Odd Couple

Forkish review of Broadway play 'Elling'.

Wonderful show, delightfully performed by a cast of television and Hollywood character actors who--surprise, surprise--can do theatre. O'Hare is magnificent and Coolidge does her trademark thing to hilarious effect, even if the old folks didn't quite get it.

I've long been a secret fan of Mr. Fraiser as I've suspected he knows full well how absurd the Hollywood "thing" is as he seems only to choose projects that are fun. He's a far cry from his George of the Jungle days but he's clearly having a ball on the stage and gives the show much of its heart.

Scene changes are also helped along by a soundtrack that feels deliberate and part of the show, either fading into a radio playing in the background or stopping as soon as the lights come back up. Whoever came up with that, thank you. It feels so clean. The slow audio fade out as lights slowly fade up needs to go.

This Norwegian 'Odd Couple' is an absolute breath of fresh air, pure escapism in a time when such entertainments are sorely needed and greatly appreciated. Deftly directed, graciously apolitical, and mercifully NOT GAY, the story shows us a deep friendship between two very 'rare' men (to use their word) in an unassuming relationship that American men can no longer have with one another.

Loved it. I'd see it again in a second.

Driving Miss Crazy

Fork-sized reviews of Broadway revivals La Bete and Driving Miss Daisy

Recession is here. Plays the new big thing on Broadway, minimal sets, tiny casts, hefty star-power. But is fame enough...?

La Bete, a revival of 90s play that ran for, like, two performances, stars David Hyde Pierce, Joanna Lumley, Mark Rylance. Shakespeare-type (Hyde Pierce) being forced by Queen (Lumley) to bring Shrek-esque buffoon (Rylance) into acting troupe because she thinks he's funny. Interesting piece on the hows and whys of society allowing low art to be elevated to high art, while high art becomes an object of scorn among the masses who, at the end of the day, don't care about iambic pentameter and just want to be entertained.

Sets, costumes, etc., etc., the elements are there, lovely, creative, perhaps a bit inconsistently literal. Hyde Pierce and Lumley simply spectacular. May inquire at box office to see how much it would cost to slip in for their closing monologues in the last 30 minutes of the 2 hour play.

Why just last 30 minutes? Because if I have to sit through Rylance's somebody-shoot-me-please-I-beg-of-you-I-can't-take-anymore AWFUL comedic stylings again, all the cheer and goodwill I have left will be permanently sucked out of me. What, I believe, should have been the embodiment of every handsome, self-absorbed, pseudo-intellectual actor you've ever disliked, is interpreted here as a Jerry Lewis/Adam Sandler (in his early days) type of mental retard who takes a dump behind Shakespeare's bookshelf, cannot make eye contact with anyone in an irritating childlike manner, drops the end of 2/3 of all his lines for comic effect which gets old after the first 45 minutes, farts, belches, spits, strips, basically delights the dumbed-down audience so Hyde Pierce can turn around at the end of the play and tell me and three other people who want to gouge out our eyes that we must defend art from the people sitting around us.

Successful? Sure. But this isn't Theatre of Cruelty. It's Broadway and most people are paying $121.50 to be entertained, not tortured ($35 for me. Thanks, TDF!) I've never had anyone shoot to the top of my MUST MISS list faster than Mark Rylance who pulled almost exactly the same shtick in Boeing Boeing, and how he continues to steal all the reviews is quite beyond me. 15 minute monologue delivered by actor, while dazzling the folks who still wonder how actors "memorize all those lines" utterly excruciating.

Hyde Pierce and Lumley, however, positively light up the stage (Lumley quite literally). If you can stomach the 21st Century's Jerry Lewis acting like an barking idiot for 45 minutes you'll be treated to a handful of wonderful monologues by these two.


Driving Miss Daisy. Vanessa Redgrave (THE Vanessa Redgrave!), James Earl Jones, Boyd Gaines. 90 minutes. Drab set. Unfortunate costumes. Okay. So the color and sparkle will come from Redgrave and Jones, right?

Sad to say, once again, another tiny cast with a weak line that, in this case, renders the show difficult to watch. Gaines is great in the thankless role of Miss Daisy's exposition-spouting son, and Jones defies expectations as Hoke, giving a swell, if a bit emotionally heavy-handed, performance which is likely to delight Star Wars fans the world over.

Unfortunately, someone needs to tell Ms. Redgrave that merely speaking with a false Southern accent does not a genteel Southern lady make. More to it than that. Don't know why they keep putting British actresses in roles which require Southern accents--they can never do the Rs and the As. When Redgrave first comes on stage mixing cake batter, looking extremely awkward doing so, you know this doesn't bode well. Moving too much, pantomiming, it's too much, too unreal, and, worst of all, too phoned-in. Tender moment teaching Hoke to read is reduced to Redgrave clowning and dropping all pretense of character. Two sneezes during the show reminded me of the studies done attempting to understand why actors "in the moment" NEVER SNEEZE on stage.

A little heavy-handed on the "THIS IS SEGREGATION" side of things. We get it, okay? We're not stupid.

Then again, based on audience response to Rylance in La Bete, maybe we are.

My job

Aaand now I'm a werewolf with raptor feet.

I have the coolest job in the world.

*does more pull ups, crunches*

Howling

A dog has been howling in a nearby apartment for days and days.

It seems whenever the owner of this stupid animal leaves, it begins howling. And the howling does not stop until the owner returns around 11pm.

If you live in Hell's Kitchen, right here in the heart of Manhattan, and know where this howling is coming from, please let me know so I can do what that person's neighbors SHOULD have done two weeks ago and called freakin' 311!!!!!!

But that's really the trouble with New York City, isn't it? Some unseen person can be smoking near their window in a downstairs apartment and sending the smoke into all the open windows above him. Someone can have a dog which howls every minute on the minute for 8 hours a day that the rest of the block has to suffer through. Some filthy person in some apartment has bedbugs and the entire building becomes infested.

