Israel

I have friends in Israel. They're not close, but they are people I can drop a line to, whom I see on a fairly regular basis.

And now they're within a hundred miles of a war that has the potential of becoming the catalyst for a world war.

One of my friends recently relocated his family to Israel. He's an Israeli national and his child needs some very specialized medical care. Because his parents and his in laws are there, and because the medical care is subsidized, he made the decision to move his family there this past summer. He makes frequent visits to Chicago and the last time he was here I asked if he felt safe. He told me that for the most part he felt as safe as he did in Chicago but that all Israelis have grown accustomed to the possibility of an outbreak of war at any minute.

Now that there is an actual war that appears to be escalating, it's personal in a way that war has never been before. People I know could be seriously hurt and even killed in horrific ways.

I'm ashamed. To have reached such a late stage in my life and been relatively untouched by the realities of the world is an embarrassment. The inconveniences and indignities that I've suffered in my life are nothing by comparison. My sister had a pre-marital pregnancy. My father died unexpectedly of a heart attack. I've had a couple of bouts of unemployment. I really, really wanted to be cast in the touring production of Beauty and the Beast...and didn't get the job.

And these are the MAJOR disappointments/dramas of my life. They are in no way the things that I obsess over and work myself into a frantic lather over on a daily basis, like how can I lose twenty pounds and stop my hair from going gray?

As an American, living in a major city, I am completely insulated from the realities of the world. I'm completely pampered beyond anything that anyone else in the history of the world has ever been and not only do I take my privilege for granted, I'm almost willfully unaware of things that happened in more than a five-mile radius from my home.

Shameful.

I'm angry. I'm angry at people who have to resort to violence. I'm angry at people who are willing to use other people's lives to achieve...anything. I'm angry that there seems to be so little gratitude for the life of ease that even the poorest American has compared to those families who are having their homes destroyed by bombs delivered from miles away. I'm angry because I don't what I can do about it.

Rick Warren and Flying Shoes

I don't care what anyone says, George Bush deserves to have shoes thrown at him. I don't want him hit. I don't want him injured, but public humiliation in the eyes of the world is the absolute least he should suffer.

I've been surprised by the outrage of some of my liberal friends. "He's the President of the United States! The office deserves more respect!" "As an American, I take that assault personally!"

I agree that the office of the President of the United States deserves respect, and the first person to display that respect should be the person holding that office. To say that every day, in every way, George W. Bush fails demonstrate that he's fit to even be in the same room with the President of United States, let alone BE the President of the United States is obvious. And his presidential portrait just proves the point again.

It's the wrapper of the packaging of George W. Bush as "one of the people." It gives no hint of the troubled times over which he "presided," nor does it do anything other than capture his likeness. There's no metaphor, no depth, nothing but an image; not unlike the Bush II presidency.

However, what I find offensive is that Mr. Bush couldn't bother to be painted wearing a suit. This is not a class portrait. This is an historical document. I can almost guarantee you that Barak Obama will be painted wearing a suit, and probably every other president in this century. And in the great hall of presidential portraits, there will be W., looking every bit as inappropriate for the office that he's defaced for the past eight years.

Sometimes I just don't understand liberal outrage. Take Rick Warren and the inaugural invocation. Yes, Rick Warren is a political opportunist pandering to the basest fears of his dim followers. And clearly this is a political move for Barak Obama, an unequivocal demonstration of his promise to reach across differences and include everyone in his administration. After the past eight years of the most exclusive of the old boys' network pillaging the planet in every way imaginable, Barak Obama's selection is startling.

But I think what liberals are missing is that in five years, when Obama signs the amendment to the Constitution guaranteeing equal rights to ALL Americans -- a redundant amendment, but one that is sadly necessary -- he will be able to say to the nostril-flaring Bible beaters, "What's your damage? My presidency was blessed by one of you. What more do you want?"

Of course, if and when that day happens, it's quite likely that Obama will be dodging more than a few wayward shoes.

You've Got Mail

I love romantic comedies. In fact I love any art form that adheres to a rigid formula and still achieves success, and You've Got Mail is as successful as any other filmed romantic comedy.

In the movie Meg Ryan decides to close her charming little book shop because it's business has been crushed by Tom Hanks's corporate monster. There is a scene where Meg goes to tell her surrogate mother figure, played by Jean Stapleton that she's decided to close the shop.

"Closing the shop is the brave thing to do."

"Why?" Meg asks impishly. (Meg is perennially impish in these films.)

"Because it means you're daring to imagine life in a different way."

Or some thing to that effect.

Anyway, my point is that there are a handful of films that contain lines that when they're spoken echo inside me because of their truth. This is one of them. I have to admit that I do admire the sentiment, and much of my life has been lived in such as way as to reimagine it.

But as I grow older, there comes a point where rebuilding my life becomes almost tedious. On the one hand I look at people I know who trudge through the same job day after day and marvel at how they survive the montony. But on the other hand I also envy the stability and comfort that day-in, day-out routine has built.

I don't have that today, but I think I might like to have it for tomorrow. For me, stability would be daring.

Proposition 8

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

The Straw

Over the years I've had people tell me that I'm a little abrupt at times, that I can choose my words a little more carefully, that I can take people's feelings into consideration before speaking.

Hard to believe, I know.

Well, three weeks ago I was sat down and spoken to about my attitude at work. I told my boss that the reality is I'm attached to nothing. My contribution is to clean the kitchen, and while I know someone has to do it I don't necessarily appreciate being treated like the maid. As an experiment, I decided to not speak until spoken to. I was silent for two days. I'm not kidding.

Still, I managed to put on a little show and I've gotten a nice, shiny, gold star for my improved attitude.

And then today I was sat down again.

I've been put in charge of sending out the holiday gifts and cards to the clients and prospective clients. When I was given this assignment, I was told that they were to go out on December 1. As of this morning nothing has been done. So, in an effort to jump start this project I sent out the following e-mail to everyone in the office:

"If anyone has any extra newspapers, I need them for packing materials for the holiday gifts, so if you could bring them in I'd appreciate it.

Also, I need your holiday cards by Friday."

It's that last line that set my boss's hair on fire. How could I tell anyone that I NEEDED anything? And to include the CEO on the mailing list? We're in an office of eight. The entire company is twenty employees. I sit less than five feet away from the CEO.

Yet, my e-mail was too demanding.

I'm looking for a new job.

Happy Holidays

The Obama Family Holiday Greeting

The Face of Evil and the Power of Forgiveness

Try as I might, there are just certain things I cannot understand. Joe Lieberman is one of them. He's like math or Mandarin Chinese to me. Conceptually I understand that he IS, but to be able to organically relate to the concept of math, Mandarin Chinese, or Joe Lieberman is beyond me. But in my limited world and with my limited intellectual capacity, Joe Lieberman comes closest to anything I can think of to pure evil.

And yes, without naming names I'm fully aware that others would consider some contemporary and historic figures to be higher on that list of pure evil. I respectfully disagree and here's why.

As horrid, hateful, and virtually unimaginable as the other potential toppers of the evil list might be, they each stood for something larger than themselves. No doubt they were motivated by very personal needs, but they found a way to satisfy those needs in service of something larger than themselves. And yes, hundreds, thousands, millions died while these ego maniacs served their larger goals. Indefensible.

Yet, how many died because of Joe Lieberman? Looking back at the last ten years of Joe Lieberman's career can anyone identify a single consistent cause larger than his own interests? Not his constituency, his political party, his country, nor his religion have held a higher priority to Joe Lieberman than Joe Lieberman. The expense of his priorities to the United States of America are incalculable.

And in my limited little world, that is the absolute depth of evil.

Of course I've met people who fall outside my paradigm of the world, whose actions and motives are breathlessly incomprehensible to me. It is to my complete shame that each and every time I encounter one of these people I am taken absolutely by surprise. I wish I was smarter. As an antidote I tend to be overly cautious in my dealings with people, keeping them at a manageable distance until I can ascribe a trust level to them. That has been my coping mechanism.

