Big Scare

So the past couple of days my sister and I have been dealing with a rather frightening incident with our mother.

On Sunday my sister called Mom and when she answered, our mother was barely coherent. So, when I called I got a busy signal. I live in Chicago. My sister is in Arizona, and my mother is in a teeny, tiny town in western Iowa. And I don't drive.

I didn't panic, per se, but I was concerned. I called the local emergency services and they sent an ambulance, which brought her in to the hospital. Later that evening a doctor called to tell me that there was no sign of stroke or brain mass, but that she seemed to be fighting off an infection. My sister works in a medical facility and discovered that an infection untreated can play with your head.

I spoke to my mother the next day and she was still incoherent. She could start a sentence, but not finish it. I was becoming increasingly more concerned. Later in the day, however, my sister called her and she was a little more lucid. This morning another doctor called and they were going to run some more tests, but he seemed to think that the infection was the culprit. They'd had her on some heavy-duty antibiotics and she seemed to be responding.

I hate feeling helpless like that.

The Secret to Surviving Unemployment

It is virtually impossible for me to get everything accomplished that I need/want to get done in a day. I don't have time for a job.

And yet, looking for a job is in itself a full-time job. My strategy has always been to submit my resume for everything that I could conceivably do. However, as my resume develops I'm now reaching the point where I'm over-qualified for a lot of jobs. I'm stuck in the middle-management quagmire where my resume is too strong for positions that have to be managed, but not really strong enough to take on a leadership role within an organization. That means, I think, that I'm looking for an organization that is willing to take a chance on potential because they can't necessarily afford experience. Not the best position to be in, but there it is.

That's why I've been focusing on starting my own business. I've now discussed this with four different people, all of whom have been encouraging. To be honest, I haven't really hit a real speed bump yet. I think the biggest challenge is going to be finding a space for the business, but even that isn't insurmountable.

Then there are the PhD applications, which at the moment are going nowhere. I sent an e-mail to a professor asking if he'd write a letter of recommendation, but have not yet heard back. It's summer and he's no doubt on vacation. There is the writing sample to prepare, and different aspects to get arranged. And I've done nothing on this front. The deadlines are all in December, so I've got time, but I HATE being pushed to a deadline.

And then finally there is my writing, which I've completely neglected in favor of the business. I'm packing up my computer this morning and heading off to the coffee shop and getting a lot of stuff done.

Then, on Friday, I received an e-mail from the COO, Marty, asking me for advise on how to handle a certain situation. I'm thinking, "You laid me off! Your severance package is pitiful and you're trying to weasel out of paying my bonus! Figure your own problems out!" Of course, that's not how I responded. I stuck to the business at hand, which was to say that I was waiting for my separation paperwork. It arrived -- incomplete and incorrect -- via e-mail a couple of hours later.

So, the secret to surviving unemployment is realizing that you are, in fact, employed. You're just not receiving a pay check. And with any employment, there are deadlines to be met. So off to them...

Lindsay Lohan Crack Addict?

Lindsay Lohan caught with crack pipe.

It's not true, but I just want to see what that statement does to increase traffic on my blog.

Moment of Reflection

Back in college I had a friend, Jeffrey, who was wild for Patti LuPone. While appreciated the talent, La LuPone didn't appeal to me as the diva doppleganger every self-respecting gay man seems genetically predisposed to adopting. I never got it.

Then one day I watched a rerun of Law & Order in which Patti LuPone played the defense attorney. Her delivery was brilliant. L&O is essentially an hour of exposition. You have actors standing in front of a camera telling you what happened. You know little-to-nothing about the characters and what you do know is only preciously leaked by the writers and producers. I love the standard characters and the actors who deliver those lines. Delivering exposition is the hardest thing an actor ever has to do:

"Aren't you Billy Bob, the young man they've sent the blood hounds after
because you defiled Farmer Brown's daughter last week after the
hailstorm?"

"Yes, but now we'd all better get some sleep because tomorrow we have to
cross that river that has overflowed it's banks and drowned three orphans.
Mighty treacherous, that there river."

Yet, the actors at L&O have built careers delivering such fact-driven drivel. Sometimes the only way to do it is to follow the old theatrical maxim "LOUDER, FASTER, FUNNIER." As a result the regular actors of that show have developed a rhythm in their deliveries. You can see the same in other shows that have run for awhile. Actors begin inflecting lines in the same way, they pause at the same point within a sentence. Professional hazard.

Then LuPone came into the show and she broke the rhythm. She still delivered pages of exposition, but she found ways to pause or draw out syllables that didn't impede the flow, but still drew attention to her. I wrote to her after seeing that and asked if her technique was intentional and she responded by saying no, she was just trying to make sense of the lines.

Sometimes James Wolcott gets it right. I've not seen LuPone as Rose, but take it on faith that she's brilliant. I have, however, seen Close in Damages. And sometimes James gets it wrong. At one time Close was a brilliant actress, but I have to say that I find her performances becoming more and more manored. Her theatrical training shines through and she's playing to the balcony, even in close ups. Sometimes she's lucky enough to find a director who can make that work on film, but I've never seen Close give a televison performance that seemed to fit the screen.

The actress of a certain age who should be drawing praise is Michelle Pfieffer. Yesterday I treated myself to a movie and saw Hairspray. It's well-paced and charming. Travolta and Walken are delightful, but frankly the person who really delivers the goods is Pfieffer. She gets camp villany, yet she can be fragile and Strasberg real.

Now, back to work...

Pooped!

I got my severance paperwork today. With the pittance they're offering, a tiny bit of vacation time, the remainder of my student loan money, and a few other cash-stashes, I could sit on my ass for almost the next year and do nothing. If everything goes according to plan, the timing would be right to go into my PhD program. When you look at student loans, mortgage, and equity built up in my condo, if I sold out in the next year, I could pay off all my debts and be pretty much at break even. All things considered, I'm pretty happy with that financial position.

There was a time when watching daytime TV, strolling to the beach, and being debt free (if not exactly solvent) sounded like heaven. Those days have passed. So, I've been looking into starting my own business. I need something that I could control the schedule, that had low start-up costs and that I could manage while working on my degree. I don't want to say what it might be yet. I'm still doing my research, but I've yet to hit a significant snag.

Oh, except that I have almost no experience in the area that I want to break into. So, I've been reading and researching until my eyes bleed. But it all looks good! If I'm able to keep to my schedule, I'll be an entrepreneur by October.

Ah, At Last the Reason

YouTube Debates

I listened to the Democratic presidential debates this evening, and while there really didn't seem to be anything ground breaking, and at times verged on the frivolous, there were several things of note:

1) This debate format seemed to bring fun back to politics. There were some heated exchanges, but there seemed to be an underlying respect that seemed sincere. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on my part, but I really got the sense that each and everyone of those candidates was on the stage offering him or herself up in service to something larger than themselves.

2) For me the choice seems to be among Clinton, Edwards, and Biden. Obama seems to be showing some strain and I don't think he's ready. I would consider him for the VP slot, and in that case I think he'd be good with Biden. But the problem with these debates is that there is nothing really at stake. They are nothing more than campaign fundraising opportunities. They will start to mean something when their are actual votes at stake.

