The news really is

I don't really watch the news that often, or ever, really. I do listen to NPR on occassion and sometimes BBC News on TV. Nor do I like politics that much. Something strange has been happening to me lately, putting my routine into question. A while ago the first of the protests in the middle east caught my attention and I found myself really listening to what was going on. I went out of my way to listen to up-to-the-minute updates on the radio. I heard a man talk about how he thought the peaceful protest would turn violent in a few hours, right before it did just that. I felt so much a part of this history that was happening so far away from me as a person.

Then the earthquake and loss of life in New Zealand. I lived in that country for a year and a half, and this city I remember was in ruins, many dead. This too caught me up in it.

Now, it's Japan. First the earthquake immediately followed by the terrible tsunami, washing people away into the unknown. Human lives, then the nuclear reactor, the partial meltdown and the lives. So many human lives are lost, and will be lost. The originally 250 people working to stabilize the multi-failing reactors, reduced to a skeleton crew of 50 people, who knowingly remained, offering their own lives as forfeit to save the lives of countless others. Those men will surely die from the radiation poisoning. They are giving their lives. As you can tell, this has swept me along with it.

These people, these individuals all across the world, their stories effected me in a way I was not aware I could be moved. This is real, and happening now. This must be why people read the news, because it involves real people, just like them, just like me, just like you. All living their own lives, and then something happens and they must continue to live, even if that means dying.

I really do not know what this all means, not that I'm following a double rainbow right now, but for me, the reality that the news is truly about real people and not numbers has floored me over the past two months. I now want to be a truly informed citizen of the world.

Let's see how long that lasts.

Act 1

"What first inspired you to act?" -Stephanie

(thinking sounds)

I know everything in life, at least all the big choices, even the small ones stem from single events. Something happens, we respond, and our response sets a pattern for the rest of our lives. For me, there are a few moments that stand out. The first big one was in fifth grade with possibly the best teacher ever, Mrs. Lau...or was it Law? Something like that. She believed in solid hands on, participatory learning. The visceral things are the ones that stick best.

We were doing a unit on the Greeks, this day was about the first marathon, and by that it's really the story of why a marathon is a race named after the city-state of Marathon. None of us knew the story, and I remember it was a pretty hot afternoon. I don't know if I stood out or not back then, that was shortly after I started going by Vinnie instead of the full Vincent, but something had her choose me to act out the story as she read it. Heck, I may have volunteered, I don't really remember. There was probably a girl involved I wanted to impress, or I was just bored. That's not the point. As she read, I acted it out in mime, because that's what came to me. If you don't know the story, here it is as I remember it from way too long ago:

Everything is fine in the seaside City-state of Marathon, people are doing nice, Greeky things in the Greek sun. Harvesting olives and whatnot. Then a city lookout sees a fleet of ships on the horizon approaching the city. Warships. I forget where they are from, but the city is isolated, and has not enough people to face the phalanx headed their way. They took their only hope of defending the city and placed it in a sole messenger and sent him over the endless mountainside to the nearest city, some 40 miles or so away. He ran and ran and ran, up and over crags, down valleys and up more peaks, along the roughly hewn road until he could see smoke from the fires of their nearest allies. He told them of the impending onslaught. The warriors prepared to head to sea and flank the enemy at midnight. Knowing that the rest of his people must be told, the messenger resolutely turned and began to run back to Marathon to tell his people of their hope. He ran and ran and ran, back down into the valleys and up over the peaks he had past hours before. The sun was low but still shining heavily on his straining body as he worked with every ounce of strength he had left to return with the message before it was too late. Finally after hours of running, his birth-city peaked over the mountain crest just ahead of him. The enemy was on the beach, assembling to attack the city. The messenger sprinted to the gates to give the word, and upon telling them of their hope, he collapsed and died from exhaustion, knowing he had saved the city.

So yeah, that lesson stuck...even if the facts are a bit off. I'll leave what I did to your imagination, but I remember having the entire class perched on their desks, just waiting for every new bit of story, caring about the fate of this lowly messenger and his heroic feats from centuries ago made alive through me. That's the first time I remember realizing how much of an impact a good story well acted has on people. Also, how great it felt to have the whole class tell me how great it was. Recognition...it's a great drug.

RE: The meaning of life

My second go at answering this, since my first one got eaten by the computer, the internet, or both.

