My new business has a website. To maintain any hope of anonymity I'm not going to post the URL here. You're just going to have to believe me. But part of the princely $6.95 a month fee to have a website goes for traffic statistics, which are updated every 24 hours. I don't understand about eighty percent of the information, but there are some statistics I can relay. Before real advertising -- you know the kind that you actually pay for -- I had 102 unique viewers. Now that could be 102 different people, or it could be my mother roaming Iowa and logging on to the website from 102 different computers. I don't know and I don't care. I'm happy with that number. Additionally, approximately 30.1% of those viewers have bookmarked the website. Personally, I'm thrilled with those statistics.
This week I sent out my mailings including discount cards, and my listing in a professional association went up and an ad I bought in an e-newsletter went out. Statistically, by the end of next week approximately 3,000 more people should be aware of my business than there were a week ago. Statistically, one percent of those should be expected to contact me, so that would be 30. Assuming I'm able to close half of those contacts, I should make 15 sales. My break-even point is 3.
So, this morning I got up to check my statistics. 1 person went to the website, and nobody has been to the blog. (Yes, dear reader, I must admit that for business purposes I have a business-related blog. It means nothing. I'm just doing it to put myself through college. I don't even use my real name...)
Now, I understand that the type of promotion I invested in is long-term, brand-building investing. As such, returns will be slower than I would like. But ONE. Now, I also think that the newsletter was sent after the update for the website. But the blog stats update at midnight, and nothing. Most of my discount cards are probably still sitting on a desk, unopened. It's quite likely they won't be opened for weeks, and when finally opened quite possibly will be thrown away. That's all fine. Anticipated. Part of the master plan. But ONE!
I've identified 20 direct competitors, and of those I'd say 5 or 6 are any real competition from a price/quality perspective. I've analyzed their products and I can humbly say that I think I rank fifth. And I've been at it a month. The others have been in the business between five and twenty years.
Now I have to wait another twenty-four hours to see if there's been any traffic on the website or the blog, (I'm sorry. It's part of my life, not in the same way that you are, but it is.) I need another project to get me away from the computer, more specifically the Internet. Luckily I have just such a project. In addition to the writing sample for the PhD programs, the completion of my collection of short stories, my fledgling movie-reviewing career, the outline for my novels, (yes, plural!) I have bought a book that will revolutionize my resume and my approach to the medical-benefit-providing workaday world. I've set myself the goal of having the resume completed by the end of the weekend.
But all I really want to do is sit and watch the stats on my website and wait for the orders to come in.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Breeding
I'm sure there have been times that I've failed to return a phone call or an e-mail message. It happens. I have good friends who get busy and fail to return messages. I don't take it personally, nor do I judge them as bad people. I realize they're busy and that they'll get back to me when they have time.
Yet, it seems to me to that ignoring messages is becoming quite prevalent as a form of communication, one that appears to be almost socially acceptable. However, everything communicates something, even silence. And if that's the case, what is the message of the silence?
Now, if I receive a mass e-mail blast from a friend announcing a show, I don't feel particularly obligated to respond. The message is not addressed expressly to me. Likewise, on occasion I'll have reason to send out an e-mail message to multiple recipients. I do not expect a response. Those messages are informational only and as such can be legitimagely ignored.
Yet, when a message is specifically addressed to an individual, be it in the form of an e-mail or phone message, and there is no response, what is the appropriate response to the non-response?
More than ten years ago I was directing a show and specifically invited an actor to audition. He agreed, but simply did not show up for his appointment. A day or two later he left a rather emotional message giving his reasons for not showing up. He'd worked for the theater before, although not for me, and the theater had stiffed him. Although I appreciated his reasoning, I was at a loss for understanding his communication method. At the end of the message he said that if I wanted to talk about it further, I should give him a call. I responded saying I understood and that I would like to discuss it further. He did not call back.
A few years later the same actor was directing a show and had virtually guaranteed a lead role to a friend of mine. At that time he was also performing in a show, and my friend and I saw him. He was very good. We were introduced after the show, chatted a little and then I left. I decided it was the better part of valour not to bring up our previous association. A day or two later I found his phone number and called him, inviting him out for a cup of coffee. He accepted.
And then he stood me up. No cancellation, no explanation. Just nothing.
I have to confess that I did not handle it well. I called to leave a message and while leaving the message I got very angry. I'm pretty sure I didn't swear, but I may have raised my voice.
The next day I came home to a message from this guy telling me that he was sorry, but his grandfather had died and that he'd like to get together. If I wanted to talk about it, I should call.
Now, not for a nanosecond did I believe that his grandfather had died, but I was prepared to be wrong. I returned his call, apologizing for my behavior and telling him that I would like to talk about it, just so that we could clear the air.
In the meantime, he'd stalled in casting my friend. I don't remember the exact timing, but I'm quite sure his stalling in casting had nothing to do with me. The issues were completely unrelated. But as it turned out, he did not call me back, nor did he call my friend to explain why he'd cast another actor. He simply did not communicate.
I do recall in my tirade telling the actor that our paths couldn't help but cross in the future, and that no doubt we would each smile and be polite and congratulate one another on whatever success each had achieved. But I told him that he should never, ever be fooled by the performance. That from that point, until the end of time I would forever look at him and think that he was an ill-bred cad. Or words less appropriate for the family hour.
And that's true. Although we've never had reason to speak to one another, I have seen him from afar, and I have caught him watching me, but neither of us has ever spoken to one another. To this day I can't see him, nor his name in print and not follow it up with "John Doe, low-class, ill-bred cad." Or words less appropriate for the family hour.
There's a level of dysfunction in people who do not return messages that no amount of money, social connections, education, nor expensive clothes can disguise. In my experience, it's people who somehow congratulate themselves on being superior in some way who most frequently feel justified in "forgetting" to return messages. In the end I can do nothing more but pity them. I imagine there is some sort of passive/aggressive element at play, but I rarely find these people interesting enough to devote enough time to really examining it.
For the record, a well-bred person returns his messages, preferrably within twenty-four hours, even, or perhaps especially if the response is in the negative. It's so much more pleasant and respectable to be rejected than it is to be ignored.
Yet, it seems to me to that ignoring messages is becoming quite prevalent as a form of communication, one that appears to be almost socially acceptable. However, everything communicates something, even silence. And if that's the case, what is the message of the silence?
Now, if I receive a mass e-mail blast from a friend announcing a show, I don't feel particularly obligated to respond. The message is not addressed expressly to me. Likewise, on occasion I'll have reason to send out an e-mail message to multiple recipients. I do not expect a response. Those messages are informational only and as such can be legitimagely ignored.
Yet, when a message is specifically addressed to an individual, be it in the form of an e-mail or phone message, and there is no response, what is the appropriate response to the non-response?
More than ten years ago I was directing a show and specifically invited an actor to audition. He agreed, but simply did not show up for his appointment. A day or two later he left a rather emotional message giving his reasons for not showing up. He'd worked for the theater before, although not for me, and the theater had stiffed him. Although I appreciated his reasoning, I was at a loss for understanding his communication method. At the end of the message he said that if I wanted to talk about it further, I should give him a call. I responded saying I understood and that I would like to discuss it further. He did not call back.
A few years later the same actor was directing a show and had virtually guaranteed a lead role to a friend of mine. At that time he was also performing in a show, and my friend and I saw him. He was very good. We were introduced after the show, chatted a little and then I left. I decided it was the better part of valour not to bring up our previous association. A day or two later I found his phone number and called him, inviting him out for a cup of coffee. He accepted.
And then he stood me up. No cancellation, no explanation. Just nothing.
I have to confess that I did not handle it well. I called to leave a message and while leaving the message I got very angry. I'm pretty sure I didn't swear, but I may have raised my voice.
The next day I came home to a message from this guy telling me that he was sorry, but his grandfather had died and that he'd like to get together. If I wanted to talk about it, I should call.
Now, not for a nanosecond did I believe that his grandfather had died, but I was prepared to be wrong. I returned his call, apologizing for my behavior and telling him that I would like to talk about it, just so that we could clear the air.
In the meantime, he'd stalled in casting my friend. I don't remember the exact timing, but I'm quite sure his stalling in casting had nothing to do with me. The issues were completely unrelated. But as it turned out, he did not call me back, nor did he call my friend to explain why he'd cast another actor. He simply did not communicate.
I do recall in my tirade telling the actor that our paths couldn't help but cross in the future, and that no doubt we would each smile and be polite and congratulate one another on whatever success each had achieved. But I told him that he should never, ever be fooled by the performance. That from that point, until the end of time I would forever look at him and think that he was an ill-bred cad. Or words less appropriate for the family hour.
And that's true. Although we've never had reason to speak to one another, I have seen him from afar, and I have caught him watching me, but neither of us has ever spoken to one another. To this day I can't see him, nor his name in print and not follow it up with "John Doe, low-class, ill-bred cad." Or words less appropriate for the family hour.
There's a level of dysfunction in people who do not return messages that no amount of money, social connections, education, nor expensive clothes can disguise. In my experience, it's people who somehow congratulate themselves on being superior in some way who most frequently feel justified in "forgetting" to return messages. In the end I can do nothing more but pity them. I imagine there is some sort of passive/aggressive element at play, but I rarely find these people interesting enough to devote enough time to really examining it.
For the record, a well-bred person returns his messages, preferrably within twenty-four hours, even, or perhaps especially if the response is in the negative. It's so much more pleasant and respectable to be rejected than it is to be ignored.
Democratic Debate
Lets cut to the chase.
Winners: John Edwards, Dennis Kucinich, Bill Richardson
Losers: Barak Obama, Hillary Clinton
John Edwards really pulled himself out of the pack last night and established himself as other than a gentleman politician. Particularly when it came to taking on Clinton. He has masterfully positioned himself on the gay rights issue by acknowleging that his position will most probably become antique, and while he holds his belief he will not necessarily force that belief on to anyone else. Of course that comes right out of the John Kennedy/Catholic issue.
