.  It didn't end there, but that really was the worst of it.  The rest is just more of the same.  Thanks for bearing with me.  This really had a lot of vent to it.  I know some who read my shit will relate, because of similar past experience.  I know some will be outraged.  I know some will say I knew going in, and I have no right to complain, and I know some who will be incredibly upset at how I portray the church.  So it goes.  I can't please everybody.  I don't ever try to.

Thanks for bearing with me.  Thanks for standing by me.  Thanks for reading my words...sometimes no matter how many there are.  I know I may say it to the point of tedium, but I really...honestly...love you.  In many ways I need you, as any human needs the assurance and friendship of other humans.  I can never say it enough...so I'll let it go that I said it now.

Warrior

Were you brave today?  I hope so.  

That thing you're wondering if you should do or not? ... Well, you should.

That thing you're saving for a special occassion? ... Well, that occassion is now.

Every damn day is a special occassion.  Don't believe me?

Close your eyes.
Take a breath.
Remember everything in an instant.
And smile.

You may have been told this before.
Or maybe not.
You may have believed it.
Or not.

But

Your smile is amazing.
It's a light in my darkness.

I bet I'm not the only one.

I love you for all the things that you are...
...that I am not.

If ever you wonder if you've made a difference, I give you now a resounding yes.  I may be just little ole me, but I'm the most important me in my personal universe, and that universe would be a little more empty without you in it.

I'm a person with just a few small skills, but how interesting it is that my skills require a certain amount of life experience.  An active imagination.  A point of view, that is guided in part, by the simple fact that you have become part of me.

I would be less
but
you make me more.

I see in you, so much ability.  So much talent.  So much brilliance, and passion, and life.  I see the things you think you hide.

I see the mask you wear, and I know...
even if you don't...
I know absolutely

That you were brave today.

Goddammit the Beatles were right.

We swim so casually through our days, creating minutea, forgotten already as it happens.  So many routine minutes that will never become memories.  So many things we do over and over and over again, day after day.  The same yawn and stretch every morning.  The same bathroom routine.  The trudge to work and the trudge through work and the trudge back home again.  The same coffee in the same mugs.  The same familiar faces over the counter at the same 7-11.

The same discussions, about the same political debates.  The same pains in the same places.  The same jokes, with the same people.

The same tastes and same flavors.  The same favorites.  The same tv shows, awards shows, reality shows, and news shows.

Then we go to bed, and do it all again.
If we're really lucky maybe something will happen.  If' we're really ambitious maybe we'll make something happen.  We remember the days that are different, because they are different.

Here we are, spinning on this little rock, in this little solar system, around our little sun, among so many hundreds of millions of other stars in an insignificant arm, in a medium sized spiral galaxy  in this one little galaxy among hundreds of millions of other galaxies in a huge motherfucking universe that may or may not be floating in the middle of an even bigger black hole.  In all that...we...us...you and me and all the other people walking around us are the known pinnacle of conscious achievement.  I think we are meant for better things.

In an endless sea of nothingness, here we are.  Little specs of somethingness. We are capable of such grand things.  Each of us able to inspire, and delight.  We invented gods and godesses, so that we could forget that we are already capable of so much more than any of them.  We gaze outward, looking for the divine, ignoring that we already are.  We trade little pieces of paper for shitty goods and questionable service, and food that isn't, and really only purchase the right to complain.  And we forget
we forget
we oh so graciously forget

That our only true commodity
the only thing of value that we have to give
is love.

None of the else really matters in the end.

You create all of that forgotten minutae during all of the days to put more green paper in your pockets.  And that's fine.  That's necessary.  We all have to eat the poison...but when you search
when you file through the gray upstairs and dust the cobwebs off of all your best memories you discover with delight
that they are all made out of love.

The love of doing.
The love of being.
The love of giving.
The love of grieving.
The love of family, and friends, and solitude, and companionship.
The love of love.

Just that

Remember how once the world moved on without you, so you had to fashion yourself a new one?  Remember how this has happened so many times now that you sometimes don't even notice?

Once upon a time, you took your first step, and at that point in your life, it was your greatest accomplishment.  Now you have done so many amazing things, and the building block of all of it, was that very first step.