3) The most important question of the night was, "Are our troops in Iraq dying in vain?" No one came up with a good answer to that question, but I think I have one that would at least be adequate: No, the troops are not dying in vain. If there is any good that come from this war it is that it is re-engaging the American people in our political process. Because American soldiers are being slaughtered, the American people are being forced to shake their apathy. It is a slow, painful process, but one that this country desperately needs. If, at the end of this war the American public begins to feel some responsibility for the position of privilege and power that it holds in the world, then no, those deaths are not in vain.

4) For the first time Clinton came off as presidential. Like I said above, it no longer feels personal. I hope I'm right.

Getting Serious

In previous times when out of work and looking for a job, in the back of my mind there was always the gnawing fear, "What if no one will hire me?" It's a debilitating fear that feeds itself and could literally cripple me. When I got calls for interviews I would try to figure out ways to disguise that fear, but I don't think I was ever very successful. Ultimately I was hired by a company that wanted someone who was afraid of being unemployed, and they used that fear against me for a long time.

This time around the question isn't whether I'll be hired, but when I'll be hired. Sure, as I sit down to pay my bills and see the huge chunks those payments are taking from my savings I do get a little nervous, but I'm not afraid. The truth is that I'm enjoying my time off. I'm enjoying the freedom. Now, if only someone would pay me and provide me with health insurance to do what I'm doing, I'd be thrilled.But the freedom and flexibility is what I'm prizing. Yes, I'm sending out resumes (fourteen today) but I can't say that I'm really enthused about many of the jobs. One or two have possibilities, though.

But the other day I hit on an idea that I think might address a couple of problems. If I follow through on it, I'd be without health insurance for a year, but that's a gamble I think I'm willing to take. Tomorrow I'm going to sit down and create the formal pros and cons list and then I'm going to talk with a friend who I think can provide particular insight. I'll know more later and don't want to say too much until I've fully decided a course of action. But this idea has me pretty excited.

Work on the short stories is progressing. I'm doing one now that is a little more complex than most of my others and may evolve into a novella. In the past I've held tightly to a predetermined structure, but this one I'm letting roll out as it will.

It's All About You...

When I was a kid, my mother had the look. Adults of my generation and before know what I'm talking about. The look said, "When I get you home..." and any reasonably imaginative child could fill in the rest. And it was always horrific.

My parents divorced when I was five. The custody arrangements gave my father visitation on Wednesday nights and weekends. When they separated, my mother moved us to an apartment complex in Sioux City, and my father moved back home with his mother in Le Mars, twenty-five miles away. I have no idea if that arrangement was to be temporary, but my father lived with my grandmother until her death nearly eight years later.

The transfer of the kids happened at one of three places. The first was Sunshine Grocery Store, which was near where my father worked. The second was at a little diner in Leeds, which was a "suburb" of Sioux City. At either of those two places my mother fed my sister and me: loose-meat sandwiches at the grocery store, scrambled eggs and mashed potatoes at the diner.

However, the third place was closest to our apartment. Bellas Hess was sort of a Target of it's day. We met there if a major purchase needed to be discussed. I remember shopping for furniture, tires, and school clothes there. That was my favorite place for the exchange because it took my father the longest to get there, which meant my sister and I ran wild up and down the aisles.

Until we got the look.

If that happened, we knew it would be three whole days before our mother could exact retribution. She knew it too, and most of the time she'd forget. So, in the meantime if we misbehaved we got sent to the car. That was a fate worse than death because it meant that one of us was sitting outside while the other was enjoying the wonders of Bellas Hess. I only remember being sent to the car once or twice. It was enough to keep me in line.

I thought of those days as I read this article about how society seems to have less tolerance for children. I won't say that I grew up in an era where children were seen and not heard, but it's a notion I think that's worth reconsidering. In that notion children learn that there are other people in the world who may not be enchanted by their noise. Other people have feelings, needs, wants, and desires and while it may not be possible to satisfy all of those, social reticence demonstrated a respect for other people.

But it's no wonder we have children who scream into cell phones and look bored out train windows. They've been reared in an environment in which they believe the world owes them entertainment. Creativity, intellectual pursuits, or introspection seem to be foreign concepts.

Today I rode down to Lakeview to help set up the fundraiser rummage sale for the Chorus. I donated four hours and it was four hours of the most gruelling, back-breaking work I've ever done. I unloaded three huge moving trucks of furniture and literally a ton of donated clothes. The ride home took every ounce of strength. As I was pedalling, I came upon a blond woman, pedaling along and chatting on her cell phone, oblivious to the fact that she was weaving all around the path and barely moving. As I finally got past her I heard her say, "Are you on your bike too?"

Cell phones are evil. It is my belief that any conversation on a cell phone that lasts longer than sixty seconds must contain the phrase, "Inform the president of imminent nuclear chaos," or you're simply polluting the airwaves.

And yet, in a society where each and every person believes that he or she is entitled to not only all that they have, but all that they want to have; where it is virtually impossible to establish eye contact in a grocery aisle; where little Tiffany is bored by her six-hundred-dollar electronic trinket; a casual pedal through a gorgeous park on one of the most perfect days God ever sent to Earth could only be made perfect by hollering into a pink, jewelled cell phone to ask if the person at the other end was also riding his bike.

I gave the woman the look.

The Elasticity of Time

Winona Ryder is 35? How did that happen?

My friend Missy was in Great Balls of Fire. Wynona Rider, however, beat her out for the role opposite Dennis Quaid. That's how old Wynona Ryder is and shall always remain in my head.

Never a brilliant actress, she has given two performances of note. Obviously the first is in Heathers, which I think anyone who went to high school in the eighties or after can relate to. It's a brilliant film and even Christian Slater is hot in it.

However the second, less recognized performance is in Age of Innocence. I remember when the movie came out. I actually saw it at the opening screening here in Chicago and for some reason the theater was packed. I don't remember if Scorcesee was in attendance, or if any of the film's stars but for some reason the film made quite a stir. That was the first, and to date only, performance from Ryder that had any sort of depth or shading.

Still, from the photographs, you can see that she's a stunning woman. Just how did she get so old?

Overwhelmed

I don't have time for a job right now! Yesterday I sat in my coffee shop try to bang out another story and I was literally overwhelmed by all of the things that I want/have to do. I couldn't focus on any of them and so got none of them done. That sort of frantic, frenetic feeling stayed with me for most of the day and then at about 3:00 it left and I was able to focus on some things.

Resumes continue to go out at about the rate of five per day. Yesterday I had an interview scheduled with a staffing company, but I canceled. Over the past few years I've actually interviewed with that company three times and I've come to the conclusion that they either don't have any jobs and they just like dragging me in there to meet me, or that I don't really fit their image. So, I called and canceled, offering to reschedule. I haven't heard back from them.

What really got me itchy yesterday was beginning seriously looking at Ph.D. programs. Northwestern actually has several programs that interest me, but I think I'm going to go for their rhetoric program. Still the admission requirements made me a little woozy. The hardest thing is coming up with my statement of purpose. "When I grow up I want to be a professor." Not going to cut it.