It is no secret how much I have come to admire Barak Obama, or at least the image of Barak Obama that is being built and prepped for the history books. I think that Mr. Obama is the right person at the right time to begin the horrific task of revitalizing America. But I'm finding personal inspiration in Mr. Obama's campaign and transition in to power.

I would have banished Joe Lieberman to some rock in the middle of the Atlantic. Obama, however is showing the way to deal with Lieberman and his ilk. Not only does Obama demonstrate his larger character by "forgiving" Lieberman, not only does create a political debt that Lieberman will never be able to fully repay, not only does Obama now have a political lap dog in a very powerful position, but Obama has also given Lieberman the opportunity to either redeem himself or to finish himself and his political legacy all on his own.

Had Obama banished Lieberman, then Obama would be the villain in the Lieberman. Now, there is no one to hold that mantle but Joe Lieberman.

Maybe Obama's approach isn't that different than mine.

Truth

There was a point in my life -- somewhere around age twenty-two or twenty-three -- when I knew everything. My knowledge was complete and my faith in my comprehensive knowledge was unshakable. I was never, ever wrong.

Then my father died and for the first time in my life I began to realize that there is nothing in life that is absolute. From that moment onward, my life has been an endless struggle to find something that is a certainty. That struggle becomes less and less vigorous as the years go by and I become comfortable with the fact that there are no absolutes, that nothing is constant but change, and that I in fact know absolutely nothing and never have.

One of the concepts that I began to wrestle with while I worked on my master's degree is the idea of objective truth. Does such a concept exist, especially in an arena such as human interaction. Trials are predicated upon the belief that truth can be determined through rhetorical skill, that two opposing sides can present arguments to an objective jury who will then weigh that evidence and determine the truth.

And for me, right now, the closest I can come to an absolute truth is: "...there is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so." (Hamlet: Act II, scene ii)

It's funny how I am haunted by Hamlet. Back in my days of absolute certainty, Hamlet was the pinnacle of success for me. I'd have died to be cast in that role and auditioned for the play every chance I got. My first brush with it was as a freshman in college when I played a collection of the smaller roles, and then again the next year when the production was remounted and I played an expanded collection of the supporting roles. It was my first brush with complex language. I was cast as Bernardo, who is one of the courtiers who first sees the ghost of Hamlet's father. He tells Hamlet of the sighting, and the speech begins, "Last night of all, when yond same star..."

The director of that production scared the living daylights out of me in rehearsal by telling everyone, "That speech is the audience's first exposure to heightened language." Then he turned to me and said, "Don't fuck it up." I was terrified by that speech and I struggled to learn it. It was such an issue for me that my roommate told me I recited the speech in my sleep -- with a southern accent. I'm not sure I ever successfully introduced the audience to the heightened language of Hamlet, but I do know that when I stepped on the stage and delivered that speech, I knew I could.

As I begin to lose interest in the concept of truth, I become more interested in the idea of possibility. There is no life in truth. Life lives in possibility.

Life is bringing possibility to truth.

Good god, can you imagine how pompous and pedantic I would be if I drank?

Everything Old is New Again.

My parents divorced when I was very young. After the divorce, my father moved into his mother's home, and on weekends my sister and I would go to their home.

My father painted signs. In our hometown, if you needed a sign painted, you went to my father. He was a master at free-hand lettering and his work was beautiful. In the summer, he'd do his signs in the garage, but in the winter he'd have to go to the basement. If he had a particularly tight deadline, he could get a little testy. Any movement in the house would make him crazy, and I remember that many times he would come raging from the basement demanding that my sister and I stop whatever we were doing that was so noisy.

The stress and panic was overwhelming. At our mother's home, we lived in apartments and we were told that we would have to be quiet so we wouldn't disturb the neighbors, or we'd be thrown out into the street.

More stress and panic.

Of course, the ultimate was when we visited our other grandmother and her husband, when we were basically only permitted to sit in the chair and stare at the wall.

I now work in an office that is essentially one big room, and sit across from my two bosses, both of whom are very focused.

And every day, I go back into work and feel like I'm six years old again.

As If

The historical significance of Barack Obama's election is not lost on me. The first African-American president is something I was sure I'd never see in my life time. Only historians will be able to say that this moment was a watershed moment in American history, if in fact more than a new leaf was turned, but an entire new volume begun.

And for the past few days, national figures have been congratulating themselves and Americans for taking this historic step. "See, we're not racist!" Yet this morning Maureen Dowd writes an entire column about nearly every white person she knows quizzing every black person they meet on how they 'feel' about Obama's election.

As if the color of his skin was in any way a qualification for the job.

The fact that Barack Obama was elected as president says more about the American public than it does about Obama himself. And as a nation we deserve a moment to reflect upon this moment. But let us not forget that this event pales in comparison to the issues that loom for Barack Obama.

Let us also not forget that an incredibly qualified candidate had to run a near-perfect campaign against an old-school campaign and candidate of the incumbent party only to win the popular vote by six points. And nearly a week after his election the only thing we can discuss is the color of his skin. The celebrations should not be held until we can confidently say that Obama was elected because he was the best candidate and not simply because there wasn't an even comparable white candidate. If a mirror-image white candidate of Obama had run on the Republican side, is there really any doubt as to which candidate would have won? If the Republicans had been able to produce a candidate who ran an intellectually, fact-based campaign instead of one based on fear and emotion, where would the Democrat Obama be now?

The excitement this country should be feeling is about the renewed hope, about the one-hundred and eighty degree turn that we made in one day. The excitement should be about the fact that we are literally standing on the edge of extinction and for the first time we have someone going into the White House who has convinced the American public that he can come up with a plan to back us away from the abyss, and he has about twenty minutes to do it.

For the better part of a year I read Martin Luther King, Jr. speeches and Malcolm X speeches. I am not in any way an authority on the American Black Experience. I can only imagine what they would be thinking and feeling at this moment. Still, once the euphoria and self congratulations die down, someone has got to stand up and say that Obama is now first, and foremost the President of the United States, and all other roles and titles will take a back seat to that. And he needs to be evaluated and held accountable on that basis. I'm sure that MKL, Malcolm X, and Mr. Obama himself would insist upon no other criteria.

Sherry Shepherd

To think that Sherry Shepherd could be more eloquent than anyone else I've heard on the subject. And even she only gives a glimmer of the emotion.

Martin Luther King and Others

Yesterday would not have been possible without the legend of Martin Luther King. There were many, many African-American men and women who but cracks in that particular glass ceiling that Obama shattered.

Yesterday's election was a monumental moment in American history -- far too large for a concise little blog post. It was an event that may transcend words. I couldn't find it, but if you can find a still shot of Jesse Jackson's face during Obama's victory speech, it said everything. The man stood in Grant Park and bawled like a little boy.

It was an emotional night. I knew it was over when they called Ohio for Obama. As is our tradition, I was on the phone with my mother as the results came in. She literally started to cry.

I could not be prouder that it is my generation that has produced Obama.

As I watched Michelle Obama join her husband after the speech, I found myself praying. He has a monumental job in front of him. I did not get a sense of joy or victory. Rather I saw two people who were ready to get to work. Who had accepted the enormity of the task they had just been saddled with. And I was grateful that I had such confidence in my president. That is a forgotten feeling.

And I have to admit that I was scared. I was very aware that Obama was on that stage behind bullet-proof panels. I believe that there will be very unfriendly forces working against him and I have no doubt that there are people who would wish him dead.

When I woke up this morning, I truly had a sense that a new day had dawned. I had the hope that Obama promised.

Saturday Safari

The Attack Continues

Let me preface all of this by saying that the attacks of September 11, 2001 were horrific. Being televised, live, across the globe they will reverberate through history in a way that no other act of war ever could. And the subject itself is large for a blog post. The reasons for it, the full repercussions will not be known for generations.