Remember how you once smiled without mirth.  Remember the joy of discovery.  Discovering animals, and blankets, and food.

And friendship.

Remember how once you had so many dreams.

Remember epiphany.  Remember how you tried to share it with someone who didn't share your enthusiasm, either because they had already had it themselves, or because they weren't ready for it.

Remember when you cried in the dark, and someone was there to take your hand, and remember also when nobody did.

Remember your first kiss.  The thrill of feeling another persons lips against your own.  Remember the joy of intimacy.

Remember the first time you really looked into a mirror, for the first time.  Really examining every part about you.  Your face.  Your lines.  Your expressions.  Your flaws.  Remember how that is also the first time you learned how to lie to yourself.  Remember how all those things that seemed so apparent to you, must be doubly apparent to everyone else.

Remember how they weren't.

Remember music.  Remember dancing.  Fast and slow.  Remember the songs that made you laugh, and made you cry, and gave you no choice but to sing along.

Remember your very first love letter.  The one you wrote, and the one you received.

Remember how you believed that time, you'd never love again.  Remember how you did.

Remember when your heart was so easily broken.  Week after week.  Day after day.

Remember when you just knew for sure, that if only one thing were different...then you'd be happy.

Remember ice cream.

Remember once again the faces of all the people you'll never see again.  I bet they liked ice cream too.

Remember that almost every single day, you will go to war, and almost nobody will know about it.  Remember that almost every single day, every single person you come in contact with is also at war, and you will never know about it.

Remember the greatest casualties of those wars are hope, and dreams, and the ability to love...or be loved.

Perhaps we should take more time to honor the fallen.

Remember that most of our tragedies, and most of our triumphs, are crystal secrets.

Remember the golden silence, and the golden rule.

And remember this.  Today you have the option to fashion your world once again.  Today, you get to craft your tomorrow.  You are the architect of your future, and if you leave that option to somebody else, it's a guarantee that you won't be wholly satisfied.

Remember to give love.  Remember also to be loved.  Remember to say it.  To show it.  To feel it, and to make it.


Remember a tapestry...even the tapestry of your life...is handcrafted.

Once more with feels.

I have more free time now.  For a while at least.  I'll probably end up doing nothing productive with it.  I just closed my eighth show in a row, with not more than a two week break between any of them.  Most rolling from closing weekend into rehearsal week.  I guess it will be nice to breath for a minute, but it hasn't been 48 hours yet, and I'm already getting antsy.  Not because I am not doing anything right now...that's actually kind of nice, but because at this moment, I'm not doing anything until September...and that's too far away.  I must line something up soon.  I've come to rely on the distraction.

I love to act.  I love to see the fictional characters become me, as much as I become them.

When I lived in Vegas, I had a walk on moment in a little musical review called The Taffetas.  Think, Forever Plaid, but even less interesting, if you can imagine that.  Halfway through the show, I walked on stage, sang a song, and walked off again.  The reason I did this, is because the producers came to me, and asked if I would.  I told them I don't sing or dance, but they didn't care...offered me the part, and money, and I took it.  I don't look back on that fondly, I don't include it on my resume, and I like in my mind to pretend it never happened.

Not counting that I haven't been in a musical since around 1999 or 2000 when I was Mr. Mushnik in our college production of Little Shop of Horrors.  That one was a blast.

I've never made much secret that I really don't care for Musicals.  They don't move me.  They don't appeal to anything artistic inside of me, and very rarely do they entertain me.  I'm not saying that they can't be moving, artistic, or entertaining.  I'm simply not able to grasp the appeal myself.  Mostly.  There are rare exceptions.

So we just finished our run of La Cage aux Folles.  I didn't audition for that one either.  The most I knew about it going in, is I saw The Birdcage about ten years ago, and remember liking it.  Near the close of Death of a Salesman, I was again approached in my life by producers of a show, asking if I would be interested in being part of it.  My response was word for word the same as the first time.  I told them I don't sing or dance.  Their reaction was the same.  They offered me the part, and money.  So I said sure.