I've also decided not to completely rule out MFA programs. The truth is that I have a much easier time motivating myself to create something than I do to research something. The feedback on my fiction continues to be positive. I'd classify it as competent and every now and then there are sparks of inspiration. So, I'm going to plod forward.

But I think every day has to start with a trip to the gym. I need to burn off some of this excess energy or I'll get nothing done.

Messages from The Beyond

I was around for the first real surge into new age mysticism -- crystals, harmonic convergence, etc. I have several book shelves stacked with a lot of that stuff.

At the time I became very interested in tarot cards. I own two sets. From an academic point of view, a deck of tarot cards is a very complex text that can be shuffled and when laid out in several different patterns can tell very interesting stories. Let's just say that I'm an educated man and that with that education comes some skepticism. That said I have enough experience with the supernatural to have some belief.

I've only had one professional tarot reading. It was in the late '80's in Lakeview and the woman told me that I was going to be very sick. She told me that she could sell me a potion that would prevent it. A month later I developed hepatitis A and was laid up for six weeks.

OK, a gay man in Lakeview in the late '80's getting very sick. What are the odds, right?

However, I have a distant friend who is psychic. She consults her guides and guardian angels for everything. One day about fifteen years ago we had gone to lunch when my friend stopped everything and told me that she had something that the guides and guardian angels had to tell me. She told me that my mother (whom my friend had never met) was going away. My sister nor I would know where she'd gone, but that we didn't need to worry. She would be taken care of. My friend said she couldn't see too much because there was a lot of fog. She told me it would be a very difficult time, but that everything would be all right.

Three months later my mother disappeared. She experienced a stress-induced dissociative episode and got in her car in a parking lot in Des Moines and surfaced two months later in a shelter in Boston. She had no knowledge or memory of how that happened. All completely true story.

So, I have a healthy respect for the occult. In times of stress I won't say that I turn to my tarot cards for comfort and guidance. What I've found is that my tarot decks are good meditative tools and if used properly can help keep me in a positive frame of mind.

If you're interested in tarot, I've found this website, which I find entertaining. Some computer somewhere generates a reading for you. Of course it's completely silly, but the thing I find interesting is that all of the cards that come up for me are talking about jobs and travel. Jobs and travel and rapid change. And all in a very positive way. Check it out. See if it generates something relevant for you...

Good Day

Yesterday was another good day. Went to the gym, rode my bike to the bank, started a new story, which feels like one of the best I've done in a while.

And I'm exhausted.

The thing I'm discovering about my writing is that the creation and the execution of a story do not happen simultaneously for me. Yesterday I sat in Caribou Coffee for an hour and a half and got a page out when I hit a wall. So I played a quick chess game and then packed up my computer. Just as I put the computer in my backpack, the break through happened. I knew where the story was going. I'm not completely sure where the story ends...no, I take that back. I do. It just came to me.

So, now I have the story mapped out in my head. It's the typing it up that makes me yawn. But, I'm determined to have this collection completed and ready to market by Labor Day. This is number fifteen. Five more to go!

The plan was to get fifteen done and then go back to start revisions. I cheated and went back to one of my earliest stories. I wrote it in 2002. I can see the structural weaknesses in the piece and I can see the growth in my work. Still, I did very little to the piece. I like it in spite of it's flaws. Right now it's the first story in the collection, which may not work. Ultimately it might be cut.

I'm loving this process.

The First Day of Unemployment

This is the fourth time that I've been in a situation where there is not even the hint of employment on the horizon. The first time was in my first year in Chicago when a show I was doing conflicted with my job as an over-night bellman at The Drake Hotel. That experience was pretty grim because during that time I had no money and had to find a new apartment. I spent about six weeks looking for something and ultimately landed three part-time jobs in the same week. Considering I had no marketable skills that wasn't bad. Still, I'd say that those were the six scariest weeks of my life.

The second episode happened when I made the decision to change careers. I decided that working as a starving actor and waiting tables was no longer working for me. I quit after signing a lease on a apartment that basically doubled my rent. Fortunately I was still able to pick up fill-in shifts. Again, it took me about six weeks to find the job that started my illustrious human resources career.

Then I left two jobs, and my period of unemployment during the first was so brief I don't remember how long it was. Maybe three weeks. The second little spurt I was unemployed for a full day.

However, in 2001 I quit my job because of depression and planned to be out about three months. It had been a tough job and I was sick. That bout lasted seven months. At the end of seven months I was deeply depressed, defeated, and desperate. I actually got my next job offer on 9/11 before the second tower fell. Again, I had two offers simultaneously: one in manufacturing, and one in the travel industry. It didn't take a genius to choose the least bleak of the two options. I went into manufacturing, where I spent the next two years firing people and fighting with insurance companies. Not a good situation for someone battling depression.

I quit that job abruptly too. When I got on the train to go home, I swore that I'd have a plan of action before I got home. When I changed trains, I got off at the transfer point, walked into my old restaurant and walked out with a full roster of shifts. I had decided that I would go to grad school. I went home, enrolled in bartending school (thinking that would be an easy way to quickly bring home cash) and plunged ahead. Now, understand that at that point I had just purchased my condo and hadn't even made my first mortgage payment. Tensions were high, but somehow I kept my head above water. I landed one bartending job. Then a better one. Then I picked up a full roster of shifts at the restaurant. Then I was asked to manage one of the satellite cafes. I left the manufacturing plant in June, and the following March I sat down in my first grad class, not having any idea how I was going to pay my bills.

Managing the cafe was crushingly boring, and financially draining. But somehow I managed to muddle through. I did it for almost two years when a recruiter called an practically ordered me to the sports marketing company. The rest is history.

All of that experience has taught me a couple of things. First, save money for a rainy day. Financially, I'm good for about six months. Second, barring mental illness it should take between six and eight weeks to find employment -- at the outside. And since I think I have the depression thing under control I'm thinking I'll be set by Labor Day; at the outside, Halloween. Third, while it's true that looking for a job is a full-time job in itself, it's very important to have other things going on. Otherwise you're a slave to the computer, bouncing between job sites and zipping resumes out as fast as jobs are posted and counting the minutes that the phone doesn't ring.

To that end, I've reconnected with my online writer's workshop and posted my first story. I last posted there about four years ago and at the time I was viewed as something as a dilettante wannabe. My stories received responses that ran the gamut from outright pans to lukewarm acceptance. Each month there is a challenge and the best I ever did was placing third with a story that I'd slaved over. When I started school, there just wasn't time to post fiction.

Yesterday I posted my first story, and if I do say so myself it has received two raves! The first responder started out trying to hate it, pointing out minor problems, but finished with high praise. The second responder did not hesitate to give praise.

And on Thursday I have my first interview.

Things are ticking along.

Human Behavior Theory

All things considered, I had a great weekend. I went out to visit my friends Joe and Anita. They have a dream house on three acres next to a pond in northern Illinois. The lot is part of Joe's family farm that has since been parceled off and sold to developers.

