I'm not sure how I got all involved in this whole Facebook phenomenon, but there you go.
Like many things in life it started out innocently enough. Curiosity mostly. My kids were spending crazy amounts of time on the site. It got so I would send them an e-mail and not hear back from them for weeks. When I complained to Katie Rose, (my youngest at 18 and just graduated from high school), that I was waiting for her response to a commercial I was in that I had e-mailed her a couple of weeks before, she rolled her eyes and said something along the lines of, "Dad, please. Like I have time for e-mail". (The twenty first century equivalent to "Man, you can't explain rock n' roll" when my dad questioned my obsession with Jethro Tull in 1971).
So I decided I would check it out myself. (Sure, I'll try a little puff. What harm can it do?)
I got on-line and filled out the little info page:
Political Views: "Liberal Gun Owner" (Wow. I've found a new place to be clever!!)
Favorite Books: (Ooh, I can show people I'm well read, too! I always meant to read "War and Peace", I can put that down there, right?)
Favorite Quotations: (Um, what did I do with that book of quotations??)
And my very favorite, "What are you doing right now?" Daily update! Yes!!
People want to know this stuff! People need to know this stuff! "Doug Alchin is __________!" Mmmm, deep.
I up-loaded my head-shot and I was on my way!
I "Found Friends" by filling in the questionnaire about where I went to school and where I had worked.
I found myself in conversation with total strangers, "Hey, are you on Facebook?" "Yeah, I'm on Facebook!" "Hey! Me too! I'm on facebook!" "How do you spell your name??" "S-M-I-T-H! How do you spell your name??"
It wasn't long before I was uploading pictures and videos and building links to my website!
I joined Groups that never meet, because for some reason they have struck a serendipitous chord with me:
"Lovers of Firesign Theater" (Ah yes! I hearken back to the lost years at 18 or 19 when I'd find myself laughing hysterically at three o'clock in the morning listening to Don't Crush That Dwarf... while playing gin with Bill Nico in the apartment up above the Rosary Book Shop in downtown Lansing. I can still recite entire monologues from that record by heart. And they still make me laugh!);
Or "I Use My Hand To Show People What Part of Michigan I'm From" (Uh, yeah...Only my whole life long);
Or "I Used To Eat At El Azteca Underground", (Hey, it reminds me of Bobby Kahle idling the old Grand Prix - the one that was kicked by a horse - in front of the restaurant doors while he ran downstairs to down a quick margarita and pick up an order of botana's to go.)
I have promoted friends businesses:
"Friends of Handshake Productions" (Chris Guggemos' concert promotion business in Couer D'Alene);
"Friends of the Capitol City Blues Cruise (Scott Allmans Sunday night radio show which is in need of new sponsors);
And "Icarus Falling" (A really great theatre troupe that has done wonderful off-beat productions and was the first to pay me to act - $60.00 for three weeks rehearsals and two weekend productions - and that is struggling to keep going in this tough economy). (All donations cheerfully accepted...)
Like a common street pusher, I have uploaded my e-mail address books and invited my friends to join. (C'mon man. You're really gonna dig it. Don't worry baby, you can't get hooked just trying it one time...).
Of late I have been hearing from friends that I haven't heard from in decades:
Those cute little teenage girls I met on the beach in St. Petersburg when I was just out of high school and who are all cute little grandmothers now. They've been posting pictures of me and my buddies when we were all buff long-haired hippie kids playing music for quarters and dimes on the beach at Treasure Island.
All those Jesus people and their children from Shiloh /New Covenant, (my old church-gone-wrong), in various stages of rapture or ruin who sometimes wax nostalgic about their brush with sainthood....
I have to be careful to keep an eye on who I am while I look back at who I used to be.
Don't get me wrong. I seriously love it. There's so much to say, so much to see, so much to do! Why it's just like being alive!
But there's a reason why it's known as "Crackbook".
You should give it a try though. You know: Tune In, Turn On, just be careful that you don't end up...well, you know.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Alltel gig
I was watching TV with Tracy a week or so ago and one of those Alltel commercials came on. One of the ones with Chad with the pointy blond hair and the four geeks that consistently fail to do bad things to him. I looked at Trace and said, "I hate these commercials".
The next day I got a call from my agent.
Yup. An Alltel commercial. With Chad and the four geeks who consistently fail to do bad things to him. We shot it last Friday at the newly renovated Book Cadillac Hotel in downtown Detroit.
I'm just an extra on it, (one of a couple of dozen), so it's not a particularly big deal except that it's part of their national campaign, so I'll get my mug all over America for a few weeks and that'll give my kids and my grandkids a chuckle.
I usually don't like to do extra roles, because as I have said before, anyone can do that. You don't even have to be an actor to get those gigs. (You could get that gig. All you gotta do is have the look they want and be able to follow simple directions. A couple of years in a Catholic school is all the experience you really need).
But, it was a Union Job, so there is a buy-out and it made me a few hundred bucks on a day when I would of otherwise made nothing.
So.
Good deal for me.
Next time you're fast-forwarding through one of those commercials and you see Chad and David Stremme (a Nascar guy who was in the shoot) sitting at a dais like they're in a press conference, slow it down and look front-row center, on the aisle where the "press" is sitting. From the back you will see the little half-acre of vacant lot on the back of my head where I used to grow hair, and from the front you will see my smiling face. (Acting! Ahh thank you.)
And by-the-by, Chad and company are actually pretty cool guys. They know what they have fallen into (a gold-mine) and they are grateful and humble about the whole thing. The two most frequently asked questions? "Is your real name Chad?" (Yes. From Peoria for gods sake), and "What happened to the original fat guy?" (Um, can't really talk about it, but green grass on the far side of fences isn't always what it seems.)
The next day I got a call from my agent.
Yup. An Alltel commercial. With Chad and the four geeks who consistently fail to do bad things to him. We shot it last Friday at the newly renovated Book Cadillac Hotel in downtown Detroit.
I'm just an extra on it, (one of a couple of dozen), so it's not a particularly big deal except that it's part of their national campaign, so I'll get my mug all over America for a few weeks and that'll give my kids and my grandkids a chuckle.
I usually don't like to do extra roles, because as I have said before, anyone can do that. You don't even have to be an actor to get those gigs. (You could get that gig. All you gotta do is have the look they want and be able to follow simple directions. A couple of years in a Catholic school is all the experience you really need).
But, it was a Union Job, so there is a buy-out and it made me a few hundred bucks on a day when I would of otherwise made nothing.
So.
Good deal for me.
Next time you're fast-forwarding through one of those commercials and you see Chad and David Stremme (a Nascar guy who was in the shoot) sitting at a dais like they're in a press conference, slow it down and look front-row center, on the aisle where the "press" is sitting. From the back you will see the little half-acre of vacant lot on the back of my head where I used to grow hair, and from the front you will see my smiling face. (Acting! Ahh thank you.)
And by-the-by, Chad and company are actually pretty cool guys. They know what they have fallen into (a gold-mine) and they are grateful and humble about the whole thing. The two most frequently asked questions? "Is your real name Chad?" (Yes. From Peoria for gods sake), and "What happened to the original fat guy?" (Um, can't really talk about it, but green grass on the far side of fences isn't always what it seems.)
Monday, November 24, 2008
cornbread, sausage and lamb stuffing w/ turkey
Although I am a big fan of traditional stuffing at Thanksgiving, I have had this recipe a couple of times over the years and have found it to be a nice alternative. I hope you enjoy it. dA
What you'll need:
12-14 lbs turkey
8 1/2 oz box of cornbread mix
1 lb spicy or sweet Italian sausage
1/4 lb ground lamb
1 C of chopped celery
1/2 cup of chopped scallions (green onions)
1/2 C chopped parsley
2 T poultry seasoning
10 1/2 oz can of chicken and rice soup
1 stick of soft butter
3 T olive oil
couple T flour
2 T sea salt
1 T black pepper
8 oz pkg of chicken broth
Remove giblets and neck from turkey and heat in sauce pan with chicken broth and water for 30-45 minutes to use as base for gravy. Strain and set aside.
Prepare cornbread mix per pkg instructions, bake and let cool completely. Once cooled, crumble into large mixing bowl.
Brown sausage and lamb in large skillet. Drain excess grease when browned through.
Add sausage/lamb, celery, scallions, soup and seasonings to crumbled cornbread and mix completely, then stuff inside turkey cavity. Cover turkey with softened butter, tent with foil and bake according to package instructions.
About an hour before turkey is done, remove foil and baste. (Turkey should heat to 170 in thigh and juices should run clear when the skin is pierced. Stuffing should heat to 160 degrees in the center).
Once the bird is done, you should let it sit for 15-20 minutes and allow the stuffing to get to about 165 degrees and temperature in the thigh should get to 180.
In the skillet you browned the meat in, add olive oil over low heat. Add flour slowly, stirring continuously until brown. Add turkey drippings and reserved giblet broth and whisk until thickened. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Remove stuffing from bird and place in serving bowl. Carve up that bird and help your plate with turkey, dressing and gravy. Add all the other stuff that makes your Thanksgiving special and have at it!
Mmmm. Now that right there's just one more thing for you to be thankful for! Happy Thanksgiving!
dA
What you'll need:
12-14 lbs turkey
8 1/2 oz box of cornbread mix
1 lb spicy or sweet Italian sausage
1/4 lb ground lamb
1 C of chopped celery
1/2 cup of chopped scallions (green onions)
1/2 C chopped parsley
2 T poultry seasoning
10 1/2 oz can of chicken and rice soup
1 stick of soft butter
3 T olive oil
couple T flour
2 T sea salt
1 T black pepper
8 oz pkg of chicken broth
Remove giblets and neck from turkey and heat in sauce pan with chicken broth and water for 30-45 minutes to use as base for gravy. Strain and set aside.
Prepare cornbread mix per pkg instructions, bake and let cool completely. Once cooled, crumble into large mixing bowl.
Brown sausage and lamb in large skillet. Drain excess grease when browned through.
Add sausage/lamb, celery, scallions, soup and seasonings to crumbled cornbread and mix completely, then stuff inside turkey cavity. Cover turkey with softened butter, tent with foil and bake according to package instructions.
About an hour before turkey is done, remove foil and baste. (Turkey should heat to 170 in thigh and juices should run clear when the skin is pierced. Stuffing should heat to 160 degrees in the center).
Once the bird is done, you should let it sit for 15-20 minutes and allow the stuffing to get to about 165 degrees and temperature in the thigh should get to 180.
In the skillet you browned the meat in, add olive oil over low heat. Add flour slowly, stirring continuously until brown. Add turkey drippings and reserved giblet broth and whisk until thickened. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Remove stuffing from bird and place in serving bowl. Carve up that bird and help your plate with turkey, dressing and gravy. Add all the other stuff that makes your Thanksgiving special and have at it!
Mmmm. Now that right there's just one more thing for you to be thankful for! Happy Thanksgiving!
dA
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Michael and me
Scott Allman, (no, no relation so don't ask...although he is Laurie Allmans brother, and he was in a band called The Flying Tigers which was managed by Johnny "Rock n' Roll" Sinclair, who managed the MC5 and who was friends with John Lennon so he knew some people who knew some people who may have been distant relations, still, that doesn't make him an actual Allman Brother....)
...anyway, Scotty and I had lockers next to each other in Jr. High School, and we both lived in New Mexico in the early 70's and over the years our paths have crossed in many and varied ways.
These days he is a videographer and produces an award winning cooking show called "Fork In The Road", which is seen nationally on Public Television and features foods from and locations in Michigan and around the Midwest. (http://www.forkintheroadtv.com/). It's a very entertaining program and presents the Midwest and Michigan in an unique and informative way.
But that's not why you called.
Recently there has been some blowback from our State Legislature about the Michigan Film Incentives law. Even though the Incentives have succeeded in making Michigan the most fiscally attractive state in the union to make movies in, and they have been wildly successful in bringing Hollywood to Michigan, there are some who are afraid that they are requiring us to give back too much of the money we would not have had if the incentives did not exist...
What?
Okay, as simply as possible here's the deal: The State generated $120 million dollars in revenue from filmmakers who made movies here in the past six months. The only reason they made movies here is because The State told them they would get $40 million dollars back in the form of tax credits. They could have made their movies anywhere, but it was suddenly way cheaper to make them here instead. So they did. They get $40 million back, we get $80 million we would not otherwise have had. Some of our State lawmakers think we could still get that business without offering the incentives. There's a lot more to the story, but that's keeping it simple.
Scotty called me a couple of weeks ago and suggested that we make a short film about the Michigan Film Incentives and the impact they are making on people and communities around the state.
So I made some appointments with some State Legislators and with people at the film office and we started making this movie and this guy, Ken Droz at the Michigan Film Office called me last week and said, "Hey, Michael Moore is going to be in town this week for a meeting with the Film Commission. Here's a contact from his office you can call and maybe he would be in your movie."
So I made a couple of calls to Michael Moores people and they said they would check with him and let me know if he would meet with us long enough to get some sound-bites and get him on film.
Well, back and forth and blah blah, yak yak and we never heard back with a yes or a no. So Friday rolls around and Scotty and I look at each other and say "Dude, let's just go down there with the equipment and set it up. What's the worst that can happen, he says no?? Big deal, we've
been told no before."
So we did.
And we get downtown to the Film Office and we park the van and I'm helping Scott unload equipment and I look over my shoulder and guess who's getting out of the van in back of us? Yup. Michael Moore. So I yell to him, "Hey Mr. Moore!" And he flinches and tries to make himself small, (yeah, that's not happening. That right there is a big man trying to get small...), so I go up to him and introduce myself and give him Scott's bona fides and explain what we're doing.
Turns out his people never told him about us, (yeah, probably their job to shield him from bozo's like us). But he's cool and apologizes and explains that he doesn't normally get into movies other than his own, but have a nice day and see you around.
Now I look at Scott and say, look we're here, we have no idea what this meeting is about, but let's go in and hang around and maybe an opportunity will present itself.
So we do.
Turns out it's the first meeting of the new Michigan Film Commission, and it's got all these people on the commission including legislators, union people, some movie people, and a few others.
I look at the agenda and see that there is a time set aside at the end of the meeting for public comments.
Well, you know me, I never met a public I didn't want to comment to, so I bided my time and when the opportunity arose I stood up commented publicly about the great opportunities afforded me as a Michigan Actor by these great incentives and explained my role with Val Kilmer and Armand Assanti in "Steam Experiment"
("You see Mr. Chairman, I like to call them Val and Armand")
and how cool it was "for a guy with limited talent and a 38 inch waist" and how I never would have had this great role if it wasn't for these great incentives bringing Hollywood to Michigan and about halfway through my remarks the Chair interrupted me and said to the whole room, "I like this guy!" and by this time Michael Moore is looking at me and smiling real big and I go on to tell the room that my friend Scott and I are making this little movie and we'll be handing out business cards 'cause we're going to want to get some of you all on film, for sure.
So afterwards I'm talking to Mike and he's real cool and encouraging and wants to look at our little deal when we get it done and we part as new BFF's.
As we were talking I say, "Mike, dude, you tried to make yourself look real small when I shouted hey in the parking lot" and he says, "Yeah, it's true. People either like me or really dislike me. The people who dislike me are pretty intense about it, and even the people who like me don't like me that much. Whenever someone shouts my name in public, I always wonder if it's the last thing I'll hear."
So. Like I said. Long story...pretty funny, but long.
...anyway, Scotty and I had lockers next to each other in Jr. High School, and we both lived in New Mexico in the early 70's and over the years our paths have crossed in many and varied ways.
These days he is a videographer and produces an award winning cooking show called "Fork In The Road", which is seen nationally on Public Television and features foods from and locations in Michigan and around the Midwest. (http://www.forkintheroadtv.com/). It's a very entertaining program and presents the Midwest and Michigan in an unique and informative way.
But that's not why you called.
Recently there has been some blowback from our State Legislature about the Michigan Film Incentives law. Even though the Incentives have succeeded in making Michigan the most fiscally attractive state in the union to make movies in, and they have been wildly successful in bringing Hollywood to Michigan, there are some who are afraid that they are requiring us to give back too much of the money we would not have had if the incentives did not exist...
What?