And boy am I glad I did.  I still don't sing or dance.  I'll still most likely never actually audition for a musical, but this one will hold a pretty special place in my memory for the rest of my life.  Sometimes it's just really really nice to be part of the story being told.  Even more nice when you consider the other people you get to tell the story with.  I got to hang out with some pretty neat people for a few weeks.

The last two shows I did, La Cage, and Death of a Salesman, were both produced at The Grand.  The Grand is appropriately named.  It's about 60 miles from stage right to stage left.  Another forty 40 miles from front stage to back stage.  The house is hufuckinmongous.  Even when we have two or three hundred people in the audience, the house looks empty.  We all have wear mics just to be heard.  It's insanely big.  It's grand.

The other nice thing is they have a small amount of money to throw into productions.  Not a lot, I'm sure...but much more than I'm used to.  So things look and sound great.  Wonderful sets, costumes, light design...all that stuff we dream of as actors.

Except now...
now...
Right now I think I'd kill kittens to get into some tiny little black box space where we have to build the show out of spare parts.  A show where we smoke cigarettes, and say fuck a lot, and get those incredible lines.  The kind of show where 15 people show up, and then we all get drunk afterwards in a back corner of a dark bar.

Don't get me wrong.  I love love LOVE the grand, and will jump at almost any opportunity to work there again.  But working there feels like a performance.  Nothing wrong with that, but goddamn...I want to act again.  I want to put on my work clothes, and open up a script, and say words that feel real.  I don't want to play a part.  I want to be a part.

So those are the types of shows I'm looking for.  Audition notices are all for piece of shit musicals.  This always depresses me.  I know, I know, I live in Utah...this is simply what I must expect.  This is always what motivates me to get the fuck out of Utah.  To go somewhere where people really are doing new, and exciting, and alive theatre.  Thing is...it does happen here.  It's rare...but it happens, so I continue to hope.

So I stay.  I read the audition notices for Joseph.  At 156 different theatres.  All at the same time.  And I know they'll all have sell out performances.  And I want to cry.  Then I read announcements for theatres in my former city of residence, and what my friends are doing there...and my god how I miss them, and am so fucking proud of them for what they are accomplishing.  I read audition boards for random cities.  Phoenix.  Denver.  Chicago.  San Diego.  Portland.  I see theatre absolutely fucking THRIVING in these cities.  So much amazing work.  So many opportunities.  So much to make me believe that it's NOT all shitty musicals, being rehashed over and over and over agoddamngain. And I ask myself why.  Why do I stay?  Why do I bother?  Why not move on, to where I, and the art I want to be part of, are more compatible?  Then I get cast in something and remember...that's why.  It IS happening.  Don't give up hope entirely.

You are where you're supposed to be.  For now.  As painful as it may sometimes be...there is also joy. There is also achievement.

There's also the comfort level.  I'll always be a bit of a square peg in a round hole.  I don't know that I'll ever really find home.  I could be wrong, but just thinking of the effort of starting from scratch, all over again, in another new and strange city...is rather exhausting.  I am absolute shit at networking...which is kind of a necessity for a wannabe working actor.  So going somewhere, where I know nobody, seems like, I dunno...crazy.  In other ways it seems like a dream.

So there's that.  Every day checking to see if there's anything new and interesting on the theatrical horizon.  Most days spent with a modicum of   disappointment.

I'm still absolutely loving my bachelorhood, and absolutely hating the complete lack of human physical contact that comes with it.

I still think about my "her" every day.  We don't really talk anymore.  I knew that would happen.  It was inevitable really.  Just the simple course of life.  I'm sure she's been busy.  I know I have.  I hope she's been happy.  I know I have.  Mostly.  Then again, regardless of everything I'm always mostly happy.  I'm just wired that way I guess.

That's the goofy little bottom line.  For all my bitching.  All my complaining, and whining, and lunaticing, and so forth...inside my guts, I'm a pretty happy guy.  There is a lot I don't have in my life...but I'm always more focused on the things I do have.  There is a lot that I'd like to be different, but I'm grateful for the things that are the same.

There is love that I don't have, but there is a fuckload of love that I do have...and that really is the everything of it all.  There's the you of it all.  Kind of makes all that other stuff seem just so much wasted energy.