What the crap are those of us suffering from these people's lack of consideration supposed to do about it? There's nothing you CAN do, it seems to me. Other than stare at the wall and wonder why you pay a zillion dollars a month for a little square room with paper-thin walls and neighbors whose noises, smells, and lives just WON'T STAY OUT when you could pay the same amount elsewhere and have a HOUSE.

I'm just saying.

New Sculpture

Drawing Competition: Days 3 & 4

Yep. My brain is fried.

You can't stand in silence for 8 hours a day with a room full of people staring at you and not walk away a little shaky.

It's been fun though. I decided to get to know everybody yesterday. I had had it with the dread silence. So on the little breaks instead of collapsing into a chair and taking a four minute nap, I walked around the room and struck up conversations.

Made everyone a little more relaxed, I think. Hey, I want them to be successful as much as I want to avoid going completely bonkers from this experience.

Almost over. This one's different from the sculpture competish. I honestly don't know HOW they'll pick a winner. The drawings are...

Well... you'll see.

Drawing Competition: Days 1 & 2

At this point I sort of know if the new pose is going to be a huge mistake or not.

This one's not so bad.

Days 1 & 2 down of the Classical Drawing Contest at the Fancy-Schmancy School of Old School Art. School.

Three more days to go. That's 24 hours. Yes, modeling for 8 hours a day. Even I'M ashamed at how naked I am.

But I'm not always. I bought a designer bathrobe from Bloomingdales. It was on sale. So instead of paying $40, I got it for $18. Not bad. With the beard it makes me look extra-biblical. And by extra-biblical I mean, like, the Book of Enoch.

20 minutes on the stand with a pole in my right hand, slight bend of the right knee, contrapposto, head turned to the left, looking downward, like some sort of weary shepherd who's lost his clothes in the recent hurricane.

Other than that, I'm spending a lot of time on my super-lame iPhone 3GS (see above picture). It's incredible how Apple managed to, so effortlessly, turn this thing I loved into something I HATE. That's advertising!

So there you go. None of the colorful personalities from the sculpture competition two years ago. I'm also not allowed to take pictures of the drawings on my breaks so I can't post any progress shots.

I CAN say though, that this is one serious group of artists. It's SO quiet in there. So intense. Makes me crazy. Seriously. I have zero interaction with people from dawn to dusk. I just stand there on the stand, both TOTALLY isolated AND the object of everyone's COMPLETE attention. I think all the modeling is starting to make me a little crazed. Seriously. I'm getting TOO much time to just stand around and think.

I should be DOING things. Like lifting heavy objects.

Oh yeah. I'm having a fun time messing with some of the old timers. We'll be on break and I'll be looking at a drawing with one of the other artists I've worked with before and I'll mournfully whisper, "I am SO fat..."

I actually got one of the guys to become concerned.

I'm so mean.

Why Context Is Important

I've posted this before but I thought I'd throw it back up here because it's just too funny. And a very good object lesson in why it's important to put things in their proper context!

My Take on the Cordoba House

Mischief in Manhattan

We Muslims know the Ground Zero mosque is meant to be a deliberate provocation

Read more: http://www.ottawacitizen.com/news/Mischief+Manhattan/3370303/story.html#ixzz0w31h7Vts

My main reason for posting the link to the above article is because lots of friends on facebook have posted pro-Cordoba Institute articles and opinions. I think it's important to see the other side too--while some see this as a religious freedom issue, others see it as a political move.

I tend to agree with the writers of this article who are Muslims thems elves. I'm all for wanting to heal and build unity. 100%. A friend of mine wisely observed, you don't heal in someone else's cemetery. He mentioned to me the proposed convent that the Catholic church was going to build right next to Auschwitz, but when they saw the hurt the proposed project was causing people--people who needed to go there to grieve and heal--the church moved it a few miles away out of respect for those people.

Perception is reality. While opening a major Islamic center in that area on 9-11-11 is viewed by some as an attempt to heal and build bridges, it is also important to realize it is viewed by others to be an affront. It is too painful for them.

Instead of thumbing our noses at those people who are hurting, those who lost loved ones and family members in the attacks, and call them bigots, racists, and religiously intolerant--that they are monsters who are operating only out of hate and fear--I think we must show compassion. I didn't lose anybody on 9-11 but I can imagine what that would be like. I can watch the videos of people jumping out of those buildings, I can listen to the audio of people on their phones at the moment the buildings they're in begin to collapse.

I realize the attacks are not necessarily, in-and-of-themselves, a reflection of all of Islam. But I also have to recognize that many people, Muslims included, D O see it that way. Is that just their incorrect perception? Possibly. Is that just their problem? Maybe. I believe it's important to correct incorrect perceptions, but I wonder if there aren't better/gentler ways of going about it. Again, it goes back to compassion. If this is about healing the community, how can we all heal such that it benefits the most people IN the community?

So how near is too near? How soon is too soon? I don't know. I have to go with my gut on this one. And I do know that we typically see something like a ten-year anniversary of an event as a significant date. And the times we're living in, with tensions around the world, economic fears at home, people are stressed out! These are UNUSUAL, stressful times! I think we all can agree on that.

Just things to think about. That's all. No offense intended.

God and Toy Story 3

From my understanding, Toy Story 2 was originally conceived as a direct-to-DVD sequel in which there is a worldwide Buzz Lightyear recall and all the toys team up to rescue their pal from exile in Asia.

Pixar didn't want to do a sequel. However, Disney gave Pixar an ultimatum. Either you do it or we do it. One way or another, it's gonna be made.

And we all know what happened there.

Pixar managed to touch on many of the eternal elements we all must come to grips with that made J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan the classic (and, as far as I'm concerned, THIS side of divinely inspired) that it is. Toy Story 2 ends with Woody and Buzz accepting the fact that someday Andy will grow up and the gang will all be thrown away. But at least they'll have LIVED. They'll be together in the landfill. And what a ride it will have been, huh? As Peter would say, "an awfully big adventure."