Two or three times a year I'm invited out to relax on their mammoth deck, where I'll sit and read. This trip I took my computer and got a little work done on a new piece. Joe holds a masters in literature, and while I can hold my own in a discussion of authors I know, I'm nearly as wide read as Joe. I like conversations with Joe. Politically we're almost completely opposed, but he doesn't seem to hold that against me, nor do I hold it against him.

Conversation took an interesting turn. Joe made the unequivocal statement that after the age of thirty people are incapable of change, that behavior is pretty much encoded in DNA. As he explained this he seemed to become frustrated with Anita and me, who were not accepting his theory.

Joe's feeling is that behavior can be modified, but if impulses are not modulated a person is who he is at the age of thirty. And in times of stress, when behavior is less likely to be modulated and modified, person is more likely to revert to familiar behavioral patterns.

I have to say that the theory stings a bit. I'm an imperfect person, one under stress. In the past I've reacted emotionally to this stress and in one case succumbed to a pretty deep depression as a result of stress. I've spent the better part of the last five years trying to change myself -- and now I find myself in a stressful situation. If Joe's theory is correct I should begin sinking into a deep depression very soon.

I don't like that thought at all. But nothing challenges me like proving a universal statement wrong.

Droning

From time to time I'm probably going to drone on and on about my former employment situation, and until I sign the paperwork for the tiny separation agreement I'm not done with my former employer.

The problem is, there is just so much to write about. Admittedly the details of the raw material are pretty dreary, but "hate," "racism," and just good-old-fashioned conflict never go out of style. There's a book in the this experience. I may not get it published, but I will get it written.

And turning to writing, I think I can be forgiven for not getting much accomplished this week. But I still have those three stories started. Also, I wrote a personal essay about work for my last class. It's in very good shape so I think I'm going to start shopping it around.

I haven't decided just how long I'm going to lounge on the largesse of the unemployment gravy train. However, I think I have decided that I do need to go for the full-time job and just not mention my plans for going on to a Ph.D. program.

But I've also made the decision that I no longer have to limit my considerations to just Chicago-area schools, and that makes things a little more interesting. I think I could move away from Chicago, and that's a big step for me.

The Last

Management meetings generally start with a lot of chit chat. The last one I attended was very interesting. The previous week the reunion tour for The Police had played Wrigley Field. Apparently the seats were filled with people who think that anyone who's anyone was there. I knew the concert was happening at some point, but could not have cared less -- cementing my status as a nobody.

In these management meetings I took the stance that I did not speak until spoken to. Mike, (CEO)* has the philosophy that meetings are formalities, that business really happens behind closed doors. Since most of my business was conducted with him, I was comfortable letting him handle announcements. He's the boss. And no one ever asked me anything, so I sat and listened. The chit chat in this meeting was about The Police concert.

Here's my connection to The Police. In college I had a dear friend who believed that Sting was the physical incarnation of God. Her infatuation went well beyond fandom. Mary was deep into the punk rock scene, traveling to London before to study before legitimate punk had its final seizure. The Police, at that time, were sort of pop punk, but they served as Mary's bridge to grunge. Again, Mary moved to Seattle just as grunge was about to explode. The last I heard of Mary, she was dating the biggest marijuana dealer in the Northwest. But I digress.

The chit chat swirled around popular music, and it became clear that we were dealing with two generations of music listeners. The older generation was quoting Jefferson Airplane, the younger referencing the Violent Femmes and The Police.

Then it hit me. These people were not influenced even remotely by the music that they heard. Anyone who truly got Jefferson Airplane or The Police would not be sitting in a boardroom talking about how to make money off the backs of their clients. I have no idea where Mary is today, but I can guarantee you she's not fighting for control of a floundering sports marketing company.

*Since I no longer need to be concerned about my employment, I no longer need to worry too much about anonymity.

Remorse?

When something ends, especially if it ends abruptly, I usually feel bad. By nature I want to assume responsibility for the ending. Even when I was acting and a show closed, I felt a little guilty because the show wasn't extended.

There is just no way around it. Being laid off sucks. Still, there was nothing here that I could have done differently. The fact is they reduced the staff to fewer than fifty, and no company needs an HR person with so few employees, especially when there is no real career track or professional development going on.

And I don't think there is anyone who would say I wasn't good at my job. I was in an impossible situation, having to keep an executive with a massive ego happy -- and I did that brilliantly, if I do say so myself. I did what no other person in that company could do, and that was maintain a working relationship with the CEO and remain productive. Everyone else could do one or the other. The COO had started to develop that skill, but the CEO was released before he could really capitalize on it.

I spoke with the CEO this morning. He said he's got some calls out and if he hears of anything he'll let me know. He feels like I was collateral damage, that the board of directors took their anger at him out on me. Maybe. The truth is, there simply isn't the need for me.

I don't know if there will be any kind of severance package. There should be at least two weeks, but if there isn't I'll be fine.

I spent the day going through a kind of mourning. It comes in waves of tension in my stomach. Or maybe it's hunger. I don't know. Because of my education plans, and being a year away from enrollment I'm sort of at a loss as to what is the best course of action. I'm thinking some sort of office manager job might be best. Maybe I'll just temp. Maybe I'll ride my unemployment out for as long as it lasts.

Or maybe I should put my money where my mouth is and write something worthy of being sold. Hey, now there's an idea.

It's Official

I was laid off.

The Dropped Shoe

I had a terrible tension headache today. I could hardly see, so I went home and took a nap.

When I got up, I checked my work e-mail and found a message from the CFO -- MANDATORY meeting to discuss changes within the organization.

Called in to find out what that meant. After I'd left the office, one of the board members came in and fired the CEO. They also let two other employees go. The office manager told me that she'd been instructed to cancel their key cards. I asked her if she'd been instructed to cancel mine and she said that I was not mentioned.

The COO left for vacation this morning. I called him and left a message, which he got while on a layover. He knew nothing of this.

So, who knows what tomorrow holds for me? But I am sending out my resume like a fiend.

It Just Never Ends

I continue to hate my job.

un-Recommitted

I was dreading the management team meeting and having to sit across from two people who have publicly stated they have no respect for anyone else in the room. Now, I don't have to.

There was a board meeting today in which the CFO demanded $500,000 in cuts or warned that the company would go out of business. This, in spite of the fact that we've grown revenue by 50%, already reduced our staff by 30%, and are projecting only a $100,000 shortfall -- a shortfall created by the CFO's faulty projections and will more than likely be covered by a division that is performing much better than expected. To turn around and meet projections after a year in which the company lost $4.5 million is amazing.

Still the CFO is demanding drastic cuts in staff.

This means that for the third time this year I had to type a list of proposed staff cuts with my name on it.

The CEO is so far beyond angry at the betrayal. In most cases a CFO does not present numbers to a board of directors without discussing with the CEO. Not our CFO. What's more, she doesn't even understand the numbers, because when questioned about them she gives conflicting and inconsistent rationale. So, the CEO finally understands that the CFO is out to destroy him. When I typed up this list of his proposed cuts, my name was number three on the list. The CEO put his name first.

But the good news is I no longer have to dread that make-nice meeting. The CEO cancelled it. Now tomorrow I just have to stay in my office so I don't say something I might regret.

I'm exhausted.

