Thursday, February 23, 2017


I started this day quite actively.  I only hit snooze once, virtually jumping out of bed on the second alarm sounding of the "Star Wars" main title score.  I went to the garden, harvested a head of cabbage and watered.  I made it into the gym and had a decent workout.  I was at my desk ready to buy Ryan Adams concert tickets ten minutes before they went on sale at nine.  I started strong.

Somewhere after lunch, I lost momentum and at 5:41 now find myself largely bored and mildly bewildered.  Twenty-three days later and my Pointer Sisters record never arrived.  Seller contacted, restitution requested.  What to do tonight--I suppose have a drink, play a record, watch a movie, read "Harry Potter," go to bed.  By all accounts, a fine evening, especially for a Thursday.  And yet, it seems something's missing.  Thought we'd be looking at houses this weekend, but the wife is sick and the realtor never got back to us.  Glacially paced progress is still progress, but wholly unsatisfying.  It's not much of a ride much less a vessel for hope.

We need a vacation, a true adventure.  We can't seem to get that planned either.  The world seems determined to keep us exactly where and what we are right now.  It's like trying to make an online purchase, but the screen keeps refreshing, telling us there are errors or missing information in our submission.  Which field did we miss?

I feel a little better having typed anyway.  Still, I'd better shape up soon or I risk carrying this apathy over into Oscar night.

Friday, February 17, 2017


It's a gloriously gloomy, rainy day and there are new albums from Alison Krauss and Ryan Adams to enjoy.  Happy Friday.

I was watching the movie "The Accountant" last night and there was a pretty common scene that I thought was done uncommonly well.  It's one of those scenes where one person holds another at gunpoint and the potential victim pleads for his life by arguing, "Please, please, I got kids."  The way they did it in this movie was grounded and touching.  Watching it, I couldn't help but ask myself, "What would my argument be?"

I had an audition for a play a few weeks ago.  From the way I found out about it, to the play and the role itself, to the schedule, to the good feeling I got when I walked into the theater, the whole thing felt fated.  I was really excited about it and I would have poured my heart into it.  Obviously, I didn't get it.  As much as that sucks, and as much as I know I would have killed in this part, I understand that rejection is part of the deal and you can't win them all.  The hardest part, which I am still struggling with, is what to do now.  I had all these ideas about the play and, admittedly, fantasies about performing in it, and now I don't know what to do with all that energy.

I'm not even sure that the energy needs a release actually.  It may have just dissipated.  Lately I've been questioning whether I need any creative outlet altogether.  I go to work, I come home and have a drink, listen to records or watch a movie, and I go to bed.  Rest and repeat.  And I'm not altogether unhappy doing that.  I've been beating myself up a little bit, saying I needed to sit down and write something and shoot it my (damn) self, yet I have no ideas.  I think, "Just sit down and write ANYTHING and who cares if it sucks.  Tomorrow, do it again."  There is a great anecdote I heard recently from one of my artistic heroes, Tyler Lyle, about how sometimes you just have to make more pots*.  Then the self-obstruction saunters in and drops bombs.  Am I trying to force myself to be creative because it's tied to an idea I've always held about myself?  Is it time to look in the mirror and be honest with myself?

I don't know so I do more online shopping.

*The thing about the pots...There was this study done where they had two groups of people and they told each group (separately, of course) to make pots.  They told the first group to make the most beautiful pots they could, regardless of how many they made or if they even finished one at all.  They told the second group to make as many pots as they possibly could with no regard for the beauty or uniqueness of the pots.  I should note that these were average, non-potting joes.  In a relatively short amount of time, the first group struggled to finish their pots and, for the most part, did not come up with anything particularly lovely.  The second group, however, as they continued to plug (or pot) away as fast as they could, naturally got a little better technically and, even while still going for efficiency, began to branch out into artistic flourishes and expression.  As I'm sure you've gathered as the point, the second group ended up with far more beautiful pots in the end.  And more of them.  Thus the thought that sometimes you just have to make more pots.