Fortunately, Pixar spared us the torture of witnessing Woody and Buzz tumbling into the landfill.

But then Disney told Pixar to make a third.

And a cathartic, melancholy masterpiece--a truly painful moviegoing experience as far as I'm concerned--was created.

We all must grow up. We all must put our childhoods behind us. And, just as our toys go to the landfill, someday, so will we.

But no one wants to SEE that HAPPEN.

Unfortunately, that's what Toy Story 3 is all about.

Last summer, my generation was forced to look their mortality in the face when Michael Jackson suddenly died. 30-somethings all over New York sat in coffee shops, living rooms, wherever, in a state of shock. Michael Jackson. Thriller. Bad. But it wasn't the weirdo entertainer who may or may not have had the Elephant Man's remains stuffed inside his hall closet. (I'm not sure where they ever settled on that one...) that we wept for.

It was what his music REPRESENTED. It wasn't just a record or a tape or CD. It was an ERA of our lives. An era that many of us never realized had LONG since passed us by.

And here we are. Suddenly realizing that we AREN'T kids anymore. We're not even "guys" and "girls". We're MEN and WOMEN now. We're freakin' ADULTS. And we ALL know what comes after that.

It's not that Woody is just a THING. Yeah, he's just a cowboy doll. But it's what Woody REPRESENTS in Andy's fatherless life (anybody else notice that?) that makes Toy Story 3 feel vaguely like a funeral. Like, a really SAD funeral.

And while I'm tempted to say Pixar went too far with this (my complete disbelief of the climactic scene was eclipsed when I was JUST able to choke down a torrent of tears over the *gotcha* ending), there's something a little bit healthy about remembering that permanence is an illusion.

Inevitably, all good things must come to an end. As Mr. Darling says of his children to Nana in the Disney version of Peter Pan, "They're not puppies, they're people. And sooner or later, Nana, people have to grow up."


*SPOILER ALERT*


At the beginning of the film, Andy has decided to put all his favorite old toys in the attic. Unfortunately, through a terrible mix-up, they wind up on the curb and narrowly miss being consumed by the monstrous garbage truck.

Woody, who is the only one to have missed this episode, tries to convince the other toys of Andy's steadfast love.

"Oh yeah?" says Jessie the cowgirl, "If Andy really LOVES us SO MUCH, how come he just THREW US AWAY?"

"Yeah, I know it LOOKS bad," says Woody, "But I promise Andy wants to SAVE us."

"No, Woody. It's over. We're LEAVING."

In the same way that this movie, perhaps unwittingly, wound up being one of my favorite film examples of what happens when we fall into temptation and the frightening consequences of opening doors we KNOW should remain closed, Toy Story 3--somehow or other--is a story about faithfulness.

Sure, the Andy=God, toys=humanity metaphor isn't ENTIRELY consistent (So is Bonnie the Holy Spirit?), but when it's on... golly bob-howdy. It yanked a couple of tears out of these baby blues.

Consider the toys arrival at Sunnyside Daycare. During their tour of this supposed paradise, Lotso the Bear explains to them that, "Here WE are masters of our destiny." They are free from questioning the whims of their fickle masters--THEY are in charge.

"Andy doesn't love you. Children never REALLY love their toys."

And though they are presented with an opportunity to escape and return to their master, the gang is convinced. Andy can't be trusted. This is their home now.

However, it quickly becomes apparent that Buzz and Jessie and the gang's decision to stay on in this new "paradise" was the wrong one. The promises of this world are revealed to be a lie. As one of the Sunnyside old-timers observes, our Toy Story friends "won't last a week" before they are completely savaged by the daycare toddlers and thrown into the dumpster.

Suddenly, a battered Mrs. Potato Head (whose other eye was lost in Andy's room at the beginning of the film) receives a vision. She sees Andy through her lost eye.

"It's Andy!" she cries. "He looks upset. Why--He's LOOKING for us!" (cue tears)

The reality of the situation slams them like a hyperactive one-year-old. The filthy, battered toys, doubting the goodness faithfulness of their owner, have willfully walked into a prison of their own choosing.

As I mentioned before, I almost question the tastefulness of the final climactic set piece--it's a bit TOO shocking--but when salvation comes, well. It's a pretty freakin' vivid example of what happens to us when WE obtain salvation. Plucked out of a sinking world...

Sorry. I can't help but see these things. I'll let you watch the rest of the movie yourself. Just bring a couple of hankies.

Oh the Humanity

The summer months are all up on us.

And it's really hot in New York City.

This is a frustrating place to live.

No matter where you go there are people. And no matter how nice of a person you THINK you are, when you have to walk through massive crowds every day, eventually you get tired of it. And what happens? You become mean on the sidewalks. You just wish people would practice common sense and look where they're going.

You learn to HAAAAAAATE people.

Then there are the beggars. You get to know them. There are the beggars on 8th Avenue who are there all the time. Like the large lady who leans against the wall and croaks, "Spaaaare chaaaaange?" every single day. Or another beggar whom I overheard telling one of his buddies that you can't make a lot of money on this corner. Or another who gets a dollar from a tourist then immediately puts it in his pocket to make the cup look empty.

But the problem here is... some of them are actually REAL beggars, not career beggars.

And what do you do about THAT? Here I am with a pocket full of change and I walk past some guy who quietly asks if I have any change. I do the New York thing and pretend I didn't hear him. Then I realize, "HEY! He might have been for real! But I can't turn AROUND!! New Yorkers don't stop and turn around! They ALWAYS keep walking forward!" (I know. It sounds crazy. But it's totally true)

I guess the point is you use a combination of discretion mixed with faith that the Lord will take care of it. Keep your heart tender, don't buy them booze or crack. And when in doubt, offer to buy them a coffee.

Then there was the little old lady on the corner of 49th and Broadway.

All gussied up as if she just came from church. I'm waiting for the signal to change so I can cross. She bends over. It looks like she dropped something and is trying to find it.