Recommitting

So with the major battle of removing the Chairman over, the healing must now commence among the management team. The team is comprised of the CEO, COO, and me in one corner; the CFO, the Kid in another corner; and the Tech Guy somewhere in the middle. During this entire ordeal the two camps have been waging some kind of war. I tried to remain neutral and act as peacemaker as much as possible, but at some point it became clear that sides would have to be taken. I backed my bosses.

Now, the CEO has decided to extend the olive branch to the CFO and the Kid. While I think that's mighty Christian of him, I do not look forward to the prospect of trying to work with people who have said, publicly, that they have no respect for at least three fourths of the remaining team members. And I'm not so foolish as to think that just because those two didn't tell me to my face that they have no respect for me that they have respect for me.

This will be the third time that I'm being asked to recommit to the management team. The other two times it took about two weeks before the cracks began to show. I told the CEO that this time I'm not going to take the responsibility of trying to keep the team together. If it falls apart, it falls apart.

On the lighter side, work on my collection of short stories is progressing nicely. I have the twelfth well underway, and I discovered in my files two others that I had begun, but had to set aside because of school. I remember where I was going with them, so I should be able to get them done in the next two weeks. That leaves one more before I start going back and expanding and polishing and trying to shape a coherent collection. I think I'm going to meet my target date of Labor Day to have these completed!

Politics of Religion

In my home town, the population was divided pretty evenly among Catholics and Lutherans. There were a few Methodists for spice, but that was it. One night at a cast party for the community theater production of Mame of which I'd been part, Joyce had a little too much wine and admitted to being half Jewish. She was respected anyway.

I don't believe I knew any Jewish people until I went to college. Not really being steeped in any religious doctrine myself, I was fascinated by any of my peers who held a religious affiliation. Religion of any kind was for old people. I knew nothing of Judaism beyond the similarities between that and the Seventh-Day Adventists, which was my grandmother's religion. She lived in a bigger town than I did. Oh, and in college I learned that the Jews invented bagels. Until I'd gone to college I'd never seen a bagel, but I can still remember that first day in the cafeteria when I saw the tray of bagels. They were an exotic delight to me and at that instant one of the most important love affairs of my life began. Onion bagel with salmon cream cheese could be its own religion in my eyes.

After my freshman world history class, I had a little understanding of the difficulties between the Catholics and the Jews, but I had no idea that the animosity extended into modern times. That may signal stupidity on my part, but I think it speaks more to the very sheltered life I had led up to that point.

However now in my middle years I'm seeing things differently. This past week the pope revived a mass that had been prohibited by Vatican II. Part of this mass includes a prayer for the conversion and salvation of the Jews. Jewish organizations are outraged. I am of two minds on the issue.

First, is my utter amusement at the supreme arrogance of the Catholic church to 1) assume that they have the right to pray for anyone other than themselves and 2) identify anyone as second class in the eyes of God. While I've always had a degree of respect for the Catholic religion, I've viewed the Catholic Church as a dying institution and one that really need not be taken seriously.

But now, at a time when I think conservative trends are the first tremors of something more ominous, I find the pope's actions quite alarming. To set aside a decision, a protocol, that was decided by an elected body in the interests of political gains sounds vaguely familiar. To re-institute a practice that marginalizes an entire section of the population and to call it a unifying action sounds like something out of Orwell. On the surface this proclamation sounds innocent enough, but taken in the context of world events it can be viewed as another step toward world division and possibly something worse. Click on the link above and scroll down to the bottom of the article and simply read the first comment.

And then my shock dissolves into a mild fear of all the terrible things that could happen if in fact this decision is a harbinger of steelier things. Once I've processed that fear I come out on the other side and think that this may be a good thing. We need people who actively hate, who sincerely believe in their heart of hearts that they are superior to everyone else on the planet to identify themselves in some way so that they can be dealt with. As awful as I think Isaiah Washington is, as ominous as I think the pope's proclamation might be, and as heinous as I know in my soul George Bush is, at least these people have identified themselves. They may not realize it, but their agendas are the same: subjugating everyone in the world who does not see the world in the way that they do.

Thief of Time

In college I had a friend named Phil. I liked Phil a lot. He came from a cool family, he made friends easily, he was super-talented and smart. In many ways I wanted to be Phil.

He was also the first person I ever met who lived without television. "Television is a thief of time," he'd lecture with his impish smile, and then go to his apartment to study Russian and drink dark, European beer.

Of course, Phil was right. I've lost entire weeks to television, and I mean watching reruns of bad television. I would be a trivia champ at Friends or Judging Amy. Lately, however, I've been weaning myself. As the shows to which I was devoted have left the air, I've been careful not to replace them. At the moment I'm a fan of Kathy Griffin's show on Bravo, but I can miss it. Not to mention that I could save some serious money if I gave up my cable. I could get more reading done. I'd probably have an easier time with my writing (which is actually progressing nicely, thank you) and I'd have time for new hobbies. I'd get out of the house more, which would mean more exercise. I'd probably be more sociable.

Yet, I just can't seem to get away from the television. I turn it on when I have dinner, as sort of a companion and before I know it, it's time to go to bed. But to be fair to myself I have managed to hold down a pretty responsible, high-stress job and complete a masters degree with honors.

In recent years television has been a non-demanding family in a time of my life when I could barely fulfill my own needs, let alone be attentive to anyone else. It made me laugh at times when nothing else could and it eased stress that might have otherwise only been relieved chemically. Like my cat, it has been a constant friend that only gave and asked nothing in return.

While my cat is older than my television, it's by only a few months. I bought it from a small Korean electronic shop on Belmont Avenue in 1987, back when there was nothing on the corner of Belmont and Clark street but real goth runaways and five-dollar hookers instead of the suburban wannabes who think their edgy because they spike their hair and paint it blue on Saturdays.

The television is 21 inches, with knobs -- no remote, thank you, that cost $189. That was big money for someone who was working two part-time jobs. My friend Val went with me and helped load it into a cab. I was also excited because it was my first color television. Imagine that. There are at least two generations walking the earth now who cannot fathom the idea of primitive life with only four broadcast networks and black-and-white screens. And I'm part of one of them.

The antennae has long since been lost, and without the cable there is absolutely no picture. I have several boxes and adapters that allow me to use modern television equipment with my antique television, but the picture tube has deteriorated to the point that only a direct feed from the cable registers. Watching tapes or DVD's is an impossibility. Every now and then I think about going out and buying new flat-screen TV, but I'm afraid I'd never leave the house.

Television officially became my friend in 1989 when I lay flat on my back for six weeks with hepatitis. I had salvaged from the alley one of those foam chairs that flipped out into a little bed and I lay on the dining room floor of my tiny studio apartment watching soap operas, living for the six-o'clock reruns of Cheers. I had enough strength to flip the switches and that was it. I had no family in town to take care of me and my friends were all working and doing shows. But the television was always there.

When I was unemployed and squeezing every penny, I still kept my cable.

In many ways I keep that television because it's a reminder of who I was and the bad times I've survived. It connects me to a time when a cheap TV really meant something, a tangible symbol of some success in a way that nothing else ever will be. I tend to hold on to things long past their real usefulness because they meant something. They're a badge of an era. I still have the little black-and-white my father bought for me to take to college.