Okay, as simply as possible here's the deal: The State generated $120 million dollars in revenue from filmmakers who made movies here in the past six months. The only reason they made movies here is because The State told them they would get $40 million dollars back in the form of tax credits. They could have made their movies anywhere, but it was suddenly way cheaper to make them here instead. So they did. They get $40 million back, we get $80 million we would not otherwise have had. Some of our State lawmakers think we could still get that business without offering the incentives. There's a lot more to the story, but that's keeping it simple.
Scotty called me a couple of weeks ago and suggested that we make a short film about the Michigan Film Incentives and the impact they are making on people and communities around the state.
So I made some appointments with some State Legislators and with people at the film office and we started making this movie and this guy, Ken Droz at the Michigan Film Office called me last week and said, "Hey, Michael Moore is going to be in town this week for a meeting with the Film Commission. Here's a contact from his office you can call and maybe he would be in your movie."
So I made a couple of calls to Michael Moores people and they said they would check with him and let me know if he would meet with us long enough to get some sound-bites and get him on film.
Well, back and forth and blah blah, yak yak and we never heard back with a yes or a no. So Friday rolls around and Scotty and I look at each other and say "Dude, let's just go down there with the equipment and set it up. What's the worst that can happen, he says no?? Big deal, we've
been told no before."
So we did.
And we get downtown to the Film Office and we park the van and I'm helping Scott unload equipment and I look over my shoulder and guess who's getting out of the van in back of us? Yup. Michael Moore. So I yell to him, "Hey Mr. Moore!" And he flinches and tries to make himself small, (yeah, that's not happening. That right there is a big man trying to get small...), so I go up to him and introduce myself and give him Scott's bona fides and explain what we're doing.
Turns out his people never told him about us, (yeah, probably their job to shield him from bozo's like us). But he's cool and apologizes and explains that he doesn't normally get into movies other than his own, but have a nice day and see you around.
Now I look at Scott and say, look we're here, we have no idea what this meeting is about, but let's go in and hang around and maybe an opportunity will present itself.
So we do.
Turns out it's the first meeting of the new Michigan Film Commission, and it's got all these people on the commission including legislators, union people, some movie people, and a few others.
I look at the agenda and see that there is a time set aside at the end of the meeting for public comments.
Well, you know me, I never met a public I didn't want to comment to, so I bided my time and when the opportunity arose I stood up commented publicly about the great opportunities afforded me as a Michigan Actor by these great incentives and explained my role with Val Kilmer and Armand Assanti in "Steam Experiment"
("You see Mr. Chairman, I like to call them Val and Armand")
and how cool it was "for a guy with limited talent and a 38 inch waist" and how I never would have had this great role if it wasn't for these great incentives bringing Hollywood to Michigan and about halfway through my remarks the Chair interrupted me and said to the whole room, "I like this guy!" and by this time Michael Moore is looking at me and smiling real big and I go on to tell the room that my friend Scott and I are making this little movie and we'll be handing out business cards 'cause we're going to want to get some of you all on film, for sure.
So afterwards I'm talking to Mike and he's real cool and encouraging and wants to look at our little deal when we get it done and we part as new BFF's.
As we were talking I say, "Mike, dude, you tried to make yourself look real small when I shouted hey in the parking lot" and he says, "Yeah, it's true. People either like me or really dislike me. The people who dislike me are pretty intense about it, and even the people who like me don't like me that much. Whenever someone shouts my name in public, I always wonder if it's the last thing I'll hear."
So. Like I said. Long story...pretty funny, but long.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Doctor? Oh doctor...
I woke up this morning in a very strange position.
I did something in the middle of the night...I have no earthly idea what happened, but somehow my left elbow was twisted completely around the right side of my body.
The pain is unbelievable.
I'm sure you can imagine.
My shoulder is completely dislocated.
Just to relate this to you requires that I type with my right hand only, and it's causing the carpal tunnel in my right arm to flare up and, god, I don't know how I'm going to dress myself.
As I mentioned in an earlier blog, the tone of the presidential campaign and the divisiveness of the partisan e-mails I have received over the past year or so has caused, uh, what's the name... irreparable damage to many of my personal relationships and has brought on a whole new level of the chronic, um,
depression that I have suffered from over the years.
Oh yeah.
Years of depression.
It has gotten to the point that well, frankly, it's making it extremely difficult just to function.
Really hard.
Painful.
And I hate to admit it, but this acting thing, well, it's just not paying the bills....
Lotta stress there.
I can tell ya.
Lotta stress.
Did I mention this toothache I got?
Unbelievable throbbing, uh, aching pain and the gums have swollen to the point that it's, um, actually rubbing on this canker sore on the inside of my cheek and, uh.... Wow.
Really sore.
Painful.
It's making it tough to even talk.
Eating? Forget about it. Too sore.
Way too sore.
Lotta pain. Feels like it could even be chronic pain.
Not sure what I can do for that.
So.
Oh look.
I read in this mornings paper that, apparently, the people of the State of Michigan have passed this "Medical Marijuana" law.
Huh.
I had no idea....
Gee whiz.
I wonder how that works.
dA
I did something in the middle of the night...I have no earthly idea what happened, but somehow my left elbow was twisted completely around the right side of my body.
The pain is unbelievable.
I'm sure you can imagine.
My shoulder is completely dislocated.
Just to relate this to you requires that I type with my right hand only, and it's causing the carpal tunnel in my right arm to flare up and, god, I don't know how I'm going to dress myself.
As I mentioned in an earlier blog, the tone of the presidential campaign and the divisiveness of the partisan e-mails I have received over the past year or so has caused, uh, what's the name... irreparable damage to many of my personal relationships and has brought on a whole new level of the chronic, um,
depression that I have suffered from over the years.
Oh yeah.
Years of depression.
It has gotten to the point that well, frankly, it's making it extremely difficult just to function.
Really hard.
Painful.
And I hate to admit it, but this acting thing, well, it's just not paying the bills....
Lotta stress there.
I can tell ya.
Lotta stress.
Did I mention this toothache I got?
Unbelievable throbbing, uh, aching pain and the gums have swollen to the point that it's, um, actually rubbing on this canker sore on the inside of my cheek and, uh.... Wow.
Really sore.
Painful.
It's making it tough to even talk.
Eating? Forget about it. Too sore.
Way too sore.
Lotta pain. Feels like it could even be chronic pain.
Not sure what I can do for that.
So.
Oh look.
I read in this mornings paper that, apparently, the people of the State of Michigan have passed this "Medical Marijuana" law.
Huh.
I had no idea....
Gee whiz.
I wonder how that works.
dA
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Wolverine in October
After returning home from World War II my father worked for the Michigan State Extension Service as a County Ag Agent way up in Cheboygan County Michigan.
Think Hank Kimball from the old sitcom "Green Acres" without the goofy hat or the slack-jawed look of confusion.
He and my mom rented a place in Cheboygan from Robert Lewis, a man several years my dads senior and the Postmaster at Mullet Lake.
Bob and his wife became great friends with my parents and whenever business took my dad downstate, they would keep mom company and help her keep a handle on her two young children, my brother Denny and my sister Deanna. (12 and 10 years older than me. Kind of my parents' first family...)
The Lewis' quickly became extended family and although his wife died before I was born, for my siblings and me he was 'Uncle Bob' until the day he died.
Uncle Bob was an avid outdoorsman and an accomplished hunter, fisherman and trapper as well as a crack shot with all manner of firearms.
(I remember being in Wolverine with my son Aaron when he was about 6 and Uncle Bob, already well into his eighties, would have Aaron toss charcoal briquettes into the air and he'd pick 'em off one-handed with my old .22 bolt action rifle. Later in the evening, my dad made 'burgoo' camp stew and he and Uncle Bob told stories about fly fishing in the Sturgeon River, deer-camps long past and the time they shot a black bear and her two year old cub up off of Perry Rd down one of the old logging trails.)
Bobs wife's family owned property on Shire Rd. in Wolverine; about 50 acres of field and forest
which included a ramshackle old tar paper house affectionately known as "Loose Lodge".
The property was situated on prime hunting land populated with white-tail deer, black bear, northern elk and game birds of every description including wild turkeys, ring-neck pheasant, grouse and partridges in pine trees. When she passed away it came to him.
Think Hank Kimball from the old sitcom "Green Acres" without the goofy hat or the slack-jawed look of confusion.
He and my mom rented a place in Cheboygan from Robert Lewis, a man several years my dads senior and the Postmaster at Mullet Lake.
Bob and his wife became great friends with my parents and whenever business took my dad downstate, they would keep mom company and help her keep a handle on her two young children, my brother Denny and my sister Deanna. (12 and 10 years older than me. Kind of my parents' first family...)
The Lewis' quickly became extended family and although his wife died before I was born, for my siblings and me he was 'Uncle Bob' until the day he died.
Uncle Bob was an avid outdoorsman and an accomplished hunter, fisherman and trapper as well as a crack shot with all manner of firearms.
(I remember being in Wolverine with my son Aaron when he was about 6 and Uncle Bob, already well into his eighties, would have Aaron toss charcoal briquettes into the air and he'd pick 'em off one-handed with my old .22 bolt action rifle. Later in the evening, my dad made 'burgoo' camp stew and he and Uncle Bob told stories about fly fishing in the Sturgeon River, deer-camps long past and the time they shot a black bear and her two year old cub up off of Perry Rd down one of the old logging trails.)
Bobs wife's family owned property on Shire Rd. in Wolverine; about 50 acres of field and forest
which included a ramshackle old tar paper house affectionately known as "Loose Lodge".The property was situated on prime hunting land populated with white-tail deer, black bear, northern elk and game birds of every description including wild turkeys, ring-neck pheasant, grouse and partridges in pine trees. When she passed away it came to him.
{If you'd like to know where these places are, hold up your map of Michigan - that's your left hand, palm forward - and look at the fingernail of the finger you use to tell drivers on I94 near Detroit exactly what you think of them. At the very tippy-tip of that nail is where you'll find Mackinac City and the mighty Mackinac Bridge - a miracle of technology and the third longest suspension bridge in the world, (http://www.mightymac.org/bridge.htm) - which connects Michigan's Upper and Lower Peninsulas.
Just a smidge towards your cuticle and south on I75 is Mullet Lake, the village of Topinabee is
at the south end of the lake, then the town of Indian River, and then the village of Wolverine about 12 more miles down on Old US 27.
From The Bridge to Wolverine doesn't cover the whole fingernail, About thirty minutes down the interstate. (http://www.fishweb.com/maps/cheboygan/index.html)}
By 1960 my dad was teaching at MSU and we were living in East Lansing.
(Map up? Okay, center of the state about parallel with the thumb joint between Grand Rapids and Detroit along I96. About 220 miles south of Wolverine in the days before the finished interstate).( http://www.mapsofworld.com/usa/states/michigan/michigan-map.html)
My dad had scraped up some dough and Uncle Bob sold him 36 acres of the land on Shire Rd.
My father and his brother George, with occasional help from other family and friends, slapped up a two bedroom hunting cabin on a slab, trimmed with parts scavenged from junkyards and put together with labor fueled by Budweiser and cheap scotch and managed by the heavy hand of Edmond, my dad.
"I'm the foreman on this job, goddammit! Don't talk to me now, I'm cogitatin' on how to cut this lumber....let's see now...that door jamb's gonna be 76 1/2 inches less two marks.....Oh shit. That's too short. I'ma have to cut it again! SMOKE BREAK!!"
(Meanwhile, being like eight years old, I became a world class tree climber and just tried to stay out of the way).
The interior was finished in unfinished dry-wall and concrete floor...
("Oh, don't you worry. We'll get that finished! Projects, goddammit! Keep these kids busy 'round here!")
...and the 'guest bedroom' was furnished with 2x4 studs nailed together to frame two double beds, stacked dorm-room style.
We burned wood for heat, initially. Eventually we got an oil burning furnace and within 25 or so years we graduated to clean burning propane, but we never did get rid of that greasy oil smell in there.
The little cottage was dubbed "Slipshod Manor" and it was our 'summer estate' and weekend retreat for better than thirty years.
My mom's father, Joseph Felix Lamondra, came and lived with us around'64 or '65 and made the drive north with us on several occasions before he passed away.
He wasn't wild about it.
"Asshole of America. That's what this goddamned place is Mary Leone. Twenty damned miles one way to get to mass and it doesn't matter where you set up the radio, you can't get a damned Tigers game up here for love nor money!"
One summer dad found an old wooden speed boat some guy built in his basement. It came with a 45 horse Johnson outboard engine. I wouldn't say it leaked, but that boat definitely seeped.
Now a boat, seepy or not, is a good thing to have Up North in the summertime.
We were like 12 miles from the Inland Waterway, and up there, that meant a little bit of heaven. You could fish in several different lakes and rivers without leaving the boat, get gas and groceries (and beer in later years) at various marinas along the way and meet girls at a variety of public beaches, none of whom were likely to meet each other any time soon.
And if you happened to have a pair of water skis and the ability to stand still while moving fast? Yikes! At 17, the world is your freshwater clam!
I've reached the age now where that's how I see it.
I remember one of my "most embarrassing moments" with nostalgia instead of pain.
(It's the one where I had Pete Spata and Pat Peterson and maybe Mike Kavanagh up from Lansing and I was showing 'em how good I could ski.
We had put the boat in at the public landing at little Silver Lake and they were standing by the boat ramp watching me go 'round.
My plan was to drop the rope on the slalom-ski close to shore, give 'em a little splash as I cut hard to stop and trot up the shore real cool like.
I had a hard time getting my dad, who was driving the boat and was loathe to get too close to shore, to get me in where I could pull this thing off.
Finally, he got me in real close.
Actually, a little too close. I dropped the rope, but couldn't quite maneuver my turn. My ski stuck in the sand and I kept going right up that gravel drive on my stomach. I picked gravel out 0f my chest for 7 years....)
I like to remember the bucolic walk to the lake with my sister Dawn. In reality it was two miles on gravel and dirt in 90 degree heat with deer flies bitin' and blisters growing between your toes from your flip-flops.
I see it now in my minds' eye as a pleasant drive north instead of a miserable four plus hour trek in a 1962 Ford Falcon Futura with red vinyl seats and 4/70 air conditioning, (4 window's down and 70 mile per hour).
I always got stuck in the seat behind my dad.
He was a smoker.
And a spitter.
One or the other was always going out his window and coming right back in mine.
Still and all, there's no place like it on the face of the earth.
I used to feel like I was on vacation the minute I hit that hill past the rest stop north of Clare.
It's about the halfway mark to Indian River from East Lansing.
It's the cusp of "up north".
Just this past Monday afternoon I felt it.
I couldn't resist it.
It's a three hour drive in relative comfort now, and I felt like I was on vacation the second I got in the car.
I went north.
Up to Wolverine and that Indian River.
I walked for a minute down that funky old dirt and gravel road, looking for deer tracks where I knew they'd always be.
I threw stones at that little Sturgeon River and remembered catching trout there long ago. I remembered catching way more trout than I ever really caught.
I looked at the place where my mom and my sister loosed my fathers ashes out by an old fish pond in the midst of tall white pines that we planted as seedlings back in 1968.
And when I left on Tuesday, the sky made blue a living thing. And though the bright reds were already gone, still the earth was arrayed in impossible color.
Unpaintable.
Here's the truth right here.
I'm a lucky duck all in all.
Happiest damn man in America.
Maybe I'll write another bad poem and go to bed now.
dA
Just a smidge towards your cuticle and south on I75 is Mullet Lake, the village of Topinabee is
at the south end of the lake, then the town of Indian River, and then the village of Wolverine about 12 more miles down on Old US 27.
From The Bridge to Wolverine doesn't cover the whole fingernail, About thirty minutes down the interstate. (http://www.fishweb.com/maps/cheboygan/index.html)}
By 1960 my dad was teaching at MSU and we were living in East Lansing.
(Map up? Okay, center of the state about parallel with the thumb joint between Grand Rapids and Detroit along I96. About 220 miles south of Wolverine in the days before the finished interstate).( http://www.mapsofworld.com/usa/states/michigan/michigan-map.html)
My dad had scraped up some dough and Uncle Bob sold him 36 acres of the land on Shire Rd.