But even before the first tower fell, the poetry of the attacks was clear. Those planes, while they hit the World Trade Center were really aimed at the world economy. It's tempting -- almost narcissistic -- to think that Al-Quaida had the sole objective of destroying the economy of the United States. Even someone who has only the most basic understanding of the economy knows that you cannot pull the American economy down without the entire economic world following it. The attack on the twin towers was a brilliant attack in that in a single blow it started a chain of events, it planted the seeds that are beginning to bear fruit.

It's now clear that to anyone who was paying attention exactly how George W. Bush would react to the attack, even if the specifics could not be clear. Blind rage is of course the natural response, but it takes someone with emotional maturity to resist the temptation of a knee-jerk reaction, not be ruled by that natural response. George W. Bush = emotional maturity? Not. A man known for his braggadocio, his studied, manufactured swagger and his renowned lack of intellectual curiosity is easily manipulated. And an American public that is encouraged to revere and emulate such qualities, who want a president they'd want at a backyard barbecue and not one who might actually be smarter then the average bear, quite frankly get what they deserve.

I'm angry. Much like the George Bush ignoring memos brought to him saying that Bin Laden intended an attack, Americans ignored the warning signs in the economy. As a nation we fail to connect the dots, we fail to realize that a fascination with blond starlets and allowing that fascination to dominate the media obscures and clouds the focus of real issues. We fail to realize that real issues will not be ignored. The result of of us watching I Love New York instead of reading a newspaper is that millions of people are losing their jobs, homes, dreams, and lives. An entire generation, if not more, will be saddled not only with the economic but the social responsibility of rebuilding Western culture. It will be done, but in many ways we are looking at an economic, social, and political dark age.

I, however, do not believe this dark age will last for generations. Two years tops. First, I have great faith in Barak Obama. With every passing day I believe a great man has arisen from the American populace and is equal to the challenge facing us as a nation. Much in the way that Roosevelt rebuilt the country from the Depression and guided us through World War II, I believe Obama will lead us through this. I know that how that reads. I realize that Obama is not perfect. I understand that my belief is based on a carefully crafted image, but to be honest what choice do we have?

I also believe that modern technology, which has contributed to our current difficulty, will also contribute to our salvation. Action can be taken in much swifter measures and results will be seen in hours and days where it might have taken weeks and years eighty years ago.

Yes, these are ugly times, but I truly believe that our best days are ahead of us and that it takes a crisis to stiffen our resolve, to wake us up and focus us on a common goal. It is by rebuilding Western culture that the lives lost on September 11 will be redeemed. It is for the new America, the new Western culture that their lives were sacrificed and I believe that Barak Obama will be the man to make good on that sacrifice.

Friday Nights

My parents divorced when I was five years old. According to court order my father had custody on Wednesday nights and weekends. That meant he picked up after work and we went home with him, to a small town in Iowa where he moved in with his mother after the divorce.

Although my father and I weren't close -- and at times there were points when we actively hated each other, I loved those weekends. I felt like my life began the minute we got in the car.

My father worked for a printing company as a graphic artist. It wasn't a glamorous, sunny-office kind of job. He made huge stickers that went on the sides of trucks and trains. He always smelled of chemicals. Hygiene wasn't something my father was noted for, and after Grandma died and there was no one to get after him he frequently slept in his clothes and went to work, not changing or bathing for a week at a time. He smoked. There was a smell, but it wasn't what you'd expect. I can almost smell it now. It was musty, but it was comforting.

I remember the autumn Fridays the most. It would be dark by the time we got home and Grandma would have supper waiting so that we could eat quickly and then go to the high-school football game. It would be cold and instead of buying a ticket my father would stand outside the fence until half time, when he could get in for free. My sister and I would run around and jump on the mats that were used for the pole vaulters. We never watched the games. Sometimes we'd lose track of one another, but we always met up at home.

If it rained, there was the sun porch with the tin roof. We'd stop at the grocery store and Dad would buy us some trinkets to play with, or some new colors and coloring book. I loved the sound of the rain against roof and the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen where my father and Grandmother would be talking. On rare occasions my mother would come for a visit. Those were the warmest feeling nights. It felt like my home was complete.

Those days are far, far away and yet when it rains on a Friday night, like it is right now, I can feel that kitchen cinnamon warmth and hear my mom and grandma discussing the price of corn. When I think of heaven, that's what it will be like, an eternal Friday night on Grandma's sun porch.

Overwhelmed

I think the tragedy of this entire presidential campaign is the sacrifice of Sarah Palin. She allowed herself to reach for the brass ring before she was ready. She is an under-rehearsed understudy in a production where the director thought that it would be all right if she went into a performance carrying a script. A really experienced star could get away with that, an unknown cannot. As a result of going on for a star on opening night in a costume that doesn't quite fit and fumbling for lines, Sarah Palin has probably destroyed her career.

Don't get me wrong. There's probably not a chance that I would have agreed with a single syllable that ever came out of her mouth. And as time goes by, I think it's becoming pretty clear that she's about as corrupt as any politician in either party. But I get a sense that under all of that, there is a) a smart woman, and b) someone who might have gone into politics for the right reasons.

I don't know which is the greater disappointment: that Palin made the decision to be part of the last line of the Republican party as it turns the page, or that the page is being turned before Palin was fully developed and become the first line on the new page.

Say what you want, it cannot be denied that Palin has been a breath of fresh air in the stale, smokey, back-boy's room in the house that Rove built. The problem is that the Republican party needs a hurricane to knock that house down. I want them to get it together. The nation needs them to get it together. I don't like the feeling that there wasn't an intellectual debate of the issues in my life time. This campaign (and frankly every campaign I've where I've been eligible to vote) has been lopsided. Obama has provided a good, strong clearing wind (if not a hurricane) to the Democratic party, while Palin has been a breath of fresh air. This country needs to opposing forces to whip into a cyclone and shake things up. In the absence of a controlled political approach to correcting things, the market is collapsing and we're going to clean things out through economic ruin. Again.

I have no illusions about Barak Obama. I know he's a politician. I know he's not perfect and I fully expect to be disappointed by him in the future. But I think that had she been brought to the national stage with a couple years of preparation, the same years of study and prep that Obama has had running for president, I think Palin could have been a formidable adversary to Obama, a no-nonsense, common sense, grass roots approach to his over-intellectual, ivy-league philosophies and approaches. Oh, I'd have still voted for Barak Obama, but I think we'd have gotten a legitimate debate of ideas and issues instead of a flailing ad campaign. What a luxury it must be to go into an election booth and really have to decide between two intelligent, competing philosophies instead of wrestling with intellectual issues that have been defined in emotional terms, to know that whichever way the election is decided there will be someone competent, if not exactly inspired in charge.

For all of her alleged charm, what Palin has is an intellectual approach to her campaigns. You can see it in the delivery of her lines. Like an actress who is calculating every move an inflection for effect, Palin's speeches are studied, they're calculated. Sure, she's shoveling the emotionally based message the campaign is feeding her, but unlike McCain it's clear she's trying to understand the concepts behind the message. It's clear that with more preparation and experience, with room to make a mistake or two or fail, she could have led a Republican campaign instead of taking marching orders like McCain is doing.

If only she'd waited one more campaign cycle.

Trees

It's weird, I know, but I've always had a thing for trees. There was a huge oak outside my grandmother's house with two large knots on the trunk. We called it the Butt Tree. When I was a kid, my favorite book was My Side of the Mountain, which was about a boy who ran away and hallowed out a tree and lived off the land for a year.

There were points in my life when I lived in neighborhoods that felt naked for the lack of trees, and all of that barren, open space just felt oppressive. I'm at the point now where I simply refuse to live in a neighborhood that lacks trees.

