On Procrastination (my favorite subject)-

Ok . . . Here we go! Wait, what's that? Just a sec . . . . .





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Oh, it was nothing. More tomorrow knuckleheads!

I swear I saw a Dragon!

So, we were two hours early for the New Year's parade in China town this morning. Mistake. Small misunderstandings can sometimes yield wonderful results no? Like getting to wait in line for forty-five minutes for a delicious dipped sandwich at Philleips! Arduous, yes. Delicious, yes. On the whole, it was a win.

So, I propose that for the next parade-the entrants set up along the right-hand side of the entire parade route, and allow we (the audience) to wander around and past them. This is in response to the gap issue that plagues every parade in the history of the universe. Today was: Schoolkids with flags! Gap.


Gap.

Gap.


Chinese history Society!!

Gap.

Awesome dragon and lion puppets! Yeah New Year!!

We sat and watched, and watched and sat,
and wondered what we were looking at.

Gap.
Gap.
Gag.
Leave.

Yeah. . . so, if I get to control my own speed, I'd be a happier parade-goer. Gaping aside, it was a really fun experience. Awesome firecrackers, Dragons, confetti, and so much more! Again-Happy year of the Dragon.

On Neighborhood Crime

This morning, I was annoyed by the constant thwapping of a nearby helicopter. Sometimes, it takes me a while to wake up, and for the first hour or so, I forget that the world does not revolve around me . . . that the chopper was not there to annoy me-it was there to do it's job. As is often the case, choppers in the sky usually mean crime. Today, they'd found a body.

It's slightly easier to deal with crime-in this case-homicide when it's far enough away to be "elsewhere". That could be a different part of the city, or a different part of the world. But when it happens in my backyard, it feels a little heavier. I easily could have walked to the crime scene today. The body was discovered in an area that leads me to assume that the crime grew from the neighborhood that surrounds me. I further assume that it was unnecessary, and probably the result of severe misunderstanding. Who are my neighbors anyway?

I refuse to walk on eggshells in the shadow of violent crimes that happen in my hood, but I will no doubt keep my eyes open. Our neighbors are human beings, assumabley, and deserve to be treated so. The key to creating a murder-free neighborhood is simply for everyone who lives there to refrain from murdering anyone. I vow to do my part . . .

Replace your innocence with sorrow-
for she will never again see tomorrow.

On Urban Wilderness-

So, I spent a couple of quality hours hiking in Griffith Park today. One of my resolutions this year was to hike every trail in the park, and today was a good start. I feel OK using the term "hiking" in reference to the time I spent today, because I had hiking shoes on, and for the most part, no motorized vehicles are allowed where I was. Those of us who know what secrets REAL mountains have to offer often roll our eyes and shake our head at these urban trails . . . but all of that lofty snickering doesn't make the trails any less steep!

Some observable differences & observations on the day:

#1-The arrival. You're not parking on a fire access road or at a scooped-out trail head. No, in G-park, you're parking on the street or in one of her many lots. Today, I parked close to the pony and train rides (two separate attractions) . . . but from what I've seen, all of the lots in Griffith park are vaguely similar.
-There is inevitably a gathering of some sort where families are eating questionable food out of plastic bags-usually grouped around the back of a car or two. This sounds sort of shady-and that may be true-but these groups are usually laughing.
-Among the other cars in the lot, there are bound to be one or two where the occupant or occupants are just sitting there. They may have their feet casually tossed out of an open window, or perhaps their seat wrenched back in the lounging mode, but why don't they get out of their cars? I guess we all need a break sometimes.
-There will be music . . . sometimes you'll even know where it's coming from.
-There will be runners. I haven't kept an accurate count, but MOST of them are runners as you think of runners. About every fifth one or so will be the oddball . . . the shuffle-runner in full makeup, or the man-mountain running in flip-flops or something. They will all be wearing ear buds.