"What is the meaning of life? And don't bother answering 49!" -Stephanie

Thanks for the question, you're always on it.

I enjoy this question and its variations. The meaning of life, the secret of life, the secret to life, etc. I've always had an answer to this, though it has changed pretty much every time. In the first draft I put a joke about the meaning of life being Rhubarb, which made sense in context, but since that version was lost, I'm not going to try it again.

The secret of life is love.

That's it. In all its capacity, that's what life is, is about, and what it means. At least, as far as I know at this moment in time.

Also, the answer to life, the universe and everything is 42, not 49. Just being pedantic.

Vinnie out!

Growing pains and stretch marks

I've been fighting the pressure to grow up most of my life. I seem to give in now and then as need be (the key part there is need), but never grew up voluntarily. I think that might be how it's supposed to be. I don't want to give up my big dreams, but to make them happen, it seems I have to at least look like I'm a big boy who's responsible. I think the first step would be to stop complaining about it and just do it already.

This must be what normal people feel like.

Time and compulsion

Still trying to figure out how I can say yes to one thing and not say no to another. For a while there I said yes to most everything, but that burned me out, so now I am more selective. This gives me more "free" time, but I also feel like I am missing out on things, which is true. I think I even felt that before, but I have more time to feel it now.

I watched a program on savants on the Science channel. They have this compulsion in their brain that they cannot turn off. I do sometimes wish I had that so I would be compelled to write and create, but I am very glad I have the ability to turn it off. An uncontrollable obsession is not something I desire...that much.

I want to take a few more classes in different things, but I am focusing myself (instead of saying limiting myself) to two things outside of work; writing and improv. Other acting is mildly on hold...or at least limited, and though I see workshops on producing and other things I would like to learn, I have to say no to them if I want to keep my sanity.

Yep. I'm complaining about wanting to do more things. In all honesty, I think this blog is an excuse to not write, which is really what the rest of life is for writers. Even for Russel T. Davies (former showrunner for the new Doctor Who). At least I'm in good company. The question for me now is: how do I up the pressure to write without overtaxing myself? That's my next lesson in self control/motivation. I am open to suggestion (and threats if necessary).

Apparently specific

Crap, I forgot I committed myself to doing this every day. I think that was only one or two blogs ago. Life happens. I just need to deal with that fact...no, I just need to accept that as fact. The two might look the same from the outside but make all the difference inside. The point is, I'm here saying things when I have nothing to say, but so much I want to say.

I want to talk about my first improv show at the Brody (level 3 class), and compare the art form to Hopi sand painting. Etherial, temporal. You have to be there to see them, because they are not built to last, they are built as a brief experience alone, like life itself. I want to talk about how I am happy to have gotten an email from the Brody people saying I am invited into level 4 performance lab, which means more chances to to this in front of people, but also means new people, which is what it is.

I want to talk about how I'll miss some of the people I've worked with, knowing that even if we all move on to 4, it will be about 16 people strong vs the 5 people intimacy of level 3. I want to talk about the past classes, how through all of them people have come and gone, with only, what, 3 or 4 of us that went through levels 1, 2a, 2b and 3 together? I want to talk about how my life has had wonderful moments with people flitting in and out of it, and that the moment is really all you have...or maybe that's just the song from the recent 30 Rock episode fumbling through my thoughts.

What I really want to talk about is life itself; the mystery. Though I guess I did, looking up at what I wrote. The more specific I am, the more people can relate to it. That's one of my favorite paradoxes in writing, or creating. The sheer volumetric power of specificity.

Bills, Blogs and Bill Boggs

This is my most bloggy post yet. Deal with it.

I just got paid yesterday, which really means one thing: time to spend it all on bills (yay). There, now that's done, I need to post on my blog so that people know I'm still alive, because everyone should get their validation from the internet (I think it's on sale over at half.com)

There. Done. Now I am off to fly through the air, movie-magic-style. I am ridiculous and signed up for a two day workshop called an "Introduction to Aerial Flight and Wire Rigging" with Bill Boggs. Apparently he's done wire stuff for a bunch of Hollywood films. Should be fun and ridiculous. This is, in fact why my entire paycheck and more is going to bills...because the rest of it goes to stuff like this.

Regrets? Not here.

So that's my life right now, paying bills, writing blogs, and flying through the air singing classic Disney songs with Bill Boggs. I live a charmed life.