Except she keeps going down and down until she's on her hands and knees. Then she totally barfs. All over the place.

The tourists said, "EW!" and kept walking. I kind of freaked out. I crossed and began to pass the poor creature. Then I stopped and made like I just got an email on my phone while I tried rapidly to think of what the crap I should do.

Fortunately, some older gentleman got to her and started asking if she was okay. That gave me the courage to run over and help him get the lady to her feet and offer to make a phone call.

Quivering, she said she was fine but thank you.

I started to walk away when it occurred to me she might not have just collapsed because of some violent illness, but maybe was just drunk from too many St. Thomas Bloody Marys.

But I don't know that! For all I knew she was DYING!

And then there are the couple of bodies I've seen on the sidewalk. Homeless guys. Just...lying there. Sprawled out on the pavement. And they didn't APPEAR to be breathing.

I mean, what the crap y'all? What's a person supposed to DO? The answers seem SO easy, SO obvious. But WAIT until it happens in front of you. It's really easy to just pretend you didn't see it or that someone has already informed the authorities or an ambulance.

I maintain that you can't really be a really REAL Christian, like, a mature Christian until you've been hit in the face with humanity. Like, THIS kind of humanity. The kind that says, "DO SOMETHING!" but you wind up feeling totally scared or powerless to do anything. And the voices tell you, "Just keep walking. They're probably drunk. It's not your problem."

But it IS your problem! But you HAVE to do something. That's the POINT. COMPASSION! MERCY!

And you think the strangest things when you're in a crowd... Lately, all I can think when I'm getting into a subway car is, "And all of these people expect to get Christmas presents."

All this said, New York is cool, but man. It's not an easy place to live. I miss being in places where the most interaction you have with strangers comes from accidentally locking eyes with them on the freeway.

Surprise

I'm surprised by how VERY careful I have to be around people sometimes. I'm always pissing people off.

Goo

I just did my first full-body cast for a studio that makes realistic mannequins for museums.

It was really cool. Except for the fact that I was basically covered from head to toe in petroleum jelly.

Now I know how that pelican felt. Only the pelican was just minding his own business. Maybe he was going to pick up some milk and butter from the store. I don't know.

One thing I DO know; he wasn't about to have a full-body cast of himself made while striking a heroic pose.

I also learned that dishwashing soap really is good for cutting the grease!

First, it's best to shave as much of the hair off your body as you can stand without feeling ashamed. Because when they peel you out of the cast, they're peeling your knuckle-hairs out too.

Fortunately, I've had a lot of experience dealing with pain in my life. So I just take a deep breath and keep reminding myself this discomfort is far less than the pain I'd feel if I were having shoots of bamboo jammed up my remaining 9 toenails.

Heroic pose. Soldier. The Everyman (5'9'', 150lbs, Caucasian, brown hair, blue eyes) Goes to War.

Once the pose was set, they fastened these padded bars all around me, sort of like a cage. A very TIGHT cage. Then I could lean on them and relax a little since it takes time for the plaster to dry.

Part 1 was the lower body. Part 2 was the upper body. They didn't get the green light to make it into a trilogy, however, because I have a big bushy beard. The studio director has begged me to shave so they can do body and face casts.

Hmm. Well. I don't KNOwwwwwwwwww. Seeing my heroic, athletic likeness in museums all around the world... or keep Theodore.

I'll keep Theodore.

But if he gets outta line...whoooooo. Just. WATCH OUT.

The Voice of Reason

I has a beard.

Huh. So this is what it's like to have hair growing out of your face.

Most people ask two questions:

1. Doesn't it get hot?

and

2. Isn't it itchy?


These questions have very simple answers.

1., No. In fact, I often forget it's there unless I reach up to scratch my nose and my hand gets tangled up in it. Now I don't get the cool breeze hitting my face like I did when I was a clean-shaven poodle. But am I sweating under this thing? Do cats sweat under their fur coats?

2., It itches until about the third week, then it's over. It's mostly just really soft. And weird. I mean, it's hair but it's on your face.


It's just been such an interesting experience. Most people who haven't seen me in a while are fairly horrified when they see me. Well, maybe not horrified. Maybe just shocked. Like the guest pastor of our church and his wife. His wife is a proper Southern lady and I think she was a little repulsed.

But the thing is I couldn't go the short beard route. The density on my cheeks is pathetic. The only option was to go big and see if the hair would get long enough to cover over the thin spots.

And the only way to know if that would work was to give it the 10-12 week test.

Yes, 10-12 weeks.

I don't know where the crap men get the idea that you should be able to sprout a full beard in three weeks, but that's what I understood pretty much since I first started shaving.

That's like saying you should be able to go from bald to having a full head of luxurious hair in three weeks. Let's think about this y'all. The average human's hair grows at a rate of about half an inch every month.

The first couple of months were awful. I felt horrible about myself. Everywhere I went, everyone I saw...I could feel the judgment.


"You know, there's an easy fix for that. People wouldn't think badly of you if you just shaved."

Well I know that. But the experiment wasn't to see how fast I could wimp out. It was to see if I could grow a beard.

So yeah. I thought my face was a joke. That there was no way I could pull this off. I was doomed to having a little boy's face for the rest of my life. Every day I decided I'd just give it ONE MORE day.

It was a really emotional experience. After the second month I actually had nightmares that I'd look in the mirror and see a face that wasn't mine. It was really strange.

But what do you know? It came in. I have a beard now.

I just finished month 5 and I have developed a really big problem.

I like it.

I like my beard.

But the world is telling me to shave it off. It's getting in the way of all the showbiz stuff. No one wants a young man with a big beard to walk into their audition room.




Bill: Hey Mitch. How's the sign-up for the audition looking?

Mitch: Pretty good Bill. Got lots of people today. But man, I sure hope we don't get any young men with big beards today.

Bill: Oh I know. They're the worst.

Mitch: I know, right?




See what I mean?