This autumn is especially nice for me, for several reasons. This is the first autumn in probably a decade when I've not either had to deal with a stressful job, or worry about being unemployed. And, this year I'm working out in a lovely suburb, with almost a mile between my train stop and my office. The foliage this year is not to be believed. Simply not to be believed. In years past, I've been disappointed when all of the leaves just turned yellow. I missed the reds and oranges. This year I'm seeing a rainbow of reds, with some as deep as purple and others that bleed as if tie-dyed with yellow. Today I discovered a tree with maroon leaves, and it was if all of the leaves had died but were still attached to the branches. They hung there like a semi-precious stone chandelier.

Most people tend to think of autumn as the beginning of the end, or perhaps a coda to the main event of the year, summer. But for me, this year, everything else has led up to these weeks and the colorful trees are the climax, a symphonic crescendo of color. I'm doing everything I can to enjoy every second of it.

Sunday Safari

The Best McCain Campaign Speech

To Every Season...

Here's the problem: I want to be brilliant at everything I do. Not just competent, but brilliant. When I was younger, I not only believed this was possible, I believed that everything I did actually was brilliant. Ah, for those halcyon days of self delusion.

As I grow older, I've come to accept that mere competence at an array of things isn't all that bad. But I also realize that had I really focused on one thing, I might have been brilliant. For me, parts of different things come really easily to me. For instance, with singing I open my mouth and a sound comes out. I've been told by enough random people that I have a good voice to trust that. And when I was in high school, the chorus director brought in some musical specialist who ran me through a bunch of vocal tests and I was deemed "promising." I was strongly, STRONGLY encouraged to pursue a career in opera.

The problem was I couldn't read music. Still can't, really. I've made stabs at trying to learn, but the minute I hit a key change, I'm done. A "B" is a "B," unless all the way over there on the left of the page there are some symbols. And then you have to count, you can't just "sing along to the piano." So, when I have to sing something, I just have to listen to it and figure out my own formula. I get there somehow, but I have no idea how. That may be talent, but even when I was seventeen I knew that wasn't going to be enough to sustain a professional career in music. I may have had the intellect to learn how all those black dots on a page added up to a song, but I didn't have the patience to figure out how.

Acting was different. I actually went to school, got the degree, and then pursued it as a career. Acting is every bit as demanding as any other profession and requires every bit of discipline as any sport or art. And it was a discipline I understood, a commitment I could make. But because acting requires so much of a personal investment -- at the end of the day an actor only has himself to work with -- I had difficulty separating "professional" from "personal." For me there was no separation, and to be successful I think there has to be. Ultimately, I burned out on acting and it's the only artistic art form I've never been compelled to revisit. I know I'm a good actor, but I don't know how to be a professional actor.

Writing and photography are two art forms that I'm feeling different about. At both, I feel like I have some talent, but not as much as I might have had as a singer or actor. I don't have the passion for either that I had for performing on the stage and I think that might be a good thing. I feel like I can be a little more objective about my work. I don't take the flaws as personally. I recognize a learning curve, and I can live with it. But with that lack of passion come cycles of inspiration. As an actor or singer, even when I didn't feel like it I could get up on stage and give a credible performance. With writing and photography, when I'm not feeling it, I struggle mightily. At least with photography, I have come up with a formula or a routine and fall into that and come up with saleable products that aren't great works of art, but client pleasing. Writing isn't possible at all. If I'm not in the mood to write, then there's nothing going to happen. For the past few months I haven't been feeling the writing thing. This blog is clear evidence of that. But I have been feeling the photography thing, and I think I can see some marked improvement in that work. So, for the past few months I'd given myself permission to allow the writing to sit while I worked on photography.

But this week, as the leaves change, so have my passions, and I'm feeling a return to writing. I'm feeling a little fresher. I have one short story to complete for the collection and then it's time to go back with a critical eye and see what can be done about making the collection a solid, coherent piece. It's a little daunting, but exciting. As I feel the surge for writing, I'm feeling a waning in photography. I'm still interested in it, and I'm not going to give it up -- I do expect to make it a viable business at some point -- but it's time to let that field lie fallow while I cultivate other crops. I'm sort of expecting all of these things to be ready for harvest at about the same time.

My fear and dread in all of this is that because I have this wandering interest, the best I'm ever going to be able to hope for is competence in writing and/or photography. I won't be brilliant in either, but I have to come to terms with competence and can let that be enough. I think it just might be.

Screaming at the Television

It's official. I can no longer watch the presidential debates. Last night, while watching the presidential debate I literally screamed at the television four or five times.

Not that my thoughts or feelings on any given subject amount to a hill of beans, but I've decided that John McCain has pretty much written this election off. I'm sure that if, by some miracle, he was declared the winner he'd be quite happy to move into the White House. However, I think it's more likely that he's given up the fight and is now working for the Republican party to regroup. 2008 is essentially over for the Republican party and now it's on to 2012.

That's the only way I can understand the bizarre behavior by the Republican nominee. Everything he's doing is pandering to the ultra-conservative wing of the Republican party. Based on his comments about cutting social security, it's clear that he's given up on the swing voter, and his plan to buy bad mortgages at face value then adjust them to current market prices had to send moderate Republicans into orbit. Even I gasped at that idea. The only explanation possible is that he's trying to stir the social ultra conservative and motivate them to the polls. That's the only thing that makes a Palin vice presidency logical. That's the only reason to suggest cutting social security, an issue that is death to any candidate who has ever tried to discuss reform. It's the only explanation for the outrageous smears against Barak Obama.

But, this erratic behavior does have a silver lining. It is the clearest indication yet that the social conservatives in this country are scared and desperate. Social trends operate as a pendulum, and the time has come to swing back to a more liberal national view. The neo-cons, who have pushed that pendulum past it's natural swing to the right have got to know they can do nothing to stop or slow the reaction to the left. Pay back is a bitch, and that has got to scare them.

But that is no excuse for the racist, xenophobic slander that the McCain campaign is spewing. Obama is not a terrorist. He is as American as I am, and frankly probably loves this country more because I'm not sure I'd be able to put myself or my family through the torture they're having to endure. And it's making me furious.

Today I had a discussion with a young man who is basing his entire voting decision on last night's debate and his father's political ideology. He's voting for McCain, even though he believes that Sarah Palin is an idiot and would be a disastrous president. He believes the war in Iraq and the coming war in Iran are necessary and he buys the concept that Barak Obama is politically immature. I tried to engage in a discussion of the facts, and quickly realized it was pointless. I was never going to be able to use reason to combat Daddy's ideology.

I'm learning in my old age that not everyone sees things the way I do, and more importantly that I am not capable of converting some people to my way of thinking. It used to be that it wasn't enough for me to be right. I needed someone else to tell me that, not only was I right, that they were wrong. And when that didn't happen (as it never has) my frustration would be compounded exponentially. I would rail and fume and continue to fight the good fight, wasting incalculable amounts of energy.

I no longer have that energy to waste. I no longer argue my superior positions. In fact, I rarely offer them, although if asked I still have trouble not becoming boring and pedantic on certain topics, but even there I'm learning the cues and end the conversation without necessarily having expressed in great detail the nuances of my views.

But I still haven't learned how to control my anger with my television. I'm abusive to it and scream the most horrible obscenities to it whenever I have to listen to the idiocy of McCain or Palin. I'm twitching. I can't get to the poll fast enough. I want to send the whole lot of them back to a rock in Crawford, Texas. And I'm sure my neighbors will welcome the peace and quiet.

What Else Could It Mean?

Recently on AOL they ran an article from a self-help guru that was intended to help people deal with stress. It listed five questions that each person should ask himself when analyzing a situation. I wrote all five down, but there were two taht I personally need to tatoo on my forearm:

1) What else could it mean?

2) What is the end game?

Keeping my eye on the big picture is hard for me. I very easily get sucked into the minutae of a situation and forget what the ultimate goal is. In my experience, it's the people who are able to keep their eye on the goal who are successful.

But it's the first question that I really have to ask myself on an hourly basis. I tend to personalize everything. The sun is shining too brightly because someone, somewhere is trying to ruin my pictures. Recently I've come to the realization that very few things in this world are about me. People do not go home at night and evaluate their opinions of me. They don't e-mail their thoughts on the latest developments in my life to their far-removed loved ones. My every mistake does not shake the core of their worlds. I realize that this is something that most people learn by the age of two.