A life by any other name

Last night I was having pizza with a friend who asked me about my experience dating a specific person (let's call her Lady Jesus). This was kind of a surprise as I had not realized I dated Lady Jesus. I thought about it for a bit. When I first met this girl we talked for quite a few hours about all sorts of things. It was nice. Then the next few weeks we saw a couple plays together and generally hung out a bit. Then we didn't. It did follow the general form of what's known as "dating" but it was never really named.

Did I date Lady Jesus? Can something be some thing without being named that thing? Apparently it can, at least to someone else. If you believe that yes, a rose would smell as sweet if it were called a Snordgutzel, then must also think a thing can be whatever you do or do not name it.

Apparently, unbeknownst to me I had lived unintentionally. Life happened on its own accord without me forcing my overthinking on it or invoking any word-prisons on it. I guess I'll take it as it is; a series of semi-intentional dates, a natural story arc that never really ended, but rather faded. Though I should stop trying to name it now, because those life moments without names exist just the same.

Just like Lady Jesus.

Halfway through the dark

I'm not rightly positive what I am trying to accomplish with this daily blog. My initial idea was to slightly mock the Chicken Soup books and entertain some people with my humor. I don't seem to be infusing quite as much humor into this as I thought I might. However, the winter kind of has that effect on me. I think it's the Oregon sadness. With the dearth of sunlight and abundance of cold weather, I can really see why certain animals hibernate. I've been doing quite a bit of that myself.

This is different from a journal. I'm not really writing to myself or some other imaginary or future person, but to the cloud. I guess I'm writing for myself instead of to myself. I had no real plan when I sat down for this post and am happy at the discoveries made. I had a much better plan of attack with notes I wrote last night in bed on a torn out daily calendar page. Consider those scrapped for now. I want to incorporate comics into this blog as well, much like Chicken Soup.

I am opening myself back up to life and the world (and this blog thing). I watched the Doctor Who Christmas special this year, their version of A Christmas Carol (it was fantastic, by the way). In it a character references that about this time of year on every planet, all of the people stop what they are doing and celebrate the light in the dark, a sort of congratulations for being halfway through the dark. On this planet we saw the shortest day of the year a couple weeks ago, so we are definitely officially halfway through the dark. I like this idea, this crystal feast. I feel very halfway through the dark. I still feel the darkness and the cold, but something important changes inside when one is half of the way through with something. It's like I had previously hit the wall but now I'm back up and know that as long as I keep going I will be fine. More so than a few feet or days prior, depending on the system of measurement.

Happy over halfway. It's a kind of edge for the middle of things, and all the interesting things happen at the edges.

Burning in the New Year

Moral:

If you don't like something, burn it and hope that makes it go away.

Full meal deal:

Last night I was introduced to a new (to me) New Year's tradition. Before midnight you take a piece of paper and write down something(s) from the previous year you want to let go of for the new year. Basically, instead of taking on more stuff in the form of a resolution, you get rid of some old stuff by burning the word of it (and words have power, do not doubt that).

Super sized:

I somehow still turned this letting go of the past into more work for the future. I chose to let go of my need for approval from others. I've mostly lived my life as a good improvisor and said yes to most things. Someone suggests I try something, I do. That's why I jumped out of a plane in New Zealand (but that's a whole different kettle of walnuts). As an actor still figuring out my thing, it was strongly suggested to me that since I wear glasses (as a person), I should get more prominent frames. I assume it's also a suggestion to make bolder choices in life and art. I pondered this for quite a while and as I am getting new frames, I looked at quite a few options. I really sought out bigger frames that say "Hey, look at me, I'm glasses. Dig me, or whatever." However, I have a thing about artists (pronounced arteests): I don't like them. It's odd to be an artist (pronounced the way real people say the word) in Portland, Oregon, enjoy mostly indie music, have a closet full of the equivalent of life costumes and still despise hipsters, but here I am. There's probably a French saying that would fit well here, but again, I'm not that kind of artist.

What this all comes down to is, I did not go with the strong suggestion from my professional actor friends. I burned that option. Gladly. It turns out that I do not want to look like someone I don't like. I'd much rather look like me. That's quite enough to deal with, and one less thing I'll have to burn next year.

Life Choices

Only eat a dozen doughnuts for breakfast...

...when you want to regret your life choices by lunch.