But I particularly liked his answer on his lifestyle question. Tim Russert, a quintessential blowhard who looks like he lives in his mother's basement, brought up the issue of the $400 haircut and a mortgage investment at subprime levels. Edwards did not sidestep the question at all. He said that he'd worked very hard to establish his lifestyle and he wasn't going to apologize for it. As for the investments, he pointed out that he also set up a trust fund for the borrowers who were experiencing difficulties and made a large contribution to that fund. For the first time I felt like I owed Edwards a look.
Of course, Dennis Kucinich is the latter-day Ross Perot. He's unequivocal and funny. He also comes across as the kid on the playground with the pocket protector who would be pushed down for his lunch money. Still, those kids tended to be the smartest and smarts have been sorely lacking in Washington. In my opinion he's wasted in the House of Representatives, but I'm not sure I see him in the White House. I almost think Secretary of Energy is where I want him.
But for me Bill Richardson was the revelation. Understand that I do not appreciate his stance on gay rights. It's forced upon him by advisors and there isn't a passion for the issue that Kucinch holds. But there really are more pressing issues for the country right now, and on those issues I like what he says. I'd like to see a little more of Biden's conviction from Richardson.
Obama really was the big loser last night. It's too soon in his career to be making this presidential bid, and frankly I think he's doing damage to his credibility for future runs. His lacklustre performance last night all but insured that he's lost the nomination. He's clearly smart and charming, but his lack of experience is showing. As I've said from the start, I want him in the VP slot.
Clinton didn't do herself any favors last night. The commentary after the debate focused on her non-answer answers. While I think there's something to that, I also think the commentators were not listening closely enough. Clinton was telling u that politics is not about advancing an agenda that improves the quality of the country. Politics is a strategic horse trade, and if you review her answers on the social security issue, what you hear is that there is nothing that will not be used as a bargaining chip. I suspect that even healthcare is up for grabs in her administration and the plan that she's put forth would never come to fruition as it is presented today.
I'm torn by this. On the one hand I'm sure that's the political reality and that her's is a pragmatic approach. On the other hand, the American public really needs simplification. It's not that Americans are stupid, its that we've paid the price for political complexity and the one who can draw the clearest line from point A to point B, and adhere to that map, will win. I don't think her ego would allow her the VP slot, but that might be a better place for her. There was just too much Dick Cheney manuvering in her answers for me.
I thank God for Gravel and Dodd being in this campaign. They don't have a prayer, but they also have nothing to lose. That means they can speak their minds and I really think they give voice to what the American people think. Gravel demanding that the senators suspend their campaigns and filibuster on the war was brilliant. They all reponded that wasn't realistic, but I wonder how realistic it would become if any of them had children fighting in Iraq.
Finally, Biden was a wash. He lost my vote by not attending the Logo debates. I think he's a straight shooter, smart, and I'm glad he's in the government, but I think like Clinton he's ultimately more valuable to the country in the Senate.
So, with that I'm left with Edwards, Kucinich, or Richardson.
Winners: John Edwards, Dennis Kucinich, Bill Richardson
Losers: Barak Obama, Hillary Clinton
John Edwards really pulled himself out of the pack last night and established himself as other than a gentleman politician. Particularly when it came to taking on Clinton. He has masterfully positioned himself on the gay rights issue by acknowleging that his position will most probably become antique, and while he holds his belief he will not necessarily force that belief on to anyone else. Of course that comes right out of the John Kennedy/Catholic issue.
But I particularly liked his answer on his lifestyle question. Tim Russert, a quintessential blowhard who looks like he lives in his mother's basement, brought up the issue of the $400 haircut and a mortgage investment at subprime levels. Edwards did not sidestep the question at all. He said that he'd worked very hard to establish his lifestyle and he wasn't going to apologize for it. As for the investments, he pointed out that he also set up a trust fund for the borrowers who were experiencing difficulties and made a large contribution to that fund. For the first time I felt like I owed Edwards a look.
Of course, Dennis Kucinich is the latter-day Ross Perot. He's unequivocal and funny. He also comes across as the kid on the playground with the pocket protector who would be pushed down for his lunch money. Still, those kids tended to be the smartest and smarts have been sorely lacking in Washington. In my opinion he's wasted in the House of Representatives, but I'm not sure I see him in the White House. I almost think Secretary of Energy is where I want him.
But for me Bill Richardson was the revelation. Understand that I do not appreciate his stance on gay rights. It's forced upon him by advisors and there isn't a passion for the issue that Kucinch holds. But there really are more pressing issues for the country right now, and on those issues I like what he says. I'd like to see a little more of Biden's conviction from Richardson.
Obama really was the big loser last night. It's too soon in his career to be making this presidential bid, and frankly I think he's doing damage to his credibility for future runs. His lacklustre performance last night all but insured that he's lost the nomination. He's clearly smart and charming, but his lack of experience is showing. As I've said from the start, I want him in the VP slot.
Clinton didn't do herself any favors last night. The commentary after the debate focused on her non-answer answers. While I think there's something to that, I also think the commentators were not listening closely enough. Clinton was telling u that politics is not about advancing an agenda that improves the quality of the country. Politics is a strategic horse trade, and if you review her answers on the social security issue, what you hear is that there is nothing that will not be used as a bargaining chip. I suspect that even healthcare is up for grabs in her administration and the plan that she's put forth would never come to fruition as it is presented today.
I'm torn by this. On the one hand I'm sure that's the political reality and that her's is a pragmatic approach. On the other hand, the American public really needs simplification. It's not that Americans are stupid, its that we've paid the price for political complexity and the one who can draw the clearest line from point A to point B, and adhere to that map, will win. I don't think her ego would allow her the VP slot, but that might be a better place for her. There was just too much Dick Cheney manuvering in her answers for me.
I thank God for Gravel and Dodd being in this campaign. They don't have a prayer, but they also have nothing to lose. That means they can speak their minds and I really think they give voice to what the American people think. Gravel demanding that the senators suspend their campaigns and filibuster on the war was brilliant. They all reponded that wasn't realistic, but I wonder how realistic it would become if any of them had children fighting in Iraq.
Finally, Biden was a wash. He lost my vote by not attending the Logo debates. I think he's a straight shooter, smart, and I'm glad he's in the government, but I think like Clinton he's ultimately more valuable to the country in the Senate.
So, with that I'm left with Edwards, Kucinich, or Richardson.
Monday, September 24, 2007
The Job Search
As job searches go, mine is going along just fine. I have to say that in the past my resumes have received a higher percentage of responses, but I've stepped up to a higher level in organizations where statistics show hiring takes more time.
For the past few days I've been in talks with a resume marketer. For the low, low price of one and a half month's projected salary -- paid up front -- they will re-write my resume, give me access to their secret databases and provide me with up to twelve templates for cover letters. They will coach me through interviews and help me negotiate salaries.
I have to say that I was tempted. But the fact is, a) I have a masters degree in writing. If I can't write a resume I should demand my money back from DePaul. The same goes for the cover letters. What's more, I have been the person to receive tens of thousands of resumes and I can say categorically there has not been one cover letter that has inspired me to consider a resume I hadn't already selected for consideration. If a cover letter gets read at all, it's as a factor for eliminating a resume, not for selecting it. And I have never, ever disqualified a good resume because there was no cover letter. As for coaching me through interviews, I've done more interviews than anyone on the planet, Barbara Walters included. I've been the questioner and the questionee. I'm not afraid of an interview. I might benefit from some coaching through a salary negotiation, but at the salary level I'm at there really isn't much room for negotiations. I'm usually at the upper range.
What struck me about this service was how they tried to scare me into signing the contract. They kept telling me that while they could see I was a candidate of quality, they didn't believe anyone else would see that. He kept telling me that the clock was ticking and that there was a lot of activity on the job market. I shouldn't wait.
Then I asked for some references. I think he actually choked. I can't believe no one ever asked for references before. It took him about two minutes to recover when he said that of course the references would come back glowing. That's when I asked him to send me information on their Chicago office so that I could do some research on their services. Up until now I could find nothing. He told me it would take four or five days to get that information. I told him that I could wait, that this was a huge financial commitment for me and that I wouldn't be comfortable writing a check unless I felt like I'd done my due diligence.
He fumbled for a few more minutes, and then he basically said, "You know, you're not getting any younger." I waited a beat and then I told him I looked forward to receiving his information. He told me I'd have it by the close of business.
My e-mail box is still empty.
For the past few days I've been in talks with a resume marketer. For the low, low price of one and a half month's projected salary -- paid up front -- they will re-write my resume, give me access to their secret databases and provide me with up to twelve templates for cover letters. They will coach me through interviews and help me negotiate salaries.
I have to say that I was tempted. But the fact is, a) I have a masters degree in writing. If I can't write a resume I should demand my money back from DePaul. The same goes for the cover letters. What's more, I have been the person to receive tens of thousands of resumes and I can say categorically there has not been one cover letter that has inspired me to consider a resume I hadn't already selected for consideration. If a cover letter gets read at all, it's as a factor for eliminating a resume, not for selecting it. And I have never, ever disqualified a good resume because there was no cover letter. As for coaching me through interviews, I've done more interviews than anyone on the planet, Barbara Walters included. I've been the questioner and the questionee. I'm not afraid of an interview. I might benefit from some coaching through a salary negotiation, but at the salary level I'm at there really isn't much room for negotiations. I'm usually at the upper range.
What struck me about this service was how they tried to scare me into signing the contract. They kept telling me that while they could see I was a candidate of quality, they didn't believe anyone else would see that. He kept telling me that the clock was ticking and that there was a lot of activity on the job market. I shouldn't wait.
Then I asked for some references. I think he actually choked. I can't believe no one ever asked for references before. It took him about two minutes to recover when he said that of course the references would come back glowing. That's when I asked him to send me information on their Chicago office so that I could do some research on their services. Up until now I could find nothing. He told me it would take four or five days to get that information. I told him that I could wait, that this was a huge financial commitment for me and that I wouldn't be comfortable writing a check unless I felt like I'd done my due diligence.
He fumbled for a few more minutes, and then he basically said, "You know, you're not getting any younger." I waited a beat and then I told him I looked forward to receiving his information. He told me I'd have it by the close of business.