My father and his brother George, with occasional help from other family and friends, slapped up a two bedroom hunting cabin on a slab, trimmed with parts scavenged from junkyards and put together with labor fueled by Budweiser and cheap scotch and managed by the heavy hand of Edmond, my dad.
"I'm the foreman on this job, goddammit! Don't talk to me now, I'm cogitatin' on how to cut this lumber....let's see now...that door jamb's gonna be 76 1/2 inches less two marks.....Oh shit. That's too short. I'ma have to cut it again! SMOKE BREAK!!"
(Meanwhile, being like eight years old, I became a world class tree climber and just tried to stay out of the way).
The interior was finished in unfinished dry-wall and concrete floor...
("Oh, don't you worry. We'll get that finished! Projects, goddammit! Keep these kids busy 'round here!")
...and the 'guest bedroom' was furnished with 2x4 studs nailed together to frame two double beds, stacked dorm-room style.
We burned wood for heat, initially. Eventually we got an oil burning furnace and within 25 or so years we graduated to clean burning propane, but we never did get rid of that greasy oil smell in there.
The little cottage was dubbed "Slipshod Manor" and it was our 'summer estate' and weekend retreat for better than thirty years.
My mom's father, Joseph Felix Lamondra, came and lived with us around'64 or '65 and made the drive north with us on several occasions before he passed away.
He wasn't wild about it.
"Asshole of America. That's what this goddamned place is Mary Leone. Twenty damned miles one way to get to mass and it doesn't matter where you set up the radio, you can't get a damned Tigers game up here for love nor money!"
One summer dad found an old wooden speed boat some guy built in his basement. It came with a 45 horse Johnson outboard engine. I wouldn't say it leaked, but that boat definitely seeped.
Now a boat, seepy or not, is a good thing to have Up North in the summertime.
We were like 12 miles from the Inland Waterway, and up there, that meant a little bit of heaven. You could fish in several different lakes and rivers without leaving the boat, get gas and groceries (and beer in later years) at various marinas along the way and meet girls at a variety of public beaches, none of whom were likely to meet each other any time soon.
And if you happened to have a pair of water skis and the ability to stand still while moving fast? Yikes! At 17, the world is your freshwater clam!
I've reached the age now where that's how I see it.
I remember one of my "most embarrassing moments" with nostalgia instead of pain.
(It's the one where I had Pete Spata and Pat Peterson and maybe Mike Kavanagh up from Lansing and I was showing 'em how good I could ski.
We had put the boat in at the public landing at little Silver Lake and they were standing by the boat ramp watching me go 'round.
My plan was to drop the rope on the slalom-ski close to shore, give 'em a little splash as I cut hard to stop and trot up the shore real cool like.
I had a hard time getting my dad, who was driving the boat and was loathe to get too close to shore, to get me in where I could pull this thing off.
Finally, he got me in real close.
Actually, a little too close. I dropped the rope, but couldn't quite maneuver my turn. My ski stuck in the sand and I kept going right up that gravel drive on my stomach. I picked gravel out 0f my chest for 7 years....)
I like to remember the bucolic walk to the lake with my sister Dawn. In reality it was two miles on gravel and dirt in 90 degree heat with deer flies bitin' and blisters growing between your toes from your flip-flops.
I see it now in my minds' eye as a pleasant drive north instead of a miserable four plus hour trek in a 1962 Ford Falcon Futura with red vinyl seats and 4/70 air conditioning, (4 window's down and 70 mile per hour).
I always got stuck in the seat behind my dad.
He was a smoker.
And a spitter.
One or the other was always going out his window and coming right back in mine.
Still and all, there's no place like it on the face of the earth.
I used to feel like I was on vacation the minute I hit that hill past the rest stop north of Clare.
It's about the halfway mark to Indian River from East Lansing.
It's the cusp of "up north".
Just this past Monday afternoon I felt it.
I couldn't resist it.
It's a three hour drive in relative comfort now, and I felt like I was on vacation the second I got in the car.
I went north.
Up to Wolverine and that Indian River.
I walked for a minute down that funky old dirt and gravel road, looking for deer tracks where I knew they'd always be.
I threw stones at that little Sturgeon River and remembered catching trout there long ago. I remembered catching way more trout than I ever really caught.
I looked at the place where my mom and my sister loosed my fathers ashes out by an old fish pond in the midst of tall white pines that we planted as seedlings back in 1968.
And when I left on Tuesday, the sky made blue a living thing. And though the bright reds were already gone, still the earth was arrayed in impossible color.
Unpaintable.
Here's the truth right here.
I'm a lucky duck all in all.
Happiest damn man in America.
Maybe I'll write another bad poem and go to bed now.
dA
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Ah, the stench of love...
Mm-hmm.
The smell in the air should be sublime this time of year in Michigan.
Look outside this morning for instance.
The sky is that startling shade of blue that folks from Carolina like to claim as their own. No clouds in sight.
Up at 7:00 and it was clear and crisp and undeniably autumn.
I'll head up to Uncle Johns Cider Mill before the football game and pick up some fresh apple cider and listen to some banjo music and watch a couple of cheesy Elvis impersonators gyrate on the deck for the amusement of Midwestern families.
Days like this are what we see in our minds eye when our windows are iced up in January and we question what on earth we're doing in Michigan. (Oh yeah...October! Indian Summer in the mitten! Leaves a-paint with impossible color and signs of the harvest abound...)
I stepped out the door earlier in hopes of catching a whiff of an ambitious neighbor burning leaves and...
What the...?
What is that smell?
Dude, did the dogs...?
Nope. That's not it.
Oh my god! It's coming from the computer!
What died in my computer??
It's coming from the in-box in my e-mail!!
Seriously?
You have got to be stroking me....
I better open this one quick. It's from one of my old church friends and it's getting kinda, um, ripe...
Oh my God!
According to this, Barack Obama is a socialist!
And look at this one! He's a freaking a communist, too!!
And look here: the three people who are responsible for the downfall of our financial system all work on Obama's campaign!
He hates Christians!
Dude! He's one of those Muslims that hate GOD!! AND AMERICA!!!
Holy Cats! This one really smells bad! I better open it right away!
What?
Well I'll be a...there now appears to be evidence that Barack Hussein Obama is in fact the anti-Christ!
That can't be good.
That's, like the opposite of Jesus, right?
You know, Jesus.
The God of love? And forgiveness and mercy?
Seriously, dude. The one who was born without sin and gave of his life so that all could enter the kingdom of heaven?
C'mon man, you gotta know who I'm talking about.
Well, even if you don't know him, you have to know his followers.
He said you know them by their works.
They're the ones busy loving their enemies as themselves.
They're all about the love!
They are not the ones who are filling my e-mail in-box with photo-shopped pictures of monkeys with Obama's head attached are they? Impossible.
That's not Christ, that's ugly.
They aren't the ones forwarding missives about how he's a traitor and a terrorist. Can't be.
That's not love, that's hate and fear.
(Not to mention so absurd it would be laughable, except the folks who send it obviously believe it or they wouldn't have sent it to me. Unless they think I'm a total moron...) Hey!
It's weird though.
Virtually all of the negative political propaganda that's cramming up my e-mail is anti-Democrat.
Oh, there's some ugly coming from the other side, too. But it doesn't claim to be God's perspective.
More self-righteous than 'this is what God thinks' righteous.
I don't know why, but I don't find that nearly as unpalatable.
And a lot of the really awful stuff is coming from friends who, if you asked them, would tell you they are Christians.
Most of it I would describe as vile.
Repugnant.
Hateful
Not really God-like, if you know what I mean.
More fear inspired than what I think of as faith inspired.
I'm not real gifted in math, but it doesn't seem to add up.
Me? Yup, I'm a Christian. And I'll admit that my response to this stuff has been extremely un-Christlike. But give me a break, man. I'm responding to the 9 millionth e-mail like this that the same guys keep sending me after I have begged them to stop! Please, in the name of all that is holy, stop!
I think of myself as an independent, politically speaking.
I admit I have a liberal bent when it comes to social issues.
I confess I'm big on that whole 'created equal' thing, and my personal view is that not everyone has historically benefited the same in our system of doing things and that it's not a bad thing that we sometimes give the less fortunate a boost up.
I always thought that was a Jesus thing.
Weird, huh?
But I also believe too much government is a bad thing and I'm not all that enthused about the government giving money to CEO's who've feathered their nest with dollar bills they got from cheating working families.
Dude, I have to pay the price when I get caught lying! Why are these guys such privileged characters??
I voted for McCarthy in my first presidential election.
I voted for Reagan twice and Bill Clinton once.
I voted against both Gore and W. I wasn't impressed with either one of them.
I was a big supporter of the Afghan war and believed, pretty vocally, that this thing in Iraq smelled bad from the get-go.
I personally think that George W Bush is the worse president in the history of our country, but so do a lot of Republicans I know.
And I don't equate John McCain with George Bush.
I like to think I'm pretty open minded about all this.
But enough about what I think.
You don't care and I don't blame you.
Reading about other peoples political beliefs is like reading about their bathroom habits. I don't want to know. Do you?
Have you ever been swayed toward someone elses point of view because they forwarded you some unverified horseshit rant with just enough truth to get you to buy?
Me either.
I loved John McCain on TV last night when some rabid turd in the audience was screaming, "Traitor! Treason! Terrorist!" about Obama and he stopped them and said, "No. That's not right. You don't have to be afraid of Barack Obama like that. He's a good man. He's a family man. He is worthy of our respect. I just d0n't agree with his choices and I believe I would be a better president than he would. He isn't evil. We just disagree."
Dude! I like John McCain in that mode.
I know who I'm gonna vote this year.
And it's none of your damned business.
There is nothing you're going to send me in an e-mail that's going to influence me either way.
All you're going to do is piss me off and put an unreasonable strain on our friendship.
So go ahead and send me bad jokes of a sexual nature.
Let's argue about Michigan State and U of M and agree that the Lions suck.
Boobies! I love me some pictures of boobies! Send all those you want!
But I am begging you, for the 30th time, for the sake of our friendship and my health, don't send me anymore political crap. You're gonna give me a heart attack over here.
Don't you make me come over there!
And besides, Better Days Ahead!
dA
The smell in the air should be sublime this time of year in Michigan.
Look outside this morning for instance.
The sky is that startling shade of blue that folks from Carolina like to claim as their own. No clouds in sight.
Up at 7:00 and it was clear and crisp and undeniably autumn.
I'll head up to Uncle Johns Cider Mill before the football game and pick up some fresh apple cider and listen to some banjo music and watch a couple of cheesy Elvis impersonators gyrate on the deck for the amusement of Midwestern families.
Days like this are what we see in our minds eye when our windows are iced up in January and we question what on earth we're doing in Michigan. (Oh yeah...October! Indian Summer in the mitten! Leaves a-paint with impossible color and signs of the harvest abound...)
I stepped out the door earlier in hopes of catching a whiff of an ambitious neighbor burning leaves and...
What the...?
What is that smell?
Dude, did the dogs...?
Nope. That's not it.
Oh my god! It's coming from the computer!
What died in my computer??
It's coming from the in-box in my e-mail!!
Seriously?
You have got to be stroking me....
I better open this one quick. It's from one of my old church friends and it's getting kinda, um, ripe...
Oh my God!
According to this, Barack Obama is a socialist!
And look at this one! He's a freaking a communist, too!!
And look here: the three people who are responsible for the downfall of our financial system all work on Obama's campaign!
He hates Christians!
Dude! He's one of those Muslims that hate GOD!! AND AMERICA!!!
Holy Cats! This one really smells bad! I better open it right away!
What?
Well I'll be a...there now appears to be evidence that Barack Hussein Obama is in fact the anti-Christ!
That can't be good.
That's, like the opposite of Jesus, right?
You know, Jesus.
The God of love? And forgiveness and mercy?
Seriously, dude. The one who was born without sin and gave of his life so that all could enter the kingdom of heaven?
C'mon man, you gotta know who I'm talking about.
Well, even if you don't know him, you have to know his followers.
He said you know them by their works.
They're the ones busy loving their enemies as themselves.
They're all about the love!
They are not the ones who are filling my e-mail in-box with photo-shopped pictures of monkeys with Obama's head attached are they? Impossible.
That's not Christ, that's ugly.
They aren't the ones forwarding missives about how he's a traitor and a terrorist. Can't be.
That's not love, that's hate and fear.
(Not to mention so absurd it would be laughable, except the folks who send it obviously believe it or they wouldn't have sent it to me. Unless they think I'm a total moron...) Hey!
It's weird though.
Virtually all of the negative political propaganda that's cramming up my e-mail is anti-Democrat.
Oh, there's some ugly coming from the other side, too. But it doesn't claim to be God's perspective.
More self-righteous than 'this is what God thinks' righteous.
I don't know why, but I don't find that nearly as unpalatable.
And a lot of the really awful stuff is coming from friends who, if you asked them, would tell you they are Christians.
Most of it I would describe as vile.
Repugnant.
Hateful
Not really God-like, if you know what I mean.
More fear inspired than what I think of as faith inspired.
I'm not real gifted in math, but it doesn't seem to add up.
Me? Yup, I'm a Christian. And I'll admit that my response to this stuff has been extremely un-Christlike. But give me a break, man. I'm responding to the 9 millionth e-mail like this that the same guys keep sending me after I have begged them to stop! Please, in the name of all that is holy, stop!
I think of myself as an independent, politically speaking.
I admit I have a liberal bent when it comes to social issues.
I confess I'm big on that whole 'created equal' thing, and my personal view is that not everyone has historically benefited the same in our system of doing things and that it's not a bad thing that we sometimes give the less fortunate a boost up.
I always thought that was a Jesus thing.
Weird, huh?
But I also believe too much government is a bad thing and I'm not all that enthused about the government giving money to CEO's who've feathered their nest with dollar bills they got from cheating working families.
Dude, I have to pay the price when I get caught lying! Why are these guys such privileged characters??
I voted for McCarthy in my first presidential election.
I voted for Reagan twice and Bill Clinton once.
I voted against both Gore and W. I wasn't impressed with either one of them.
I was a big supporter of the Afghan war and believed, pretty vocally, that this thing in Iraq smelled bad from the get-go.
I personally think that George W Bush is the worse president in the history of our country, but so do a lot of Republicans I know.
And I don't equate John McCain with George Bush.
I like to think I'm pretty open minded about all this.
But enough about what I think.
You don't care and I don't blame you.
Reading about other peoples political beliefs is like reading about their bathroom habits. I don't want to know. Do you?
Have you ever been swayed toward someone elses point of view because they forwarded you some unverified horseshit rant with just enough truth to get you to buy?
Me either.
I loved John McCain on TV last night when some rabid turd in the audience was screaming, "Traitor! Treason! Terrorist!" about Obama and he stopped them and said, "No. That's not right. You don't have to be afraid of Barack Obama like that. He's a good man. He's a family man. He is worthy of our respect. I just d0n't agree with his choices and I believe I would be a better president than he would. He isn't evil. We just disagree."
Dude! I like John McCain in that mode.
I know who I'm gonna vote this year.
And it's none of your damned business.
There is nothing you're going to send me in an e-mail that's going to influence me either way.
All you're going to do is piss me off and put an unreasonable strain on our friendship.
So go ahead and send me bad jokes of a sexual nature.
Let's argue about Michigan State and U of M and agree that the Lions suck.
Boobies! I love me some pictures of boobies! Send all those you want!
But I am begging you, for the 30th time, for the sake of our friendship and my health, don't send me anymore political crap. You're gonna give me a heart attack over here.
Don't you make me come over there!
And besides, Better Days Ahead!
dA
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
money can't buy me love...but it will get me naked
I watched the news last night and I was struck that almost everybody's worried about money.
Not just worried as in, "I must have the latest (fill in the blank) or I will simply die!" kinda worried.
More along the lines of "How'm I gonna eat next week?"* and
"If I get sick I may seriously die because I got no money for the doctor"** and
"...even if I cheat the doctor I got no money for medicine"*** and
"...winter's comin' on and I got no money to heat the house"**** and
"...I can't get warm at work 'cause I got no job"** and
"...I can't head south to sleep on the beach 'cause I can't afford the gas"***** and
"...anyway the car's broke and I owe the mechanic" and,
"Damn! That's a long walk to Florida!"