#2-The Trail. If you find the right path, you can be out of the city in minutes . . . while never leaving the city. There is zen in Griffith park-plenty of it-you just have to remember to carry it with you.
-Many of the paths though the hills are basically roads . . . some even functioning roads. You'll have to quickly make peace with a new definition of trail hiking. The beauty of G-park is not the immersion of nature, but the fact that it's there. There are plenty of small, adventurous paths that spike off of the main roads, but some of them lead to homeless hotels, so walk warily! (there's nothing worse than stepping on a used hypodermic while experiencing nature!)
-Spy the Tre-ffiti! Trees, rocks-sometimes the ground itself is often tagged. I'm not wise to the purpose or practice of tagging, so I'm not sure what draws someone to spray-paint their tag onto a tree. I suppose it's not TOO different from lovers carving their initials . . . but it seems to lack the romantic or historic angle.
-The trail can bring out the humanity in people! How much of a relief is it in this city to look someone in the eye and say hello to them-and to have that energy returned! That can happen in the part. I even got into a brief, meaningless, and perfectly wonderful conversation with an old couple today! They were walking, literally, a pack of dogs. Of course, the magic of the trails mostly comes from within, and plenty of people forget to bring their magic . . . so there's still plenty of that strange Los Angeles attitude of practiced nonchalance as well. Bring your magic with you!

#3-Look Sharp! While Griffith Park is dirty and covered in graffiti, littered with trash and trod upon by hipsters, loud with highway noise and paved with horseshit . . . there are some wonderful secrets in the "woods". I spied two today-affixed to one tree was a wish-making machine of some variety. It had been damaged by the wind or by vandals, but someone had take the time to affix something in the nook of a tree for others to wish upon. There was even a small stack of quarters there (I guess wishes are more expensive out west!). Then, a little further down the path, was a young Christmas tree. It was maybe 5 feet tall and beautifully shaped. A ring of carefully selected stones surrounded the base, and a beautifully simple star hung from the top branch . . . it definitely had the feeling of being recently planted. Amir would be proud!

So, there's some reports from the road today. Griffith Park-you're gnarly and used, you've been burned and built on, you're ugly and dirty, and I think I'm starting to fall for you a little bit . . .

To Grow to love-first plant a tree,
Then let it age most patiently.

The Year of the Dragon

It may have been dumb luck, my being born in the year of the Dragon, but like so many dumb things in my life, I'm claiming complete ownership!

Let's see . . . this should be the the Fourth go-around as my Lunar year, and I can't help but feel like good things are on the horizon. They say that how you spend the first day of a new year sets the tone for the year . . . so with that in mind-it's going to be a sweaty one! T and I are doing this at-home DVD workout, which I find myself embarrassed to admit. Even more embarrassing is how out of shape I've become. Not necessarily in poundage or sagginess, but I've definitely lost strength. Who new that sitting on a couch for the first five years of my thirties would cause this? We're on day 3 of a 30-day plan, and while the days are getting progressively better, I'm glad to be in the cocoon of our living room-jiggling away towards the TV. Who knows-if I keep this up, I might have washboard abs by the time I'm 40!?

Anyhoo, after our "Shred" workout, I spent a good portion of the day with a pen in my hand. The difference between today and other rainy days in Los Angeles, is that today, I was actually using the pen. It's easy to forget the simple joy that writing can bring. At least, easy for me to forget. I suppose it's not the writing per se-but the attention, the mindfulness, the presence. Today was one of those days where I sort of found my own rhythm and bounced along with it-you know? The sort of day where things just sort of made sense. A don'tjudgeitjustrollwithit day. A Dragon sort of day. I'm happy to have had it.

Like honesty in a lover's eyes-
this rain will wash off my disguise.
And who is this-you see below?
Only me (and the dragon) know!

Third Strike=Not Out

Well, as it turns out . . . I'm not great with a daily task. For the third time in the FIRST MONTH of blog-a-day, I dropped the ball. You should understand . . . I'm a very busy guy. Today, for example, I had to listen to two different football games on the radio! I've got about 7 games of Words with Friends going on (Codefacekilla, if you're looking). I could go on, but that's all I had going on today.