My e-mail box is still empty.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Kathy Griffin is an Infidel
News Flash: Kathy Griffin is a comic. A large component of being a comic is irreverence. A comic makes fun of people and things that are taken too seriously. And for the record, Kathy Griffin is often the butt of her own jokes.
If you're completely unaware, because you follow real news or something, Kathy Griffin won an Emmy for Best Reality Series, My Life on the D-List. Last year she was nominated, but lost, and stormed out of the ceremony in mock protest. This year she won and said, in part, "a lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus." She went on to say, "Jesus can suck it," and, "this is my god now." Her comments, as I guess could be predicted, have sparked controversy. Christian theater groups such as The Miracle Theater in Pigeon Forge, TN, spent more than $90,000 to take out a full-page ad in USA Today protesting Griffin's comments.
If you visit the theater group's website, you'll see that it's a modest operation, presenting Christian theatrical events. Apparently there's more in the offing than just Godspell. Who knew? But there are several questions that just beg to be asked:
1) Where is this group when performers are thanking Jesus, taking the Lord's name in vain, when accepting their little gold idols? What are the chances that these same performers are in The Shrine Auditorium (oh, the irony of that name) more often than they are in some clapboard chapel?
2) a. Ninety thousand dollars is a lot of money for any organization. Where did a Christian theater troupe in Pigeon Forge, TN come up with that kind of money, and b. is buying an ad in USA Today really the best, most Christian use of that money? Well, it might be if you were more interested in drawing attention to your little theater group than you were about doing the Lord's work.
3) The president of The Catholic League Bill Donahue called Griffin's comments, "vulgar, in-your-face brand of hate speech." Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the Catholic Church the inventor and flag-ship franchise owner of "vulgar, in-your-face brand of hate speech?"
However, what is significant in all of this is that Griffin's comments were edited from the broadcast of the ceremony.
In New York there is legislation outlawing the words, "bitch," and "nigger." These words would be illegal to use. Illegal words.
Kathy Griffin's comments were arguably in bad taste. Not only is the use of the words "nigger" and "bitch" in bad taste, they are the hallmark of an undeveloped mind. But being vulgar and ignorant is an American birthright. The way to stop such vulgarity and ignorance isn't through censorship, but through education.
And that's where this all comes apart. Education requires that you take responsibility for acting It requires The Miracle Theater to spend time articulating why Griffin's comments were offensive. It requires them to demonstrate a respect for someone who may not necessarily be exhibiting respectable behavior. It requires them to honor the right to free speech, even above their hurt feelings. However, it's easier to demand that someone stop doing something, to condemn someone (THAT is certainly what Jesus would have done), than it is to approach a conflict with patience and understanding.
I have no idea if The Miracle Theater does good work or if it's an organization that fronts Christian values in order to raise money. I'll assume that their Christian mission is sincere. But I have to ask, with all that's going on in the world today, does Jesus really have time to worry about Kathy Griffin's comments? And if He, Himself is offended by them, wouldn't he be a gentleman about it and address his concerns privately with Ms. Griffin?
If you're completely unaware, because you follow real news or something, Kathy Griffin won an Emmy for Best Reality Series, My Life on the D-List. Last year she was nominated, but lost, and stormed out of the ceremony in mock protest. This year she won and said, in part, "a lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus." She went on to say, "Jesus can suck it," and, "this is my god now." Her comments, as I guess could be predicted, have sparked controversy. Christian theater groups such as The Miracle Theater in Pigeon Forge, TN, spent more than $90,000 to take out a full-page ad in USA Today protesting Griffin's comments.
If you visit the theater group's website, you'll see that it's a modest operation, presenting Christian theatrical events. Apparently there's more in the offing than just Godspell. Who knew? But there are several questions that just beg to be asked:
1) Where is this group when performers are thanking Jesus, taking the Lord's name in vain, when accepting their little gold idols? What are the chances that these same performers are in The Shrine Auditorium (oh, the irony of that name) more often than they are in some clapboard chapel?
2) a. Ninety thousand dollars is a lot of money for any organization. Where did a Christian theater troupe in Pigeon Forge, TN come up with that kind of money, and b. is buying an ad in USA Today really the best, most Christian use of that money? Well, it might be if you were more interested in drawing attention to your little theater group than you were about doing the Lord's work.
3) The president of The Catholic League Bill Donahue called Griffin's comments, "vulgar, in-your-face brand of hate speech." Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the Catholic Church the inventor and flag-ship franchise owner of "vulgar, in-your-face brand of hate speech?"
However, what is significant in all of this is that Griffin's comments were edited from the broadcast of the ceremony.
In New York there is legislation outlawing the words, "bitch," and "nigger." These words would be illegal to use. Illegal words.
Kathy Griffin's comments were arguably in bad taste. Not only is the use of the words "nigger" and "bitch" in bad taste, they are the hallmark of an undeveloped mind. But being vulgar and ignorant is an American birthright. The way to stop such vulgarity and ignorance isn't through censorship, but through education.
And that's where this all comes apart. Education requires that you take responsibility for acting It requires The Miracle Theater to spend time articulating why Griffin's comments were offensive. It requires them to demonstrate a respect for someone who may not necessarily be exhibiting respectable behavior. It requires them to honor the right to free speech, even above their hurt feelings. However, it's easier to demand that someone stop doing something, to condemn someone (THAT is certainly what Jesus would have done), than it is to approach a conflict with patience and understanding.
I have no idea if The Miracle Theater does good work or if it's an organization that fronts Christian values in order to raise money. I'll assume that their Christian mission is sincere. But I have to ask, with all that's going on in the world today, does Jesus really have time to worry about Kathy Griffin's comments? And if He, Himself is offended by them, wouldn't he be a gentleman about it and address his concerns privately with Ms. Griffin?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Finishing Touches.
I've tried to come up with something suitable to post; something pithy and entertaining.
But nothing.
The fact is there are just too many loose ends right now. Job search. New business. PhD. Student loans. Family. Nothing seems to stop.
When I graduated from college my mother told me that my father told her, "I guess we're the older generation now." The other day I was talking with a friend of mine, who has always been mysterious about her age. She happened to mention that she was old enough to be a grandmother. When I first met her she was playing ingenues.
I blinked and my twenties were over. I blinked again and my friends started turning fifty. I feel like my life just started, but I'm looking at my contemporaries and realizing that they're all in the middle of their lives. That means I am in the middle of my life. I just want to stand in the middle of the street and scream, "Wait!" I look at people in their twenties and think of them as contemporaries, forgetting that they look at me as their father's age.
I am no longer a kid, but does that mean that I have to be old? I don't know how to be middle aged. I've always operated on the assumption that I would go on forever, that I had all the time in the world. But it's nearing the end of September, and it seems like earlier this morning I was laid off. Where did the past eight weeks go? What do I have to show for them?
Actually, a lot. A new profession. But there are a lot of things unfinished, and for the first time that is starting to bother me. I need to get moving on them. I need things to be finished.
I also need to let go. If something's not working anymore, I need to let it go. There literally isn't any more time to devote to trying to make things work. Move on.
Stop worrying where you're going, move on. If you can know where you're going, you've gone. You have to move on.
But nothing.
The fact is there are just too many loose ends right now. Job search. New business. PhD. Student loans. Family. Nothing seems to stop.
When I graduated from college my mother told me that my father told her, "I guess we're the older generation now." The other day I was talking with a friend of mine, who has always been mysterious about her age. She happened to mention that she was old enough to be a grandmother. When I first met her she was playing ingenues.
I blinked and my twenties were over. I blinked again and my friends started turning fifty. I feel like my life just started, but I'm looking at my contemporaries and realizing that they're all in the middle of their lives. That means I am in the middle of my life. I just want to stand in the middle of the street and scream, "Wait!" I look at people in their twenties and think of them as contemporaries, forgetting that they look at me as their father's age.
I am no longer a kid, but does that mean that I have to be old? I don't know how to be middle aged. I've always operated on the assumption that I would go on forever, that I had all the time in the world. But it's nearing the end of September, and it seems like earlier this morning I was laid off. Where did the past eight weeks go? What do I have to show for them?
Actually, a lot. A new profession. But there are a lot of things unfinished, and for the first time that is starting to bother me. I need to get moving on them. I need things to be finished.
I also need to let go. If something's not working anymore, I need to let it go. There literally isn't any more time to devote to trying to make things work. Move on.
Stop worrying where you're going, move on. If you can know where you're going, you've gone. You have to move on.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Everything Old is New Again
War in Iraq. Hillary Clinton and health care. O.J. in jail. Did I miss the memo on the time warp? With all of this planning for the future I somehow have wound up in 1994.
At some point in building a relationship for members of my parents' generation, you couldn't say you really knew a person until you'd discussed where you were when Kennedy was shot. I've heard on more than one occasion of the events of that day from both my mother's and my father's perspectives.
For my generation there will actually be two historical events. The first is, of course, September 11th. I can not only relive that entire day in my head, but that entire week. The second is of course when the verdict for the O.J. trial.
At that time I was an administrative assistant in a nursery school. (Yes, I know. I've done everything.) The kids had been dismissed for the day. The teachers were in their break room eating graham crackers, and the covert television was on. The TV was covert because officially the nursery school did not sanction television. Those kids were going to read books and listen to public radio. Still, like jonesing crack whores, the teachers would sneak into the break room to get updates on their soaps.
Of course, that day the verdict was expected, so on virtually every channel it was all O.J. all the time. Someone came into my office and announced that the verdict was coming in, so those of us who actually had to work got up and went into the break room.
Now, understand, I was certain, and am still convinced that O.J. did it. I went into that break room certain I was going to see O.J. being dragged out, sobbing like a little girl.
And then the acquitted him.
I don't think I cried, but I do remember feeling like I'd been punched in the stomach. It seemed so clear that he'd done it, and the natural course of events dictate that he should rot in prison. Of course, one could take the philosophical approach and say that he's been imprisoned in a glass cell, a pariah in society. My ass. He's playing golf. He's getting laid. By a woman. He's seeing his kids. What more does he need?