No day is perfect.  No plan comes off without a hitch.  Nothing is ever what it seems.  Not a single one of us is what we are...except for all the things that we really are.  That's the beauty of the whole thing.  The mystery, the magic, and the mayhem of it all.  We've whirlwinded into each other, shared the dance, and flown away with a memory.  You have moved me.  Inspired me.  You've taken my breath away.  You've made be glad to be alive.  You've made me miss you when you're gone, and smile when I see you again.  And I can't help but notice...
Every fucking time...
just how goddamn beautiful you are.

Free Floating.

Death of a Salesman runs closer to three hours than two.  Of those three hours, I am on stage for somewhere in the neighborhood of eight minutes.  I'm pretty okay with this.  I've been doing the theatre dance for a VERY long time.  Since I was five years old, there have only been three full years of my life that I wasn't on stage at least once.  I've been in more shows than I can count.  I've been the lead.  I've been the support.  I've been the spear carrier.  I've been set dressing.  I've been chorus. I have done it all, and have every intention of continuing to do whatever is thrown at me.  It has been a long long time since my vanity was attached to the size of my role.  In fact...size is pretty goddamn insignificant.

The only reason I bring this up at all, is to give an idea of how much time I have backstage to do, well... I read a lot.  I put my headphones on, and off I go, into whatever musical wonderland I conjure for myself that day.  I also get lost in my thoughts.  Oh I occasionally throw into whatever conversation is going on in the green room at the moment, but mostly it's just my music and my mind. The greenroom is kind of like my own personal Fortress of Solitude.  Except there's none of all that crystally crap.  And except I'm not Superman.

Today something strange happened.  I've now filed it away in the figure it out later section of my brain, but I'll lay it all out here.

So there was a girl backstage today.  She's been there before.  Not one of the actresses, but certainly a familiar face.  She's attractive to be sure.  I guess in the common vernacular I was "checking her out", but also...not really.  More of an observational review than a sizing up for the mating ritual type thing.  This is not uncommon.  At least not for me.  I look at everybody.  I quantify without qualification.  I take a million mental pictures per second.  There is no judgement, or comparison.  Simply puzzling together other physical masses in relative space. Curious about the resultant gravitational effects.  This is something I do so naturally that I probably wouldn't even have noticed I was doing it, if something about it all hadn't occurred to me in that moment.  More on that in a bit.

As previously mentioned, I've been doing this whole acting thing for nearly my entire life.  I don't get nervous in front of audiences.  A crowded room full of strangers, I'm completely out of my element, but give me a script, a costume, and a couple lights, and I am in my world.  I don't get sweaty, shaky, or jittery.  When I was much younger, with much less experience behind me, I would think about all the little things.  I would go through an entire checklist before going onstage, just to be sure I wouldn't fuck something up.  My checklist now consists almost solely of making sure my zipper isn't down.  Imagine then my shock when something strange happened to me today.  Just before my first entrance, as I was standing in the wings to go onstage, waiting for my cue, I noticed I was feeling kind of funny.  It's been so long since I felt it, that I didn't know what it was at first.  I had to check my symptoms before I could make any type of accurate diagnosis.  Accelerated heart rate.  Shaky hands.  Shortness of breath.  At first I thought I might be getting sick...but thought it strange that it was happening in this moment.  Then it hit me.  For some, inexplicable reason...in that moment...I was nervous.  I had pre-show jitters.  That's it.  As soon as I realized what it was, there was no question that I was correct in my diagnosis.  The question then became cause.  Why the fuck was this happening?  Now?  I haven't felt that in years...and funny thing is, once I realized it, I was fine.  It went away.  It was, and quite frankly, still is a complete mystery to me.  I don't know why that happened.  It was that same feeling I used to get when I knew there was someone important in the audience.  Except...I knew that today I had no one in the audience.  It's a scene I'm very comfortable with.  I wasn't worried about forgetting lines...or missing a cue.  Hell...I wasn't even worried about my zipper...I'd already checked it.  Nope.  It was that distinct feeling of performing for someone I wanted to impress.  I'm sure even if you're not a performer, you know that feeling.  Shaking the feeling was quite easy once I identified it.  Figuring out the cause has proven much more difficult.  Of course I did have a lot of coffee this morning...maybe it's nothing more than that.  Mr. Occam would certainly suggest nothing more.