I suppose that I could offer up a whole quantity vs. quality argument, but then I'd have to make with the quality . . . and really, who can be bothered on a drizzly day like today.

I listened to the games (as I mentioned) on the radio today. It was olde-timey and pretty fun. I think my imagination is exhausted though . . . it's tough work to keep everybody busy in my brain! It was a great way to spend a Sunday-cozy and cool. Cozy in in Cody way-not something Norman Rockwell would have been interested in painting. Tomorrow starts a new week, with new opportunities!

Count the ticktocks to the middle of Night-
Release the Red of the Dragon's Might!

Why is Art?

So, we went to the Los Angles Art Show today-downtown at the Convention Center. So-and-so was debuting their brand-new whositwhatsit, and we simply had to buy one before the Jonses did. So, with briefcases full of cash and, regrettably, a nose full of snot, we bumpered my little car downtown.

I've seen enough pastel, ink, bronze, marker, watercolor, negative, twine, chalk, marble, plaster, etc., in my life to begin to have some opinions about the art world. Maybe, more specifically, the gallery world. I'm never going to be one who is up on the latest trends-touting the catastrophic deconstruction of the found-pop movement by nonchalance of the escapism movements. You probably won't find me with a glass of red, meditating (out loud) about the NEED for blood on a canvas, or some such absurdity. I don't mean to sound pithy or snobby or anything, it's just that, when it comes to art, I know what I like, and it doesn't flow much deeper than that. I like art that tells a story that I've heard in my brain, but never seen in the world. I like art that whispers to me-that encourages me to be different . . . art that challanges me in a language that I can understand. I'm a lazy critic-I like what I can understand. And what I love about art is:

Everything we saw today, wheather I liked it or not, affects somebody. That the thunderstruck moments that I have with a certain sculpture is the same moment some stranger is sharing with the self-flagutuling boar painting that walked right past. Fascinating isn't it? None of us ever experience art in exactally the same way. There are some constants, of course, but none of them are universal. I realize that this isn't a revolutionary thought, but I do find it to be fascinating.

There were, in fact, many folks there to ACTUALLY buy. . . which is another fascinating realm . . . what is the value of art? Personally, I can't imagine spending the type of cash I heard bandied about today. The walls and shelves in our humble abode are graced by art that we, or our friends have produced. But how do you put a price tag on an emotional response? Is it in the same realm of say, prostitution, or a day at the spa? I realize that there is a population out there that builds collections-that art can be an investment. But what of the art-lover who falls in love with a certain painting? That type of purchase should be covered by medical insurance . . . because the right piece of art to the right eyes can be medicine.

Saw a lot of great stuff today. I'm so happy that people are moved to create!

Never a dull Night . . .

So, if one thing goes on the calender, something else will invariably go right on top.

Tonight, we went to a storytelling show. I've been to a few of these now, which makes me an expert. Tonight's show was . . . just fine. It's hard to be critical of people who take the time to put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and write out a story in their own words that is intended to cause me to feel something. Being a human being, I am ruled by FEELING, so it's not too hard to elicit a laugh, or a tear, or something. Honesty walks farther in a moment than fear.

Don't try so hard.

That being said, I'd really like to give this storytelling thing a try. Despite what this vague attempt at a blog might have you believe, I really feel like I could share an honest story or two . . . with purpose. They all have different formats, but you're basically given a theme, and then you have a given time-a week, a month, half an hour-to build a story around the theme. From what I've been able to gather-the stories are-if not completely true, at least based in actual experience. I've had a few of those . . .

Not content to drive all the way across town for one measly 90-minute show, T and I then popped by a birthday party in Hollywood. A friend of T's was waving goodbye to her 20's, and we made a brief stopover to wave with her. Is there anything more fun than being tired, searching Hollywood for a parking space, walking into a decrepit apartment building into a party where you don't know any of the guests . . . who are all a decade younger than you? I can't think of anything!