At this point I'm willing to concede that I may not know everything regarding the murder of Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman, and it's conceivable that O.J. is in fact innocent. I think his lawyers brilliantly conflated the concepts of racial bias guilt and reasonable doubt.
But, even wading through all that, I would still bet on O.J.'s guilt. Up until that point, however, I believed that in truly important matters, good would triumph over evil. At the moment that verdict was read I made the realization that was not necessarily true.
I think that's why those events, Kennedy's assassination, et. al., seer themselves into people's personal history. They appear to be victories of evil. And if in fact they are actual skirmishes of good and evil, it would appear that evil has triumphed. But in point of fact, I believe those are momentary triumphs. O.J. is on his way to meeting his maker. If they don't get him on this one, they'll get him on the next one. Make no mistake: O.J. will go to prison.
But I'm left to wonder if I'm just chemically incapable of being a realist and simply live in a fairy-tale world. In the core of my being, in the essence of my soul, I believe that good will triumph over evil. I believe it. But there is evidence to suggest otherwise and I have to ask myself if I'm simply not deluding myself because it's too unpleasant to believe that good things happen to bad people.
I don't have any particular memory of it, but I'm told I was laying on a blanket in front of a television when Kennedy's assassination was announced. I was in front of a television when O.J. was acquitted. I was in front of a television when the towers came down. Television has played a very important part of my life. It's got me thinking about good and evil, and there can be no greater intellectual pursuit.
At some point in building a relationship for members of my parents' generation, you couldn't say you really knew a person until you'd discussed where you were when Kennedy was shot. I've heard on more than one occasion of the events of that day from both my mother's and my father's perspectives.
For my generation there will actually be two historical events. The first is, of course, September 11th. I can not only relive that entire day in my head, but that entire week. The second is of course when the verdict for the O.J. trial.
At that time I was an administrative assistant in a nursery school. (Yes, I know. I've done everything.) The kids had been dismissed for the day. The teachers were in their break room eating graham crackers, and the covert television was on. The TV was covert because officially the nursery school did not sanction television. Those kids were going to read books and listen to public radio. Still, like jonesing crack whores, the teachers would sneak into the break room to get updates on their soaps.
Of course, that day the verdict was expected, so on virtually every channel it was all O.J. all the time. Someone came into my office and announced that the verdict was coming in, so those of us who actually had to work got up and went into the break room.
Now, understand, I was certain, and am still convinced that O.J. did it. I went into that break room certain I was going to see O.J. being dragged out, sobbing like a little girl.
And then the acquitted him.
I don't think I cried, but I do remember feeling like I'd been punched in the stomach. It seemed so clear that he'd done it, and the natural course of events dictate that he should rot in prison. Of course, one could take the philosophical approach and say that he's been imprisoned in a glass cell, a pariah in society. My ass. He's playing golf. He's getting laid. By a woman. He's seeing his kids. What more does he need?
At this point I'm willing to concede that I may not know everything regarding the murder of Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman, and it's conceivable that O.J. is in fact innocent. I think his lawyers brilliantly conflated the concepts of racial bias guilt and reasonable doubt.
But, even wading through all that, I would still bet on O.J.'s guilt. Up until that point, however, I believed that in truly important matters, good would triumph over evil. At the moment that verdict was read I made the realization that was not necessarily true.
I think that's why those events, Kennedy's assassination, et. al., seer themselves into people's personal history. They appear to be victories of evil. And if in fact they are actual skirmishes of good and evil, it would appear that evil has triumphed. But in point of fact, I believe those are momentary triumphs. O.J. is on his way to meeting his maker. If they don't get him on this one, they'll get him on the next one. Make no mistake: O.J. will go to prison.
But I'm left to wonder if I'm just chemically incapable of being a realist and simply live in a fairy-tale world. In the core of my being, in the essence of my soul, I believe that good will triumph over evil. I believe it. But there is evidence to suggest otherwise and I have to ask myself if I'm simply not deluding myself because it's too unpleasant to believe that good things happen to bad people.
I don't have any particular memory of it, but I'm told I was laying on a blanket in front of a television when Kennedy's assassination was announced. I was in front of a television when O.J. was acquitted. I was in front of a television when the towers came down. Television has played a very important part of my life. It's got me thinking about good and evil, and there can be no greater intellectual pursuit.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Crap
I'm wading through my collection of short stories, and they're all heavy-handed crap. They lack style. I seem incapable of writing a sentence that doesn't adhere to the strict noun-verb-object format.
I'm in hell.
I'm in hell.
Free Speech. Use It or Lose It
I don't usually watch the Emmy Awards. Over the years awards shows in general have just come to grate on my nerves. The real talent never seems to be recognized. They've even taken the one, spontaneous element Joan Rivers and her red carpet commentary and sanitized it into a vanilla puree suitable for a baby. Remember Bjork and the swan dress? Ah, the memories.
However I had the show on while I was slaving away on my new website. I happened to be walking through the room when Sally Field was announced as winner. (As a side note, Brother and Sisters is easily the worst thing on television. With writing that bad, Field must give a brilliant performance. I could only take about five minutes.)
Now, in the history of award shows, isn't Sally Field legendary for her over-wrought acceptance speeches? With the nation at war, isn't it reasonable to expect some anti-war comments?
But, FOX news is defending it's decision to censor Field in the name of good taste. "Goddam," is apparently too salty for FOX viewers. This morning I saw a commentator offering as an actual defense, "The Bible says Thou shalt not bow down before craven images, nor take the Lord's name in vain." First of all, aren't award shows all about bowing down before craven images? There are so many craven images on so many actual and metaphorical levels the mind reels out into infinity.
But more important, isn't it time that America grew up? Why should Sally Field --- Sally Field--- be forced to edit her behavior because it might offend a few alleged Christians? What more evidence do you need than the box office receipts of just about any R-rated film to prove that America can handle an impassioned "goddam?" In name of good taste, no one seemed to mind Britney Spears grabbing the penis of one of her back-up dancers, but Sally Field --- Sally Field!---is a veritable petrie dish of vulgarity.
As the commentator went on to explain, if you're the guy with the finger on the button, and the on bearing the responsibility of FCC fines, you're probably going to err on the side of caution. That excuse makes some sense. Of course, Sally Field has received more publicity from that little finger flick than she would have had the expletive been allowed to air.
And now we have a college student being arrested, basically for asking an uncomfortable question. As the video shows he becomes loud only after the officers try to lay their hands on him. In another video shot in the lobby of the building, the student is informed that he's being arrested for inciting a riot.
If you watch the video, with the exception of one hysterical female demanding to know why he's being arrested, do you see anyone on the verge of rioting? Frankly they all look sedated. There is no one objecting. There is no one demanding accountability from the officers. No one. And most importantly, John Kerry, who was speaking at the time, does nothing to protect this student's civil rights. He should have put his microphone down, walked to the back of the auditorium and calmed the situation down. He's a former candidate for the United States presidency, and a senior U.S. senator. Instead he stood on the stage and murmured pacifying things like "Calm down" to the crowd.
When asked about being censored, Sally Field shrugged her shoulders and said, "I'll just say it somewhere else."
Are we so numbed that we don't see a pattern? These were not particularly incendiary incidents, and yet the representatives of power are either too drunk with authority, or too cowed by potential consequences to exercise a bit of common sense.
It's true that most people have very little of any interest to say, but the right to say it far outweighs any discomfort or inconvenience of the precious few who believe the world should conduct itself by their standards so that they can maintain a fairy-tail illusion of the world.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Leaps of Faith
Back in 1994 I decided that pursuing a professional acting career was going to take more energy with weaker rewards than I wanted and I made changes. Of course at the time I wasn't aware of the change or my decision-making process.
I worked in a well-known cafe and had for eight years at that point. I was comfortable. Bills were paid, I had a little money in the bank; but I began to feel as if I was wasting my potential. I was living in a seedy two-room studio. I had to save three months to buy a new futon, forget about new furniture. And when I had friends over to my apartment (which I was actually quite proud of), I could see something reflected in their eyes. It looked like pity, that ultimate insult. Of course I could have been projecting.
At any rate, the first thing I did was find an affordable apartment in a "better" part of town. Usually when someone sends out the call for help to move, it is met with a cavernous echo. In my case I had eight people show up to move me from two rooms. I remember that first morning, waking up in my new apartment, which was really quite modest, and just being thrilled. I had new, second-hand furniture that I'd recovered myself. I painted the woodwork.
A few weeks later the owner of the cafe decided that he was going to charge the waitstaff the credit card fees. If a customer used a credit card to pay the bill, three percent of that sale, including tip, was deducted from the server's tips.
Now, in those days it didn't take much to work me up into a huff and that sent me over the edge. I gave my notice. No one really took it seriously. I'd given my notice before. It was well known how comfortable I was and painfully obvious I had no appreciably marketable skills. And I had a new apartment that cost twice what I'd been paying before. No one thought I could afford to quit.
But quit I did. It was clear that computer skills were the thing I needed, so every day at 2:00 I went to the Harold Washington Library and sat down with the tutorials and learned just enough to fake it. At that time WordPerfect and Word were battling for market control and about half the world used each. I learned enough to say in an interview I was familiar with their chosen software, but that I really worked on the other, but I was sure that I could learn theirs quickly.
This was before the days of e-mail, so all resumes were sent on paper. I was unemployed for about ten weeks. Money was tight, but I never for a second considered going back to waiting tables. Getting responses to a resume with virtually no experience on it was tough. At the end, in the same week I interviewed with a religious organization and porn production company. Both interviews went exceedingly well and to celebrate I went to Crate & Barrel and spent $100 on picture frames. A few days later both organizations offered me a job. It was a tough call, but ultimately I thought it would be easier to move on with a religious organization on my resume instead of a job title of "Porn Marketer."
I remember the excitement of that summer. It was filled with possibilities. There was a very real chance that I'd lose my apartment, my precious broken-down furniture, my sapling credit rating, and have to go back, tail between my legs and beg for shifts at the cafe. It didn't happen.