I'm a late bloomer.

By actively asking, "What else could it mean?" I immediately have to stop focusing on myself and look at the situation from another perspective. That, in and of itself, is not really new. What is new for me is the freeing feeling that comes with the exercise. Once I stop and look at a situation from a perspective that does not have me in the middle of it, I begin to feel better. When I remove myself from pictures that don't include me, I suddenly feel lighter.

I've discovered just how pre-programmed I am in thinking that every situation not only is about me, but also about how bad I am. It's not and I'm not.

Not Fit For Office

Illinois has 19 representatives in the House. Eleven of them voted against the bailout. They are:

Jesse Jackson, Jr. (D)
Bobby Rush (D)
Dan Lipinski (D)
Peter Ruskam (R)
Jerry Weller (R)
Jerry Costello (D)
Judy Biggert (R)
Timothy Johnson (R)
Donald Manzullo (R)
Ray LaHood (R)
John Shimkus (R)

As businesses fail to make payroll, as your assets freeze in banks, as the streets clog with the displaced people who couldn't afford their mortgages, these are the people who should be in the second wave of the metaphorical guillotine.

The first wave is, of course. reserved for those who actually deregulated and profited from this mess.

That means you Phil Gramm, top financial advisor to John McCain.

Paul Newman

For me, the passage of time is marked by the loss of iconic figures. When Katherine Hepburn passed, it was the vestiges of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Newman was from the generation that bridged that gap from the Technicolor Fifties to the Gritty Seventies. He was an authentic actor who happened to be a movie star. He's the only actor who was more beautiful than Elizabeth Taylor on screen.

We just don't have anyone who compares.

Bloodless Revolution

Can there be any doubt that there is something sinister and fishy going on in Washington?

Palin is sequestered from press?

Bush administration uses national crisis -- that it helped to create -- as an excuse for yet another mad power grab.

I'm beginning to believe that there is a faction within the Republican Party (and some Democrats as well) who may be part of a secret, shadow party that is willing to take generations and creep its way into complete and total control. I first thought this when I read that Bush I called himself the "Education President," while slashing education funding. At that time I was reading a Hitler biography, who believed that the masses need only be educated to the point of being able to read street signs and count to 100.

No Child Left Behind further scared me with its emphasis on rote memorization masquerading as eduction instead of the development of critical thinking skills.

With each passing day, it feels like this might be America's darkest hour and this election will prove whether the "American Spirit" for liberty and freedom is a reality or whether its a myth.

Greatness

I want artistic greatness, and I want it NOW.

OK. I'll settle for artistic proficiency.

My problem is that I want to do it all, and I want to do it all brilliantly. I'm a little scattered right now, and blogging falls to the bottom of my priority list. I spent the weekend updating my photography site and turning down work. I was contacted by a rather creepy wedding photo broker and it took me about an hour to decide to turn down the two weddings he was offering. At this stage in my development, it's not modesty when I say that any wedding that would want me as their lead photographer is probably a wedding I don't want to photograph. The deeper I get into this, the more I learn I have more to learn. There are the technical aspects of mastering f-stops and apertures and artistic considerations like composition and light placement. And doing it on a budget doesn't help.

But, if I've learned anything, it's to enjoy the moment and right now I am enjoying the learning and the mistakes. I'm quite certain that on my deathbed I will look back at this period as my most daring.

And, slowly, I'm starting to see a small, drip of income from my photographic endeavors. That's good. I learned from my days as an actor that means I've officially moved to the next rung. I'm not what you'd call a professional -- but I am being paid to point my camera at people and click the shutter. The time to take the next step will be soon.

Years ago I used to meet with friends and test audition material. In one of these meetings I read a Salieri speech from Amadeus. I just read it. My friends were laudatory to the point of giving me pause. The speech is Salieri in church begging God to give him the talent that matched his taste. Salieri is a second-rate talent, and he knows it. I can relate.

Then there's the writing, which is stalled. One story. Just one story more and then the first draft of the collection is complete. I have drafts of three, and they all suck ass. I've got a fourth one beginning to form and it's going to take discipline to get it out.

Ultimately, I'm beginning to think that discipline is really the secret to great talent. Just keeping at it, whatever it is, no matter what.

So, back to work.

Reason Number 8,453,711,004,613 - j, sub x...

...not to vote for McCain.

8 years of Bush
8 years of McCain (even though he's vowed to only hold office for one term)
8 years of Palin

What do you think the country will look like after TWENTY-FOUR YEARS of Republican rule?

Sunday Safari

My safari extended to the end of the block this morning as it has been raining nonstop since Friday night.

There are so many things I need to be more disciplined about, and practicing my pictures is one of them.

The above is a plaster sculpture that was salvaged from a neighborhood bar. The bar dated back to the 1920's and all of the Art Deco decorations were relocated next door when the cafe opened up. In the background they play music from the era and the coffee shop is really an oasis in the neighborhood. For me it is my home away from home and although I don't drink coffee, I do manage to keep the Diet Coke flowing. Yesterday I spent the entire day there, on my laptop, studying the work of some of my favorite photographers. While I was unemployed, I spent huge chunks of time most days there writing my short stories.

Which, brings me back to the discipline. I need one short story to finish the collection and I have drafts of three unfinished stories, but I just can't seem to find the time to get to it.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...

Sexism in Politics

Is there sexism in America?

Duh.

I've seen it on a daily basis in ways too numerous and nuanced to catalogue here.

Did I support Barak Obama over Hillary Clinton because he's a man and she's a woman?

Absolutely not.

I supported Barak Obama because he ran a better campaign. I continue to support him because he continues to take the high ground. He says he wants to change Washington and he's starting with his campaign. He's doing it right.

Of course, that does not guarantee that he'll win.

I watch Keith Olberman. I cannot deny that Olberman is becoming just as shrill as his conservative counterparts. He's arrogant and condescending to anyone with an opinion that doesn't mesh with his own. He's intellectually incurious about anything different, and he's easily outraged. At times I watch his show and think the man is my media doppelganger.

And when there's a commercial, I flip over to catch a few seconds of the Bill O'Reilly Show. Because a few seconds are all I can take. I am not disgusted by Bill O'Reilly because he has views that are completely different from my own. I'm revolted because in the few times I've peeked into his show, he's been talking about himself and what an exceptional journalist he is. I watched a few minutes of his interview with Obama and was embarrassed at just how rude and combative he was. I was, however, equally embarrassed at how deferential Olberman was in his interviews. But this, of course, is the result of putting "personalities" into positions where "professionals" are required.

However, Obama was the same guy in both interviews. He answered the questions. He was respectful and thoughtful and sincere. And he garnered more respect from me because he sat down with the vile O'Reilly, knowing full well that O'Reilly would be an arrogant prick. He took it like a man.

And if she were now the nominee, so would Hillary Clinton. And I suspect that to some degree so would John McCain.

No one condescends to Joe Biden. It can't be done.

Facing the media is part of the campaign. It's what professionals do.

So, where is Sarah Palin? Hiding because the media has yet to demonstrate its deference to her. The media, in an attempt to actually do its job and fill an informational void left by the Republican party by nominating an unknown and then refusing to provide access to the candidate has done presented what information it could on the candidate, and not surprisingly not all of the information has been good.

And not only has the Republican campaign seen fit to feign outrage that the media would actually investigate their candidate, they've had the nerve to say their motive is sexism. They have hidden the hothouse flower Palin from scrutiny by the American press and only trotted her out to deliver the same speech over and over.

Why?

The sexism sword cuts both ways.

Sarah Palin

Maybe it's because I'm paying closer attention to this election than I have to any other, but I have to say that the Sarah Palin is not receiving equal treatment to any other candidate.