That was my inner curmudgeon making a brief but poignant appearance. In truth, it seemed like a pretty fun party. It just happens that I'm in a place where the thought of making small talk with actors is akin to cheese-grating my face . . . I have no desire to do it. Thankfully, (and gracefully, btw), we kept our appearance brief. Passed on the many happy returns, ate some of their birthday food, marveled at the cock-shaped birthday cake and vamoosed. Like. The. Wind.

Humpday

The trouble with ambitious blogging, is that so often, I don't have anything to say.

It's not that I don't have ANYTHING to say, just nothing of substance. I had the typical million or so thoughts throughout my day, and not one of them was profound enough to warrant further examination. Of course, the day is not quite over yet . . . so let's all assume that the best thoughts of my day are yet to come! Let's try one out . . . now!

I wonder if you could park an electric car on top of a charging pad like they have for wireless phones? It could revolutionize garage flooring!

OK . . . not bad.

Back in Class!

I love being in class. I mean, we all learn everyday . . . but something about the setting makes it feel more active . . . more intentional. My life can often be pretty slow, and homework & these Tuesday night gatherings help to fill in the time in one of the most productive ways possible.

Classrooms are where we go to fail. I don't think anyone will be adopting that slogan for their school anytime soon, but that's how I feel about this "audition preparation" class after tonight. I had a scene from last week that I "auditioned" with tonight-after, of course working it all week long. Oh-I had big plans to bring my "Friday night" performance-to really knock it out of the park and (lets face it) win the admiration of my classmates. My big plans never materialized . . . As I found myself in the middle of my short scene without putting into practice any of the stuff I had been working-presenting a wonderfully vanilla and wholly unmemorable audition-I was instantly relieved that I was in a classroom and not an audition room.

Next week will be better . . . because I had the freedom to fail today. And for that, I am thankful.

One Epic Day-

I feel as though I've been hit by a Mac Truck hauling a full payload of Joy. Yesterday we spent 16 hours at the Happiest Place on Earth . . . Disneyland.

Disneyland is youth in acreage. I don't know if everyone has the same feeling, but I found that it was very easy to let my imagination blur with reality-to let down the typical cynical defenses that "protect" me from life and BELIEVE-to live in the moment. I don't even want to dissect it or explain it . . . just enjoy it.

A huge part of my (perhaps overly) romantic Disney experience was the company I kept. T and I left with the rising of the sun to meet up with our old friends Nate, Karen and their sort-of son Freddie. You know the sort of friends that don't get too mad when you climb into their house through their dog door to sleep on their floor? You know the sort of friends that have saved peoples lives, or have inspired you to be a better person? Remember those friends who bring a smile to your stogy face when you think of them-the ones who lift your spirit? Yeah-that's them. And to add awesomeness to eloquence-Freddie not only got us into the park gratis (including parking)-but he was also the most amazing tour guide you could ask for. It got to the point that I found myself sneaking curious glances at his ears . . . were they in fact circular and black? We covered more quality ground in one ambitious day than a lazy storm front in the Midwest . . .

It's rare and wonderful to spend such great time with such great friends. I'll be smiling for days, and reminicing for years. Thank you friends, for being so wonderful. Hope to see you soon!

Tomorrow-

Well, the Broncos got crushed. We all knew it was going to happen, but because of the awesome performances by whats-his-name over the course of this season . . . we sort of believed that we might win. Damn.

On the plus side-I had a gigantic burrito during the game. So, at the end of the night, I'm sort of a winner after all. (Though, I'll probably be a looser tomorrow.)

Friday the 13th!

. . . And so far, nothing spooky.

So-I try to watch theatre with a critical but humble eye. It's so easy to get uber-critical about things that I have strong opinions about. It's also easy to get carried away with nit-picking. It got to a point a few years ago where I couldn't see a show without a split brain-half acting it out in my brain with ME on stage, and half re-directing it. In short, attending theatre grew tedious and stressful.

So.