That kinda worried.
Of course, I'm from Michigan.
We're way ahead of the curve.
We been stealin' the copper plumbing from the repossessed homes of auto workers and Realtors for a good three years already, so you know the fundamentals of our economy are strong.
'Round here, we don't sit around and whine about that crap. We apply ourselves.
Me?
I'm going over to the University at 1:00 to be a simulated patient.
This gig is all about pretending you're sick with specific symptoms that the med students have to find and identify by an initiall interview and later by physical exam.
The interview part is pretty fun.
They give you a back-story,
(last week I played a resident of the upper peninsula of Michigan who lives in a rebuilt trailer in the woods and hunts and fishes and traps and generally lives off the land),
and they give you specific symptoms to act out.
My character has been suffering from re-curring belly aches since late July and some smart guy at the Bear Butt Bar in Seeney Crossing has convinced him he has the appendix and may well be fixing to die.
("Oh doc, it's bad. When it comes on me all I can do is curl up in the fecal position and hope I die or it goes away on it's own").
(Fecal position. Don't tell me I'm not funny. I got a mirror).
I get $15.00 an hour for the interview part.
But today is the physical exam part.
It pays $35.00 an hour, but involves being naked in front of a steady stream of 2nd year med students.
Not so much acting.
More like modeling.
Think Will Farrel in art class.
(You know what would happen if Bobby Kahle and his Citadel cadre made that offer to Jules' ex-wife?
Well.
That right there is why lawyers don't have to worry about unemployment...).
But I'm glad to have the gig and I'll gladly take the dough.
Hell man, that's skilled-trades money right there!
Dude. Three years ago I was a highly paid business consultant for a national real estate franchise.
A mere three weeks ago I was filming a movie with Val Kilmer.
Today I stand around in my all-together and get touched in uncomfortable ways by the pimply faced Future of American Medicine.
What can I say?
I'm committed.
Or maybe I just oughtta be committed.
Hang In there kiddo. I'll have your money soon...maybe they'll pay me extra if I let 'em take my picture.
What's that?
That price includes them taking my picture??
I gotta call my agent...
Seriously.
Better days ahead.
Gotta be.
dA
*Cost of groceries up about 16% from last year and about 30%over the past three years
**Unemployment in Michigan currently leading the nation at over 8% and rising. Should go down soon, though. Everyone's leaving...
***Thank God the drug companies seem to be doing OK. There's at least 8 new Walgreens and 6 new RiteAids in town...Don't tell me there's no new construction going on!
****Home heating costs projected to go up 25% this winter and up around 2oo% over the past four years. That should be coming down soon when we start getting that discounted oil from a grateful Iraqi government.
*****I promise I will never bitch about $2.50 / gallon gas again
Source of statistics:Doug Alchin. Blame it on the Catholic edumaction. I was never good at math.
Not just worried as in, "I must have the latest (fill in the blank) or I will simply die!" kinda worried.
More along the lines of "How'm I gonna eat next week?"* and
"If I get sick I may seriously die because I got no money for the doctor"** and
"...even if I cheat the doctor I got no money for medicine"*** and
"...winter's comin' on and I got no money to heat the house"**** and
"...I can't get warm at work 'cause I got no job"** and
"...I can't head south to sleep on the beach 'cause I can't afford the gas"***** and
"...anyway the car's broke and I owe the mechanic" and,
"Damn! That's a long walk to Florida!"
That kinda worried.
Of course, I'm from Michigan.
We're way ahead of the curve.
We been stealin' the copper plumbing from the repossessed homes of auto workers and Realtors for a good three years already, so you know the fundamentals of our economy are strong.
'Round here, we don't sit around and whine about that crap. We apply ourselves.
Me?
I'm going over to the University at 1:00 to be a simulated patient.
This gig is all about pretending you're sick with specific symptoms that the med students have to find and identify by an initiall interview and later by physical exam.
The interview part is pretty fun.
They give you a back-story,
(last week I played a resident of the upper peninsula of Michigan who lives in a rebuilt trailer in the woods and hunts and fishes and traps and generally lives off the land),
and they give you specific symptoms to act out.
My character has been suffering from re-curring belly aches since late July and some smart guy at the Bear Butt Bar in Seeney Crossing has convinced him he has the appendix and may well be fixing to die.
("Oh doc, it's bad. When it comes on me all I can do is curl up in the fecal position and hope I die or it goes away on it's own").
(Fecal position. Don't tell me I'm not funny. I got a mirror).
I get $15.00 an hour for the interview part.
But today is the physical exam part.
It pays $35.00 an hour, but involves being naked in front of a steady stream of 2nd year med students.
Not so much acting.
More like modeling.
Think Will Farrel in art class.
(You know what would happen if Bobby Kahle and his Citadel cadre made that offer to Jules' ex-wife?
Well.
That right there is why lawyers don't have to worry about unemployment...).
But I'm glad to have the gig and I'll gladly take the dough.
Hell man, that's skilled-trades money right there!
Dude. Three years ago I was a highly paid business consultant for a national real estate franchise.
A mere three weeks ago I was filming a movie with Val Kilmer.
Today I stand around in my all-together and get touched in uncomfortable ways by the pimply faced Future of American Medicine.
What can I say?
I'm committed.
Or maybe I just oughtta be committed.
Hang In there kiddo. I'll have your money soon...maybe they'll pay me extra if I let 'em take my picture.
What's that?
That price includes them taking my picture??
I gotta call my agent...
Seriously.
Better days ahead.
Gotta be.
dA
*Cost of groceries up about 16% from last year and about 30%over the past three years
**Unemployment in Michigan currently leading the nation at over 8% and rising. Should go down soon, though. Everyone's leaving...
***Thank God the drug companies seem to be doing OK. There's at least 8 new Walgreens and 6 new RiteAids in town...Don't tell me there's no new construction going on!
****Home heating costs projected to go up 25% this winter and up around 2oo% over the past four years. That should be coming down soon when we start getting that discounted oil from a grateful Iraqi government.
*****I promise I will never bitch about $2.50 / gallon gas again
Source of statistics:Doug Alchin. Blame it on the Catholic edumaction. I was never good at math.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Making Movies in Michigan
When Michgan Governor Grantholm signed the incentive bill to encourage the motion picture industry to set up shop in Michigan last March, the impact was immediate and impressive. Prior to this spring, I had auditioned for only three films over a two year period and was fortunate to be cast in one. Since the bill was signed, (making Michigan the destination for film makers), I have appeared in four films and have had audition opportunities for 6 more movies and two television pilots. And that's just me! An aging hippie with limited talent and a 38 inch waist! As a result of the Governor's initiative, which passed the state legislature with tremendous bi-partisan support, plans are now underway for no less than three independent studio locations to be constructed or retro-fitted in Oakland County, Muskegon and a proposed 48,000 sq. ft. studio in Lansing. which would rival anything on the west coast in terms of size.
Several films shot here over the summer were re-written to reflect Michigan locations, including "The Steam Experiment", shot last month in Grand Rapids and "Grand Torino" directed by and starring Clint Eastwood. Next year at this time, people all over America and the world will be watching films that take place in our great state. I can only imagine the potential impact on tourism this may have, not to mention the boost to our states image which has been less than stellar in the past, and for the economy of the communities where these films have been produced. (Not that they need the money, what with things going so well in manufacturing and the low price of gas pushing the tourist industry).
Much of the set for "Steam Experiment" was built in the second floor ballroom at the Amway Grand Hotel in Grand Rapids. As I have noted before, at any given time there were no less than 50 people working on the set, from grips and gaffers and videographers to hair and make-up people, caterers and more. At times there were many more people employed by the producer on hand. Lot's of work for lot's of Michiganders, not to mention hotel rooms rented, restaurants entertaining guests and ton's of money being generated for local and state economies.
I have recently received the following from Barbara Coven-Ellis, a fellow actor who keeps very active in the arts scene in Metro Detroit and all of Michigan:
"Have YOU or has someone - or some business - you know benefited from the new incentives put in place to attract the film industry? Are they important to your family's ability to pay the bills, or perhaps even remain in Michigan??
Then take a moment and tell your state representative!! Over the last two days the Michigan State Senate has begun a process of effectively hamstringing these new incentives - the result of which will be less films produced here which will mean less trickle down revenue which will, of course, be used as evidence that the incentives don't work. Thus supporting their removal!!
Find out who YOUR representative is, and call up their office and tell them, "Don't hamstring these wonderful, progressive incentives before they've even begun to get a full head of steam. They are working to employ actors, technicians, people in the service industries (caterers, restaurants, hotels, dry cleaners, equipment rentals, commercial Realtors, and many more); people that this economy is crushing!! Keeping artists and designers here to work with the film industry will further all areas of the performing arts because it will strengthen and deepen our pool of talent! Capping these incentives not only will hurt Michigan's already struggling service industry, but it will act like yet another cut in funding for Michigan's performing arts institutions! DON'T WAIT!!!
CALL TODAY!!!
and if you are involved with or know of a non- arts business that is reaping the benefits of this package, encourage THEM to call.
The naysayers are speaking out!!
It's up to us to show/tell them that, as usual, they are totally out of touch with those of us work for a living!"
I have recently written to Governor Grantholm and have called my state representative to ask them to oppose bill 1535 which drasticly reduces incentives to the film industry to work in Michigan.
Here's a form letter from the Michigan Production Alliances. They suggest people either send it as is, or personalize it with their own comments, observations, etc. I think it makes it a lot easier for folks to actually go ahead and DO something when they have something already formatted for them - then all they have to do is personalize it (or not) and send it out:
Honorable Governor Jennifer M. GranholmP.O. Box 30013Lansing, Michigan 48909
(517) 335-6863 FAX
Dear Governor Granholm,
As you know, from Traverse City to Detroit film companies have discovered Michigan. Because of the visionary bill you signed in April, Michigan crews are working like never before.
Hotels Condominium brokers, restaurateurs and other business (not directly related to film) have also benefited.
We were dismayed when we discovered that bill 1535 was introduced proposing to cap the incentives at $50,000,000. We believe that this will send the wrong message to investors and producers who would consider building infrastructure in Michigan.
We urge you to help maintain the incentive package as it stands. Don’t let them change the bill. Let’s wait and see until we are able to get a better financial picture in ‘09.
Most Sincerely,
You all know that I love California. But I also love my girlfriend. She's staying in Michigan and I would like to be able to do the same and still work in my chosen profession. Please take a moment to make your own impact by contacting the Governors office and your State Representitive.
Support the arts! (Or at least the Artist...). And let's look forward to seeing Michigan and Michigan actors in movies for a long time to come.
Better days ahead?
There can be....
dA
Several films shot here over the summer were re-written to reflect Michigan locations, including "The Steam Experiment", shot last month in Grand Rapids and "Grand Torino" directed by and starring Clint Eastwood. Next year at this time, people all over America and the world will be watching films that take place in our great state. I can only imagine the potential impact on tourism this may have, not to mention the boost to our states image which has been less than stellar in the past, and for the economy of the communities where these films have been produced. (Not that they need the money, what with things going so well in manufacturing and the low price of gas pushing the tourist industry).
Much of the set for "Steam Experiment" was built in the second floor ballroom at the Amway Grand Hotel in Grand Rapids. As I have noted before, at any given time there were no less than 50 people working on the set, from grips and gaffers and videographers to hair and make-up people, caterers and more. At times there were many more people employed by the producer on hand. Lot's of work for lot's of Michiganders, not to mention hotel rooms rented, restaurants entertaining guests and ton's of money being generated for local and state economies.
I have recently received the following from Barbara Coven-Ellis, a fellow actor who keeps very active in the arts scene in Metro Detroit and all of Michigan:
"Have YOU or has someone - or some business - you know benefited from the new incentives put in place to attract the film industry? Are they important to your family's ability to pay the bills, or perhaps even remain in Michigan??
Then take a moment and tell your state representative!! Over the last two days the Michigan State Senate has begun a process of effectively hamstringing these new incentives - the result of which will be less films produced here which will mean less trickle down revenue which will, of course, be used as evidence that the incentives don't work. Thus supporting their removal!!
Find out who YOUR representative is, and call up their office and tell them, "Don't hamstring these wonderful, progressive incentives before they've even begun to get a full head of steam. They are working to employ actors, technicians, people in the service industries (caterers, restaurants, hotels, dry cleaners, equipment rentals, commercial Realtors, and many more); people that this economy is crushing!! Keeping artists and designers here to work with the film industry will further all areas of the performing arts because it will strengthen and deepen our pool of talent! Capping these incentives not only will hurt Michigan's already struggling service industry, but it will act like yet another cut in funding for Michigan's performing arts institutions! DON'T WAIT!!!
CALL TODAY!!!
and if you are involved with or know of a non- arts business that is reaping the benefits of this package, encourage THEM to call.
The naysayers are speaking out!!
It's up to us to show/tell them that, as usual, they are totally out of touch with those of us work for a living!"
I have recently written to Governor Grantholm and have called my state representative to ask them to oppose bill 1535 which drasticly reduces incentives to the film industry to work in Michigan.
Here's a form letter from the Michigan Production Alliances. They suggest people either send it as is, or personalize it with their own comments, observations, etc. I think it makes it a lot easier for folks to actually go ahead and DO something when they have something already formatted for them - then all they have to do is personalize it (or not) and send it out:
Honorable Governor Jennifer M. GranholmP.O. Box 30013Lansing, Michigan 48909
(517) 335-6863 FAX
Dear Governor Granholm,
As you know, from Traverse City to Detroit film companies have discovered Michigan. Because of the visionary bill you signed in April, Michigan crews are working like never before.
Hotels Condominium brokers, restaurateurs and other business (not directly related to film) have also benefited.
We were dismayed when we discovered that bill 1535 was introduced proposing to cap the incentives at $50,000,000. We believe that this will send the wrong message to investors and producers who would consider building infrastructure in Michigan.
We urge you to help maintain the incentive package as it stands. Don’t let them change the bill. Let’s wait and see until we are able to get a better financial picture in ‘09.
Most Sincerely,
You all know that I love California. But I also love my girlfriend. She's staying in Michigan and I would like to be able to do the same and still work in my chosen profession. Please take a moment to make your own impact by contacting the Governors office and your State Representitive.
Support the arts! (Or at least the Artist...). And let's look forward to seeing Michigan and Michigan actors in movies for a long time to come.
Better days ahead?
There can be....
dA
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Meanwhile, back on the set with Armand and Val...
Back to the subject of my time on the set of "Steam Experiment" with Val Kilmer and Armand Assante...
Honestly, it couldn't have gone better. On the second day of filming, towards the end of our last scene together, Armand came up to me and said, "Doug, I'm embarrassed to say this. I know I've seen you in a hundred films, but for the life of me, I just can't remember which ones."
I laughed and said, "Armand, I've been acting professionally for two and a half years. This is just my fourth movie and by far my biggest role. Last week I returned empty pop bottles so I could get gas money to get to a commercial audition in Detroit. This week, I'm here with you."
He was unbelievably kind and a real professional to work with. He told me he would look forward to working with me again any time. He pronounced me "an excellent actor" and he assured me that I had more movies in my future. I can't begin to tell you what a boon to my confidence he was. He was beyond generous in his encouragement and I will always be thankful that he took the time to make me feel accepted as peer.
Phillipe Martinez, the director of the film was also incredibly cool. He is French, and he's a big guy. He tooled around the set on an electric cart, wearing a big fedora, ("my inspiration"), with the brim turned up in front, all continental and very hip. He would drive by me on his cart and I would say, "Looking good, Phillipe!" And he would say, in his French accent, "Yes. I know.", and give me a wink.
I had an idea about how my character would relate to Armand's character. I knew I didn't like him, but I thought I should "look for the love" in our dialogue. Philippe took me aside and said, "Doug, you and I are bohemian actors. I know you look for the love. But this guy, this Lt. Tanner, he is a boss. He is corporate. He doesn't like this guy and he doesn't have time to smile. You don't like him and that is how you treat him."
It was absolutely the right advice. I had to get in Armands face a couple of times, and I couldn't have pulled it off going my way. "You been played, Jack." just doesn't work when you're smiling.