"It's kind of like when you had that shoulder-length hair. You looked ridiculous with long hair. I mean, think of your facial structure. Long hair just doesn't work with your cheekbones. A few months after you come to your senses and shave off the beard, you'll look back on pictures of yourself and wonder what the crap you were thinking growing a big Santa Claus beard like that while you still had your youthful good looks. A waste of time if you ask me."

Well, honestly now, I'd probably just get bored with it and shave it off myself if it weren't for the fact that people keep insisting I do it. That's what I did with my ponytail. But people were more accepting of the ponytail because it wasn't growing out of my face. I cut it off willingly...gladly even! But with the beard I'm anticipating the day when the Delilahs hold me down and sheer me like a sheep--snip the masculinity from off my face.

As a result, I've wound up becoming very protective/defensive of it. I'd probably have shaved it off by now if it weren't for them.

The hardest part of the whole beard thing is I feel like I just can't go home and see my family. That's the hardest part. Because MAN, I've gotta get outta this City. My nerves are fried. Everywhere I go, there are people. Any time I try to walk somewhere, crowds. My new neighbor slams his door really loudly which shakes the walls--and he's always forgetting something so there are about four to six huge slams before it all stops.

When you casually walk into a crowded subway car and suddenly find yourself fighting the urge to start crying, it's time for a little vaycay.

But the whole going home thing is tricky. Because I've done something no other man in my family has done since probably sometime in the 18th Century. I grew a beard. And it's not little. It's big. They already think I stink. Adding the beard to the picture will just make things worse.

"You could always shave it. Then people wouldn't pick on you because you wouldn't look like a freak."

You can't make me. I'm going to keep it if I want to.

"Well, enjoy having people making homeless cracks and not being able to audition for anything."

...I hate you.

"Hey, I'm just telling you the truth. You came up to New York to become a professional actor, not find yourself. As it is, the longer you resist adopting a commercial look the more time and money you're throwing away to live in a noisy, filthy City that's probably gonna be nuked in the next ten years anyway."

I have issues! I just turned 30! I'm trying to figure out what the crap happened to my life! I like acting but I don't think I want to be an actor. I feel so empty!

"..."

Aren't you going to say something? Make some bitingly truthful comment?

"I think you already know the answer to the questions you're asking."

Why do people always say that to me? They always say that.

"Because it's true. If you want to go the rest of your life being some sort of hairy mountain man, you have to leave New York. You even said your nerves were shot. Living in Manhattan isn't going to get any more peaceful. If you're not going to do what you came up here to do you should leave."

But...I don't...I don't want to leave! Why can't I have it both ways?

"See, this is your problem, Fork. You're too childlike in your thinking."

I am?

"Yes. You majored in theatre. Why?"

Because you're supposed to major in things you love to do.

"Um. WRONG."

What?

"You're not supposed to do that. You're supposed to major in something that looks like it may lead to a lucrative career."

You are?

"Yes, Fork. Geeze. Didn't anybody tell you that?"

No.

"You know, most people don't actually like what they do. That's probably news to you."

Well, I never thought about that. I just figured people did what they liked. They went to school and studied subjects that were interesting to them and then they left school and did those things and enjoyed their jobs.

"Oh that's precious."

What is?

"What I've been saying. You're 30 years old and you still think and act like a little boy."

I'm not a little boy!

"Yes you are."

No I'm not! Do you see this beard on my face?! This is the beard of a mighty, mighty man! Guys stop me on the street to tell me how awesome it is! People wish they had the determination I have!

"..."

What??

"You know you're putting all this on your blog."

...yeah. So?

"Don't you think that's kind of weird? I mean, sharing all these personal feelings with the entire internet?"

Well you're the one who kept bringing it up.

"No. I was just saying what your readers were already thinking. I'm the Voice of Reason."

Hey! You're the guy who's been driving me crazy the past couple of months.

"One of them."

Why can't you shut up?

"Because if I shut up you'll be all alone in the Big City. A lamb among wolves. I'm the reason you practice restraint in your life and why you impose order on the chaos you've chosen for yourself. I'm the reason you haven't squandered all your savings on video games and iPads and TVs and digital cameras."

I have an iPad.

"But I made sure you didn't get it until I was certain you had more than enough cash to do it. And even then, I still think that was a stupid idea. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to live up here?"

Of course I do. I've lived here for almost four years.

"Then you should know better than anyone that summer is coming and your electricity bill is about to double. And, in some months, triple. And you just HAD to go out and buy a stupid iPad."

But...I like it...

"It's a toy, Fork. You can't eat an iPad. You can't turn it on and make your apartment cooler so you can sleep through the night or drown out the sound of your neighbor slamming the door at 3am."

I know...

"It's a money guzzler. Have you ever stopped to add up how much all those apps cost over time?"

I know...

"All you have to do is shave your ugly beard and you can audition again. Maybe you'll actually get cast in something that pays money. Maybe a lot of money. Then you can buy whatever you want."

But I don't care about buying whatever I want. It isn't the money. It's the stuff. It's the cool toys. Besides, I want to do something meaningful with my life.

"So you don't want to be an actor anymore. Then give up this charade."

I didn't say I wanted to do that...

"Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless."

Aw, don't listen to him.

Who are you?

I'm the Voice of Impulse. I'm the other guy you've been listening to these past months. I'm the reason people think you're spontaneous and cool and interesting. I'm why you decided to grow a beard. I'm why people back home always want to know what you're up to. I'm why you learned the ukulele. I'm why you got your personal training certification. I'm why you moved up to New York in the first place.

"Actually, that was ME."

I'm trying to help you figure out what you're supposed to do with your life.

Well hurry it up, would you? I'm supposed to retire soon. I'm supposed to have a wife and at LEAST one kid by now. Maybe the Voice of Reason is right. Maybe I should stop listening to you.

Aw. Don't do that.

Why not?

Because then you'll be lame! If you like your beard then keep it! Add another inch!