I bring this up as a point of interest really.  Nothing more.  You see...it's the first time I've felt something...ANYTHING...in a very long time.  I've been stuck on numb for quite a while.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not beyond amusement...or slight interest...but an actual change in my physical state...well...it's been so long, it was almost new again.  So of course I want to find the cause.  But it was probably coffee.

Attraction.  Isn't that an interesting word?  It literally means to be pulled toward.  We use that when we talk about other people.  We have no problem understanding this when we talk about it scientifically.  We understand how attraction works with magnets.  We understand how attraction works with bodies of mass in space.  We get so confused when we try to figure out what it is about a person, that attracts us to them.  We know why the earth orbits the sun, and why the moon orbits the earth...but why the fuckity fuck do we orbit each other?

And this is what happened to me with the girl backstage today.  This was today's epiphany brought to me by curiosity, realization, and the letter Y.

Although attractive, and she certainly is...I felt no attraction.  I let myself realize this.  People are beautiful.  So much goddamn gorgeous, surrounds me at every turn, and I am unfazed.  I am undrawn.  I am unattracted.  I am floating in my space, without orbit. I am a gathering of atoms, condensed, and slowed to a visible and congealed vibration, that has over time become sentient.  Floating on a floating rock with other gatherings of slowed sentient atoms who all seem to meet, orbit, and bounce to yet another gathering of atoms.  Some of those atoms bond.  Some reject, eject, and the search continues.  I seem to have bounced right out of the equation.  I am an element without form or formula.

I've written so much on this, and yet the realizations just keep coming.

That feeling.

You know the one.  That feeling you get when you are "attracted".  That jittery, quickened heart rate, shortness of breath, sweaty palms...that thing that feels so scary, and so thrilling all at the same time.  That thing where you don't know if you have to scream, or run.  Where everything becomes a secret that you just can't keep to yourself, but you can't tell another living soul.  That feeling.

That feeling.

That feeling I had right before I went on stage today.

Maybe I have a crush on stage acting.

I haven't felt that since last summer.

So the beautiful queen of all the land, in a fit of jealousy made herself ugly.  She created a weapon to take out the competition.  A delicious apple that would take the new beauty in town out of the competition.

The difference between Snow White, and myself is that Ms. White had no idea the consequences of eating her apple.  I had no doubt, but took the bite anyways.

I'd do it again.
In a heartbeat.

And ever since, I have been in a bit of slumber.  I have allowed myself a dream, that I know for fact can never be anything but.  It's a very good dream.  The kind you never want to wake up from, because waking up becomes admission of the unreality of dreams.

I don't deny the possibility that a Princess Charming could come along, and kiss me out of it...but come on.  That's gonna have to be one helluva a girl, and one helluva kiss..and really....

that shit only happens in fairy tales.

D'ja miss me?

Five weeks.  I haven't posted in five weeks.  On a completely related note, about five weeks ago is when I got heavy into rehearsals for Death of a Salesman.

In that five weeks, I've dropped down from a pack a day kinda guy...to about three a day.  I'm not getting any less nicotine.  I'm just smoking far fewer cigarettes.  Thank you ecig.

As soon as Salesman closes, I'll be going straight into rehearsals for La Cage.  I was going to take a short break.  I'm not going to after all.  I'm okay with that.

I'm into my ninth month of bachelorhood.  At the top of it I stated that I wasn't going to be looking for any new relationship.  Nine months later, and I still feel the same way.  Still as dedicated to it, as I was on day one.  Is nine months long enough to say that perhaps this isn't a phase?  I still maintain that I can't read the future, and who knows what that holds...but I also maintain that I am not looking, seeking, or spending ANY effort to change my relationship status.

I was invited to join a FB singles group.  I did.  It's specifically for former Mormons like myself.  I was intrigued by that at first.  Turns out, ironically, that it's exactly like an online singles ward without any of the Jesus speak.  It also seems that I'm the only one in the group NOT looking to attach myself to someone.  Even in a group of singles, being single is anathema.  Needless to say, I quickly lost interest.  Of course I quickly lose interest in many things.