After the convention she returns to Alaska to prepare her son to be deployed to Iraq. That is understandable and commendable. She may very well make the greatest sacrifice that any mother can make for her country. Were I in her shoes, I'd do the same thing.

But, her return home really demonstrates one thing. Actions speak louder than words and by returning home to be with her family at this critical time she's choosing her family over her duty. As a candidate, not only is it her duty to avail herself of the press and demonstrate that she is worthy of her position on the world political stage, as a woman she needs to disprove all of the naysayers who have said that she's not an appropriate choice. Yet, she's choosing her family over her duty, seeming to demonstrate by her actions that a woman's place is truly in the home.

It's not fair that she has so much to prove. She has the added burden of sprinting the extra mile in a pair of pumps, but that's the political reality. Clinton did it. Numerous governors, senators, and representatives -- not to mention countless executives, middle managers and front-line workers across the country. But it is the political reality of this country that a woman has to be twice the man a man has to be to get half the respect. The cultural stereotypes are so deeply ingrained that it will be generations, if not centuries, before women are viewed as truly equal in this society.

But, to be taken as truly equal a woman has to at least meet the same standard of expectations that a man would have to meet. Joe Biden also has a son being deployed. Yet, he's on the campaign trail giving the American public the oppportunity to question his record. If Palin is ready to be president on day one, that doesn't necessarily mean on the first day it's convenient.

And, if there are more organized, Republican systemic reasons for her return to Alaska, such as putting outside the tougher media spotlights, and perhaps "train" her, what more evidence is there that she's not qualified for her new position? Not as a woman, but as a candidate.

Just like the answers to the question of how many houses McCain owns, there is no way to justify the decision to return to Alaska that strengthens Palin's candidacy? Yes, it's absolutely the human, family-values decision to make. I applaud it, support it, and thank her and her family for this. But, the optics of the situation cannot be ignored and at the end of the day the American people deserve a president and vice-president who, for once in the past two decades, puts them before all else.

But, it's not a bad headshot.

Why...

...does Debra Messing have a career?

...would anyone do this?

Schadenfreude

I wish I was a better person. I wish I lived up to Christian ideals. I'm a terribly flawed person. I'm a sinner.

But, I just love watching what goes around coming around.

A year ago I was laid off from a company that was/is peopled with evil, narcissistic bigots. Ordinarily I would at least make an attempt at Christian charity. Not in this case. These people were/are horrid. The only consolation I have is that my termination was not personal, nor did it reflect upon my abilities. They'd had several rounds of layoffs before I left, and several more after I left.

And it's the several more after I left that entertains me immensely.

To wit:

The Iago who continually stirred the pot, the one who, with his law degree from Northwestern had somehow convinced himself that he was qualified to head the company, has been let go. I have no first-hand knowledge, only circumstantial indicators, but I know that company and how things work. I suspect that all of the whiz kid's big talk finally caught up to him. In playing both ends he found himself in the middle and was devoured. Pity. I know he has massive student loans to pay and now he's probably living off the largess of his very, very wealthy father in law.

One of the sales people who also was famous for saying one thing and doing another just got very publicly burned by one of his clients. After swindling our company out of hundreds of thousands of dollars and then "leaving to start his own agency," one of his clients used his services and then in the eleventh hour went with a competitor, thus robbing this salesperson of nearly a million dollars in commissions and loads of public humiliation.

And the current president of the company, the one who lied and connived to get into the position, is being sued by one his former employees for millions of dollars. In all likelihood, this case whether it goes to court or not, whether it's won or not, will most likely close the company's doors for good.

The tragic part of this story is that there are some really decent people still trapped in this company who will most likely have a very, very difficult time replacing their jobs. I genuinely hope that they're OK.

As for the rest of them...

Meanwhile, I'm successfully employed and from all indications seem to be on the verge of establishing a successful business and new career. Living well truly is the best revenge.

I Survived

For the last two months I've been studying what is required of a wedding photographer -- all in preparation for taking the wedding shots I'd agreed to do for free.

First, there were a lot of things going for me. The bride and groom were adorable and very concerned about not asking for too much. My goal was to have as close to a paid engagement as possible. From what I've read, the fact that I had a realistic, understanding bride was really lucky. I loved her.

Since I was learning how to do this all for the first time, I was thrilled when they suggested meeting a week before to get some formal portraits. The bride had no worries about her groom seeing her in her dress before the wedding, and since I've been doing headshots for the past year, I knew that whatever else happened, we'd have some good portraits. That shoot, which took about four hours including the trip down to Michigan Avenue was exhausting, but very educational.

And when I was finished I went to the nearest Barnes & Nobel and bought two more wedding photo books. Then, during the next week I continued to read and get more and more depressed.

I only have one camera, and according to the books even that camera is woefully inadequate. I've been haunting a photographer's website and posting questions, and all of the answers have been derisive. The general consensus was that I was insane to try to handle an entire wedding by myself with one camera. What if it failed? I'd ruin this once-in-a-lifetime day. How could I be so stupid and heartless?

So, the day came and was to begin at 10:00 in a beauty salon in the southwest suburbs. That part of the shoot was fine. The chapel, according to Mapquest, was thirty-seven minutes away.

The long and short of the story is that I HATE Mapquest. The thirty-seven minute drive actually took me ninety. I arrived at the chapel for the thirty-minute ceremony fifteen minutes late. As I pulled into the parking lot I was actually hyperventilating. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths and I assembled my camera. I flipped it on.

The LCD screen remained dark. I ripped it open and switched out the battery. Still dark. There was nothing to do but grab the tripod and run. As I approached the garden, the coordinator gave me the most evil glare ever generated by a living human. I dropped my bag and tripod and just started shooting, with no idea if the camera would function or not. After about five clicks, something fell into place and the camera began recording shots.

That's when I took my first breath.

The shots of the actual ceremony are not great. I need a longer telephoto lens to get the shots I want. Once the ceremony was finished, the coordinator informed me that I had twenty minutes to complete the formal portraits. And as I tried to set up the tripod, I discovered that it was broken. I had to shoot free hand. Not my strong suit. So, with every set up I did five or six takes. There was no time to check the quality of the shots or get fancy with composition. All I could do was herd people around and shoot.

Oh, did I mention that the bride's family made their first trip from Taiwan for the wedding. They spoke no English. And the groom's family was Mexican. Although they spoke English, there was a lot of awkward tension between the families. And there I was in the middle of it all trying to get a decent snapshot.

Thankfully, I've been through the ceremony shots and have about thirty good prints. That's more than I need for my website. And I posted them on my photographer's website for comments and got "not bad." Coming from that crowd, that's high praise.

Convict!

I'm going up the river, to the slammer, the big house, see. I'll be behind bars where I'll be walked on a leash by a big man named Jumbo and I perform lap dances for cigarettes. And it's what I deserve. I am clearly the dried scum on the underbelly of humanity. I must be stopped.

Literally.

You see, this morning I ran a stop sign and now I will have a record. The policeman took my license away from me after humiliating me and now I must pay my debt to society.

In all seriousness, I'm still a little shaken by the incident. There were actually two cars that ran the stop sign, but I was chosen for the policeman's wrath. The pretty girl was let go with a warning.

You see, I don't get into trouble. I'm a good boy. I do what I'm told and I over achieve. Yes, that can be stressful, but not as stressful as failure and official reprimand from the municipality of Chicago.

O, the shame!

And for seventy-five dollar dispensation I will be allowed to rejoin the ranks of civilization. But there will be a black mark on my record to match my black wicked soul. How I could be allowed to roam the streets, show my face in public, nay breethe the sweet air of freedom is beyond me.

I ran a stop sign!

Sunday Safari

My first official model shoot with a model who contacted me because she liked my work!

The Job and The Life

A year ago I was blissfully unemployed. Now I have a job that doesn't completely suck, but is rather dull. Last week, just to spice things up, I erased half of the accounting system. It wasn't actually on purpose. I was left to figure out how to do something. I told them I didn't understand what I was doing and that I needed training. They told me to figure it out. I did. And in the process...