I have given myself the luxury of attending the theatre for the sake of the show. As an audience member, there is absolutely no need to be in any sort of competition with the play. Opinions (and occasional mental directing) are bound to pop up, but for the most part, I try to do my best to Bear Witness. To observe and delight in the experience of Live theatre.

That being said . . .

T and I took in "Danny and the Deep Blue Sea" tonight. I am a fan of John Patrick Shanley, and there have probably been at least a half dozen people who have told me that I should do that show. Tonight, I saw why. I'd kill it. Tonight's performance was great-it's going to be a crapshoot out here in Los Angeles: sometimes it's aces and sometimes it's shit on a stick. Tonight was great. Cute theatre with a happy and helpful staff. Comfortable seats in an intimate space. The tech was on-point and the acting was surprising. With my assumed attachment to this particular piece, however, I couldn't stop myself from second guessing the action. My bad folks . . . I only gave 40% as an audience member . . . you deserved more.

Thursday Nights

Growing up, Thursday nights meant two (of my favorite) things. #1: Pasta night. #2: The Cosby Show.

I can't remember a specific episode-scenes and moments, sure-but not an entire episode, but surely we saw them all. What a fantastic show. What a fantastic combination. I can't eat a delicious plate of pasta without being transported back to my living room with Bill Cosby. Strange, sometimes, the associations we make. . .

Almost Awesome

Man, I made an almost awesome dinner tonight . . . made-from-scratch calzones. It was so close to perfect! There was just a little something missing in the sauce . . . a little kick. Next time. next time.

I can cook, like six different things. Typically, I'll cook some combination of them and then mix them somehow. Like-pasta sauce for stuffed peppers, or rice for chili. Occasionally, I'll pick up another trick or two to add to the conglomeration. Today was not one of those days. So almost awesome . . .

By the way-what is it about wanting to take pictures of our food? Especially the food we made ourselves? While I agree, it's much more impressive and appetizing to photograph while the meal is on THIS end of the entire digestive path, I'm still not sure where the urge to record the event comes from. I didn't take a picture tonight, but it was one of those nights where I sort of wanted to. I suppose that it looked so visceral . . . the colors and the aromas just bring out the artist in all of us perhaps? Smell is perhaps our most primal instinct, and the closest associated with memory, so maybe that has something to do with it. I'm glad I didn't give into that urge tonight. Because then I'd have a picture of

an almost awesome dinner.

Back In Class!

Well, after too long a break . . . I'm finally back in a class. Dicipline being a necessary tool of the trade, I've opted for an audition technique class that is sort of interdiciplinary.

I enjoy taking classes-most of the time. I have had a few here and there that have been a waste of time and/or money, but for the most part, I enjoy taking classes. Generally speaking, the teachers are folks who care about art enough to want to share it-and their secerets about it-with others. It's the same here in Los Angeles as anywhere else I've lived-certain teachers/classes/ect. are sure that they've got the answers that you're looking for. The answer is always the same-the student is the teacher.

It's late, and my brain is scrambling . . . I've always broken classes into two camps: 1-classes I take to deepen my craft & 2-classes I take to make the right professional connections. This one that I just started has the potential to straddle these two camps. It is my hope that after these six weeks are up, I'll have a strong leaning toward representation & a busier schedule. At the very lease, I'm sure I'll be a better actor.

Already?

Did I skip a post yesterday? Wow. Seven full days before I messed up. I'm honestly not sure what went wrong . . . I think I just got mixed up-along with this bloggidy-blog-blog, I've recently started another daily writing project, and I think I got my wires crossed . . . ah well, on to the slightly bent point.

I had my first audition of the new year this afternoon. Or, I suppose I should say this evening, as the call was for 5:45. Having been thwarted by rush-hour traffic in the past (rush hour begins around 2pm and lasts until 1pm the next day), I decided to head over to "that part of town" plenty early. I'm glad that I did. Traffic wasn't too bad, and I found parking fairly close. The plan was to grab some coffee and finish my crossword puzzle for 40 min or so, then get to the audition.

However.