I can't! I'll scare my niece! My acting career will dissolve into thin air! I'll be through! THROUGH!

Oh quit being so dramatic. Lighten up a little. Your niece will love you. Santa Claus has a beard.

She is terrified of Santa Claus.

Geeze, what did you do to this guy?

"I didn't do anything."

Yes you did. He's fretting. Like an old woman.

"I'm just trying to make sure he accepts responsibility for where he's headed in life. This wishy-washy nature is getting him nowhere fast. He has to start thinking about his future. Saving money. Making plans."

Keep your beard. You like it!

"Shave it. You look ridiculous and you know it!"

Keep it.

"Shave it."

Keep it!

"Shave it!"

To be continued...

Super Mario Galaxy 2

'Super Mario Galaxy 2' is the Wizard of Oz.

Let me explain.

This week saw the release of 'Red Dead Redemption', a dreary, violent sandbox video game Western of bandits, gunplay and...yes! whores! from the company that brought us 'Grand Theft Auto IV'--another dreary, violent sandbox video game vaunted into the stratosphere by gaming critics but generally loathed by disappointed gamers the world over.

Gritics (gaming critics) with an almost predictable determination, announced that Game of the Year was upon us and 'Red Dead Redemption' would sweep the awards doled out by various gaming websites--watching at the end of the year as each big-name site announces their pick of GotY is perhaps the last great award 'show' that is arguably not rigged (well, as long as YOUR game wins anyway).

The announcement that GotY was finally here comes after the release of a number of other high profile games which, upon their release, were also destined to be the defining game of 2010... 'Splinter Cell: Conviction', 'God of War III', 'Bayonetta', 'Mass Effect 2' among others.

Each one epic, each one violent, and, with the exception of the almost offensively flamboyant and silly 'Bayonetta', each one a rather bleak slog of protags each more angst-filled and badass than the other, filled to the brim with steroid-pumping machismo--tales of revenge, tales of payback, tales of interplanetary warfare. The player is given a weapon and plunked down in the midst of an unfriendly world on the very brink of ruin and utter destruction (literally or figuratively).

('Bayonetta' is perhaps the most disturbing of the lot--a Frankenstein's Monster of grotesque proportions and themes, not the least of which is the concept of twisting God and His angels into villains which Bayonetta gleefully dispatches with extreme gratuity to the tune of 'Fly Me to the Moon')

If video games are art, and art reflects life, well. What more need be said?

A cursory glance at the daily headlines and a grasp of world history should tell you that the brew is coming to a boil. The horrifying story of world conflict is repeating itself as fall unravels into the winter of crisis. Riots increase, natural disasters decimate whole countries, world economies are failing, Great Depression 2.0 lurks in the wings, America marches toward an unsustainable, socialized me-first society of entitlements after bailing out the Wall Street gamblers by selling our grandchildren into slavery, hostile nations acquire weapons of the "mustn't let this fall into the wrong hands" variety, lines are being drawn, countries are choosing sides.

'Red Dead Redemption' is lauded with praise. The game that represents the best of 2010 is here.

But suddenly, here is 'Super Mario Galaxy 2'.

'Mario Galaxy 2' does what no one believed was possible. It takes everything that was wonderful about the first game and makes it even MORE wonderful. The characters, the music, the level design, the various sights and sounds... The game has been streamlined too--instead of a massive space station serving as the gateway to the different 'galaxies' Mario travels to, he controls Starship Mario, which travels, Super Mario World-style, across a level map. As a result, there's less time spent wandering around the hub and more time launching yourself back into the action to uncover the next marvel.

And marvelous they are. Though Mario has remained true to the 'enter this level, get the power star, unlock more levels, get more power stars' style since Mario 64, it still never feels old thanks to the excellent level design.

Miyamoto, Mario's creator, said in interviews of 'Galaxy 2' that the developers of the first game had so many ideas that they just couldn't fit into the first game due to their complexity and time constraints. Thus, this sequel represents all the ideas and distilled creativity the designers had in them.

Which is why, as you play, the 'galaxies' and space theme set up at the beginning of the game quickly trickle away. What we are left with, then, are levels and worlds which represent not outer space, but the creative minds of the developers themselves.

'Super Mario Sunshine' for the GameCube was maligned for its departure from Mario form (in the same way Super Mario 2/USA was when it was released). I remember reading in an interview with that game's creators that the reason for the exotic locales and the squirt gun/jetpack combo came from them sitting down and remembering their fondest memories of childhood. Vacation. Vacation far from home on an island paradise. And squirt gun fights. Lots of squirt gun fights. And dreaming about flying. What if your squirt gun could turn into a jet pack?? According to the interview, the developers were constantly saying, during the 'Sunshine' process, "Wouldn't it be FUN if we...?" and tried to fit it into the game...with admittedly varying degrees of success. It may not be 'Mario', but they still tapped into the FUN. You can't hate a game like that.

Which brings us to today: In the midst of a video gaming culture obsessed with the next jump in graphics and physics, unlockable achievements (MERCIFULLY absent from 'Galaxy 2'--enjoying the game for the game's sake...what a NOVEL idea!!), and wowing the hood-rats with yet another game in which the badass anti-hero blows stuff up or cuts off people's arms while boinking digital vixens for experience points, Mario defiantly returns in perhaps the finest form in his 30 year career to reclaim the joy of video gaming.

It represents something to this gamer. 'Mario Galaxy 2', bursting with color, fun, and goodwill is a love letter to gamers of all ages--to those who remember when SMB3 came out and memorized the instruction book and those who jumped in at New SMB Wii.

It never stops asking "wouldn't it be fun if...?" But best of all, it answers that question with enthusiasm and aplomb level after level after level. And this time it succeeds at every unbelievable turn.

The simple act of picking up a controller and moving a little man through one obstacle course after another, never knowing what's coming next. Swimming in the sea? Exploring a cave? Whatever frustrations are generated by the game's challenge are of the positive kind--"One more try. I won't be so careless next time. Let me try it once more." 'Super Mario Galaxy 2' is perhaps the purest example of the reason why I started playing games in the first place.