As it worked out there were some technical difficulties during the filming and we had to re-shoot several scenes. Twice Phillipe came up to me and said, "Is not you, Doug. Is the fucking camera. You are great. Do it again now. Just the same".
All my scenes were filmed on the second floor of the Amway Grand Hotel in Grand Rapids where they had taken over the ballroom and created sets for the interrogation room, the jail cell and the observation room. There were probably 50 people on the set at any given time: gaffers and grips and carpenters, make-up and hair, assistant directors, videographers and still-photographers and sound techs, electricians and actors and extras and stand-ins. Lot's of people to pay. Lot's of work for Michigan workers and lot's of money spent in G.R.
Good for Michigan and thank you Madam Governor.
I was high as a kite for a week afterwards.
I want to do this every day.
All day every day.
And, believe me, it's scary to say it out loud. You sure as hell don't want to jinx yourself, so I'll just whisper it here....
I can hang with these guys.
I can do this.
And I thank god and all creation that I've had the opportunity
And you know what?
Better days ahead....
Oh yeah.
Right God?
...hellooo?
All I know is, I may be unemployed today, but I'm still the happiest man in America!
dA
Honestly, it couldn't have gone better. On the second day of filming, towards the end of our last scene together, Armand came up to me and said, "Doug, I'm embarrassed to say this. I know I've seen you in a hundred films, but for the life of me, I just can't remember which ones."
I laughed and said, "Armand, I've been acting professionally for two and a half years. This is just my fourth movie and by far my biggest role. Last week I returned empty pop bottles so I could get gas money to get to a commercial audition in Detroit. This week, I'm here with you."
He was unbelievably kind and a real professional to work with. He told me he would look forward to working with me again any time. He pronounced me "an excellent actor" and he assured me that I had more movies in my future. I can't begin to tell you what a boon to my confidence he was. He was beyond generous in his encouragement and I will always be thankful that he took the time to make me feel accepted as peer.
Phillipe Martinez, the director of the film was also incredibly cool. He is French, and he's a big guy. He tooled around the set on an electric cart, wearing a big fedora, ("my inspiration"), with the brim turned up in front, all continental and very hip. He would drive by me on his cart and I would say, "Looking good, Phillipe!" And he would say, in his French accent, "Yes. I know.", and give me a wink.
I had an idea about how my character would relate to Armand's character. I knew I didn't like him, but I thought I should "look for the love" in our dialogue. Philippe took me aside and said, "Doug, you and I are bohemian actors. I know you look for the love. But this guy, this Lt. Tanner, he is a boss. He is corporate. He doesn't like this guy and he doesn't have time to smile. You don't like him and that is how you treat him."
It was absolutely the right advice. I had to get in Armands face a couple of times, and I couldn't have pulled it off going my way. "You been played, Jack." just doesn't work when you're smiling.
As it worked out there were some technical difficulties during the filming and we had to re-shoot several scenes. Twice Phillipe came up to me and said, "Is not you, Doug. Is the fucking camera. You are great. Do it again now. Just the same".
All my scenes were filmed on the second floor of the Amway Grand Hotel in Grand Rapids where they had taken over the ballroom and created sets for the interrogation room, the jail cell and the observation room. There were probably 50 people on the set at any given time: gaffers and grips and carpenters, make-up and hair, assistant directors, videographers and still-photographers and sound techs, electricians and actors and extras and stand-ins. Lot's of people to pay. Lot's of work for Michigan workers and lot's of money spent in G.R.
Good for Michigan and thank you Madam Governor.
I was high as a kite for a week afterwards.
I want to do this every day.
All day every day.
And, believe me, it's scary to say it out loud. You sure as hell don't want to jinx yourself, so I'll just whisper it here....
I can hang with these guys.
I can do this.
And I thank god and all creation that I've had the opportunity
And you know what?
Better days ahead....
Oh yeah.
Right God?
...hellooo?
All I know is, I may be unemployed today, but I'm still the happiest man in America!
dA
So there! (A poem by Doug Alchin)
So There! (A poem by Doug Alchin)
I'm a go on back to my used to be,
quit cuttin' my hair
and go live in a tree.
Won't take no showers,
won't wear no shoes,
just make up songs,
sing whatever I choose.
So there!
What'cha gonna do about that?
You can't make me do what I don't want to
& I guess this'll settle that.
I may be stupid,
but I ain't so dumb:
you don't make no money, you don't pay no tax.
Right now that sounds like fun.
Get up one day
go down to the road,
stick out my thumb
and see where I go.
If the cars don't stop,
can't catch no ride?
I'll just cross to the other side.
So there!
What'cha gonna do about that?
You can't make me do
what I don't want to what I don't want to
& I guess this'll settle that.
I may be stupid,
but I ain't so dumb:
you don't make no money, you don't pay no tax.
Right now that sounds like fun.
Won't need no cash,
Won't take no drugs.
Stay away from the city
so I don't get mugged.
If they lock me up?
OK, that's cool.
I'll just sit in a corner and drool.
So there!
What'cha gonna do about that?
You can't make me do what I don't want to
& I guess this'll settle that.
I may be stupid
but I ain't so dumb:
you don't make no money,
you don't pay no tax.
Right now that sounds like fun.
I'll just eat them berries
and run around nude.
I tell you right now
I'll be a happenin' dude.
And if you don't like it,
YOU CAN STUFF IT IN YOUR HAT!
NOW,
what'cha gonna do about that?
I'm a go on back to my used to be,
quit cuttin' my hair
and go live in a tree.
Won't take no showers,
won't wear no shoes,
just make up songs,
sing whatever I choose.
So there!
What'cha gonna do about that?
You can't make me do what I don't want to
& I guess this'll settle that.
I may be stupid,
but I ain't so dumb:
you don't make no money, you don't pay no tax.
Right now that sounds like fun.
Get up one day
go down to the road,
stick out my thumb
and see where I go.
If the cars don't stop,
can't catch no ride?
I'll just cross to the other side.
So there!
What'cha gonna do about that?
You can't make me do
what I don't want to what I don't want to
& I guess this'll settle that.
I may be stupid,
but I ain't so dumb:
you don't make no money, you don't pay no tax.
Right now that sounds like fun.
Won't need no cash,
Won't take no drugs.
Stay away from the city
so I don't get mugged.
If they lock me up?
OK, that's cool.
I'll just sit in a corner and drool.
So there!
What'cha gonna do about that?
You can't make me do what I don't want to
& I guess this'll settle that.
I may be stupid
but I ain't so dumb:
you don't make no money,
you don't pay no tax.
Right now that sounds like fun.
I'll just eat them berries
and run around nude.
I tell you right now
I'll be a happenin' dude.
And if you don't like it,
YOU CAN STUFF IT IN YOUR HAT!
NOW,
what'cha gonna do about that?
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A good man goes home...
A few posts back, I wrote about my former father-in-law, Gib Simon.
I was a bit concerned when I published that post about how it would be received by ol' Gibber and the Simon clan, being that I kind of put his business out there for the whole world to see, coupled by the fact that I am a relative once removed.
As it turns out I needn't have worried. The family was (as usual) gracious and kind and even appreciative that I'd made the request for prayer on his behalf.
I'm sorry to tell you that Gibber passed on this last weekend.
He spent a few days in the hospital, but managed to get home at the end, where he was made comfortable and was able to spend his last days and hours in the company of his family.
His funeral was yesterday and he was sent off in the style he would have loved; a beautiful service at the church he attended virtually every morning for the past 30 years or so;
a touching and well deserved eulogy from his eldest daughter, Mary;
attendance by a host of family and friends and his peers from the real estate industry who acknowledged him as a pioneer and a leader in his field;
a luncheon back at the parish hall featuring his favorite: pumpkin pie for everyone!
I was touched when I attended the viewing at the funeral home on Monday evening, and as I gave my former mother-in-law a hug she told me her daughter Mary had something for me from Gib. As I was saying my goodbye's to the family, she handed me a scrap of paper and asked me to read it when I got home.
It was a note from Gibber that he had written just a few days before he died, thanking me for "saying those kind things" about him on this site and for all the good thoughts and prayers he received "from all those people I don't even know...."
So allow me to pass that forward to all of you who took the time to say a word of prayer or to write a few kind things of your own or who just took a moment to think a good thought on his behalf. You should know that I received many notes and e-mails after that post which I passed on to the family. They were truly touched by every one.
It has been a crazy time here, as any of you who've lost a family member can understand. All five of my children were in town to say goodbye to their grandpa, arriving from California (2), Texas (2) and Chicago. They, all but one, returned to their homes far away within hours of the funeral. My Meggie Mae will be heading back to Chi-town tomorrow.
I was made proud once again by my kids.
My son Aaron (who served as a pall-bearer) and my daughters Andrea and Katie Rose arrived in town on Friday and were able to be with their grandfather when he passed.
Meg got into town on Sunday and Leah fought through flight delays, missed connections and a forced overnight in Philly to get here on Tuesday. They were all a comfort and a help to their mother and their grandmother. Audible gasps at the sight of their beauty were heard from the congregation when they brought the gifts to the altar during the funeral mass.
(I swear it's true. Ask anyone who was there...)
So.
The Simon family will carry on, as families do. Gib's bride Virginia will be held close by her children and grandchildren and her church community and the wide circle of friends that she and ol' Gibber have built over the decades.
Time will dull the acute pain of loss. Grief will pass and the stories will get funnier. The belly will get rounder and the deeds will get bigger. In our memories the blue eyes will retain their mischievous twinkle and whatever faults that may have been will disappear completely.
Somewhere right now, just beyond the range of the naked eye, that ol' lefty is teeing up a little white ball . He's keeping his head down and his right arm straight and he's taking a slooow back-swing, coming around hard and pointing his little round belly at the pin and letting her fly.
I can almost hear him now, can't you?
"Well, I'll be go to hell! I finally got rid of that slice!"
I was a bit concerned when I published that post about how it would be received by ol' Gibber and the Simon clan, being that I kind of put his business out there for the whole world to see, coupled by the fact that I am a relative once removed.
As it turns out I needn't have worried. The family was (as usual) gracious and kind and even appreciative that I'd made the request for prayer on his behalf.
I'm sorry to tell you that Gibber passed on this last weekend.
He spent a few days in the hospital, but managed to get home at the end, where he was made comfortable and was able to spend his last days and hours in the company of his family.
His funeral was yesterday and he was sent off in the style he would have loved; a beautiful service at the church he attended virtually every morning for the past 30 years or so;
a touching and well deserved eulogy from his eldest daughter, Mary;
attendance by a host of family and friends and his peers from the real estate industry who acknowledged him as a pioneer and a leader in his field;
a luncheon back at the parish hall featuring his favorite: pumpkin pie for everyone!
I was touched when I attended the viewing at the funeral home on Monday evening, and as I gave my former mother-in-law a hug she told me her daughter Mary had something for me from Gib. As I was saying my goodbye's to the family, she handed me a scrap of paper and asked me to read it when I got home.
It was a note from Gibber that he had written just a few days before he died, thanking me for "saying those kind things" about him on this site and for all the good thoughts and prayers he received "from all those people I don't even know...."
So allow me to pass that forward to all of you who took the time to say a word of prayer or to write a few kind things of your own or who just took a moment to think a good thought on his behalf. You should know that I received many notes and e-mails after that post which I passed on to the family. They were truly touched by every one.
It has been a crazy time here, as any of you who've lost a family member can understand. All five of my children were in town to say goodbye to their grandpa, arriving from California (2), Texas (2) and Chicago. They, all but one, returned to their homes far away within hours of the funeral. My Meggie Mae will be heading back to Chi-town tomorrow.
I was made proud once again by my kids.
My son Aaron (who served as a pall-bearer) and my daughters Andrea and Katie Rose arrived in town on Friday and were able to be with their grandfather when he passed.
Meg got into town on Sunday and Leah fought through flight delays, missed connections and a forced overnight in Philly to get here on Tuesday. They were all a comfort and a help to their mother and their grandmother. Audible gasps at the sight of their beauty were heard from the congregation when they brought the gifts to the altar during the funeral mass.
(I swear it's true. Ask anyone who was there...)
So.
The Simon family will carry on, as families do. Gib's bride Virginia will be held close by her children and grandchildren and her church community and the wide circle of friends that she and ol' Gibber have built over the decades.
Time will dull the acute pain of loss. Grief will pass and the stories will get funnier. The belly will get rounder and the deeds will get bigger. In our memories the blue eyes will retain their mischievous twinkle and whatever faults that may have been will disappear completely.
Somewhere right now, just beyond the range of the naked eye, that ol' lefty is teeing up a little white ball . He's keeping his head down and his right arm straight and he's taking a slooow back-swing, coming around hard and pointing his little round belly at the pin and letting her fly.
I can almost hear him now, can't you?
"Well, I'll be go to hell! I finally got rid of that slice!"
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
first day on the set
I had my first day on the set with Val Kilmer and Armand Assante last Friday and I shot my first scenes for 'Steam Experiment'.
Everything I had heard prior to Labor Day was that we would begin shooting the third week in September.
On Labor Day I got the word that I would have my first call on Friday.
Being that I'd thought I had a couple of weeks, I have to confess that I hadn't fully given myself over to line study....
Give me a break! I don't know how other people do it. I had read the script through a couple of times to get a feel for the characters and especially to gain a sense for how my character, Police Lt. Tanner Clark, related to them.
I received the new, revised script on Tuesday, and by Friday morning I hadn't quite committed all the lines to memory, so I have to admit I was a shade nervous getting to the set. How nervous?
Well, I used the time to make the 70 mile trip from home to location to call everyone I know who prays and ask them for a favor...
But my scenes required me to be pissed at Armand's character, (I like to call him Armand. He refers to me as 'Doug, my man'), so I was able to put that nervous energy to good use yelling at a movie star.
(One of my lines as his boss is, "Damn it Jack! The guy's a fruit loop! Get your ass over to Fletcher Street!" Niiice...). We filmed until 12:55 Saturday morning. I got home from Grand Rapids about 2:30. (Being that most of the cast and a good portion of the crew is from the west coast, they run on California time).
I got there at 1:20 Friday afternoon, got to wardrobe at 2:00 (they put me in a black Hugo Boss suit with a white shirt and red and blackspot design tie. Stylin' fine with a much thinner profile all in black).
Next came hair and make-up, where I got all prettyed -up and got my hair parted in police-Lt fashion.
Then it was sit around and sweat until 6::00 when they called lunch, (a gorgeous buffet with baked salmon in a dill and basil sauce, baked chicken wrapped in proscuito with capers and lemon sauce, stuffed grapeleaves Lebanese style, chilled crab and lobster and various fresh seasonal fruits and vegetables and an entire table dedicated to deserts of the mostly continental style.
(I went ahead and had a slice of the apple pie with a big-ass wedge of cheddar cheese in honor of the recentley concluded Democratic and Republican National Conventions.)
I shot my first scene at 8:00 (walk into interigation, give Val Kilmer a dirty look, turn to Armand and say, "Jack! Get out here. I need to talk to you!"). Then I sat around memorizing lines and getting pissed at Armand (because it was in the script) until my last scene at 12:35. Which, as it turned out, didn't get shot until the next day due to time issues.
My friend Bobby asked me how it felt to be hanging with movie stars. "Was it other-worldly?" Mmmm, no. Not really. The toughest part was the trip over. It was a lot like the first day at a new school.... Will the other kids like me? Am I dressed okay? Am I gonna fit in??
There's an old saying in sports, "Act like you been there before."
Hell man. I can act like that.
And it turned out I can.
I will say this in all humility, boys and girls: I felt like I belonged there. I'm not Tom Hanks, but I can hang with these guys. These things can just be a nice adventure, but they always have the potential to lead to more. That, now, is my hope. This is all I want to do and I believe now more than ever that it's possible. The director Phillipe Martinez congratulated me on a good job and I got pat on the back in passing from Val (I'm your Huckelberry) Kilmer.
Not bad for a guy with limited talents and a 38 inch waist...
And day two went even better. I'll get back to you on that.
***********************************************************************
....by the by, thanks to my friends who pray. That's the difference maker, right there...
Everything I had heard prior to Labor Day was that we would begin shooting the third week in September.