That was good for a few dramatic moments. I offered to relinquish my accounting responsibilities and go part time -- a god send idea if ever there was one. But instead I was subjected to a half-hour meeting where I was told what a great employee I am. And I also got three -- THREE -- e-mail messages reinforcing how well respected I am. I have it in writing! Try to fire me now.

But, I'm making a decent salary for a pretty low-stress job and I have all kinds of time and energy to do my creative stuff. This weekend is my first bridal shoot with models that I've hired. I'm pretty excited about it. At the risk of losing the anonymity of this blog, I may not be able to resist the urge to post one of the pictures here. Stay tuned!

Butch

I'd been expecting it for at least the past three years. Then one day last week, I walked into my living room and the site I had been dreading was there.

Butch, my cat, had tried to jump onto the couch but missed. He was hanging from his front claws, his head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth agape. He wasn't moving. I assumed the worst, that he was dead. That wasn't the worst.

When I unhooked him, he woke up. But his front legs weren't working. I hoped that they were just stiff from being stuck for God-knows-how long. That wasn't the case. Since it was a hot day, I took him into the bathroom and laid him next to the toilet. That was his favorite place to stay cool. I brought him some water and then I left for work. When I came home, he'd managed to crawl to the middle of the floor, probably because he'd dumped the water dish. I brought him to the living room and turned on the fan. Moving anything below his neck seemed to be a tremendous effort, but above the neck he was fine. He just couldn't seem to figure out why nothing worked. He meowed and looked around. I gave him water and I went out. When I came back, he was asleep. I laid next to him for about an hour, petting him. When I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer I went to bed, expecting him to be gone the next morning. He wasn't. I lay with him for a while longer and went to work.

At work, I made the call. As they had with his mother, the vet told me they'd have a room ready and that I wouldn't have to wait. They were true to their word. I was this big, hulking man carrying this fragile cat through their waiting room, sobbing while people stared at me as if I'd landed from Mars. I sobbed as they tried to sell me an urn for his ashes. I sobbed when they told me that twenty-one years is a long time for a cat. I heaved sobs as they took him away from me and into the next room for the procedure. Butch, always a vocal cat, was mewing in the next room like a weak kitten. I was incoherent. The vet walked me to a side exit, gave me a minute to catch my breath, and then let me go out into the street.

Butch was twenty one years old, and my cat all of that time. He was maddening in his vocal demands. He never shut up. He hogged the couch when I was lying on it watching television. He was always demanding food, but eating almost nothing I'd give him. He always thought he wanted mine. He was a mass of matted fur and over-grown claws. He smelled.

There were one or two times that it felt like Butch was my only friend. As they had taken him from my arms, he was purring.

And now he's gone. He was just a cat, but I can't believe how much I miss him.

The Women

In 1938 George Cukor essentially rounded up all of the actresses who failed to land the role of Scarlett O'Hara and Claire Booth Luce's script and made The Women. It's a comedy classic with flawless performances, none better than Rosalind Russell's. Russell's ability to time her rapid patter dialogue with less skilled actresses and get the laugh every time is comedic brilliance.

So, why, why, WHY? would anyone feel the need to remake this movie? I love Annette Benning, and if anyone can match Rosalind Russell, it's Benning. Still. Meg Ryan is no Norma Shearer. And does the world really need to see Debra Messing (if ever there was an appropriate name) ruin an American classic. This self-appointed Lucille Ball needs to go away.

Trailer: The Women

Saturday Photo Safari

John McCain

Seriously?

FISA

I find it more and more difficult to watch the news. Congress approved the FISA bill? Really? What the hell ever happened to "Give me liberty or give me death?" Of course, Patrick Henry said that a long time ago. He might have felt differently if he'd had a Wii.

Seriously. Freedom is not free -- to coin a not-too-original phrase. While I was horrified by the events of 9/11 and am thankful every day that I nor no one I know was a victim of that event; while I empathize and wish I could ease the suffering of those who survived; and while I applaud and revere those Americans who stood up and were counted on that and following days; I have to wonder why previous generations sacrificed anything if we are so willing to give it away because we're afraid of another 9/11.

Do we really believe that they do, truly, hate us for our freedom and so the best way to make them like us again is to give that freedom away? And our we seriously looking at a senator who voted for this bill as the next president of the United States?

But just as I cannot figure out why there are still SUV's on the road with one person in them, I cannot understand why there are not marches on Washington, why there are not aggressive recall actions, why we simply take it.

Well, actually I do know. Because it's easy. As I reach the middle of my life I notice that my peers have taken on a certain tension. People at the same point of their lives as I am are comfortable. They've achieved their own versions of the American dream, or they've accepted that they will never become the lead singer of Journey and are content with their nine-to-five routine. Just don't' disrupt their LIVES! And then they meet me, and my life has been anything but conventional.

While they start sentences with, "When we went to Tuscany on our honeymoon..." or "Our nanny runs a tight ship during the week, so..." they look at me as if I'd just landed from Mars when I start my sentences with "When I performed at the Lyric..." They buy tickets to the Lyric because that proves they've arrived. I've stood on the stage.

Now, standing on that stage has been at a price. I'm single. I have no children. I don't have a common experience, nor professional experience that I have been able to parlay into financial security. But I've sampled different lives. I've had unique experiences. I've been free. Or at least as free as anyone in this country and economic system can possibly be.

So, while I wouldn't like it, while I'm sure that in the moment I'd have second thoughts, while I do not in any way have a death wish, if I found myself trapped in an airplane that was being driven into a building by a maniac who hated me for my freedom; if that's the price I had to pay for that freedom, I'd say bring it on.

If your senator voted for this bill, write a letter. Tell him or her that the vote was a mistake. Do it now before you are no longer legally permitted to write.

Beliefs

Back in the late '80's I used to be a huge Oprah fan. I even went to a taping when the guest was Goldie Hawn. It was fun. Over the years my television-viewing habits have evolved. I don't watch Oprah anymore for two reasons. The first is that her basic message hasn't changed: "You can do anything if you simply believe in yourself." I have internalized that message and don't need to spend an hour a day reinforcing it with Oprah. The second reason is that, well, Oprah seems to take herself a little too seriously. I have an enormous respect for Oprah, and I can't say that I blame her for being impressed with herself. She has a lot of reason. Still, I liked Oprah best when she was reaching for something, improving upon her accomplishments and now that she's achieved almost all that is humanly possible, I don't feel like she's in the struggle with me. Sure, she's been more successful than any human has a right to dream of. But that success has grown to mythical proportions and I want to find inspiration with someone who is achieving success, not someone who has already achieved it.

All of that said, from time to time I check in with Oprah, just to see what's going on. At some point I heard her tell a guest, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them." I don't remember the context, but I've heard that as a message of how to critically evaluate whether to include a person into your life. I've been skeptical and resisted the message because anyone can have a bad day. Anyone is capable of doing some horrible thing or saying something terrible that is inconsistent with his or her overall character. Since I'm a master of editing people out of my life on a whim, I take such needlepoint philosophies much as I would a loaded gun. I handle them with great care.

Still, there are times when such bromides ring true. Another is that the mark of real intelligence is the ability to simultaneously entertain two conflicting concepts. This, for me, is a much more dynamic thought and allows me to accept people in their complexity a little more easily. That's not to say I don't sum people up and categorize them -- judge them, if you will -- on a moment's notice. But what it does mean is that I struggle more with categorizing people, particularly categorizing them as evil. No one, sane person believes himself to be evil, so each action of his usually comes from some place 'not evil."

Which brings me back to Oprah and another insight. "There are really only two emotions: fear and love. Everything else is some form of those two." Once you can understand that what might appear to be evil is really an action motivated from fear, it's easier to understand if not accept.

Saturday Photo Safari

Something new. Hopping on my bike and taking pictures of whatever comes up.