I felt the same sort of excitement in 2003 when I left the HR job with the manufacturing company and on the train ride home decided that no matter what, I was going to get my masters degree. Within the time I got on the train and twenty minutes later I'd formulated a plan in my head, got off the train and walked into that same cafe and picked up shifts. That time the excitement was tinged with real dread. I'd just signed the mortgage on my condo and hadn't even made my first payment. Yet with very little effort or planning I moved forward and everything worked out.
I feel the same excitement I did in 1994, and the same level of anxiety. I can't explain it, but the launch of that website reaffirmed that I can do anything. I like leaping into the unknown and making it work. I'm good at it.
I worked in a well-known cafe and had for eight years at that point. I was comfortable. Bills were paid, I had a little money in the bank; but I began to feel as if I was wasting my potential. I was living in a seedy two-room studio. I had to save three months to buy a new futon, forget about new furniture. And when I had friends over to my apartment (which I was actually quite proud of), I could see something reflected in their eyes. It looked like pity, that ultimate insult. Of course I could have been projecting.
At any rate, the first thing I did was find an affordable apartment in a "better" part of town. Usually when someone sends out the call for help to move, it is met with a cavernous echo. In my case I had eight people show up to move me from two rooms. I remember that first morning, waking up in my new apartment, which was really quite modest, and just being thrilled. I had new, second-hand furniture that I'd recovered myself. I painted the woodwork.
A few weeks later the owner of the cafe decided that he was going to charge the waitstaff the credit card fees. If a customer used a credit card to pay the bill, three percent of that sale, including tip, was deducted from the server's tips.
Now, in those days it didn't take much to work me up into a huff and that sent me over the edge. I gave my notice. No one really took it seriously. I'd given my notice before. It was well known how comfortable I was and painfully obvious I had no appreciably marketable skills. And I had a new apartment that cost twice what I'd been paying before. No one thought I could afford to quit.
But quit I did. It was clear that computer skills were the thing I needed, so every day at 2:00 I went to the Harold Washington Library and sat down with the tutorials and learned just enough to fake it. At that time WordPerfect and Word were battling for market control and about half the world used each. I learned enough to say in an interview I was familiar with their chosen software, but that I really worked on the other, but I was sure that I could learn theirs quickly.
This was before the days of e-mail, so all resumes were sent on paper. I was unemployed for about ten weeks. Money was tight, but I never for a second considered going back to waiting tables. Getting responses to a resume with virtually no experience on it was tough. At the end, in the same week I interviewed with a religious organization and porn production company. Both interviews went exceedingly well and to celebrate I went to Crate & Barrel and spent $100 on picture frames. A few days later both organizations offered me a job. It was a tough call, but ultimately I thought it would be easier to move on with a religious organization on my resume instead of a job title of "Porn Marketer."
I remember the excitement of that summer. It was filled with possibilities. There was a very real chance that I'd lose my apartment, my precious broken-down furniture, my sapling credit rating, and have to go back, tail between my legs and beg for shifts at the cafe. It didn't happen.
I felt the same sort of excitement in 2003 when I left the HR job with the manufacturing company and on the train ride home decided that no matter what, I was going to get my masters degree. Within the time I got on the train and twenty minutes later I'd formulated a plan in my head, got off the train and walked into that same cafe and picked up shifts. That time the excitement was tinged with real dread. I'd just signed the mortgage on my condo and hadn't even made my first payment. Yet with very little effort or planning I moved forward and everything worked out.
I feel the same excitement I did in 1994, and the same level of anxiety. I can't explain it, but the launch of that website reaffirmed that I can do anything. I like leaping into the unknown and making it work. I'm good at it.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Panic!
Yesterday I uploaded my website and all went well until I decided to test it. All of the animation I'd spent two days putting into it had not transferred. I called the support number, trying to remain calm and they told me that it took up to twenty-four hours for the animation to flow through. Skeptical, I accepted that answer and made the painful decision to turn off my computer.
This morning I managed to keep myself busy until the twenty-four hour mark. Then I turned on the computer and went to the website. Nothing. I started to fiddle with it, but the more I played the worse it got and I started losing pictures. Pictures are the whole reason for the site.
Reluctantly I called the help number. I can tell you that technical support people don't really like helping people, and they really hate helping people with stupid questions. The guy on the other end was barely civil as he explained to me which two buttons I needed to push to fix my problem. I hung up, only to discover that fix created a whole host of other problems.
I did everything imaginable to fix it. I reloaded my system. I started deleting duplicate files. Nothing worked. I spent seven hours trying to come up with the solution on my own. Finally, after talking to a very polite, very useless Adobe support person in India I broke down and called the website support person.
Fortunately it took him half an hour to find the problem, which required a little more than two button strokes. His fix restored the pictures, but not the animation. At this point I was thankful to be back to the original problem. Still, there was some tweaking to be done and gingerly I began.
Then, as I looked through the files, I noticed a key file was missing. It was the file that the instructions said were vital to make things happen properly. I searched my system, sent it to the website, and a miracle. The animation worked. And it only took fifteen hours! I managed to brush my teeth today, but no shower.
It's a little ragged at the moment, but I have a working website! I am officially in business.
This morning I managed to keep myself busy until the twenty-four hour mark. Then I turned on the computer and went to the website. Nothing. I started to fiddle with it, but the more I played the worse it got and I started losing pictures. Pictures are the whole reason for the site.
Reluctantly I called the help number. I can tell you that technical support people don't really like helping people, and they really hate helping people with stupid questions. The guy on the other end was barely civil as he explained to me which two buttons I needed to push to fix my problem. I hung up, only to discover that fix created a whole host of other problems.
I did everything imaginable to fix it. I reloaded my system. I started deleting duplicate files. Nothing worked. I spent seven hours trying to come up with the solution on my own. Finally, after talking to a very polite, very useless Adobe support person in India I broke down and called the website support person.
Fortunately it took him half an hour to find the problem, which required a little more than two button strokes. His fix restored the pictures, but not the animation. At this point I was thankful to be back to the original problem. Still, there was some tweaking to be done and gingerly I began.
Then, as I looked through the files, I noticed a key file was missing. It was the file that the instructions said were vital to make things happen properly. I searched my system, sent it to the website, and a miracle. The animation worked. And it only took fifteen hours! I managed to brush my teeth today, but no shower.
It's a little ragged at the moment, but I have a working website! I am officially in business.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
It Might As Well Be Spring
I'm so restless. You'd think that without a job I'd be all rested. No. The website is done and loaded onto the host server. It is supposed to be active tomorrow. My marketing postcards are designed and tomorrow I go to a printer to get a quote. I need letterhead, but that will take me two minutes to put together. I've been a cleaning fool all day. The office and bathroom are spotless, the shower rod is fixed.
I'm eager to get this photo thing off the ground. It will help give me a feeling purpose. Monday there are a few things to do for the business, and of course the resumes to send out, but there really is no putting off the PhD applications. The time has come to face the beast of a writing sample and get it done.
For a writing program, DePaul really required very little writing, and almost no research. My last research paper was absolute crap, so I have to reach back to my second year to come up with anything. The idea is actually pretty good: Edmund Burke, the father of modern whiteness. But I know it's not strong enough to submit to the University of Chicago, so I have to go back through it. If I decide to go for an MFA, the fiction I have is better, but I have absolutely no confidence that it's any good. This photography thing is a sure bet when compared to these PhD applications.
Yet, the past few years have been all about facing the demons and doing what seems to be the most impossible. If I get that paper whipped into shape by the end of October -- and that's a generous schedule -- I still have two months to get my applications in.
A competitive drive and an utter fear of failure are a deadly combination. Add to that the growing feeling of self loathing if I do nothing and I have created a situation where I am absolutely assured of being miserable.
Rehearsals for the chorus started last week. I sit in those rehearsals and look these guys, most of whom have held the same job, lived in the same home, dated and lived with the same men for years. Decades. They all seem completely happy, and I wonder how it is that they stand it. Yes, the comfort must be nice; the security of knowing what next month is going to look like, knowing your bills are going to be paid. But I wonder if they look at their lives and think that this is what they had in mind as a kid growing up. What is it like not to yearn for more, to feel complete and content? There have been a few times in my life when I've felt that, and shortly after I realize that I'm comfortable I become bored.
I feel like being laid off in July wasn't the start of a new chapter in my life, but the beginning of a whole new volume and right now I'm stuck in the introduction. But, it feels like the biggest and best volume yet to be written. How don't know how to define it, but I feel like I'm on the edge of greatness. I don't mean history-making greatness or vast fame and fortune. I'm talking about the pinnacle of success. If life is a mountain climb, I've cleared the foothills and now I'm getting serious.
I'm wrestling with the differentiating between feeling restless and feeling fruitless. Yet, I have a website about to be born that didn't exist last week. I created that out my own brain and a book. I have a collection of short stories that is shaping up. So, fruitless this time has not been.
But, it's tempting to feel that way when there is no objective external validation. External validation at times in the past has been my reason for living. Feeling like I need it is more a habit than a real need. Still, it would be an indication of progress.
Meanwhile, I wait for the birth of my website and I have a bedroom to clean.
I'm eager to get this photo thing off the ground. It will help give me a feeling purpose. Monday there are a few things to do for the business, and of course the resumes to send out, but there really is no putting off the PhD applications. The time has come to face the beast of a writing sample and get it done.
For a writing program, DePaul really required very little writing, and almost no research. My last research paper was absolute crap, so I have to reach back to my second year to come up with anything. The idea is actually pretty good: Edmund Burke, the father of modern whiteness. But I know it's not strong enough to submit to the University of Chicago, so I have to go back through it. If I decide to go for an MFA, the fiction I have is better, but I have absolutely no confidence that it's any good. This photography thing is a sure bet when compared to these PhD applications.
Yet, the past few years have been all about facing the demons and doing what seems to be the most impossible. If I get that paper whipped into shape by the end of October -- and that's a generous schedule -- I still have two months to get my applications in.
A competitive drive and an utter fear of failure are a deadly combination. Add to that the growing feeling of self loathing if I do nothing and I have created a situation where I am absolutely assured of being miserable.