On Labor Day I got the word that I would have my first call on Friday.
Being that I'd thought I had a couple of weeks, I have to confess that I hadn't fully given myself over to line study....
Give me a break! I don't know how other people do it. I had read the script through a couple of times to get a feel for the characters and especially to gain a sense for how my character, Police Lt. Tanner Clark, related to them.
I received the new, revised script on Tuesday, and by Friday morning I hadn't quite committed all the lines to memory, so I have to admit I was a shade nervous getting to the set. How nervous?
Well, I used the time to make the 70 mile trip from home to location to call everyone I know who prays and ask them for a favor...
But my scenes required me to be pissed at Armand's character, (I like to call him Armand. He refers to me as 'Doug, my man'), so I was able to put that nervous energy to good use yelling at a movie star.
(One of my lines as his boss is, "Damn it Jack! The guy's a fruit loop! Get your ass over to Fletcher Street!" Niiice...). We filmed until 12:55 Saturday morning. I got home from Grand Rapids about 2:30. (Being that most of the cast and a good portion of the crew is from the west coast, they run on California time).
I got there at 1:20 Friday afternoon, got to wardrobe at 2:00 (they put me in a black Hugo Boss suit with a white shirt and red and blackspot design tie. Stylin' fine with a much thinner profile all in black).
Next came hair and make-up, where I got all prettyed -up and got my hair parted in police-Lt fashion.
Then it was sit around and sweat until 6::00 when they called lunch, (a gorgeous buffet with baked salmon in a dill and basil sauce, baked chicken wrapped in proscuito with capers and lemon sauce, stuffed grapeleaves Lebanese style, chilled crab and lobster and various fresh seasonal fruits and vegetables and an entire table dedicated to deserts of the mostly continental style.
(I went ahead and had a slice of the apple pie with a big-ass wedge of cheddar cheese in honor of the recentley concluded Democratic and Republican National Conventions.)
I shot my first scene at 8:00 (walk into interigation, give Val Kilmer a dirty look, turn to Armand and say, "Jack! Get out here. I need to talk to you!"). Then I sat around memorizing lines and getting pissed at Armand (because it was in the script) until my last scene at 12:35. Which, as it turned out, didn't get shot until the next day due to time issues.
My friend Bobby asked me how it felt to be hanging with movie stars. "Was it other-worldly?" Mmmm, no. Not really. The toughest part was the trip over. It was a lot like the first day at a new school.... Will the other kids like me? Am I dressed okay? Am I gonna fit in??
There's an old saying in sports, "Act like you been there before."
Hell man. I can act like that.
And it turned out I can.
I will say this in all humility, boys and girls: I felt like I belonged there. I'm not Tom Hanks, but I can hang with these guys. These things can just be a nice adventure, but they always have the potential to lead to more. That, now, is my hope. This is all I want to do and I believe now more than ever that it's possible. The director Phillipe Martinez congratulated me on a good job and I got pat on the back in passing from Val (I'm your Huckelberry) Kilmer.
Not bad for a guy with limited talents and a 38 inch waist...
And day two went even better. I'll get back to you on that.
***********************************************************************
....by the by, thanks to my friends who pray. That's the difference maker, right there...
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Are you having trouble urinating?
Briefly....
I had an audition for an HBO series pilot last week.
I was up for the part of 'Urologist'.
The scene is set in an examination room where 'Urologist' is giving a rectal exam.
The line is, "So, are you having trouble urinating?"
They had me do it three different ways. The line, not the rectal exam. I don't know for sure, but I think there's only the one way to do an actual rectal exam. By a doctor, anyway.
(Do you remember the old joke? "It's bad enough to see the doc put on the rubber gloves. It's really bad when you notice he has both hands on your shoulders...")
Believe it or not, it's hard to audition a scene like that.
There are times when I can do a one line audition and know that I got it in the moment. That I was there and I believed it and I wasn't thinking about it or putting it on.
But for this deal, I had no context.
I didn't have a script prior to the casting.
I had no background on the part, the storyline or even a hint about what the show is about.... (feel free to add your own whiny noises here for a paragraph or so....)
I had a minute and a half to figure it out and do it.
But that should not be a problem for a good actor.
Me?
I sucked.
Right out loud.
In front of God and everybody.
I got to the audition. I auditioned.
Sometimes showing up is as good as it's gonna get.
But there are not enough opportunities to audition for an HBO series that I can afford to suck. That's the dream job right there.
Being involved in an HBO series?
I told my kids early on, that if I dared to dream a happy ending to all this acting stuff, it would be me in an HBO series.
Now, I realize that a future employer is probably not gonna say, "Oh! You were 'Urologist'?? I remember that scene...finger up the guy's butt, right? Dude you were awesome! Very believable."
But for a guy like me, just to have that on my resume, that would have been a very big deal.
So.
I gotta get better.
(Note to self...work on 'getting better' ...)
****************************************************************************
I told you about getting cast in "Steam" with Val Kilmer and Eric Roberts, right?
I know I did.
I told everybody I've ever met that I got cast in that movie.
Within 24 hours of being cast, I hired a medium to perform a seance so I could tell my dear departed parents that I got that gig.
Here's what I haven't told you....
48 hours after being told I'd been cast, I got an e-mail from the casting director saying that it was possible that, just maybe, the casting wasn't cast in stone.
Uh...what?
I've spent the last few weeks believing the best and fearing the worst. I got the word that 5 other people who thought they'd been cast were not cast.
Oh alas and woe is me. This sucks so bad. I am generally up for humilty, but at my age, I'm not sure I can take much more humiliation....
Happiest man in America my ass.
I would have to find some place to go where I know no one.
How does one disappear from the face of the earth?
Leave no trace...
No forwarding address.
A slow and lonely death 'neath a railroad trestle, cradling an empty bottle of 20/20, lying in the detritus of broken glass and crushed dreams....
I got a call from the casting director late last week.
The director of the film wanted to meet with me in his suite at the Amway Grand Hotel in Grand Rapids last Saturday.
Oh dude.
Please don't ask me to come all the way to G.R. just to tell me you don't want me in your movie.
That would be cruel.
I really do not have a plan "B".
Nope. He just wanted to take a minute to say hello and to welcome me aboard. Looking forward working with you!
Dude. That was the most stressful three weeks I've ever had.
But I'm laughing.
'Cause, after all...I am The Happiest Man In America!
**************************************************************************
"An ounce of behavior is worth a pound of words." Sanford Meisner
I had an audition for an HBO series pilot last week.
I was up for the part of 'Urologist'.
The scene is set in an examination room where 'Urologist' is giving a rectal exam.
The line is, "So, are you having trouble urinating?"
They had me do it three different ways. The line, not the rectal exam. I don't know for sure, but I think there's only the one way to do an actual rectal exam. By a doctor, anyway.
(Do you remember the old joke? "It's bad enough to see the doc put on the rubber gloves. It's really bad when you notice he has both hands on your shoulders...")
Believe it or not, it's hard to audition a scene like that.
There are times when I can do a one line audition and know that I got it in the moment. That I was there and I believed it and I wasn't thinking about it or putting it on.
But for this deal, I had no context.
I didn't have a script prior to the casting.
I had no background on the part, the storyline or even a hint about what the show is about.... (feel free to add your own whiny noises here for a paragraph or so....)
I had a minute and a half to figure it out and do it.
But that should not be a problem for a good actor.
Me?
I sucked.
Right out loud.
In front of God and everybody.
I got to the audition. I auditioned.
Sometimes showing up is as good as it's gonna get.
But there are not enough opportunities to audition for an HBO series that I can afford to suck. That's the dream job right there.
Being involved in an HBO series?
I told my kids early on, that if I dared to dream a happy ending to all this acting stuff, it would be me in an HBO series.
Now, I realize that a future employer is probably not gonna say, "Oh! You were 'Urologist'?? I remember that scene...finger up the guy's butt, right? Dude you were awesome! Very believable."
But for a guy like me, just to have that on my resume, that would have been a very big deal.
So.
I gotta get better.
(Note to self...work on 'getting better' ...)
****************************************************************************
I told you about getting cast in "Steam" with Val Kilmer and Eric Roberts, right?
I know I did.
I told everybody I've ever met that I got cast in that movie.
Within 24 hours of being cast, I hired a medium to perform a seance so I could tell my dear departed parents that I got that gig.
Here's what I haven't told you....
48 hours after being told I'd been cast, I got an e-mail from the casting director saying that it was possible that, just maybe, the casting wasn't cast in stone.
Uh...what?
I've spent the last few weeks believing the best and fearing the worst. I got the word that 5 other people who thought they'd been cast were not cast.
Oh alas and woe is me. This sucks so bad. I am generally up for humilty, but at my age, I'm not sure I can take much more humiliation....
Happiest man in America my ass.
I would have to find some place to go where I know no one.
How does one disappear from the face of the earth?
Leave no trace...
No forwarding address.
A slow and lonely death 'neath a railroad trestle, cradling an empty bottle of 20/20, lying in the detritus of broken glass and crushed dreams....
I got a call from the casting director late last week.
The director of the film wanted to meet with me in his suite at the Amway Grand Hotel in Grand Rapids last Saturday.
Oh dude.
Please don't ask me to come all the way to G.R. just to tell me you don't want me in your movie.
That would be cruel.
I really do not have a plan "B".
Nope. He just wanted to take a minute to say hello and to welcome me aboard. Looking forward working with you!
Dude. That was the most stressful three weeks I've ever had.
But I'm laughing.
'Cause, after all...I am The Happiest Man In America!
**************************************************************************
"An ounce of behavior is worth a pound of words." Sanford Meisner
Monday, August 18, 2008
It's not about the job...
"You are a baddass. Be the baddass." Yours Truely
**********************************************************************************
My former father-in-law is a baddass.
He knew what he wanted in life and he worked all day every day to get it.
When he graduated from high school he drove a truck at night and worked at a gas station during the day.
He somehow convinced Ginny Rademacher, the prettiest girl in Westphalia, Michigan to be his bride.
(He'd be the first one to tell you a little bit of luck doesn't hurt in the least).
Early in their marriage he took a job building cars at Oldsmobile and figured out pretty quick that that was not his cup of tea. I think he lasted three days.
He had managed to save up a thousand dollars, and when he quit 'the Olds' and got himself a gig selling pots and pans door to door, he said, "Ginny, when that thousand dollars is gone, I'm gonna have to get a job."
That thousand dollars has been earning interest since about 1952. (Compound interest. Make no mistake.)
Oh man. That guy could sell.
But don't think for a minute he was only a salesman. (Not that there's anything wrong with that...but there was more to Gib Simon than selling stuff.)
In his spare time, he built a house. (He didn't hire sombody to build a house, he built the damn house.) Then he sold it and built another one. Then he built a couple of more houses and sold those too. About that time some sharp real estate guy talked him into getting his real estate license and Gibber talked a couple of people into letting him sell their houses. It wasn't too long before he got so busy selling houses that he had to quit his job selling pots and pans so he could sell houses all the time. (You know, when he wasn't building houses.)
He got his brokers license and hired some salespeople and opened an office. Then he hired some more salespeople and he developed some land and he kicked him some real estate ass! A bunch of sales people, three or four offices and a very success life in business.
And he loved every minute of it.
And the funniest thing, he made friends the whole time along the way. Lot's of people get to where they are by taking it from some one else. That wasn't ol' Gibbers cup of tea either. (Understand, if there's a dollar bill on the table, you're gonna have to take some time and prove to Gib that it isn't his. But if it isn't, there's never any bad feelings from him about it. He's happy to earn it.)
He was a business man during his working life. Business made sense to him. He understood it. He loved it. He had a passion for it.
He tried for years to get me to understand business, "It's easy, Douger. You got so much coming in and so much going out and what's left is yours!"
I liked Gib so I pretended to get it. It seemed simple enough, but I was lacking that essential business gene. Frankly, I sold a lot of stuff too, but I was never much of a salesman either. I was an actor. I acted like a salesman, (and that will get you down the road a piece), but I lacked that inner drive for the dough. My favorite part about sales was it gave me a steady supply of audience that hadn't heard my jokes. Pathetic. I was always about the love, and I tell you right now, the love's important. But I have found that it doesn't pay the bills. Not on time, anyway.
I could go on for days about Gib Simon: His strong Catholic faith. His undying work ethic. His ill-fated attempts to master golf. His basement workshop and woodworking hobby. His damned stubborn German bull-headedness. Slide-butt gin rummy; dandelion wine; his love for his family....
It's a common mistake for people to measure someone like Gib by the comfortable life he's made and the thickness of his wallet.
The wallet might have been a gift. But he had to fill it himself.
But the thing that's made Gib Gib is that he's had the testicular fortitude to take a risk and to believe that he could do something better. He didn't settle for pumping gas. (Again, nothing wrong with pumping gas. But don't be a gas pumper unless you love pumping gas. Or if it's gonna get you where you're looking to go.) He reached beyond his own grasp. He's conducted himself like a man, man.
So dude, what's the deal? You're writing about your ex father-in-law?? How's your girlfriend feel about that?
I'm not worried about it. I've been divorced a long time, and my girlfriend's a baddass, too.
But ol' Gibber's had some health issues lately. Oh, he's 'sitting up and taking nourishment' as I know he'd say. But he's not well. He might take kindly to a kind thought or a little prayer. (Expecially a good Catholic prayer, if you know one). And before I asked a bunch of people who don't know him to think a good thought for him or say a little prayer for him, (and believe me, he's invested enough prayers for other people over the years), I figured it would help you do that if you knew who he is.
He's a baddass. He's the happiest man in America, Emeritus.
Trust me. It's worth your time....
*******************************************************************************
I've quoted thus before, but it's good to see it again:
**********************************************************************************
My former father-in-law is a baddass.
He knew what he wanted in life and he worked all day every day to get it.
When he graduated from high school he drove a truck at night and worked at a gas station during the day.
He somehow convinced Ginny Rademacher, the prettiest girl in Westphalia, Michigan to be his bride.
(He'd be the first one to tell you a little bit of luck doesn't hurt in the least).
Early in their marriage he took a job building cars at Oldsmobile and figured out pretty quick that that was not his cup of tea. I think he lasted three days.
He had managed to save up a thousand dollars, and when he quit 'the Olds' and got himself a gig selling pots and pans door to door, he said, "Ginny, when that thousand dollars is gone, I'm gonna have to get a job."
That thousand dollars has been earning interest since about 1952. (Compound interest. Make no mistake.)
Oh man. That guy could sell.
But don't think for a minute he was only a salesman. (Not that there's anything wrong with that...but there was more to Gib Simon than selling stuff.)
In his spare time, he built a house. (He didn't hire sombody to build a house, he built the damn house.) Then he sold it and built another one. Then he built a couple of more houses and sold those too. About that time some sharp real estate guy talked him into getting his real estate license and Gibber talked a couple of people into letting him sell their houses. It wasn't too long before he got so busy selling houses that he had to quit his job selling pots and pans so he could sell houses all the time. (You know, when he wasn't building houses.)
He got his brokers license and hired some salespeople and opened an office. Then he hired some more salespeople and he developed some land and he kicked him some real estate ass! A bunch of sales people, three or four offices and a very success life in business.
And he loved every minute of it.
And the funniest thing, he made friends the whole time along the way. Lot's of people get to where they are by taking it from some one else. That wasn't ol' Gibbers cup of tea either. (Understand, if there's a dollar bill on the table, you're gonna have to take some time and prove to Gib that it isn't his. But if it isn't, there's never any bad feelings from him about it. He's happy to earn it.)
He was a business man during his working life. Business made sense to him. He understood it. He loved it. He had a passion for it.
He tried for years to get me to understand business, "It's easy, Douger. You got so much coming in and so much going out and what's left is yours!"
I liked Gib so I pretended to get it. It seemed simple enough, but I was lacking that essential business gene. Frankly, I sold a lot of stuff too, but I was never much of a salesman either. I was an actor. I acted like a salesman, (and that will get you down the road a piece), but I lacked that inner drive for the dough. My favorite part about sales was it gave me a steady supply of audience that hadn't heard my jokes. Pathetic. I was always about the love, and I tell you right now, the love's important. But I have found that it doesn't pay the bills. Not on time, anyway.