It was 1939. The world was embroiled in conflict. Evil was on the march. The destiny of our planet was hanging by a thread.

And in this darkest of times, they made a fairy tale.

Technicolor. Music. Dances. An adaptation of the first truly American fairy tale. Wildly imaginative characters and settings that no one had EVER seen before. Villains who were unmistakably bad and friends who were always true.

It has been said that the Wizard of Oz has so steeped itself into our cultural consciousness that not a week goes by without someone in our lives quoting one of its lines. It's not perfect, but it is a masterpiece.

One month later, World War II began.

Judy Garland sang 'Over the Rainbow', about somehow escaping this life and finding "someplace where there isn't any trouble." When viewed in that context, the song never fails to bring a tear to my eye.

I can't help but feel 'Super Mario Galaxy 2' is going to be this generation's 'The Wizard of Oz'--at least for the gaming community. A storm is on the horizon. The future is uncertain at best and quite grim at worst. And here, just as the smell of rain blows towards us and we brace ourselves for what is to come, a video game masterpiece is released that, like 'Oz' before it, briefly takes us away from nukes and debt and collapsing economies and puts us in a world of color and fun. It is more than just a game. It is a joyful celebration of the power of human creativity.

Someplace where there isn't any trouble...

Hippietown

Starting month two of Primal diet.

The most incredible thing aside from the boundless energy, better attitude, and amazing six pack? I don't fart anymore. I mean, at all. I have no gas.

What I bought at Hippietown Grocery

Almond butter
Cavemen Cookies (no grain) - tropical
Organic Green Tea
Raw dried mango
Raw organic sharp cheddar cheese
Raw shelled pistachios
Organic whole milk (grass-fed cows)
X-LRG cage-free eggs

I get my fruit from the fruit stand around the corner and go with bags of frozen spinach, broccoli, collards, and brussels sprouts. You're supposed to go organic with all animal products but if it's okay if you can't with the fruits and veggies. Frozen is actually just fine, they say.

Equivocation

I hate this tour.

So Ophelia dumps Hamlet because her dad wants to see how he'll respond. Determine what's causing the crazies.

Hamlet then asks "Are you honest? Are you fair?" and basically says it's better to be truthful than to be pretty because if you lie it's like turning beauty into a whore.

Basically. That's the gist. The word whore is in there.

So the kids obviously have no idea what that means. They just hear the word whore.

So a girl asks if Ophelia really is cheating on Hamlet.

The answer is NO. Hamlet isn't calling Ophelia a whore, he's imploring her to be truthful to him. And when he determines she isn't going to be up front with him, he pushes her away and tells her to go to a nunnery.

We hurt the ones we love the most. If you've read the play and understand it, you'd say something like that.

But that's not the answer that was given. Instead, we gave a fifteen minute meandering response suggesting that maybe Ophelia IS cheating on Hamlet, Hamlet is just trying to "warn everybody". Warn everybody of what? That Claudius is a psycho killer?

That's what all our answers are like. Instead of just giving the answer Shakespeare has given us, we're treated to the actors' individual interpretations of the characters and their behavior.

We don't need that. This isn't about what cool edgy thing you think you're bringing to a centuries-old character. It's about educating. It's about doing a faithful production of 'Hamlet' for a bunch of kids who have never seen it before.

The other question I love is "Do you feel all the comedy you added in takes away from the seriousness of the tragedy?"

Well duh. Yeah! Of course it does. But we can't say that. We have to each give a ten minute response that, well, in LIFE there are funny things so there are funny things in Shakespeare's tragedies. And in all Shakespeare's plays there are funny things.

Funny things, yes, but even the Gravedigger/clown has a dark edge to him that's in keeping with the melancholy, dreary Elsinore. This isn't a farce.

Today I've officially stopped caring about this show. No more. No more. It's over. Just tell me where to go and I'll put in the costume and say my lines. Just keep the paycheck coming.

Showbiz.



-- Post From My iPhork

Location:Union Turnpike,,United States

Iceberg! Right ahead!

We were supposed to go out on the Damlet school tour next week. This was supposed to be our dress rehearsal weekend, culminating in a public performance on Monday evening. First school show was supposed to be Thursday.

But not anymore!

The Union just informed us the rules for educational tours have changed and our three leads are no longer able to do the show.

Yay!

The whole thing is very fishy. After playing detective, the most likely scenario is that someone really wanted their Union card and ratted out the company. They were probably thinking the Union would then FORCE the theatre company to turn the show into a Union one--in which all non-Unionites would HAVE to join in order to participate.

Well, that's certainly one way to get your card. Wish I'd thought of it.

However, that's exactly NOT what happened.

See, Union shows are really expensive because not only are you paying the actors more, you're also paying the Union.

So the OTHER alternative is to let our three leads go and replace them with non-Unionites.

One week to restage the show with an almost entirely new cast.

Never a dull moment.

The World's Most Unromantic Valentine's Day Post

This bitter Valentine's Day rant by a single young man rapidly approaching 30 and not getting any younger has been cancelled.



Instead...a teddy bear.

Confrontations

Part of embracing my dudeness involves doing things that adult dudes do.

Last night at 3:30am, my next door neighbor gets on the phone and has a very loud conversation. Thanks to the walls of this building being paper-thin, I'm able to hear his beautiful Spanish quite clearly.

"OH COME OOOOOOOOOON," I say at the wall.

"Paquito conchillo se jabla."

"DUUUUUUDE! It's 3:30 in the f*(#!#g morning!!"

"Con queso el dorado chile vamos ahora."

So I did what every frustrated New Yorker does at this point.

I tapped on the wall.

TAP.

TAP.

TAP.




"Ocho sinco sies con Santa Maria."

Maybe he didn't hear me. Okay. You wanna play rough???

TAP.

TAP.