I am an introvert.  I turn almost everything...in.  Once it's in, I detach.  Once I detach, I analyze.  I put it all under a microscope, and scrutinize mercilessly.  It's a fun game.  I will go through incredibly long periods of time...out of the company of others.  For most of that time I won't even realize it.  I neglect pretty much everything, and everybody.  I'd apologize, but by now that's pretty much litany.  Besides is it really apology, if you and I both know it's going to happen again?

The problem is, once I resurface, I find my personal social meter is pretty far in the red.  My own fault, but I can't really just fix that either.  It seems a bit strange to just out of the blue say, "Hey, I know I haven't talked to you for a month...and it may even seem I was ignoring you...wanna get together?"

It's also a balancing act of desires.  This whole being single thing I got going on...it's for real.  It's what I want.  Ultimately.  For so many reasons, I don't even feel like getting started on a list.  It does however have distinct disadvantages.  Even beyond the obvious.

I've been remembering things lately.  Missing things.

I think of my ex wife.  We've been divorced for near seven years now.  I haven't seen her for probably about four years.  We once were oh so very close.  I miss her.  I think of her often.  Once upon a time I imagined a life with her.  A whole life.  It didn't work out that way.  She is so incredibly smart.  I remember how we used to talk, sometimes all night and into the day.  We created a language, unique to us, as so many lovers do.  We wrote together.  We sang together.  She was and really still is, amazing.  Sometimes a memory of her creeps up on me, and I lose my breath for a moment, and smile, and although she'll never know...I wish her all the happiness possible.  I hear of her successes, and I can't help but celebrate, in my own little way.  I am a better person for having known her.

I think of my ex girlfriend.  We were together for five years.  Now apart for just under one.  We laughed.  Oh my god, how we laughed.  We once were oh so very close.  I miss her.  I think of her often.  Once upon a time I imagined a life with her.  A whole life.  It didn't work out that way.  She has a devious wit.  An incredible charm.  She'll call bullshit when she see's it.  I always had such an incredible admiration for her, and even after all that time together, I always felt there was so much more underneath.  A mystery, that...probably to a fault...I didn't want to solve.  She introduced me to a lot of music I probably would not have discovered without her.  Sometimes, I'll hear a song that steals me back into memory, and puts me with her again.  She is so intrinsically, so deeply, such a good person.  I am a better person for having known her.

I think of my ex...no...my former?...no.  My never was.  We were never together.  Oh sure, we had a few weeks.  A few minutes.  A few moments.  I think of how never before, with any other person, had I felt at such peace.  Her very presence, calmed me.  Her eyes, soothed me.  Her touch, cured me.  Her everything...everythinged me.  It was over before it could begin.  Nothing began.  Everything ended.  There was a deadline without pressure.  A time limit, and no rush.  Just me, her, and stoplights. Torture in every smile.  I for one second...one instant...imagined a life with her.  A whole life.  It could never work out that way.  She is away now.  And our worlds just keep on spinning.  The mornings keep coming, the tomorrows keep arriving, and our lives go on, and on, and on.  Some dreams will always...simply...have to be.

I've never been one for wishing.  I grew up knowing that if there was something I wanted, I either had to find a way to get it, or find a way to go without.  Yet now, at the tender age of not getting any younger, I find myself wishing every day.  It's foolish.  It's a waste.  Nothing to do, nothing to be done.  Only when I close my eyes, is she there again.  Inevitably though, my eyes open, and everything is real again.  The lights go down, the body moves, and the actor takes the stage.

And so I pursue distraction.  I lose myself at work.  I chase my other love.  My life passion.  I read scripts.  I audition.  I rehearse.  I perform.  I do it all again, and again, and again.  I discover that after weeks of my life have passed, that I haven't really talked to anybody.  A few people here and there at rehearsal, or at work, or at home...but not really.  I find that I miss human contact.  I miss intimacy.  I miss inside jokes.  I miss talking in code.  All those things that come so easily in a relationship that is the one thing I don't want.  To have my cake and eat it too I guess.

It's a sublime life, and I love every bitter bite.  I have missed you in my absence.  I'll miss you still when I'm not.  I have told you this before.  This is nothing new, but...I think of you often, and when I do

always

always

you are smiling.