Rehearsals for the chorus started last week. I sit in those rehearsals and look these guys, most of whom have held the same job, lived in the same home, dated and lived with the same men for years. Decades. They all seem completely happy, and I wonder how it is that they stand it. Yes, the comfort must be nice; the security of knowing what next month is going to look like, knowing your bills are going to be paid. But I wonder if they look at their lives and think that this is what they had in mind as a kid growing up. What is it like not to yearn for more, to feel complete and content? There have been a few times in my life when I've felt that, and shortly after I realize that I'm comfortable I become bored.
I feel like being laid off in July wasn't the start of a new chapter in my life, but the beginning of a whole new volume and right now I'm stuck in the introduction. But, it feels like the biggest and best volume yet to be written. How don't know how to define it, but I feel like I'm on the edge of greatness. I don't mean history-making greatness or vast fame and fortune. I'm talking about the pinnacle of success. If life is a mountain climb, I've cleared the foothills and now I'm getting serious.
I'm wrestling with the differentiating between feeling restless and feeling fruitless. Yet, I have a website about to be born that didn't exist last week. I created that out my own brain and a book. I have a collection of short stories that is shaping up. So, fruitless this time has not been.
But, it's tempting to feel that way when there is no objective external validation. External validation at times in the past has been my reason for living. Feeling like I need it is more a habit than a real need. Still, it would be an indication of progress.
Meanwhile, I wait for the birth of my website and I have a bedroom to clean.
Friday, September 14, 2007
The Passage of Time
I sat down three days ago with a book and a blank computer screen and now I have a completed website for my brand-new business. In the great family tradition, I didn't know how to build a website on Monday, and now on Friday I do.
In the meantime however, it was summer on Monday and now it's autumn. I have literally had to force myself away from my desk because I've been so focused on this website. Two of the eight pages are pretty complex and one of them I had to redo from scratch three times to get it right. But, right it is.
Now, not to toot my own horn too loudly, but two months ago I was an out-of-work HR professional with a problematic resume. Now I'm a budding entrepreneur in an industry that I knew almost nothing about when I was laid off. Sure, some of the pictures I've taken are less than perfect, and there are definitely photographers who are technically more skilled than I am. They know the mechanics of their equipment and the physics of light, and I don't. But I've lined my pictures next to theirs, and I honestly think mine are at least as good and in some cases better.
So, as I see it I have demonstrated three skills that cannot be taught or bought: 1) resourcefulness, 2) risk management, and 3) positive outlook. Yay me!
Then, why can't I seem to get hired?
I've had two serious sets of interviews for two different HR positions. The first one had four rounds of interviews and it was clear in the fourth, before I'd even been asked a question, that the decision had been made. For the second job there was one in-person interview after I completed an exhaustive essay. Again, by the time I came into the interview it was clear a decision had been made.
Honestly, not that I really mind. I mean it would be nice to have a predictable income and health insurance, but in the two months I've been pedaling my resume, I can count on one hand the number of jobs that have interested me. Fifteen years ago I was all about human resources, and now I could not care less. Still, I want to be the one doing the rejecting.
I haven't made my first penny as a photographer yet, and there are some obstacles yet to deal with, but I'm really much more excited about that. It's not the photography so much as it is the building of something out of nothing, and in this case that is the truth. Oh, I had the computer, but that was it. I bought the domain name tonight, and I'll be getting a call on Monday to walk me through the uploading process. Once the site is up and running, I can order my letterhead and the marketing postcards. Voila! I'm in business.
But right now, I'm beat. I have to get away from this computer.
In the meantime however, it was summer on Monday and now it's autumn. I have literally had to force myself away from my desk because I've been so focused on this website. Two of the eight pages are pretty complex and one of them I had to redo from scratch three times to get it right. But, right it is.
Now, not to toot my own horn too loudly, but two months ago I was an out-of-work HR professional with a problematic resume. Now I'm a budding entrepreneur in an industry that I knew almost nothing about when I was laid off. Sure, some of the pictures I've taken are less than perfect, and there are definitely photographers who are technically more skilled than I am. They know the mechanics of their equipment and the physics of light, and I don't. But I've lined my pictures next to theirs, and I honestly think mine are at least as good and in some cases better.
So, as I see it I have demonstrated three skills that cannot be taught or bought: 1) resourcefulness, 2) risk management, and 3) positive outlook. Yay me!
Then, why can't I seem to get hired?
I've had two serious sets of interviews for two different HR positions. The first one had four rounds of interviews and it was clear in the fourth, before I'd even been asked a question, that the decision had been made. For the second job there was one in-person interview after I completed an exhaustive essay. Again, by the time I came into the interview it was clear a decision had been made.
Honestly, not that I really mind. I mean it would be nice to have a predictable income and health insurance, but in the two months I've been pedaling my resume, I can count on one hand the number of jobs that have interested me. Fifteen years ago I was all about human resources, and now I could not care less. Still, I want to be the one doing the rejecting.
I haven't made my first penny as a photographer yet, and there are some obstacles yet to deal with, but I'm really much more excited about that. It's not the photography so much as it is the building of something out of nothing, and in this case that is the truth. Oh, I had the computer, but that was it. I bought the domain name tonight, and I'll be getting a call on Monday to walk me through the uploading process. Once the site is up and running, I can order my letterhead and the marketing postcards. Voila! I'm in business.
But right now, I'm beat. I have to get away from this computer.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Status Report
For the past week or so I've been focused almost exclusively on my new photography business. I launched a separate blog for it. I created a marketing piece, and slowly but surely the website is coming together.
And now I'm twitching with cabin fever. I set up Friday as my deadline for the website to be completed, and I think I'm on schedule. It's pretty plain, but the more I think about it the more I think plain is right. It's about the pictures, not about the pretty website. Still, teaching myself how to build a website is incredibly slow going. Yet, being self taught is practically a family tradition.
My father had a high-school diploma from an era when such a credential actually meant a person was basically educated. From that platform he became a graphic designer in an era when it was a tactical skill combined with art. An artists wasn't a real artist, my father told me, until he could draw a perfect circle freehand in one swipe. My father was such an artist. In my little hometown, there was no one else who painted the signs for the local businesses. Every year the city hired him to design and paint the welcoming billboard. Although he made almost no money, he was a local celebrity and a self-made man.
My mother married early, at the age of fifteen. At that time, such girls were not allowed to continue high school with the rest of the kids. That marriage ended and shortly after that she married my father. When I was five they divorced and my mother enrolled in bookkeeping classes at the local vocational college. So, somewhere in there she must have gotten her GED. At any rate, from those humble beginnings she worked herself up to controller of a major service organization in a major metropolitan area.
With those two role models, I still have some pretty high standards to meet -- even with a masters degree and computers giving me a headstart.
Tomorrow I will be officially unemployed for two months. I've interviewed for three different positions. I'm waiting to hear about two of them, but I don't think I'm the preferred candidate. This disappoints me only on the competitive level. The truth is that I don't really want the jobs. The corporate ladder is something I've climbed. With my little BFA in theater and an MA in writing I worked my way up to senior management. I've done it.
Now the focus has to turn to the next level of education and building my own business. The peaks of those two mountains are pretty steep from where I sit at the moment, but I am firmly in the foothills and progressing. The priority right now is the website. The printed material is ready to go and its just a matter of finding the most effective printer.
Then it's turning to the writing sample and the PhD applications.
And now I'm twitching with cabin fever. I set up Friday as my deadline for the website to be completed, and I think I'm on schedule. It's pretty plain, but the more I think about it the more I think plain is right. It's about the pictures, not about the pretty website. Still, teaching myself how to build a website is incredibly slow going. Yet, being self taught is practically a family tradition.
My father had a high-school diploma from an era when such a credential actually meant a person was basically educated. From that platform he became a graphic designer in an era when it was a tactical skill combined with art. An artists wasn't a real artist, my father told me, until he could draw a perfect circle freehand in one swipe. My father was such an artist. In my little hometown, there was no one else who painted the signs for the local businesses. Every year the city hired him to design and paint the welcoming billboard. Although he made almost no money, he was a local celebrity and a self-made man.
My mother married early, at the age of fifteen. At that time, such girls were not allowed to continue high school with the rest of the kids. That marriage ended and shortly after that she married my father. When I was five they divorced and my mother enrolled in bookkeeping classes at the local vocational college. So, somewhere in there she must have gotten her GED. At any rate, from those humble beginnings she worked herself up to controller of a major service organization in a major metropolitan area.
With those two role models, I still have some pretty high standards to meet -- even with a masters degree and computers giving me a headstart.
Tomorrow I will be officially unemployed for two months. I've interviewed for three different positions. I'm waiting to hear about two of them, but I don't think I'm the preferred candidate. This disappoints me only on the competitive level. The truth is that I don't really want the jobs. The corporate ladder is something I've climbed. With my little BFA in theater and an MA in writing I worked my way up to senior management. I've done it.
Now the focus has to turn to the next level of education and building my own business. The peaks of those two mountains are pretty steep from where I sit at the moment, but I am firmly in the foothills and progressing. The priority right now is the website. The printed material is ready to go and its just a matter of finding the most effective printer.
Then it's turning to the writing sample and the PhD applications.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
The Blessing of Naivete
Naivete, in my opinion, is highly underrated. As with most philosophical questions, I begin my quest for answers with the dictionary.
Notice what it does not say: stupid.
In my previous job, the ultimate insult that could be bestowed on another person was "stupid." At one management meeting there was a discussion of a particular associate not in the room. There were seven of us and the conversation veered from a legitimate business issue into the realm of discussing a particular person's intelligence. The conversation wasn't even a clinical, objective discussion, it was simply an opportunity for everyone else in the room to feel superior to someone not present to defend himself.
I respectfully objected and the room went dead silent. Now, there have been times when I've used the word "idiot" to describe someone, sometimes even myself, but that was actually a sloppy use of the term. I generally meant that someone had done something that had either annoyed me or that they'd done something that wasn't well thought out.
But just like the terms nigger and faggot aren't uttered in polite society, I object to someone being labeled stupid. And I more strongly objected when one of my colleagues would say that they did not respect another colleague. How is it possible not to respect an entire person? I understand not respecting a particular action. I understand being frustrated by a person, but how do you not respect someone? There are plenty -- plenty -- of people I don't like, but I can't think of one person I do not accord the basic courtesy of respect.