I've had auditions here that have been late before, so I thought I'd pop in to see if they were running ahead or behind. They were running behind. I went ahead and signed in immediately (45 minutes early), and didn't end up reading until 6:15 (30 late!) I'm a but surprised that I didn't have anything else on the schedule today . . . seems that auditions usually only run that late when there are six places that I need to be. It was great. No stress-No worry-No problem!

I felt great about the audition. Oh, it was long and slightly ridiculous, but I felt like I've offered them a viable option for what they're looking for. I'd like to be on the other side at some point to see the tapes that the clients get. I mean, the sheer number of folks auditioning today boggled my frail little brain. How do you look at so many faces and decide "there-that's the face that I want to see for half a second through half a football helmet during an action shot!" I'm sure that people stand out. They've got to. I've got to.

So, anyway. Felt good to get back into the room . . . now, let's BOOK SOME WORK!!

And the first Saturday-

Wow, this day came and went in a flash . . . I mean, it's still technically on it's way out, but still-you know what I mean.

I finally got a haircut today, and I'm not totally thrilled with it yet. Of course, it always takes me a couple of days to get the feel of the new head, but still. It'll be totally my fault if I don't feel totally comfortable with it. Wow, is there anything more boring than discussing a haircut? The thing is-it's indicitave of something bigger . . .

I've been getting my hair cut for years now, and every time my butt hits that chair, it's like the first time. It's like I'm looking at my own head for the first time. Oh, for the buzz cut! Whichever tragically hip hair stylist is chopping at me today . . . it's always the same thing . . .

"So, what are we going to do today?"

"Um, I dunno. Just get rid of a lot of it-but leave the length on the top . . . I think."
whenwatiwanttosayis-

"Today? Make it perfect! Give me the cut that won't grow back until I'm ready. The cut that wakes up perfect and stays that way throughout the day! Give me . . . give me . . . "

. . . bald?

First Friday of the New Year

Again, I'm getting too late of a start to be very clever . . . I suppose that someday I'll learn to blog while the sun shines. . .

Just got home from a screening of the delightful film "The Artist". Who needs dialogue when you've got intention? There was a talkback afterwards with the director, producer and most of the leads, which was also delightful. Most of the folks on the dias were french, and it's always refreshing to remember that no matter who or where we are, we all tend to seek the same general truths.

Also, got my first audition call of this new year-and along with it, the feelings of triumph and reluctance! What a crazy profession!

Too Tired . . .

Went to a casting workshop tonight regarding Soap operas. I tell you . . . this job is both exciting and nauseating. awesome and pathetic. right and wrong. tedious and brief.

simple and convoluted.

Where did the day go?

I'll tell you . . .

Got rid of cable today,
4 mile run,
revamped/reduced phone plan,
sent emails,
donated old moped parts to a moped junkshop,
took a wrong turn,
shopped for veggies (read: elbow fights with Armenians)
attended a storytelling show,
spoke with old/new friends,
drove old/new friends home,
meditated on LOVE,
blogged.

Tomorrow . . . more of the same.

On Instinct . . .

From my kitchen window yesterday, I saw a hawk. Or maybe it was a falcon. Anyways, it was most certainly a bird of prey . . . my ornithology is severely lacking. He or she swooped and glided from tree to telephone pole to roof outside my kitchen window for about ten minutes or so before flying off to Ra-knows-where.

Much later in the day . . . or at least later enough for it to be dark out, I nearly stumbled upon a coyote. I was, of course, a short stones throw from my kitchen window. The coyote, as it turns out, was one of a pair-which may or may not be considered a pack . . . my varmint knowledge is severely lacking. The pair (or small pack) of coyotes loped a few loops around my neighbors yard-literally steps from my kitchen window-for a few minutes before gracefully hopping a five-foot fence and dashing off to Willie-knows-where.

Three hunters . . . hungry.