I could go on for days about Gib Simon: His strong Catholic faith. His undying work ethic. His ill-fated attempts to master golf. His basement workshop and woodworking hobby. His damned stubborn German bull-headedness. Slide-butt gin rummy; dandelion wine; his love for his family....
It's a common mistake for people to measure someone like Gib by the comfortable life he's made and the thickness of his wallet.
The wallet might have been a gift. But he had to fill it himself.
But the thing that's made Gib Gib is that he's had the testicular fortitude to take a risk and to believe that he could do something better. He didn't settle for pumping gas. (Again, nothing wrong with pumping gas. But don't be a gas pumper unless you love pumping gas. Or if it's gonna get you where you're looking to go.) He reached beyond his own grasp. He's conducted himself like a man, man.
So dude, what's the deal? You're writing about your ex father-in-law?? How's your girlfriend feel about that?
I'm not worried about it. I've been divorced a long time, and my girlfriend's a baddass, too.
But ol' Gibber's had some health issues lately. Oh, he's 'sitting up and taking nourishment' as I know he'd say. But he's not well. He might take kindly to a kind thought or a little prayer. (Expecially a good Catholic prayer, if you know one). And before I asked a bunch of people who don't know him to think a good thought for him or say a little prayer for him, (and believe me, he's invested enough prayers for other people over the years), I figured it would help you do that if you knew who he is.
He's a baddass. He's the happiest man in America, Emeritus.
Trust me. It's worth your time....
*******************************************************************************
I've quoted thus before, but it's good to see it again:
This excerpt from Terry Pratchett's wonderful novel "Moving Pictures", (quoted from Ginger, former milk maid and budding starlet on her desire to be the most famous person in the world)
"...the greatest tragedy in the whole word is all the people who never find out what it is they really want to do or what it is they're really good at. It's all the sons who become blacksmiths because their fathers were blacksmiths. It's all the people who could be really fantastic flute players who grow old and die without ever seeing a musical instrument, so they become bad ploughmen instead. It's all the people with talents who never even find out. Maybe they are never even born in a time when it's even possible to find out....It's all the people who never get to know what it is they can really be. It's all the wasted chances."
"It Don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing". Duke Ellington
dA
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
As close to porn as I'm likely to get...
I'm supposed to act like I would like to have sex with Kim Cattrell.
OK. I can do that.
I was called to audition for the part last Friday, and I worked on it all weekend. (Hey! I had to memorize both lines...)
The casting was yesterday in Southfield at Specs Howard.
(This process is so bizzare....)
The role was for an over-the-hill biker guy. Well, one of two over-the-hill biker guys. And I was ready for either one. Oh yeah...acting! (A thank you!!)
I got to the audition 5 minutes early. (Yes!) I took my number and I waited to get called. After an hour, I go in, hand in my head-shot and resume and the casting director says,
"Which part are you reading for?"
I say, (with confidence and the slightest hint of Ugly Guy attitude), "Ugly Guy 1 and Ugly Guy 2." (Because I got range, my friend!)
(A beat)
She says,"Um. Well." (A glance in my direction.) (Another beat.) "That's not gonna work."
(Deep breath.... It's cool, baby.... Stay the course...)
(Be the biker dude. Ommmm.)
I say, "Why not??" (Don't whine.), "I combed my hair funny and didn't shave or shower for four days to prepare for this part!" (Sell it, bro!) "Plus I memorized the lines! And I can say 'em really good, too! Both of 'em!"
{The audition scene takes place in a sleazy motel room where a porn video is about to be shot. The players in this particular scene include: The hero of the story, (a 19 year old kid who is in love with this porn star);
The Star herself;
The porn "director" and "crew";
and these two Biker Dudes. (The Biker Dudes are wearing underpants.)
(God, that's a funny word to use in conjunction with biker dudes. Underpants! Hah!)
They're preparing to shoot the scene. The 19 year old takes off his pants and he's wearing a sparkly thong. He removes the thong, and my lines are:
Ugly Guy 1: "Woo-hoo! Are you sure this ain't a gay video??"
Ugly Guy 2: "Put a wig on him. I'll do him, too!"
(Swear to god, I got those lines down!)}
(And please note: This part I'm auditioning for is for a full budget SAG film. We're not screwing around here.... Well, we are. But not for fun! It's a real, legit movie.)
I'm ready, but the casting director says, "I don't want to waste your time. You're just not ugly."
Well, that's just swell. A compliment, I suppose. Something I can add to my resume. But still, I have to confess, I am a bit dissapointed.
Not being ugly: IT DON'T PUT FOOD ON THE COT-DANGED TABLE! (To use the vernacular.)
This is the third time in two weeks I have been sent on an audition that isn't gonna work. (Bitch and moan, bitch and moan...)
Undaunted, I asked to read the parts anyway. (Because you just don't know, do you?)
The casting director acquiesced.
Naturally, I was awesome.
She said, "Nice. Real nice." (The proverbial beat..) "Too bad you're not uglier."
Yes. Yes it is....
Hey. Not the right role. I guess we've all had that experience in life....
Don't get me wrong, I apprectiate getting the call. ("I'm just happy to have been nominated...") I really am glad that they're thinking of me and keeping my picture near the top of the pile. And I mean that.
With some luck, next time they'll be looking for a handsome, (or at least a 'not ugly') 50-ish Irish man with a sense of humor and destiny a-waiting!
Hey, a man can dream, can't he?
What?? It could happen!!
Now here goes me, The Happiest Man In America, keeping the faith 'till next time!
Better days ahead!!
dA
OK. I can do that.
I was called to audition for the part last Friday, and I worked on it all weekend. (Hey! I had to memorize both lines...)
The casting was yesterday in Southfield at Specs Howard.
(This process is so bizzare....)
The role was for an over-the-hill biker guy. Well, one of two over-the-hill biker guys. And I was ready for either one. Oh yeah...acting! (A thank you!!)
I got to the audition 5 minutes early. (Yes!) I took my number and I waited to get called. After an hour, I go in, hand in my head-shot and resume and the casting director says,
"Which part are you reading for?"
I say, (with confidence and the slightest hint of Ugly Guy attitude), "Ugly Guy 1 and Ugly Guy 2." (Because I got range, my friend!)
(A beat)
She says,"Um. Well." (A glance in my direction.) (Another beat.) "That's not gonna work."
(Deep breath.... It's cool, baby.... Stay the course...)
(Be the biker dude. Ommmm.)
I say, "Why not??" (Don't whine.), "I combed my hair funny and didn't shave or shower for four days to prepare for this part!" (Sell it, bro!) "Plus I memorized the lines! And I can say 'em really good, too! Both of 'em!"
{The audition scene takes place in a sleazy motel room where a porn video is about to be shot. The players in this particular scene include: The hero of the story, (a 19 year old kid who is in love with this porn star);
The Star herself;
The porn "director" and "crew";
and these two Biker Dudes. (The Biker Dudes are wearing underpants.)
(God, that's a funny word to use in conjunction with biker dudes. Underpants! Hah!)
They're preparing to shoot the scene. The 19 year old takes off his pants and he's wearing a sparkly thong. He removes the thong, and my lines are:
Ugly Guy 1: "Woo-hoo! Are you sure this ain't a gay video??"
Ugly Guy 2: "Put a wig on him. I'll do him, too!"
(Swear to god, I got those lines down!)}
(And please note: This part I'm auditioning for is for a full budget SAG film. We're not screwing around here.... Well, we are. But not for fun! It's a real, legit movie.)
I'm ready, but the casting director says, "I don't want to waste your time. You're just not ugly."
Well, that's just swell. A compliment, I suppose. Something I can add to my resume. But still, I have to confess, I am a bit dissapointed.
Not being ugly: IT DON'T PUT FOOD ON THE COT-DANGED TABLE! (To use the vernacular.)
This is the third time in two weeks I have been sent on an audition that isn't gonna work. (Bitch and moan, bitch and moan...)
Undaunted, I asked to read the parts anyway. (Because you just don't know, do you?)
The casting director acquiesced.
Naturally, I was awesome.
She said, "Nice. Real nice." (The proverbial beat..) "Too bad you're not uglier."
Yes. Yes it is....
Hey. Not the right role. I guess we've all had that experience in life....
Don't get me wrong, I apprectiate getting the call. ("I'm just happy to have been nominated...") I really am glad that they're thinking of me and keeping my picture near the top of the pile. And I mean that.
With some luck, next time they'll be looking for a handsome, (or at least a 'not ugly') 50-ish Irish man with a sense of humor and destiny a-waiting!
Hey, a man can dream, can't he?
What?? It could happen!!
Now here goes me, The Happiest Man In America, keeping the faith 'till next time!
Better days ahead!!
dA
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Doug's (don't call me) Chicken Chili
What happened to my summer? I turned on the TV the other night and what the hell was that?
Football?
This in the first week of August?
We should be humming 'Boat-Floatin' songs or listening to the Tigers on the radio while we put sliced ring-bologna, Vidalia onion and Pinconning cheese on saltines, crack open ice cold Little Kings from the cooler and bob along on Lake Louise with a fishing line trailing out the back of the pontoon boat.
What parallel universe have I stumbled into? Is this a place where they trick-or-treat on the Fourth of July? Is Santa making his way down from the North Pole to put presents around the Labor Day Tree? Is someone going to put Saran Wrap on my toilet seat, jump out of a closet and yell "August Fool's Day!"?
I know ... I'm going a little overboard. No need to get all girly and hysterical.
Fact is, it was just pre-season football. And, when I think about it, it's only a few weeks sooner than I would've normally anticipated its arrival.
And it was the Detroit Lions, (who just barely count as a football team ....)
Understand, I love football. You know I watched the game. It was football, after a fashion, and I'm still just a testosterone-powered boy from the midwest deep down. In fact the only thing I don't like about the coming of football season is that it's a painful sign that summer's about to breathe it's last and another northern winter is a-comin' hard on it's heels, compete with 5 months of sub-freezing temps and 6 measley hours of grey-shrouded daylight days.
But I'm from Michigan. When I watch football I don't expect to peek out the window and see a sun-burnt-brown lawn and unfinished yard projects!
And Hootchie Mama! Right now it's dog-days hot! It's air-conditioning-on-full-all-night-long hot in my part of the state!
It's not like I live in Arizona where it's always hot! Talk to me about Arizona after Christmas when God meant for you to be somewhere hot! You know, like for a bowl game!
Football is the only sign my poor friends in Florida get that the season has changed out of summer and into fall. Well, that and the rise in hotel prices in anticipation of the arrival of the migratory Snowbirds.
{In truth, Florida and Michigan's Upper Peninsula are quite similar in this respect: they both have only two actual seasons;
In Florida you have your Summer Season, (also known as your Hurricane Season), which runs from June through about the middle of October and is celebrated in many small Florida towns by the traditional frying-of-the-egg-on-the-sidewalk bit, (which is still a crack-up no matter how many times you've seen it). Then you have your Tourist Season, which comes on around mid-October, builds up a full head of steam about a week before Christmas and hurtles head-long into the sub-season of Spring Break, (which is the begining-of-the-end and the absolute how-we-gonna-get-outta-here damned acme-peak of Tourist Season). The end of Spring Break in mid-May is observed in many ocean-front communities by the traditional 'clean up the beach and empty the jails of those damn college kids' celebration and parade. Very quaint.
By contrast, (and as the old joke goes), Michigan's Upper Peninsula's two seasons are known as Winter and about two weeks in August known as Bad Snowmobiling.
By even further contrast, in John McCain's home state of Arizona, they have three seasons: The Hot Season; the Damn! It's Hot Season and The I'll Be Go To Hell I believe I'm Fixing to Fry Out Here Season. (In case you're scoring at home).}
(And once again I digress... my apologies.)
One of the things I love most about regular football season (aside from my buddy Jay's 50 yard-line seats at Spartan Stadium) is the slow fade of summer heat into crisp, clear fall weather and the natural and healthy desire to cook up enough of something to feed 10 or 20 of your closest friends so they have something to wash down with their favorite libations prior to, during and after the big game.
And that's the reason I called: To begin the football-tailgate-recipe series!
Up this week: Doug's (Don't Call Me) Chicken Chili! You'll find it posted on the right hand side of this blog page, thanks to my eldest daughter, Miss Tia Leah, (ain't she cute?), who cut and pasted it over there off an e-mail I sent her, along with my other recipes.
('Cause I don't know how to do it myself yet. Don't laugh at me...she's gonna send directions....)
But first, this reminder to ask that you click on the latest 'Google Ads' you'll also find on the right side of the page, or peruse a book or song choice from one of the many slide shows you'll find on the blog site. It costs you nothing to click unless you buy something cool, (if that should suit your fancy).
I thank you, my many children and grandchildren thank you, my girlfriend thanks you and of course my ex-wife thanks you, too.
********************************************************************************
For the record: I can do a German accent. Unfortunately, it's mostly reminiscent of Sgt. Schultz from "Hogan's Hero's" and not what you would call 'believable'. So when I got a call earlier this past week to audition for the principle role of "German Obstetrician" for the soon-to-be-made-for-TNT-true-story-movie about world famous neuro-surgeon Dr. Ben Carson (starring Cuba Gooding, Jr!), I called the referring agent and asked if they were looking for someone who could actually do a believable German accent.
"Nope. They asked for you specifically. I assume it's because you look kind of German".
Oh. Really. Well, who am I to argue? (Or should I say, "Ja volt, Herr Commandant!"?)
The first question I asked the casting agent when I got in to the audition was, "So you don't need a German accent for this role, huh?"
"Yeah you do. He's German." (She didn't call me 'dumb-ass', but I could see it in her eyes...)
Well hell. I was already there, right? I wasn't going to make that 130 mile round trip and not read! I gave it the old college try, with predictable results. (I know nothing! Nothing!!)
If they reprise Hogan's Hero's, though, I got a shot.
I was seriously steamed at my agent for just making stuff up. But the Casting Director was great. All was not lost. She, (Carrie Ray by the way. What a peach!), found another role for me to read for and really went out of her way to get me on tape for the producer. And it may work out yet. I got an e-mail from her this afternoon to let me know she thought it went very well and she sent it out to the producer Friday.
So be cool, fool. You don't know what can happen if you give it a shot. 80% of life is just showing up. (The other 30% is math)....
dA
Football?
This in the first week of August?
We should be humming 'Boat-Floatin' songs or listening to the Tigers on the radio while we put sliced ring-bologna, Vidalia onion and Pinconning cheese on saltines, crack open ice cold Little Kings from the cooler and bob along on Lake Louise with a fishing line trailing out the back of the pontoon boat.
What parallel universe have I stumbled into? Is this a place where they trick-or-treat on the Fourth of July? Is Santa making his way down from the North Pole to put presents around the Labor Day Tree? Is someone going to put Saran Wrap on my toilet seat, jump out of a closet and yell "August Fool's Day!"?
I know ... I'm going a little overboard. No need to get all girly and hysterical.
Fact is, it was just pre-season football. And, when I think about it, it's only a few weeks sooner than I would've normally anticipated its arrival.
And it was the Detroit Lions, (who just barely count as a football team ....)
Understand, I love football. You know I watched the game. It was football, after a fashion, and I'm still just a testosterone-powered boy from the midwest deep down. In fact the only thing I don't like about the coming of football season is that it's a painful sign that summer's about to breathe it's last and another northern winter is a-comin' hard on it's heels, compete with 5 months of sub-freezing temps and 6 measley hours of grey-shrouded daylight days.
But I'm from Michigan. When I watch football I don't expect to peek out the window and see a sun-burnt-brown lawn and unfinished yard projects!
And Hootchie Mama! Right now it's dog-days hot! It's air-conditioning-on-full-all-night-long hot in my part of the state!
It's not like I live in Arizona where it's always hot! Talk to me about Arizona after Christmas when God meant for you to be somewhere hot! You know, like for a bowl game!
Football is the only sign my poor friends in Florida get that the season has changed out of summer and into fall. Well, that and the rise in hotel prices in anticipation of the arrival of the migratory Snowbirds.