And yet, if I heard it once, I heard it at least once a day. I got tired of objecting, because it became clear that no one either heard what I said, or cared what I thought. But they at least respected me enough to apologize when I did object. But because labelling people as stupid and quantifying the amount of respect each individual was entitled to was as common as showing up late to work, I began to wonder if I was naive, or if I was actually stupid. I mean, I think one of the fundamental requirements of stupidity is that a person is blithely unaware of the fact of his stupidity, or am I just being naive?
Last week on Bill Mahr's show, John Mellencamp was a guest. Bill Mahr was railing against a segment of the American population that seems to buy the American political mythology. John Mellencamp said that most people in the heartland are good, honest people who just want to live quiet lives and elect people they can trust. He said that they were hopeful and perhaps naive. Bill Mahr jumped all over that statement, saying that in today's world being naive is inexcusable, that being naive is what has gotten this country into the mess that it's in.
Frankly, I couldn't disagree more. I think that it's cynicism and duplicitous people who have made a mess of things. I think it's not the people who take other people at their word, I think it's the people who lie who are destroying this country. I'm not just talking about the people who generate the big lies, like "weapons of mass destruction," I'm talking about the people who say they'll call for lunch, and never follow up.
It's the small lies that lay the foundation for the big lies. It's the inability to find a person worthy of respect that requires a person to lie to another person, and it's the belief that a person is actually stupid that enables a liar to tell his lie.
Yet, I'd like to believe that lacking respect and feeling superior is just a phase that most people pass through. I believe that at some point every person experiences a humbling event that puts the world and other people into perspective. I once read that it is impossible to be a saint without first being a sinner. I'm now coming to the opinion that it's also impossible to be truly naive without first being cynical.
Naive: 1) artless; innocent; unaffected. 2) foolishly
credulous; simple.
Notice what it does not say: stupid.
In my previous job, the ultimate insult that could be bestowed on another person was "stupid." At one management meeting there was a discussion of a particular associate not in the room. There were seven of us and the conversation veered from a legitimate business issue into the realm of discussing a particular person's intelligence. The conversation wasn't even a clinical, objective discussion, it was simply an opportunity for everyone else in the room to feel superior to someone not present to defend himself.
I respectfully objected and the room went dead silent. Now, there have been times when I've used the word "idiot" to describe someone, sometimes even myself, but that was actually a sloppy use of the term. I generally meant that someone had done something that had either annoyed me or that they'd done something that wasn't well thought out.
But just like the terms nigger and faggot aren't uttered in polite society, I object to someone being labeled stupid. And I more strongly objected when one of my colleagues would say that they did not respect another colleague. How is it possible not to respect an entire person? I understand not respecting a particular action. I understand being frustrated by a person, but how do you not respect someone? There are plenty -- plenty -- of people I don't like, but I can't think of one person I do not accord the basic courtesy of respect.
And yet, if I heard it once, I heard it at least once a day. I got tired of objecting, because it became clear that no one either heard what I said, or cared what I thought. But they at least respected me enough to apologize when I did object. But because labelling people as stupid and quantifying the amount of respect each individual was entitled to was as common as showing up late to work, I began to wonder if I was naive, or if I was actually stupid. I mean, I think one of the fundamental requirements of stupidity is that a person is blithely unaware of the fact of his stupidity, or am I just being naive?
Last week on Bill Mahr's show, John Mellencamp was a guest. Bill Mahr was railing against a segment of the American population that seems to buy the American political mythology. John Mellencamp said that most people in the heartland are good, honest people who just want to live quiet lives and elect people they can trust. He said that they were hopeful and perhaps naive. Bill Mahr jumped all over that statement, saying that in today's world being naive is inexcusable, that being naive is what has gotten this country into the mess that it's in.
Frankly, I couldn't disagree more. I think that it's cynicism and duplicitous people who have made a mess of things. I think it's not the people who take other people at their word, I think it's the people who lie who are destroying this country. I'm not just talking about the people who generate the big lies, like "weapons of mass destruction," I'm talking about the people who say they'll call for lunch, and never follow up.
It's the small lies that lay the foundation for the big lies. It's the inability to find a person worthy of respect that requires a person to lie to another person, and it's the belief that a person is actually stupid that enables a liar to tell his lie.
Yet, I'd like to believe that lacking respect and feeling superior is just a phase that most people pass through. I believe that at some point every person experiences a humbling event that puts the world and other people into perspective. I once read that it is impossible to be a saint without first being a sinner. I'm now coming to the opinion that it's also impossible to be truly naive without first being cynical.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Stamina
On the surface of things, one might be tempted to think that I lack the stamina to complete a project. At the moment it would appear that I am flitting from project and career with almost wild abandon and that none of it seems to connect to anything else. Yet in my head it all makes sense. Is there risk? Absolutely. But anyone who doesn't recognize that there is risk in simply drawing the next breath is deluding himself.
For a while I thought that life was all about mitigating that risk. Taking steps to insure that, should the worst actually happen, the damage would be minimized and recovery would happen as quickly as possible. Then, and I don't know exactly when, I realized that was a very reactive way of living. Real greatness and satisfaction has never been achieved by reaction.
I remember life in the late 70's. It seemed that every movie or TV show depicted the horrors of unemployment. In particular I seem to remember the hardships on the show Good Times and just how worried those characters were about money. Life in a Chicago housing project could not have been further from my lilly-white life in rural Iowa, yet I understood a tight budget. I just never recognized lack of money as being a permanent situation. Of course, I didn't have kids to clothe and feed. What really scared me at that point was the belief that lack of job meant lack of definition. If you didn't have a job, did you have importance of any kind? In retrospect, there wasn't a chance in the world my father would have ever lost his job, yet he acted every day of his life that he was going to be fired. Yet he had a job and little self definition.
I don't remember the circumstances, but when I was about thirteen my mother actually did lose a job. She quit because the boss kept making passes at her. She had two teen-agers and limited education and experience. She was scared. I remember that fear. She made some decisions out of fear that ultimately landed us in Alaska. Three or four years later she quit her job up there. At that point the isolation of living in Alaska, and at that point in time Alaska really felt like the ends of the earth, depression and fear gripped her so tight she couldn't move. There was no money. We were on the verge of being evicted. That summer she'd been fishing and caught a thirty-pound white fish. I ate that for weeks. The details of how the situation was resolved is subject for another post. It got ugly, but it got resolved.
So, when I struck out on my own, I remember my biggest fear was unemployment. I knew I would never be able to rely on my mother for help, and I also knew that if I'd ever asked my father for help he'd try to provide it, but it would have been a hardship. The first little bout of unemployment was terrifying. The second was tough because of the ensuing depression. This one I honestly see has a bit of a breather to change the direction of my life. There are minor frustrations with uncertainty, but after seven weeks I'm still in good shape.
At my last job, the CEO kept saying that the fate of the company rested on his interest and that the greatest danger to the company was the threat of his boredom. He considered himself to be brilliant and that his responsibility was to think deep thoughts and have others carry out his ideas. He may have been right. He is brilliant, and most CEO's simply articulate a vision for the company. But that company was very small and struggling and there were transactions that he had to make because others either couldn't ore wouldn't. What became clear was that he was either unable or uninterested in executing his ideas. I spent hours with him talking about this and the first time I raised the issue he was slightly offended. But then he turned the comment into a statement of praise. He was a visionary and it was a waste of his time and talent to attend to the details of any project. Again, he may have been right.
The CEO and I share the same birthday -- fifteen years apart. He and I are similar in many, many ways. I too am very good at coming up with projects, but lately I've had to ask myself if I have the stamina for completion? I quit acting. I've quit several HR jobs. I have an uncompleted novel and short-story collection.
Yet, I completed a bachelor's degree. I completed a masters degree. Why is it that I'm able to stick to those things, but abandon larger things.
I could be deluding myself, but I actually believe that the acting and the jobs are just details. The easiest thing in the world would have been to continue acting and waiting tables, slowly sinking into bitter middle age. Or to sign on to an HR job, getting comfortable with the salary and eating myself to the size of Utah to manage the frustrations.
There is a brilliant line in You've Got Mail. Meg Ryan announces that she's decided to close her bookstore, defeated by the large corporate conglomerate. Jean Stapleton responds, "Closing the shop is the brave thing to do. It means that you're willing to imagine a different life and to face the unknown armed with...well, nothing really."
At this point I feel like I too am facing the unknown, but certainly not with "nothing." I have a compass. I have tools to help me along. I'm educated and I have a small amount of time on my side. And in spite of potential boredom and frustration, I actually do have the stamina of completion. But more important, I believe I have the stamina to remain positive. I refuse to give in to the thought of failure. I'm not here to make money, nor become rich or famous. I'm here to build the best me possible. In the last few years I see real progress in that area, and I think that takes more stamina than anything else in the world.
For a while I thought that life was all about mitigating that risk. Taking steps to insure that, should the worst actually happen, the damage would be minimized and recovery would happen as quickly as possible. Then, and I don't know exactly when, I realized that was a very reactive way of living. Real greatness and satisfaction has never been achieved by reaction.
I remember life in the late 70's. It seemed that every movie or TV show depicted the horrors of unemployment. In particular I seem to remember the hardships on the show Good Times and just how worried those characters were about money. Life in a Chicago housing project could not have been further from my lilly-white life in rural Iowa, yet I understood a tight budget. I just never recognized lack of money as being a permanent situation. Of course, I didn't have kids to clothe and feed. What really scared me at that point was the belief that lack of job meant lack of definition. If you didn't have a job, did you have importance of any kind? In retrospect, there wasn't a chance in the world my father would have ever lost his job, yet he acted every day of his life that he was going to be fired. Yet he had a job and little self definition.
I don't remember the circumstances, but when I was about thirteen my mother actually did lose a job. She quit because the boss kept making passes at her. She had two teen-agers and limited education and experience. She was scared. I remember that fear. She made some decisions out of fear that ultimately landed us in Alaska. Three or four years later she quit her job up there. At that point the isolation of living in Alaska, and at that point in time Alaska really felt like the ends of the earth, depression and fear gripped her so tight she couldn't move. There was no money. We were on the verge of being evicted. That summer she'd been fishing and caught a thirty-pound white fish. I ate that for weeks. The details of how the situation was resolved is subject for another post. It got ugly, but it got resolved.