But, as I get older I also become aware of the passage of time in a way I didn't before. The list of things I want to accomplish continues to grow and time seems to speed up. Something's got to give.

I may disconnect the cables from the TV and see how I fare. But of course there is always the Internet to take the television's place. I often wonder what became of Phil. I lost track of him after he graduated from Yale and starred on Broadway. I wonder if he still finds time to practice his Russian.

Inspiration

I'm not feeling the writing thing at the moment. I'm going to stick with it until noon, but then I'm going to get on my bike and enjoy some of the day. I need the exercise.

Biden on Health Care

Here is a link to Biden's campaign website and his "web bites" on the issues. I've identified three major issues for me in the coming campaign. Below is Biden's blurb -- and it isn't much more than that -- on health care.

For the record, when I called for a published approach to the issues, this is not what I meant.

Health Care

Joe Biden believes that to protect jobs, compete in a global economy and
strengthen families we have to have to address out-dated health care system.

Right here, Biden is losing me. Health care is the primary issue. It stands alone, it is not a supplemental issue to jobs, global economy, or family. Health care may arguably be involved in those issues, but in his first statement he's subordinating health care as an issue to tired political rhetoric.

The next president will have to deal with two challenges: containing the
growing costs of health care and providing access to the 47 million Americans who don't have health insurance.

Again, I think he's missing the boat. The issue of health care is first about access, and that includes accessibility for ALL. What Michael Moore's film makes very clear is that just because you have "coverage" does not mean you will receive care. What's more, providing "access" to health care is not the same as "providing" health care. This is an example of equivocating.

Joe Biden believes we need to take three steps to contain the cost of health care: modernize the system, simplify the system and reduce errors.

At the risk of offending Mr. Biden, duh! What does this even mean? The first step is to reduce the influence of the health care industry on Capital Hill. As a candidate, Mr. Biden needs to step up and demand that all contributions from lobbyists be returned. Our government officials cannot enact the change that America needs if they are beholden to Pfizer and Blue Cross Blue Shield.

He supports the transition to secure electronic records so that people
can provide their doctors and nurses with vital medical information in real
time. He believes there should be a uniform, efficient system to submit
claims.

This is not the problem with the health care system and Biden is missing the boat. Further, electronically stored medical data only strengthens the control of the insurance companies by providing a medical history upon which they can deny claims. Biden here is focused on the cost of health care, not the quality of health care. This is a clear indication to me of where his focus is.

Joe Biden believes the path toward a 21st century health care system starts
with the most vulnerable in our society. He would expand health insurance for
children and relieve families and businesses of the burden of expensive
catastrophic cases.

An emotional rhetorical move here, the implication being that if you oppose Biden, you oppose health care for children. And what is "catastrophic?" What about simply giving birth or having a gall bladder removed?

He supports states that are pursuing innovative alternatives to make sure
that everyone has access to health care and believes we should use data from
these states to evaluate what works best in providing affordable access to
health care for all.

This is tantamount to saying, "The issue needs more study." No, Joe! The country cannot wait on this issue. What's more, this is not a state's rights issue. This is a national issue and should be standardized. And again with the "affordable" and
"access."

I realize that political figures at this stage of the game are focused on broadening appeal, but if you sift through this little web bite what becomes clear is that Biden is communicating his position on the costs of health care, not the quality of health care.

While I do not accept that cost is the most important aspect of the issue, if you frame the issue in terms of cost, then you must first determine whether the cost of health care is reasonable. To do that, you have to define reasonable. Are multi-billion dollar profits reasonable?

I do not believe that a market-driven health care system can be fixed. It requires strict regulation. I'm not seeing any of that in Biden's little web bite. This does not preclude my examining his position further nor voting for him, but it does mean that on this issue I have not yet found my candidate.

Pathetically Simple

Below is the text of the letter I sent to each of the four Democratic candidates who interest me in the coming presidential election: Biden, Clinton, Edwards, and Obama. It was shockingly simple to do. Just the name into any search engine. That will lead you to their web sites and each site has a "contact us" section.

If you like, feel free to copy and paste my letter. Do I think they will actually be read by the candidates? No. Do I think I'm saying anything they haven't heard before? No. But I'm saying it and I'm not waiting until 2008 to say it.

You shouldn't either.

There three major issues that will govern my voting in the next national election:

1) environment, 2) health care, 3) war.

While all three of these are complex issues and there can be some
discussion as to the details of courses of action, the outcomes are very simple:

1) clean it up, 2) access to everyone, 3) end it.

The person who gets my vote is the one who convinces me that he or she can do those three things in the most efficient, effective manner. And that can be demonstrated in two simple ways:

1) responsible campaign funding, 2) unequivocating political rhetoric.

I challenge you to state your position on each of these three points
and to publish your action plans as a commitment to the American people as to
how you will dedicate the remainder of your political career.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sicko

Last night I saw the latest Michael Moore film. Stylistically there is very little to comment on. Like all of his films it's too long by nearly an hour. His points are made several times and his humor is wearing thin. What's more, he takes a very complex issue and over simplifies it.

That said, he raises one unimpeachable point: the richest nation on earth should provide health care to all of its citizens.

And before anyone says tax increase, I say it can and should be done with a combination of re-writing the federal budget and federal legislation of both the insurance companies and pharmaceutical companies. There is a difference between profit and wholesale rape of the American marketplace.

I've been working in human resources for nearly fifteen years. I've seen a lot of insanity from insurance companies. The examples sited in Moore's film are not -- repeat, not -- aberrations or exaggerations. Insurance companies are in business to make it as difficult as possible to receive health care. However, if you have the ability to make enough noise and the patience to wade through their systems you can get what you need. The insurance companies have to provide coverage so they can say they provide coverage. They never said they made getting coverage easy.

For those who've not seen the movie I won't spoil it. It should be required viewing for anyone entering the workforce. And I challenge the readers of Ham Salad to do something.

Impeach

This is a long clip, but I think it's eloquent. I think resignation is too good for Cheney and Bush. The country deserves an impeachment.

It Continues...

The CEO won the power struggle. The Chairman of the Board was kicked off the board and barred from the office. The CEO went on to demand that the board back off and run the company the way he wants. That means there will be a lot of people losing their jobs.

I, however, will not be one of them. In fact, the CEO sat me down and told me that I was going to be taking on more responsibility.

Lucky me.

With this job I have set thresholds. The final threshold is the end of the year. If I can make it through the holidays, I'm practically golden. I'll know if I'm in a Ph.D. program. If not, I'll have logged enough time that I can start looking for a new job without looking too much like a job hopper. Right now I have three jobs that lasted less than two years. This would be number four.

And more good news! I figured out what I need to do with the story I'm working on, and I have another story completely mapped out in my head! I need to get them down fast!

Independence Day

I'm utterly miserable. I'm working on my eleventh short story for my collection and it seems that all I can do is generate five or six pages of complete crap. I've changed my threshold. I'm going to wait until I have fifteen before I go back for revisions. The only hope I have is that there is some integrity in a few of these pieces to salvage something.