Meanwhile, on the other side of my kitchen window . . . sits a refrigerator. Inside the refrigerator sat a pig, or rather, parts of a pig. Delicious parts. Had any of the three hunters known what was just on the other side of my kitchen window, surely they would have called out in their native cries something resembling envy. Often, when I'm enjoying delicious pork (pig in the field, pork on the table), I am reminded of an old job I had in Chicago. This job site was located next to a pig-into-pork plant, and every morning when I arrived, I'd see truckloads of pigs going in, and subsequent foodstuffs going out in the eve.

I had fantasies of one day throwing open the doors of the plant and letting the pigs free. These flights of fancy were born more from whimsy than any sort of love or responsibility. These fanciful flights of fantasy often ended with the sad realization that, in all probability, none of the fancied mayhem would occur. The pigs would most likely not run amok through the streets of south Chicago. The pigs-being pigs-would most likely not be desperate to escape.

Sometimes, I feel like those sad little piggies. Unknowingly being stripped and processed in a plant with all the other little piggies . . . and an unknown and whimsical freedom just a cloven skip away.

Sometimes, I feel like the coyotes. Skittish and hungry. Wild enough to be sort of wonderful, but too slovenly to be considered majestic. Where the line between hunting and scavenging is blurry at best . . .

And sometime, I feel like that hawk . . . if it was a hawk. Using my hawks-eye view to see so far! Where fight and flight don't have to be mutually exclusive . . . Where instinct keeps the belly full.

On a final random note-while watching the hawk perched atop a telephone pole yesterday, he or she suddenly took an enormous shit directly onto the most expensive car on the street. Was that instinctual?

An artistic responsibility?

I live a pretty good life. There are months that I struggle (read: Hope) to pay my bills. . . I don't have all the toys that I might WANT, but I do get to spend my days perusing-and occasionally realizing my dreams. It took me a few years to understand that in choosing to persue acting, I was signing my vow of poverty. Now don't get me wrong, there is money to be made, and occasionally even riches to be earned, but when it comes right down to it, my job as an actor is always FINDING MY NEXT JOB.

And so, Hollywood.

In the few years that I've been out here, I've fallen in and out of love with the business countless times. Truth be told, I'm not west-coast-wise in the business at all. That is, while I make my living acting, I'm often acting like I'm living the life out here. I'm a freshman, or maybe even a sophomore in this school of strange knocks known casually as "the business". I think like a post-grad. I complain occasionally like a post-grad. But when it comes to where I AM, I'm just a baby y'all. There I go again, confusing my metaphors.

Well, I've quickly (but soundly) gotten off point here. The point that I was hoping to get around to dealt with my artistic responsibility. It's easy to get caught up in the knotted string of The Business out here-easy to get pissed that "that guy" gets all the breaks-easy to worry that I'm not doing enoughdontknowtherightpeoplegototherightplaces-easy make myself smaller than my wonderful self. . .

. . . Just like it's easy to remember Who I Am. That I make a majority of choices in my life based on my artistic responsibility. That the power of my laugh can build seesaws and merry-go-rounds in this playground.

Artistic responsibility. Perhaps Milton Glaser said it best:

The purpose of art is to inform and delight.

Sometimes, it's just that simple.

January First Two Thousand Twelve

Happy New Year.

Following in the naked footsteps of Stupie and the pixie before him, the goal is the next 360-some days. We'll see how it goes. I've always been great about starting things . . . it's the stickingwithitness that has always been the problem. I suppose I'm like nearly everyone else on the planet in that regard. I'm even better about THINKING about STARTING things. I suppose that that's one of those constant resolutions . . . DO more.

Resolutions . . . I've made a few. Wrote them down this year. In ink. In a place that I can review them often and remind myself. It's a secret place that only I know about . . . an invisible book in a hidden compartment of a magic trunk. I figure that by making a game of it, I'd be able stick with them. The list seems to revolve around a few common themes . . . be a better person, do better things, and do and be them more. I'll call that a poem so that I don't have to worry weather it works gramaticaly.

Anyway, here's to a good year. Filled with Grace. A mindful year where we ask a lot of questions and discover new things. I'm curious about and excited for the next 360-some days.