The Curse of Pygmalian

I find I fall deeply and intensely in love with whichever project I'm working on at any given moment. I work on it until it's perfect and then I admire it passionately. Since, of late, my projects are all computer based, this means I sit at my computer for hours. With the photographs, because I continually tweak them in Photoshop, I have to leave my computer on. I can't bear to even save them and turn the computer off. At some point, when I'm completely satisfied with myself I will reluctantly move on to the next project.

At some point during the second project I'll decide to revisit my previous creation and like Quasimodo it will leap from my computer screen and all of it's imperfections will slice at my eyeballs and leave me feeling defeated and useless. I will have to force myself away from the computer. When I finally summon the emotional strength to return to the computer, I will invariably be angry at myself for the lack of self-critical evaluation, the stupidity of not seeing the obvious flaws that could be so easily fixed. I hate the piece, be it a photo or story and I vow to never look at it again. I attack the new piece savagely, whipping into perfection and when I feel that I am finished I step back and fall in love with the new creation. And the cycle begins again.

Then, after time away, I come back to the first piece and while not all is forgiven, I learn to appreciate it for what it was. I'm thankful for the lessons learned. Sometimes I'll fix the flaws and sometimes I'll let the flaws stand as a marker to where I was as an artist at that moment.

Over time I'm able to see progress in all of my work. There are even points where I can see almost profound leaps in style and technique, but on the whole progress is achingly slow. Glaciers seem to have made greater progress in less time than I do.

But there's nothing to do but move forward. Reach and when contact is made, fall in love.

Four Days

With the holiday on Friday, I have a four-day work week. And because I'm in my first year with my new job, I tend to extend the extended holidays with an extra day or two, thereby extending my vacation time and my sanity. So, I am in a four-days-on, four-days-off, four-days-on cycle. The middle part of the cycle is what I live for.

Life in Chicago, in a word, is good. The weather is glorious and I'm riding my bike everywhere. I'm getting to point where my fat clothes are starting to fit and the extra-fat clothes can be put away. Getting up to go to the gym is still proving to be daunting. I haven't yet established a routine, but I'm getting there when I can.

I'm taking the next step in my photography. Actually the two next steps. Commercially I'm branching out into weddings. I've even booked my first one, even though I don't have a clue as to what I'm doing. So, I've been reading myself blind in preparation. And artistically I'm starting to think about composing art shots. Right now I'm just looking at photos I like and trying to recreate them, or at least reference them heavily. It's all very exciting.

The writing continues to lie fallow, but I've sworn to dedicate these four days off to polishing up the collection. The fifteenth of this month marks the one-year anniversary of the beginning of the collection and I'd love to have it finished by then. It will be a Herculean task, but it's possible. Possible, that is, if I don't pack up my camera and ride my bike all around the city.

I love Chicago in the summer.

Saying Good-bye

Recently I attended a lunch for my favorite professor from undergrad. I hadn't seen either him or his wife since graduation day, literally decades ago, but I've kept in touch with each of them over the years via e-mail and Christmas cards. They've both been phenomenally supportive of me an all of my career choices. As a kid, I looked up to both of them as models of how to live life and as I've grown older my view has not changed. I was specifically invited, singled out from the mass e-mailing that announced their arrival in Chicago, and I couldn't refuse to see them.

But it was the mass e-mail part that made me a little itchy.

I'm not the only one who feels this way about this professor and his wife. In fact, almost all the students he taught in more than twenty years of being a professor feel this way. We all feel that these two people were instrumental in shaping us into the people we've become and we all feel grateful.

But we don't all feel that way about one another.

Although I knew that there was no way to get out of the lunch, and I absolutely wanted to see these two people, I have to admit to being sort of cowardly and responded to my individual invitation with "um...so who else do you think will be there?" The response rattled off at least a dozen names I recognized, three of which were people I need never see again. I spent a couple of days stewing about what to do and how to handle the meeting. I'm not nearly as successful as I would like if and when I ever meet these people again. Although I've not been ravaged by the sands and winds of time, I no longer look nineteen. I wasn't even sure I'd have clean clothes.

Then I realized that the people I was dreading seeing again no longer exist. At best, these people are distorted memories in my head. I'm not the same person I was as a theater major. Why would I expect that they would be? I decided I was being silly and so I went.

And do you know what? None of the people I dreaded seeing showed up. Instead, I spent a lovely afternoon reconnecting with people I hadn't thought about in years. It was a nice little stroll down memory lane. There were so many people there that it was impossible to get much time with my professor and his wife. But that was OK. There was a lot of laughter. A lot of hugs and promises to keep in touch. And then it was done. It was a lot like what I imagine heaven must be like.

When I left, I had a very strange feeling, like I'd just returned from a magical time journey. I was at once nineteen and forty five. The feeling stayed with me for days. And then it was done. When the day sort of receded into my memory, so did a lot of those undergrad days. It was like tidying up that room that has been cluttered for far too long, putting away the things of value and tossing the things that are useless. That luncheon did that for me. But it has helped me put a lot of things away. Since that luncheon different pages from my past seem to be cropping up and demanding that they be put into their proper place, either in a scrap book or the waste basket. My childhood home, a friends altered blog page, a nemesis's career successes, have all brought up old feelings that I recognize as old. Not relevant to who I am today or what I'm doing.

Somewhere along the way, when I wasn't really paying attention, I might just have grown up.

The House

While my mother moved around quite a bit while I was growing up, my father was very stationary. After their divorce, he moved in with his mother and took over the house when she died. All through my rather unstable childhood that house was literally a port in a storm.

It was small, with two bedrooms. After my grandmother died, Dad converted her bedroom into a room for my sister. I took over the unfinished basement. I loved it. Cinder block walls and a big furnace that had originally burned coal and at some point had been converted to gas. It was swathed in asbestos and no doubt I'll develop lung cancer. I don't care. That cave was my safe haven for at least ten of the eighteen years before I made my escape to college.

When my father died, I was only twenty-two. I'd just graduated college and moved to Chicago. There was no way that I could take on a mortgage and try to be an actor. I chose being an actor and after nearly a year of trying to hold on to the house, had to let it go. I won't go into all of the gory details now, but suffice it to say that my sister and I were taken advantage of and walked away with nothing.

In the time since we left that house, there have been major renovations. Fences were pulled out, trees were cut down. It was painted brown. Five years ago I drove past it for the first time in years and barely recognized it. I was happy that it was being cared for and didn't give it a second thought.

Until this week when my mother sent me a telephone listing.

My cousin bought the house.

I felt like I'd been harpooned. For years I've felt guilty for losing the house. Now, it is not only back in the family, but it was bought by a cousin who is from the branch of the family that virtually disowned my father when he married my mother. It was a rift that was never healed.

I spent about an hour feeling bad. Then I realized that house is in that small town. While I might have made more money in the sale, if I'd tried to hold on to that house, I'd have had to move back to that same small town to do it.

If I'd done that, I'd be dead.

I made this realization while I biked along Lake Michigan to my job and made plans for my exotic photo shoots. I decided that I don't think I'd trade my life today for all the little houses in that little town. My cousin is welcome to it.

Passion

I have a new passion. I'm taking pictures. A lot of them. Right now I'm planning to start taking wedding photos, so I'm planning six shoots. I've bought wedding dresses and tuxes (God bless e-Bay) and I've started looking for models.

And that's where the addiction began.

I posted some of my pictures on a modeling website and then started inviting models to become my "friend." To date, I have seventy-three new very best friends! One of whom e-mailed me desperately needing new photos because his agent wanted to submit him for projects in Asia and his port, (portfolio for the uninitiated) was lacking and he needed me, ME to help him out.

There are some amazing photographs on the site. The shots I've done have been for actors. They're basic headshots. By comparison, I think my headshots are some of the best in the city. They're distinctive and the actors look good. But when it comes to doing model shots, they require more pizazz, more style, more actual photographic knowledge.

I've been challenged. We'll see what happens. I may just have to start wearing sunglasses and insist on everyone calling me Guido.