I'm going to go into work tomorrow, and I'm almost certain they're going to lay me off. So, there's a job search on the horizon. At least there'll be unemployment.

I'm fat and unwashed.

I'm in hell.

But, Happy Fourth of July!

Age of Love

I am a television addict. I subsribe to virtually every network known to man. It's shameful and slowly as my shows run their courses I've been very careful not to add replacement addictions. But I think I may have slipped.

Age of Love is a dating game show where a bevy of women vie for the affections of a thirty-year-old piece of man candy. The twist is that the women are divided into two teams. One team is staffed with women in their twenties, the other with women in their forties.

Now, let there be no doubt that not one of these women is a natural beauty. There is more collagen, botox and silicone on display than actual human flesh. The difference is that the forty-something women are FABULOUS and the twenty-something women are...fresh. Unspoiled. Unmarked. Hermetically sealed.

Of course the man candy can't decide. On the surface the older women are well-enough preserved that their appearance really isn't an issue, so for him age isn't an issue. Of course, he doesn't realize that these women with a year or two under their belts bring some life to the party, some experience and that's why he seems to prefer them. Somewhere deep inside you can almost here the little voice telling him that he's supposed to prefer the younger women.

However, there is one in particular who just took my breath away. Maria, age 42 realized that she had a little bit more dignity than required to truly compete. She decided that she wasn't interested in the meat puppet and planned to announce during the elimination round that she was eliminating herself. When she was called up by the generic stud, she turned the tables. After he professed his fascination with her and how he hoped she'd stick around so he could get to know her, she stunned everyone by telling him that he'd better step it up and give her a reason to stick around. She told him she just wasn't feeling it, and while she thought there might be some potential she wasn't sure he'd proven himself to her. The rest of the women, who had believed that Maria was going to self-select out just stood there slack jawed, as did our dreamy hunk. He stammered that she was right and he promised to step it up and prove to her that he was worth sticking around for. Then she turned on her heel and paraded past the seething older women and boggled girl-women.

I love Maria! And I hate Maria. Now I have another television addiction.

Bad Dirt: Wyoming Stories 2

Annie Proulx is not Anton Chekhov. There, I've said it.

At the recommendation of a good friend, I've read Bad Dirt: Wyoming Stories 2 by Annie Proulx. Ms. Proulx is probably best known as the author of the short story that was turned into the gay juggernaut Brokeback Mountain.

Perhaps this speaks more to my literary reading skills than it does to Ms. Proulx's writing, but I hate reading stories that sort of whimper to an end. Yes, I get it. Life on the plains of Wyoming is dull. The people are simple and plain spoken, but for the most part good hearted and somehow against all the odds contribute to fabric of American society in ways that cannot be understood by the soul-leeched urban dweller. I get it.

First, the strengths: Proulx is a great writer in creating description. "The Wamsutter Wolf" contains perhaps the most vivid, stomach-turning descriptions since 1984. And Proulx's characters are vivid, threatening to walk right off the page. But once off the page, what would they do? Setting and character are not enough. You need plot. Something has to happen. Proulx's stories are very thin on plot, and that is where the ultimate weakness in her writing comes into play.

It could be argued that the fact that nothing much happens in most of the stories is the whole point. Set in Elk Tooth, Wyoming, population six (apparently), there isn't a lot of opportunity for drama. A load of hay catches fire. A wire fence gets cut. Some good old boys get drunk. In the absence of nothing else happening, a town-wide beard-growing contest is probably pretty exciting. But, a collection of slice of life stories should add up to the illumination of a larger theme, and Bad Dirt simply does not tally.

The reason for this: while the characters are vivid, they are created in an air of condescension. Proulx is smarter than all of her characters and she never lets the reader forget it. Proulx does not create humorous characters in the way Chekhov does. Faulkner brought us lower-class, under-educated characters that demanded respect on the page. Proulx's characters are clowns, some verging on idiots, most of whom barely have enough ambition to sustain a pulse.

The themes that Proulx does try to address, such as racism against the Native Americans, is done in a shop-worn story that says nothing new on the topic. The story is of a young Indian woman discovering a silent-film re-enactment of the Battle of Wounded Knee. In researching the battle the woman discovers pride in her ethnicity. I won't spoil the story for those who've not yet read it, but it ends predictably. Other stories don't end so much as peter. "The Contest" is the story of the beard-growing contest. It seems as if Proulx got bored with the story, so the characters did too.

Aside from my vow to complete every book I start, when I finished Bad Dirt I could not answer the question as to why I had read it. If I felt there was a complexity I was missing I'd be inclined to go back to the stories again, but...nah.

Now, at the risk of literary whiplash, I've moved on to Pride and Prejudice. This is my first experience with Austen. Fifty pages in, all I can say at this point is that it's not as grim as I had anticipated.

Dearest, Darlingest Isaiah Washington,

It is in particular fashion these days to clarify comments that are made in the heat of the moment, or redefine actions that are committed in the heat of battle. In fact, the more successfully you define wet as dry, the brighter your star seems to shine the heavens.

Unfortunately, I was having the hair from my anus plucked while you were being interviewed on Larry King Live. I rarely miss such a telejournalistic event, but we faggots have to consider hygene above all else. I however, did read about it in the journalistice bedrock, here at People Online. As an actor and a faggot, I'd like to introduce you to a couple of concepts.

Even though you've said you said the "f-word," and then didn't say it, and then said it, but not about T.R. Knight, let me define a concept for you. It's called "hostile work environment." Setting aside your reputation for being a prima donna, a screaming match with a co-worker can lay the ground work for the creation of a hostile work environment. The use of the "f-word" pretty much seals the deal. There's another word that isn't used in polite society that describes a particular group of people. I wonder if you can think of what that word might be and how you might be responding if that word was bandied about in your work environment. Even if that word was not directed at you specifically, rather to imply someone was being "weak." How anxious would you be to work with a person who so freely demonstrated his contempt? Not to mention ignorance. It takes an especially strong man to take a ten-inch long, six-inch around dick up his tight hairless anus. Or so I'm told.

As for acting...well, most competent actors find it's helpful to have another actor present while performing a scene. It's believed that actors, instead of simply reciting words from a page, often are actually creating a relationship for their audience's viewing pleasure. Implicit in that is that at least two people are present in the scene. I understand you are only interested in what happens when the camera is pointed at you, but out of professional courtesy you really should at least try to act like you care whether your co-workers are ready to receive your performance.

You boldly made the claim that you can act. I have to say that is the boldest act of redefinition I've yet to see. Do you know George Bush? I do so hope I have the opportunity to see your acting...at some point...before I die.

Your faggoty-ass faggot friend,

Hammy

I Beg Your Pardon...

Libby's sentence is commuted? He still has stiff fines to pay? Will those be paid from the multi-million dollar slush fund that has been raised for his defense? His public reputation has been ruined? Sweet Jesus, has Paris Hilton taught us nothing? A "ruined" reputation is a virtual requisite in today's society.

It's official. Bush and Cheney are making a mockery of the American judicial system. It's bad when even an AOL news story is incredulous.

