Notions (Part 3 of ? [SPECIAL BIF!SOCK!POW! EDITION])

My earliest experiences with superheroes(TM) were plenty early. I can't pinpoint it, actually. I just know it was early enough that I started dressing as Superman(r) for Halloween when I was something like two. (No doubt this had something to do with the movie coming out when I was quite young.) Since then, I've had gradually increasing experience with that world. Oddly enough, I came to the origins of all that--comicbooks themselves--rather late in my youth. It wasn't until I was about 11 that I started noticing comicbooks. (Not quite true--I came upon a Conan-the-Barbarian comic when I was something like 8. It scared me.) It wasn't until late high school (and Friend Younce's collection of the Sandman comics) that I started collecting graphic novels for myself. Since then, it's been a pleasure that enjoy with very few side effects. In fact, it can contribute to weight loss. To my wallet.

So my appreciation for comicbooks as a genre is rooted in hero worship, tempered with an education in theatre and eventually realized in my early twenties, when I took my first crack at writing a comicbook script:

• Freaky Chicks. I wrote approximately the first issue--a self-contained origin story of sorts--which introduced us to the two main heroes. The ideas were many in this little adventure, and I was trying to avoid writing a straight-forward comicbook, but ultimately the "superhero"(TM) conceit was that these girls were put together by fate, had very different personalities and abilities, but abilities that complemented each other perfectly. To wit, one was an abrasive young woman who could survive any external injury, but couldn't heal from any; the other a quiet sort who had the ability to heal, presumably through religious gift. The script was about the abrasive one discovering her ability and the two discovering one another.

This script has a long, sad history. I started it in hopeful, long-distance collaboration with an artist friend, and we never really got going with it. I shopped it around a little thereafter, but didn't really have the contacts with the kind of artist I was looking for. Now, most sadly, the only version of the actual script exists on a defunct hard drive I lug from apartment to apartment. For some reason, all my notes and correspondence on the thing transferred to my latest laptop, but not the script itself. Balls. It may be for the best, because I have to imagine at this point that it could use some reworking.

I have had another idea I could see myself sitting down to flesh out some time, though:

• Aspirant: Two guys this time, best friends from age five. One is maniacally crazy about building himself into a vigilante a la Batman. The other is incredibly regular about his life, wants very basic things, but also feels compelled to prevent the first guy from killing himself in his foray into vigilantism. What the first guy doesn't know, is that his friend Joe Normal has superpowers. He's a rather-more-vulnerable-Superman sort. Joe just doesn't have any of the drive Guy One does to defend justice. Again, very set in a real-world environment; no capes all over the place, or anything like that. I got pretty upset when I saw this sort of relationship being outlined between Peter and his bro in Heroes, but they have thankfully taken it in a different direction.

This last would actually make a pretty great movie in my mind as well, on the indie level. An independently produced superhero(TM) movie would just be old-school bad-ass in my imagination. In practice, well . . . here again is where my lack of experience in film making makes for a dodgy proposition.

It's interesting posting my ideas on the Aviary here. For a long time I felt it took the steam out of my creativity to share my ideas with people, so I avoided this kind of entry. Now, however, I suppose I have become a more collaborative creature (as frustrating as collaboration can sometimes be), because sharing my ideas here has me more excited about them and thereby more ready to work one or two out for awhile. In the immortal words of Stephen Colbert (character): Thanks, Nation.

You Never Bring Me Flowers Anymore . . .

No, nor sing you love songs, though that may be to your benefit given my lack of vocal training. Furthermore, I never write. Have not I feelings? Care not I about the individual attentions demanded by the sheer accessibility of all my friends and relations? Should not I, as an actor, be interested in being in constant, continual contact with every person I've ever worked/played with who returns the effort? Doesn't the sheer ease of text messages and email obligate me to at least try myself?

Probably: Yes. Nevertheless, I rebel.