So, when I struck out on my own, I remember my biggest fear was unemployment. I knew I would never be able to rely on my mother for help, and I also knew that if I'd ever asked my father for help he'd try to provide it, but it would have been a hardship. The first little bout of unemployment was terrifying. The second was tough because of the ensuing depression. This one I honestly see has a bit of a breather to change the direction of my life. There are minor frustrations with uncertainty, but after seven weeks I'm still in good shape.
At my last job, the CEO kept saying that the fate of the company rested on his interest and that the greatest danger to the company was the threat of his boredom. He considered himself to be brilliant and that his responsibility was to think deep thoughts and have others carry out his ideas. He may have been right. He is brilliant, and most CEO's simply articulate a vision for the company. But that company was very small and struggling and there were transactions that he had to make because others either couldn't ore wouldn't. What became clear was that he was either unable or uninterested in executing his ideas. I spent hours with him talking about this and the first time I raised the issue he was slightly offended. But then he turned the comment into a statement of praise. He was a visionary and it was a waste of his time and talent to attend to the details of any project. Again, he may have been right.
The CEO and I share the same birthday -- fifteen years apart. He and I are similar in many, many ways. I too am very good at coming up with projects, but lately I've had to ask myself if I have the stamina for completion? I quit acting. I've quit several HR jobs. I have an uncompleted novel and short-story collection.
Yet, I completed a bachelor's degree. I completed a masters degree. Why is it that I'm able to stick to those things, but abandon larger things.
I could be deluding myself, but I actually believe that the acting and the jobs are just details. The easiest thing in the world would have been to continue acting and waiting tables, slowly sinking into bitter middle age. Or to sign on to an HR job, getting comfortable with the salary and eating myself to the size of Utah to manage the frustrations.
There is a brilliant line in You've Got Mail. Meg Ryan announces that she's decided to close her bookstore, defeated by the large corporate conglomerate. Jean Stapleton responds, "Closing the shop is the brave thing to do. It means that you're willing to imagine a different life and to face the unknown armed with...well, nothing really."
At this point I feel like I too am facing the unknown, but certainly not with "nothing." I have a compass. I have tools to help me along. I'm educated and I have a small amount of time on my side. And in spite of potential boredom and frustration, I actually do have the stamina of completion. But more important, I believe I have the stamina to remain positive. I refuse to give in to the thought of failure. I'm not here to make money, nor become rich or famous. I'm here to build the best me possible. In the last few years I see real progress in that area, and I think that takes more stamina than anything else in the world.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
The Rest is Silence
I am not what you would call an opera buff. When I was working on my theatre degree one of my most influential professors told a class that you could not fully understand the impact of theatre until you've experienced Tristan und Isolde. The first time I had the money I ran out and bought a recording. I've yet to get through the whole thing.
That said, I do have an appreciation for opera. In high school, very much against my will, I was being groomed for a career in opera. That training has served me well and short of auditioning in one of the major opera houses in the world, there isn't a singing situation where I feel like I would embarrass myself.
In 1988, in a fervor for all things theatrical and in a zealous burst of professionalism, I went to a cattle call for supernumeraries at the Chicago Lyric Opera. A respected opera house, the late 80's were its zenith. Under the direction of Ardis Kranik the Lyric had astonishing ticket sales, averaging 104% of capacity. You simply had to sell blood to get a single ticket. Prior to the cattle call, I'd been to the Lyric once, when I happened to receive Roger Ebert's unused tickets for a performance of Tosca. As it turned out, that was the farewell performance of Renata Scotto in her signature role. The poor woman looked to be about sixty. When she leapt from the roof of the building the padding bounced her so that her blond pin curls could be seen over the edge, sending the tragic soprano into retirement with a giggle from the audience.
The cattle call was for supers in a lavish production of Salome directed by Sir Peter Hall and starring his soon-to-be ex-wife Maria Ewing. The opera is set in a garden and a lavish orgy/party is taking place offstage. Hall had the party spill out into the garden. In particular the production called for three Roman generals to witness the Dance of the Seven Veils. There were about two hundred men lined up on the stage and the assistant director simply walked down the line and pulled three men from it and sent them to the costumer. I was one of the three.
I rank that experience as one of the high points of my performing career. Salome was running in rep with Aida and virtually anyone who even knew what opera was in Chicago was on the stage for that production. So, for about twelve weeks I earned $75 a night listening to opera. A lavish, princely sum even today in the world of Chicago theatre. But most of the people on the stage did it for the love of the music. The supers were a tight-knit community and were starved for backstage gossip of the stars.
However, there was name that was sacred and that was Luciano Pavarroti. He was from the people and he consorted with the rabble backstage, at times seeming to prefer that camaraderie to the actual performance. Where most singers treat their voices like spun-sugar works of sacred art, Pavarotti would down a can of Coke before going on stage to hit his famous high C. The management of the Lyric was not fond of Pavarroti. He cancelled too many performances and finally his lack of professionalism earned him a lifetime ban from the Lyric stage. But he was beloved backstage and deeply, deeply missed.
I have one recording of Pavarroti's, and its as Otello. Like I said, I don't really know too much about opera, but there parts of that recording that actually make the hair on the back of my head stand up. The man was a breathtaking freak of nature who exuded a love of life not often seen in any arena, let alone the opera stage. Notice must be paid.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Tell Me You Love Me
It's official. Judging Amy is completely dead. TNT has removed it from its daytime lineup. That means when I need some good, old-fashioned solid acting of nearly turgid television scripts I have no where to turn. With the ending of Six Feet Under and The Sopranos, I'm left with Law & Order as my only television addiction. And that simply won't do.
So, I've been testing different series out, and the pickin's are slim. Recently I saw the premiere episode for the new Showtime series, Tell Me You Love Me. It is supposedly a realistic look at the modern American marriage.
Ick.
From this episode, not only have I surmised that marriage truly is a fate worse than death and to be avoided at all costs, at the end of the episode I wondered how people even stayed married. It's shot in very bleak tones. Even though it's shot in California it always looks like theres a blizzard moving in. The actors all deliver their lines, even the happy ones, in a flat monotone with as few facial expressions as is humanly possible while being conscious. The dialogue feels like it's the edited outtakes of a bad undergraduate improv class where you are taught that "the emotion of the moment" supercedes everything else, including just telling a damn good story.
Worse, all of the actors look alike. The single difference seems to be that the youngest couple -- the soon-to-be newlyweds are slightly darker and more casually groomed than the other two couples. The remaining women are damn near interchangeable blonds and if they are in a scene without their husbands you're hopelessly lost in following a storyline. One is trying to have a baby and the other is trying to have an orgasm, but damned if I know which is which.
But worst of all are the very explicit sex scenes. Don't get me wrong: I am not a prude. But they actually shot (if you'll pardon the pun) a male orgasm -- complete with discharge. No one -- NO ONE(!) wants to see that. There is no storyline in the world in which sperm is vital to the integrity of the scene. Exactly how do you rehearse that? The poor actor who has to act that scene actually holds his hand over his face in what can only be complete and utter humiliation.
Is this really the state of American television? Am I just melting away into middle-age prudery?
So, I'm officially stuck with Law & Order and praying to the uncaring entertainment gods that Dexter starts soon and is at least half as good as it's first season.
Or, God forbid, I may have to start reading books.
So, I've been testing different series out, and the pickin's are slim. Recently I saw the premiere episode for the new Showtime series, Tell Me You Love Me. It is supposedly a realistic look at the modern American marriage.
Ick.
From this episode, not only have I surmised that marriage truly is a fate worse than death and to be avoided at all costs, at the end of the episode I wondered how people even stayed married. It's shot in very bleak tones. Even though it's shot in California it always looks like theres a blizzard moving in. The actors all deliver their lines, even the happy ones, in a flat monotone with as few facial expressions as is humanly possible while being conscious. The dialogue feels like it's the edited outtakes of a bad undergraduate improv class where you are taught that "the emotion of the moment" supercedes everything else, including just telling a damn good story.
"But it felt so real to me, professor."
"Then, it was real for the audience, Suzy, and how it feels is all that
matters in the theatre. Now, have you paid your tuition bill?"
Worse, all of the actors look alike. The single difference seems to be that the youngest couple -- the soon-to-be newlyweds are slightly darker and more casually groomed than the other two couples. The remaining women are damn near interchangeable blonds and if they are in a scene without their husbands you're hopelessly lost in following a storyline. One is trying to have a baby and the other is trying to have an orgasm, but damned if I know which is which.
But worst of all are the very explicit sex scenes. Don't get me wrong: I am not a prude. But they actually shot (if you'll pardon the pun) a male orgasm -- complete with discharge. No one -- NO ONE(!) wants to see that. There is no storyline in the world in which sperm is vital to the integrity of the scene. Exactly how do you rehearse that? The poor actor who has to act that scene actually holds his hand over his face in what can only be complete and utter humiliation.
"Boy, I'll bet Mom is so proud! I can't wait to put this credit in
the alumni newsletter."
Is this really the state of American television? Am I just melting away into middle-age prudery?
So, I'm officially stuck with Law & Order and praying to the uncaring entertainment gods that Dexter starts soon and is at least half as good as it's first season.
Or, God forbid, I may have to start reading books.
Monday, September 03, 2007
When West Meets East
Not to honor men of worth will keep the people from contention; not to value goods which are hard to come by will keep them from theft; not to display what is desirable will keep them from being unsettled of mind.
Therefore in governing the people, the sage empties their minds but fills their bellies, weakens their wills but strengthens their bones. He always keeps them innocent of knowledge and free from desire, and ensures that the clever never dare to act.
Do that which consists in taking no action, and order will prevail.Lau Tzu, Tao Te Ching
Giggles
My apologies to Alex for stealing this from her website. I've watched it several times and it makes me giggle each time. You have to listen carefully because of the British accents.
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