When, oh when do the impeachment proceedings begin?

To Church

I attend a Unity church when I can get myself organized to go. It's been about a year. Years ago I attended a Unitarian church.

I get a little itchy in churches. I realize that there are economic realities to running any organization, but this church is very focused on communicating the needs and financial goals. I suppose if those messages weren't built into the services then nothing would ever get paid for. So, I grit my teeth through the end of each service. I also find myself almost eternally annoyed with the congregation. No matter which service I attend, there are people who arrive late. I mean half hour to forty-five minutes late. And they don't discretely take the first available seat. They march to the front of the congregation and look for the best available seat.

Still, the pastor just continues to deliver her sermon. I was skeptical about Reverend Erica. She sings and when she first started with the church I feared this would turn into a poor televangical, Tammy-Faye type tear fest. But this woman is smart and funny and she's the reason I've continued to return. Today she read "The Gettysburg Address" and discussed the spiritual elements of the speech. It was good enough to endure the standing and singing and hand waving that I had to do as part of the congregation.

Then they had a member of the congregation sing. Normally we have professional musicians come and donate their talents for an opportunity to pedal their CD's. In the summer, though, with attendance down, the church makes do with who is available. I did not catch the woman's name and I bit my tongue when she told us that she was going to sing an Ave Maria. In the past singers from the congregation have maintained only a casual relationship to the pitches and keys of their songs. But this woman was a very good, trained soprano. Later she brought down the house with a gospel number. It was an excellent service.

Then I spent the rest of the day tooling around on my bike, hitting a hardware store and finally finding a disposable grill for the Fourth. The weather was perfect for such errands.

It was a good weekend.

Sunday Morning Review -- Evening

For decades I went to movies on Wednesday mornings or afternoons, or Monday evenings. For awhile theaters offered half-price Tuesdays and I saw everything then; just me and a handful of widows. On more than one occasion theaters screened films solely for me. While I enjoyed that, Die Hard really should be seen with a crowd.

Over time I forgot that most of the American movie-going public went on Friday or Saturday night. There were a couple of reasons for my schedule, most important being that I was usually in a show that performed on those nights. When I wasn't performing or rehearsing, I was sleeping because I worked the breakfast shift at a popular diner. In those days, the few times I went to the movies on the weekend I resented the crowds and the prices.

Since my schedule has mainstreamed, my friend Cathy and I have developed a semi-standing date for a movie on Saturday. I admire Cathy's stamina because she still works those grueling breakfast shifts on the weekend, but she still has more than enough energy to grab a quick sandwich and a movie.

Last night we saw Evening. I was particularly interested in it because Michael Cunningham adapted the screenplay. When the movie started I discovered he also produced the film.

Michael Cunningham wrote The Hours, A Home at the End of the World, Flesh and Blood, and Specimen Days. There may be another one, but I can't tell you what. I've read them all except The Hours, which came out as film before I got to the book. I thought The Hours was a turgid film, but I honestly enjoyed Home/World and Flesh. Specimen is exactly that, and should only be studied in a lab. At his best, I find Cunningham to be a competent writer. He's a little florid in passages and I don't think it's hard to spot the lines he thinks demonstrate his brilliance. Still, as a writer I'd kill to have his career and I think I'm capable of turning out a Specimen, so I find Cunningham inspirational in a strange way and try to keep up with what he's doing.

And then there are the actresses, led by Clare Danes. Danes is the Michael Douglas of actresses. I swear that I can't stand to watch her, and yet I enjoy every performance that she gives. Here she plays the lead role of Ann and gives a classic demonstration that there are differences among an ingenue, a leading lady, and a character actress; they require different skill sets. Some actors, if they're, lucky can handle two of those categories, but I cannot think of one who can be successful in all three. (Cameron Diaz or Michelle Pfeiffer might come close.) Even Meryl Streep struggled mightily as an ingenue. Glenn Close's attempts at dewy innocence are laughable. Danes did exceptional work as an ingenue, and her earnest approach to acting might turn her into a credible character actor, but as a leading lady she's got too much spark.

Leading actors, particularly in American film, are required to be the blank canvas upon which the audience can project itself. Movie audiences expect the story to revolve around them. Danes is too distinct and it's difficult for an audience to stand in her place because she's just too interesting to watch. Her skills have been honed on the stage where the audience does not expect to be brought into the story. In the live theatre the audience accepts its role as spectator and enjoys having a story told to them. As a stage actress, I'm sure Danes is superb because she is so interesting to watch, but she hasn't perfected the blank-canvas banality of a leading lady. Just sitting on a rock, watching a sunset, Danes is more watchable than any American actress. But I'm aware that I'm watching her not experiencing the sunset. When Streep or Close sits on a rock and watches a sunset, you experience the sunset. In Evening Danes tries for a textured banality, but it's a performance that feels corseted and Danes comes across as almost a little bored. She'd much rather be playing the Close role.

On the other end of the spectrum is Patrick Wilson, who is saddled with the unenviable role of the object of everyone's affection. Wilson too is a stage-trained actor, and he seems to understand the concept of active banality. Yet he goes too far in the other direction. He seems to be relying on the editor to shape his steeley stares into a performance. He's an attractive actor, but not so attractive that we can believe someone pined for him for fifty years simply for his beauty. He's not Warren Beatty. Wilson needs to bring some inherent charm to the role. Oliver Platt is no matinee idol, but by god he'd make you believe that someone carried a torch for him for fifty years. Wilson seems to be channeling Keanu Reeves with his stony face and flat delivery.

The real rush performance comes from Hugh Dancy, who is saddled with an even more difficult character. He suffers from "Confused Sexuality." As I understand it, this is a change from the original novel and as such I think is clearly a Cunningham creation. The character creeks and smacks of cliche -- almost a Cunningham signature -- but Dancy plays it straight and makes every over-wrought emotion believable. Dancy is the only actor on screen with whom Danes has any chemistry, which makes their storyline all the more powerful. Not just as a gay man, but as an actor I find Dancy's performance worth the price of admission.

The truly depressing aspect of this film is the realization that the supreme acting talent of my generation -- the actors my generation watched and thought, "Wow! I want to do that" -- are relegated to supporting roles. Being of a certain age, they play the matriarchs and the aged now. Close dusts off her Stepford Wives performance and tries to pass it off as new. It's a good performance, but its disappointing to see a lack of originality from an actress who was once astonishingly fresh. Streep gives a lovely subtle performance and it's clear that she will be as brilliant -- if not more so -- as a character actress as she is a leading lady. Vanessa Redgrave is horribly underused in this film. She is required to die. She does.

When a movie is over I like to reflect on it, assess it's strengths and weaknesses. As Cathy and I left the theater we followed a man who was ranting about how bad the film was. I instantly hated him and wished for my Tuesday matinee crowd. The widows are just thankful to get out of the house. I hadn't formed my opinion but I was sure it was mostly positive. And these days I find I have a diminishing tolerance for those who go right to the negative. It's too easy.

Evening is not a perfect film, but I will pick up the novel and study it. And I'll return to the film and study it. For those interested in writing there is much to be learned here and for those interested in the study of acting there is much to be enjoyed.