Understand, please, that I'm not making a stand on some moral principle. It would be easy as all hell for me to spin it so. I could claim that the ease of communication creates an environment of a whole lot of words to very little effect, or that the millions of emails and

MySpace

comments that fly about every day have no social impact on anyone, anywhere. I could even plane that edge a bit, make it less proclamatory and just claim to be nostalgic for the days of yore, when letters were written to be saved, and people had to meet in person to catch up. I shan't, because I'd be fooling myself even more than you. No, the reason I'm rebelling lately is because (in my humble self-assessment) I am just sick of it.

I am. I'm grateful for being able to network with friends from the comfort of my day job. I thrill at the ability to communicate with business associates via text messaging when I otherwise wouldn't be able. I do sincerely dig checking out my peeps on their respective 'blogs, dipping a finger in the batter of their creativity. And, I am sick, sick, sick of writing people.

One of the wonderful, wondrous things about a stage play is that it captures, very simply, the beauty of someone entering a room. We have these hundreds of entrances and exits throughout each day of our lives, and they spin by, for the most part unnoticed. Of particular interest, as entrances go, are the moments when one person joins another in a space. You don't even need to know the first thing about the history of these imaginary two to appreciate the moment they join one another in a given area, do you? In that instant, a story is told. In that moment, a space comes alive, has meaning, and words haven't even entered into it yet. I wish I had a name for that. (The French probably do.)

I'm not saying it's irreplaceable (though I will go so far as to say that it is unique). I can't even properly express all that such a moment means to me. Except, perhaps, to say that I miss it. Sans nostalgia. The longing I have for it is very immediate, in fact. It's strange to feel a longing for something so abstract. It's not for one particular person, but people, but not in a group, and it's also for something more. For time to be still, just for half a moment. That suspension of everything. I'm not saying it needs to be dramatic, romantic, or anything specific. Think of knocking on your parents' door. Time stands still for just a tiny bit. There's no "ping," or "be-deep," or "You've got mail!" Your favorite song doesn't start playing, and nothing vibrates, and a magic window doesn't pop up in front of you, demanding attention, and I find that very, very appealing.

It's entirely hypocritical, this entry. The very medium that allows me to express this thought is what's responsible for all this chiming, thrumming, second-by-second communication I seem to deplore. And God knows, ignoring my email doesn't counteract the syndrome in any way at all. It's a little like fighting fire with fire, in fact. Email is an irrational form of personal communication, and I combat this by behaving irrationally myself? Madness. It certainly hasn't resulted in more visits with friends, or even more instances of substantial phone calls. All it does is further separate me from my homies, in particular those what expect a response to a non-business email sooner than a month later.

It could be a phase. Or, it could be an addiction. But me, I prefer an addiction that keeps me out of my seat, rather than one that ties me to it. So I hope you all understand that I love getting emails from you, keeping abreast (maybe even a thigh or a wing) on all you care to write about. My silence is not rejection, and when I bring you flowers, you'll be able to smell them.

And probably me, from all the entrances and exits I'm trying to make good on.

Frighted with False Fire?

There's been a change at the Aviary. Can you tell what it is? Go ahead. Have a look.

Seriously. It's cool. Look.

Give up? You didn't even try, did you? Come on. You know I'm way too stupid about web jib to do anything fancy; it's not like I could make the background pattern into an optical illusion or anything. (Man, but I wish I could make the background pattern into an optical illusion. [

Sailboat!

]) Try. Go ahead already.

That's right: my "Aspects" (the topics list down left) is now sorted by frequency, rather than alphabetically. I MUST REQUEST THAT YOU RETAIN YOUR COMPOSURE. Just breathe. Relax. We're gonna get through this. I can hear, through this magical series of tubes, your angst-ridden pleas for explanation. Allow me to address that: I don't know. Or, rather: Just 'cause. I've been thinking for some time now that once I had a good number of entries, it would be good to see what I'm writing about most and least often, and there you have it. Generally, that is. I think that, as a weblogger, I am a little topic-happy. There are generally 49 topics for each entry. What can I say? I like that feature. So every so often, if you use it, you'll get an entry that has only one sentence about the topic you were searching for. Sorry 'bout that.