{In truth, Florida and Michigan's Upper Peninsula are quite similar in this respect: they both have only two actual seasons;
In Florida you have your Summer Season, (also known as your Hurricane Season), which runs from June through about the middle of October and is celebrated in many small Florida towns by the traditional frying-of-the-egg-on-the-sidewalk bit, (which is still a crack-up no matter how many times you've seen it). Then you have your Tourist Season, which comes on around mid-October, builds up a full head of steam about a week before Christmas and hurtles head-long into the sub-season of Spring Break, (which is the begining-of-the-end and the absolute how-we-gonna-get-outta-here damned acme-peak of Tourist Season). The end of Spring Break in mid-May is observed in many ocean-front communities by the traditional 'clean up the beach and empty the jails of those damn college kids' celebration and parade. Very quaint.
By contrast, (and as the old joke goes), Michigan's Upper Peninsula's two seasons are known as Winter and about two weeks in August known as Bad Snowmobiling.
By even further contrast, in John McCain's home state of Arizona, they have three seasons: The Hot Season; the Damn! It's Hot Season and The I'll Be Go To Hell I believe I'm Fixing to Fry Out Here Season. (In case you're scoring at home).}
(And once again I digress... my apologies.)
One of the things I love most about regular football season (aside from my buddy Jay's 50 yard-line seats at Spartan Stadium) is the slow fade of summer heat into crisp, clear fall weather and the natural and healthy desire to cook up enough of something to feed 10 or 20 of your closest friends so they have something to wash down with their favorite libations prior to, during and after the big game.
And that's the reason I called: To begin the football-tailgate-recipe series!
Up this week: Doug's (Don't Call Me) Chicken Chili! You'll find it posted on the right hand side of this blog page, thanks to my eldest daughter, Miss Tia Leah, (ain't she cute?), who cut and pasted it over there off an e-mail I sent her, along with my other recipes.
('Cause I don't know how to do it myself yet. Don't laugh at me...she's gonna send directions....)
But first, this reminder to ask that you click on the latest 'Google Ads' you'll also find on the right side of the page, or peruse a book or song choice from one of the many slide shows you'll find on the blog site. It costs you nothing to click unless you buy something cool, (if that should suit your fancy).
I thank you, my many children and grandchildren thank you, my girlfriend thanks you and of course my ex-wife thanks you, too.
********************************************************************************
For the record: I can do a German accent. Unfortunately, it's mostly reminiscent of Sgt. Schultz from "Hogan's Hero's" and not what you would call 'believable'. So when I got a call earlier this past week to audition for the principle role of "German Obstetrician" for the soon-to-be-made-for-TNT-true-story-movie about world famous neuro-surgeon Dr. Ben Carson (starring Cuba Gooding, Jr!), I called the referring agent and asked if they were looking for someone who could actually do a believable German accent.
"Nope. They asked for you specifically. I assume it's because you look kind of German".
Oh. Really. Well, who am I to argue? (Or should I say, "Ja volt, Herr Commandant!"?)
The first question I asked the casting agent when I got in to the audition was, "So you don't need a German accent for this role, huh?"
"Yeah you do. He's German." (She didn't call me 'dumb-ass', but I could see it in her eyes...)
Well hell. I was already there, right? I wasn't going to make that 130 mile round trip and not read! I gave it the old college try, with predictable results. (I know nothing! Nothing!!)
If they reprise Hogan's Hero's, though, I got a shot.
I was seriously steamed at my agent for just making stuff up. But the Casting Director was great. All was not lost. She, (Carrie Ray by the way. What a peach!), found another role for me to read for and really went out of her way to get me on tape for the producer. And it may work out yet. I got an e-mail from her this afternoon to let me know she thought it went very well and she sent it out to the producer Friday.
So be cool, fool. You don't know what can happen if you give it a shot. 80% of life is just showing up. (The other 30% is math)....
dA
Monday, August 4, 2008
Reality Bites
"Can you take me to the store
and then the bank?
I've got five dollars we can put in the tank.
I got a court date comin' in June.
I'll be drivin' soon....
Passenger side.
Passenger si-hide.
I don't like ridin'
on the passenger side."
(From the song "Passenger Side" by Wilco, from their A.M. album.)
*********************************************************************************
I was enjoying a quiet time with my girlfriend Tracy a few evenings ago.
I was reading a book at the end of a long day of yard work and house puttering: Lawn mowed in the early August sun; A long walk with our greyhound, Candy; Linguine Alchini, successfully prepared and enjoyed by all. I may have even sipped a glass of California Chardonnay with supper....
OK. At least a glass. You know as well as I know that wine only ages well before it's uncorked.
I'm not even sure if you can re-chill a nice California Chardonnay, (never having had the opportunity). Besides, I don't want to know if you can re-chill wine, because even if you can, I'm not sure you should....
The point is, I was relaxed....
Very relaxed....
It was that time of the evening when the eyelids begin to succumb to gravity...
...breath slow and even...
...thoughts drowsy and content...
...moving inexorably towards the Land of Nod....
And then, from Tracys side of the bed:
"So. What's your five-year plan?"
(Damn. Quiet now. Don't move. Don't think. Don't react.)
A beat.
(That's good. Breathe steady. Eyes closed. "I'm sleeping. See? See how still I am?)
(Oh Christ! Don't BLINK you idiot!)
A beat.
Another beat....
From Tracys side again, "Okay. How about your two year plan?"
(Was that sarcasm? Did I hear just the slightest hint of ridicule in that question?!?)
"Can you even tell me what you're doing tomorrow?"
(Oh yeah. Definitely sarcasm.)
Sigh...
Like most men, I believe a relationship works best when I'm being admired for my brilliance, adored for my wisdom, and appreciated for my strength of character, superior sense of humor and unmatched ability to win friends and influence people.
I like to rest secure in the sure knowledge and confident that, against all evidence to the contrary, that's who she believes I am.
A man, man.
It never fails to come as a shock to find out: she's on to me.
From time to time a woman has to call you out. (Right out loud). (But, if you're lucky, not in front of God and everybody.)
For the most part, Tracy, like most women, feels she's done well if she can go a day without her man embarrassing her in public.
(It's not that women have low standards. It's just that...well... experience speaks boldly and refuses to shut the hell up. And, fortunately for most of us men, their options are limited.)
(How do you think Laura Bush handles it? She must go to bed every night thinking, "Well, at least he's not Dick Cheney.")
So. Goals. Plans. Ambitions.
Goals have to be measurable and realistic enough to be attainable.
I spent thirty years in sales. I understand the concept.
What scares me a little is trying to apply the concept to acting for money.
Being a man and having chosen to go into the acting profession rather late in life, deep down I want to say, "My goal is to be the next Tom Hanks. All I have to do is go on x auditions a week!"
Man, I'll audition for anything they'll let me audition for. Unfortunately, they're willing to go get the actual Tom Hanks for those roles.
(So, you'd audition to play Adolf Hitler in a production for the Hitler Youth??
UH, YEAH. And I'd kill that mother.)
(I mean, not for not for community theatre. I gotta get paid, dude.)
Generally speaking, I just want to find somebody who will pay me to take my picture.
Inside I believe I am an artist.
I occasionally confess it out loud.
I will boldly say that I am doing what I believe I am meant to do.
I am pursuing not just a dream, but my life calling, such as it is.
How do you measure that?
When do you know you've attained that?
All you can do is what you can do.
And how do you answer that question of planning from someone you love without revealing how inept and unprepared and un...worthy you feel deep down inside?
"Well as a part of my plan, I expect to be an "A" list Hollywood actor within five years. Here then are my action steps..."
I feigned sleep successfully for a night. But I have to tell you, I've not really been sleeping well since then.
Because she's right.
(God I hate that).
For two plus years I've done the best I can with what I have. And I am not ashamed of what I've been able to accomplish so far.
When I started I didn't know how to get an acting job. I had no idea how to even find an agent.
I had a sort of a plan that included keeping the job I had and working into this whole thing slowly...figure it out...save some dough and simplify my lifestyle.
One, two, three, JUMP!
So much for that idea.
For a variety of reasons I had to jump on 'one...' or not at all.
And 'not at all' was not an option.
So now I need to revisit goals.
I will tell you this, I have no goals that do not start with being a full-time professional actor.
That's it for me.
That being said, I have now gotten enough experience (and I am now broke enough) to understand that I need to find ways to supplement my income.
Get a car that works. (And keep it working)
Pay my share for the food I eat and the resources I consume.
Put myself in a position to wish my children and grandchildren Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas with a gift instead of just a phone call.
Get your hair cut when it gets too long, go to the dentist when your teeth need cleaning, replace your clothes when they wear out and don't whine like a little bitc... don't whine about the process.
I was talking to a friend of mine about all this a few days ago.
I mentioned the kindness and concern of friends who have offered support and my reluctance to take them up on their generosity.
I keep thinking that I'm doing what I have been created to do. I'll do the acting and God will take care of the rest.
My friend told me an old story you may have heard, but it hit home in a different way for me that day.
It seems there was a guy who got caught in a flood and he climbed up on his roof for safety.
He was a religious guy and he prayed to God to save him.
Just then a neighbor came by in a row boat and said, "Hey man! Hop in."
And the guy said, "No, I'll be okay. God will take care of me."
And the water got higher.
Then the National Guard came by with a helicopter and they lowered a line and he shouted up to them,
"No thanks! I'll be okay! God'll take care of me!"
Then he fell off the roof and drowned.
And God looked at him and said, "Dude," (God's got a sense of humor about religion), "I sent you a boat. I sent you a helicopter. What's your problem?"
No problem dude.
I'm gettin' there.
And I couldn't be happier about it.
Happiest damn man in America, muchacho.
So don't get in my way....
**********************************************************************************
By the way. I have been informed that I can make a little walking-around money whenever you visit the site if you take a moment and "click" on the Google ads you'll find on the right side of the page, below my acting resume and the recipes. And don't forget, you can also buy books (off the slide-show at the bottom of the page) and music (mp3 downloads and actual CD's and vinyl, even) from the slide shows by the Google ads. So come on. Do it. You know you want to. And remember, by clicking and buying, you're supporting the artist, if not actually the arts.....dA
and then the bank?
I've got five dollars we can put in the tank.
I got a court date comin' in June.
I'll be drivin' soon....
Passenger side.
Passenger si-hide.
I don't like ridin'
on the passenger side."
(From the song "Passenger Side" by Wilco, from their A.M. album.)
*********************************************************************************
I was enjoying a quiet time with my girlfriend Tracy a few evenings ago.
I was reading a book at the end of a long day of yard work and house puttering: Lawn mowed in the early August sun; A long walk with our greyhound, Candy; Linguine Alchini, successfully prepared and enjoyed by all. I may have even sipped a glass of California Chardonnay with supper....
OK. At least a glass. You know as well as I know that wine only ages well before it's uncorked.
I'm not even sure if you can re-chill a nice California Chardonnay, (never having had the opportunity). Besides, I don't want to know if you can re-chill wine, because even if you can, I'm not sure you should....
The point is, I was relaxed....
Very relaxed....
It was that time of the evening when the eyelids begin to succumb to gravity...
...breath slow and even...
...thoughts drowsy and content...
...moving inexorably towards the Land of Nod....
And then, from Tracys side of the bed:
"So. What's your five-year plan?"
(Damn. Quiet now. Don't move. Don't think. Don't react.)
A beat.
(That's good. Breathe steady. Eyes closed. "I'm sleeping. See? See how still I am?)
(Oh Christ! Don't BLINK you idiot!)
A beat.
Another beat....
From Tracys side again, "Okay. How about your two year plan?"
(Was that sarcasm? Did I hear just the slightest hint of ridicule in that question?!?)
"Can you even tell me what you're doing tomorrow?"
(Oh yeah. Definitely sarcasm.)
Sigh...
Like most men, I believe a relationship works best when I'm being admired for my brilliance, adored for my wisdom, and appreciated for my strength of character, superior sense of humor and unmatched ability to win friends and influence people.
I like to rest secure in the sure knowledge and confident that, against all evidence to the contrary, that's who she believes I am.
A man, man.
It never fails to come as a shock to find out: she's on to me.
From time to time a woman has to call you out. (Right out loud). (But, if you're lucky, not in front of God and everybody.)
For the most part, Tracy, like most women, feels she's done well if she can go a day without her man embarrassing her in public.
(It's not that women have low standards. It's just that...well... experience speaks boldly and refuses to shut the hell up. And, fortunately for most of us men, their options are limited.)
(How do you think Laura Bush handles it? She must go to bed every night thinking, "Well, at least he's not Dick Cheney.")
So. Goals. Plans. Ambitions.
Goals have to be measurable and realistic enough to be attainable.
I spent thirty years in sales. I understand the concept.
What scares me a little is trying to apply the concept to acting for money.
Being a man and having chosen to go into the acting profession rather late in life, deep down I want to say, "My goal is to be the next Tom Hanks. All I have to do is go on x auditions a week!"
Man, I'll audition for anything they'll let me audition for. Unfortunately, they're willing to go get the actual Tom Hanks for those roles.
(So, you'd audition to play Adolf Hitler in a production for the Hitler Youth??
UH, YEAH. And I'd kill that mother.)
(I mean, not for not for community theatre. I gotta get paid, dude.)
Generally speaking, I just want to find somebody who will pay me to take my picture.
Inside I believe I am an artist.
I occasionally confess it out loud.
I will boldly say that I am doing what I believe I am meant to do.
I am pursuing not just a dream, but my life calling, such as it is.
How do you measure that?
When do you know you've attained that?
All you can do is what you can do.
And how do you answer that question of planning from someone you love without revealing how inept and unprepared and un...worthy you feel deep down inside?
"Well as a part of my plan, I expect to be an "A" list Hollywood actor within five years. Here then are my action steps..."
I feigned sleep successfully for a night. But I have to tell you, I've not really been sleeping well since then.
Because she's right.
(God I hate that).
For two plus years I've done the best I can with what I have. And I am not ashamed of what I've been able to accomplish so far.
When I started I didn't know how to get an acting job. I had no idea how to even find an agent.
I had a sort of a plan that included keeping the job I had and working into this whole thing slowly...figure it out...save some dough and simplify my lifestyle.
One, two, three, JUMP!
So much for that idea.
For a variety of reasons I had to jump on 'one...' or not at all.
And 'not at all' was not an option.
So now I need to revisit goals.
I will tell you this, I have no goals that do not start with being a full-time professional actor.
That's it for me.
That being said, I have now gotten enough experience (and I am now broke enough) to understand that I need to find ways to supplement my income.
Get a car that works. (And keep it working)
Pay my share for the food I eat and the resources I consume.
Put myself in a position to wish my children and grandchildren Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas with a gift instead of just a phone call.
Get your hair cut when it gets too long, go to the dentist when your teeth need cleaning, replace your clothes when they wear out and don't whine like a little bitc... don't whine about the process.
I was talking to a friend of mine about all this a few days ago.
I mentioned the kindness and concern of friends who have offered support and my reluctance to take them up on their generosity.
I keep thinking that I'm doing what I have been created to do. I'll do the acting and God will take care of the rest.
My friend told me an old story you may have heard, but it hit home in a different way for me that day.
It seems there was a guy who got caught in a flood and he climbed up on his roof for safety.
He was a religious guy and he prayed to God to save him.
Just then a neighbor came by in a row boat and said, "Hey man! Hop in."
And the guy said, "No, I'll be okay. God will take care of me."
And the water got higher.
Then the National Guard came by with a helicopter and they lowered a line and he shouted up to them,
"No thanks! I'll be okay! God'll take care of me!"
Then he fell off the roof and drowned.
And God looked at him and said, "Dude," (God's got a sense of humor about religion), "I sent you a boat. I sent you a helicopter. What's your problem?"
No problem dude.
I'm gettin' there.
And I couldn't be happier about it.
Happiest damn man in America, muchacho.
So don't get in my way....
**********************************************************************************
By the way. I have been informed that I can make a little walking-around money whenever you visit the site if you take a moment and "click" on the Google ads you'll find on the right side of the page, below my acting resume and the recipes. And don't forget, you can also buy books (off the slide-show at the bottom of the page) and music (mp3 downloads and actual CD's and vinyl, even) from the slide shows by the Google ads. So come on. Do it. You know you want to. And remember, by clicking and buying, you're supporting the artist, if not actually the arts.....dA
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