TAAAAAAAAAAP!!



His reply:

SLAM

SLAM

SLAAAAAAAM!!

As if to say, "Ey mang! I hear choo! Chut up!"


For some reason this filled me with dread. I pulled the covers over my head, cranked up the white noise app on my tired iPhork and rolled over.


I decided I needed to confront him about this. Oh sure. I could have done the immature thing and given him a massive taste of his own medicine. But if my years in therapy taught me anything, it's that now we handle things like adults. We do not do things like scared little boys anymore.

Now, by "confront" I don't mean "throw down" (although I did make sure my beard was fluffed and I wore my construction worker coat to make myself look as imposing as possible). What I mean is give this guy a face to associate the nebulous "next door neighbor" with. After all, if he SEES me, he'll be more likely to acknowledge subconsciously that a real person actually lives in the room next to his.

But one must also take into account that he'll probably be none too happy to see me. How does one navigate so treacherous a mine field?

The thing is, I'm a ridiculously considerate neighbor. I have so successfully applied the Golden Rule to apartment living that people either don't know I'm there or they think the walls are so thick they can be as loud as they want.

I don't want to hear them at 3 in the morning, so I make sure they never hear me. That's why all parties at Studio Forty-Fork always end well before midnight. Because what if my neighbor has to get up early tomorrow? I wouldn't want to be kept up all night if I were in his shoes.


I knocked on the door to his apartment. It took him forever to answer.

When he opened the door, I was met with a massive CLOUD of cigarette smoke.

"Jes?"

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. He looked pissed.

"Hey, I'm from next door. Listen..."

"Jes?" He said.

"I just wanted to say, I'm REALLY sorry about last night. It was late and the walls in this stupid building are so thin that I--"

"I wus beein quiet, mang. I was on de phoneg. I wussin' makeen inny noiss."

"I know. I know. I'm saying I'm sorry--"

"I am always bee-een as quiek as I cang mang. I wus jus on de phoneg. Why joo gatta tap tap TAP on my wall like that mang?"

"That's what I'm trying to say. I'm SORRY. I could tell I pissed you off and I was all--oh shit, I pissed him off (threw that in for added "buddy-buddy" effect! Sorry Mom!) and I shouldn't have done that. I won't do it again."

".........oh."


It worked. I knew it would. The ol switcheroo! The tried and true "It's not YOU. It's ME. I'M the bad one! Can you ever FORGIVE me??"

This guy was expecting the Alamo. Instead, he got San Jacinto'd. And he didn't even know it.

"So no hard feelings, right? I swear I'm not gonna blast my music to get revenge, okay! Ha ha ha!"

"Uhh...Okay. Jes. That's okay. Jes. Jeah mang. Iss okay."


I realized something through this. Even if he does occasionally keep making noise at stupid hours of the night, I can thank the good Lord above for something even more precious:

That billowing cloud of cigarette smoke somehow manages to stay on his side of the wall. And considering how miserable the last apartment was because of cigarette smoke, that is no small blessing.

And besides, if he doesn't shut up I can always call 311.

Whoops

You know, heh heh... I'm known to get carried away sometimes.

I'm a passionate sort of guy.

So imagine my surprise when I should discover just now that a DRAFT of a post about Pat Robertson--one which I didn't intend to post until after I'd given it a little more thought--actually made it onto the blog?

Heh heh. Heh.

Whoops! Looks like everybody hates me now!! Maybe my stone-age friends are right--maybe all these blogs and facebooks are a really really BAD idea.


In other news, here we are at the end of January. I'm about to wrap up a two month pose at Hoity Toity School for Gifted Artists. I'd be working on the Jesus Painting (the JP) but the sides of my beard are taking a while to come in so the painter decided to postpone till March.

Which is okay. I've got another gig at Hoity Toity lined up for February. No harm in stretching things out a bit, is there?

So that's pretty much the update gang. I'm scruffier than ever before (it feels funny but I like it), still got gigs lined up a couple of months in advance, 'Hamlet' rehearsals starting soon... Yep. Things are just cookin' along.

Except for the fact that the hippie lady in the sculpture class has tried to educate me about the dangers of food. All kinds of food. Bad. Bad bad bad.

Heating food in plastic = poison (I'd actually heard that one before)
Cooked/roasted nuts, especially peanuts = cancer
Toasted food or food that's browned or blackened in any way = cancer
Flouride hidden in America's drinking water = calcium deposits in the brain
Meat of any kind = Duh. She's a hippie after all
Milk and cheeses = cancer
Wheat = poison
Vegetables that aren't fresh = worthless


The list probably goes on but those are all I can think of off the top of my head. The arguement for a lot of this stuff is that many of these things aren't actually BAD for you. It's that our food isn't fresh anymore. It's all processed.

And that sucks. Because I like food. I like eating things that taste good. I hate super-organic health snacks because they all taste like how hamster pellets smell.

Happy New Beard

It's 2010. And I'm going into the tens (or is it teens?) with facial hair.

I love having a goatee. I don't think I can express how much I enjoy it with words alone, so here's a song.

There's something about it. I don't know. I look at pictures of myself with it and think my face looks complete.

It's not purely vanity. There's the Jesus painting. There's the Orion painting. There's Polonius in the upcoming 'Hamlet'.

So I NEED facial hair.

I've been able to do a really good goatee for years. But the hair on my cheeks is still rather sparse.

So as I was scouring the internet for tips on how to handle this, I came across

THE BEARD BOARD.

It's basically a support group for dudes growing beards. They post about how their wives and girlfriends do or don't like their facial hair, "No man, don't shave it...you can do it. Give it one more month", that sort of thing. Also, pictures of their faces from the nose down.

It's intense.

And there's big drama right now.

Some 22 year old Muslim with bad English just joined the board. He's decided he's tired of ignoring Allah's commandment that men must never shave. And since all of us on the board like beards, we should look into Islam because Allah likes them too.

Yeah. Seriously.

More later...