I confess, too, that a little bit of pride goes into the resorting. People that I don't know, at all, are reading my 'blog with a certain nonchalant regularity, and now anyone who visits--assuming they're geek enough to scan the topic list--can see if what I concern myself with interests them or not. Theatre-philes will be pleased. People researching pigeons will probably pass me by. Interestingly enough (note I do not say "suprisingly enough"), as of the date of this entry, number 5 under "Aspects" is . . .

Anxiety

.

Now, this is interesting to me for a variety of reasons:

1. I kind of thought "anxiety" or "fear" would make the top three. In this sense, it's kind of an accomplishment.

1. Just last night I had a conversation with Friend Kate that addressed the topic of anxiety, both in general and as it pertains to yours truly, and it was revealed to me that the anxiety with which I approach many things can be a bit upsetting and tiresome. Why this never occurred to me before, I have no idea, but she's right.

1. Anxiety was an energy that a lot of my acting used to be fueled by, and just lately I've been finding that unhelpful, both in terms of the relative staying power of that energy and the influence it has on my acting choices.

So. Buttons. Where to begin?

Well (to begin,), allow me to say that I believe I have gotten a little better about this whole "anxiety thing." Folks what knew me back in the day (which was a Wednesday; I don't know if you knew that) can tell you, I used to freak out about and be afraid on some level of just about everything. Even things that really had little-to-nothing to do with me personally. Somehow, I found value in taking responsibility for every little thing I could, and I think it had something to do with the idea that I needed to earn love, or something similarly packed with pathos (the bad kind). I'm not saying I've worked that out entirely, but I'm much better now at identifying what is truly my problem, what's my sympathy, and I don't freak out about telephone calls or public places. As often. >wink!<

The issue for me now-a-days has more to do with functioning without anxiety; that is, dropping some anxiety without becoming a total ne'er-do-well. I am addressing this challenge both in terms of life and in terms of acting. I mean, damn, but the way I used to get things done in rehearsal was to rev up the old engine and let it fly, see where it took me. Now, however, things have changed. The acting engine doesn't seem to want to run now unless it's getting proper fuel and recipricol kinetic energy. (Distended metaphor engine: apparently 100%.) That is to say, whereas before my anxious energy translated easily into big, sometimes bad but always boisterous, acting choices, now nothing dramatic happens unless I'm making the right choices and doing so with a scene partner who is right there with me.

In some senses, this makes me a "better" actor. In fact, I would wager that most laymen would analyze this as an obvious improvement, based on the standard that fewer right answers are always better than a multitude of wrong ones. That's not exactly an actor's job, though. In fact, as I have come to understand it, using too much discernment in the moment actually impedes an actor's process, turns him or her into a simultaneous experimentor and critic who constantly self-nullifies. What most people need from an actor is for him or her to come into a rehearsal room and screw up big time, left, right and center, to find the occasional just-right gem of a choice.

It really is a question of fuel. Once, it was sufficient to face the stage (and life) with a heaping helping of anxiety to fuel my ride. It got things done, and it seemed endless in supply. Well, I suppose anything that seems unlikely to change is a thing that will surprise you. That's part of the pleasure of acting, I must admit. It's fascinating work because not only does it never sit still, but one's instruments never do, either. It's like trying to perform surgery on a patient who is engaged in aerobics, and with anthropomorphic tools animated by Disney. (Distended metaphor engine: definitely 100%.) That is to say, the craft of acting sometimes seems to boil down to staying flexible enough to keep up with changes. After all, the only constant in life is change.

And change makes me anxious. >

wink

!<

Notions (Part 2 of ?)

Friend Davey

responded in some detail to a post of mine from earlier this week:

"When you first mentioned Punch and Judy in your blog, I imagined it as

giant oversize puppets looming over you and Heather. I think I even

went

so far as to describe it like that to a friend of mine. So when later,

you

posted about P&J and then about Stilt costuming insects later, I was

confused, b/c in my head you had already mentioned doing Punch as giant

oversize

puppets, why split them up! So I had to re-read and

understand that

somehow I had added the giant puppets into the mix. What is

Patrick's Sukeu

mask?I saw your sister this weekend and she told me that her

biggest shock was

seeing you come out playing the Trombone. I can't

believe I missed it. The

clown film is ambitious, and ultimately sounds the

most... you I guess.

The most all around you. You've lived in the city

for the better part of your

adult life. It's about time you made it a

thank you card you ungrateful

bastard :P Seriously though, I think the clown

film would be an amazing

piece. Planning on staying in one clown for

the duration will be

challenging no? Does he go back to boring drab at

the end, or does he find

the rest of his troupe?"

All excellent, thought-provoking responses, Davey (even without the bizarre poetic structure Blogger decided to enact upon it), and I thank you and encourage everyone who's interested to chime in on these things. I've been giving a lot of thought to the subject of collaboration lately. So much so, it may be a good new topic heading. Now, if that isn't momentous, I don't know what is.

And I admit: I probably

don't

know what is.

The Punch & Judy thing is in such early stages of development that it's hard to say just what it will be. It's entirely possible that it would--at least at some point--involve Heather and I dressing in enormous P&J puppets, like you see in the NYC Halloween Parade. However, I'm more interested in keeping it simple to begin with, and exploring the characters and situations associated not only with the story itself, but the history of its audiences as well. I mean, we were watching Punch and Judy from an early age. It's just that

Mister Rogers

made them be nice to one another.

Years ago

Friend Patrick

, who is a brilliant mask maker and actor, made me a mask styled after discussions we'd had and named after the alter ego Friend Davey bestowed upon me in high school. It's very raven-like, with a rather long, stout beak and round eyes and for years now I've only played with it in private, experimenting and trying to allow, rather than force, what that character wants to be.

The clown film (working title:

Red Signal

) is ambitious indeed, particularly given that I know virtually nothing about film making and have no budget even for my day-to-day life, much less for a film. Still, for a couple of years now I've been mulling over the possibilities for making a sort of digital video demo of the piece, and Davey's questions help to move it along. No, it would not be hard to stay in the same clown the whole time. I'd have to chart out his progress to keep it all organized in my mind while filming non chronologically, but it would be essentially my personal clown character, and that's not hard for me to access or stay in. Now, as for the end: Good bloody question. I never thought he'd go back to drab completely, but it's a possibility. I also never even considered that he might find his "troupe." I got locked into thinking of it as a love story with a girl/city, but maybe it could be different.

Also, a couple of other things tickling my fancy (which is illegal in some states):

• Directing now, as an adult, a short play I tried to direct toward the end of college: Mimosa Pudica, by Curt Dempster. First step would be rereading the thing, because it's entirely possible that my tastes have changed. Drastically. But this is my first mental in-road to the possibility of directing more.

• Writing a show called . . . wait for it . . . The Project Project. This may be the stupidest idea I've ever had, but I'm particularly ticklish to it. The idea would be to write a play based on my experiences trying to collaborate to create a play. The idea is a comedy, for now, and would somehow revolve around the action of making a show from scratch, from beginning to end. I recognize this may be a completely Freudian impulse (no, not that kind)--trying to exert control over something inherently uncontrollable (oh...okay: that kind).

Happy Halloween. We're all gonna die.

As though worries about the environment and global strife were not enough, it appears that the science fiction writers were right once again. I refer you to this link, courtesy of

Friend Nat

. Read it, if for nothing else, for your own safety and those of your loved ones:

http://www.cracked.com/article_15643_5-scientific-reasons-zombie-apocalypse-could-actually-happen.html