Two bits of news: I am back to the blog. I will be sharing tidbits about story and scriptwriting, the comings and goings of my professional life, and trivia that I find interesting.
Second, and apropos to the first two things in the above list, I will be the special guest on Kitty Bucholtz’s podcast, Write Now!, this Thursday.
You can listen to Write Now! on any of your podcast listening devices, or watch the video version on Kitty’s YouTube page.
We will be discussing a number of angles on writing, including my theory on why Infinity War had to end in tragedy – which is tied to why the MCU is stronger than the DCU.
A mockumentary on the hardships (and paperwork) involved when you are a beat cop in the Dark Knight’s city.
This Sunday is a benefit performance for the Little Daisy Memorial Scholarship – a scholarship for Releve in honor of my friends, Shon and Jodi’s little girl.
The faculty of Releve Studio will be performing – hip hop, lyrical, contemporary, jazz, hawaiian, ballet, tap, jive, and rumba dances, along with sketch comedy and ballads, broadway & original tunes. Hosted by comedian Cory Edwards.
Join us if you can.
SING * DANCE * ACT
An all-star show to benefit the Little Daisy Memorial Scholarship!
Sunday, September 30th
2:00 – 3:15pm
Birmingham Community Charter HS (17000 Haynes Street, Van Nuys)
You may purchase your tickets with a credit card (or paypal) online at www.littledaisy.org. Suggested donation is $20 per ticket (but to encourage families, we have “pay-what-you-can” tickets starting as low as only $5 each!!) Tickets will also be sold at the door (cash/check only).
If you can’t attend, but would still like to donate to a great cause, go to www.littledaisy.org and click DONATE NOW.
It’s an understandable mistake, and as I am told, not an uncommon one.
I’ll be telling a story to friends, and need to remember a detail, and look over to her and say,
“Was that on 43rd Street?”
And she’ll say,
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
And I’ll think but not say,
“Because I want you to help me remember if that was on 43rd Street, duh.”
And clearly I’m making a face as I’m thinking because she points out,
“That was before we met. I wasn’t there.”
And I snort and say,
“I know that. Duh.”
And then I think but don’t say,
“Really? Oh, yeah. I guess that was before I knew her.”
Do it all the time.
The romantics in the room might be sighing now, and saying,
“Aww, he doesn’t think life existed before her.”
And that’s sweet, but not quite on the money.
There was plenty of life, even some very good bits before her. People and things that I in no way regret and would snap up again if I had another go-round.
AJ Smith, and PAVAS and Annie Get Your Gun, Drake and Billy and Andrea and Thea and Little Mary Sunshine, that railroad apartment and interning and Horace Mann and Howard and Bonnie and Joe and Margie and Susan and Miriam and Dave and Carl and Larry and…
No, it took me thirty years to wise up and meet her, and there was a lot of there there. So it isn’t that.
And it’s not that our seventeen years together (sixteen spent as one) feels like a lifetime. To be honest, it feels too short, and I don’t think that will ever go away.
What I do believe, however, is that it is wishful thinking. Not wishing away the life before her, or thinking that nothing could be good without her.
It’s just my subconscious realizing that everything would be better with her.
Re-remembering history with her in it enhances the experience.
Sharing the surprise birthday party where I surprised the surprisers, or seeing Les Miz for the first time, or getting lost on that bike ride, or even ducking as the onion dip flew over head – the remembrance is brighter thinking that it is part of “us” rather than just “me.”
Shiny, as Kaylee might say.
It’s like having a favorite show – you really like the show. But then someone suggests a dream cast member, and you think – “wow, that show would be even better!”
Suppose, say, you really like the play Waiting for Godot. (I’m not saying real people do, I’m just saying “suppose.”)
Now say that you hear that the play is being done with Steve Martin, Robin Williams, F. Murray Abraham and Bill Irwin.
Just imagining your favorite play with that cast, even though you haven’t seen it, is a delight.
That’s what I think is happening.
I’m just imagining my history with her cast in the first act, even though I haven’t seen it.
And imagining her in the cast is a delight.
Just my thoughts,
A new blog I’m following, Bob’s Blog, says a lot of what I think during election season.
I recently heard a sports reporter commentary, where he pointed out that one reason America loves the summer Olympics is because it always falls during an election year – and guarantees for several weeks that we have something to listen to besides news of the candidates.
Amen to that.
I started to update my status by saying:
“Of all the possible writing assignments that I could have, the one I hate the most is writing obituaries.”
But I stopped, because that isn’t true. I don’t hate writing obits.
Last night, I sat at a table with Cath and friends, and we turned a love one’s two sentence “she was born here and then died there” obit into truer reflection of a life. A dim reflection, but more than just dates.
I listened and typed as we told stories, looked at pictures, heard from her parents, tried to answer “what would she want to be known for” and firmly stated what she did not want to be known for. (In this case, she hated being called an “inspiration.”)
In short, we celebrated a life that had real meaning for us.
That kind of writing is therapeutic; a bit cathartic. It weighs the realness of loss against the truth of the gift brought on by sharing life with another person.
What I do hate is that there is ever a need to put into words such things; that I would have to point someone to an essay on paper rather than just point to the person.
I like to think that, on occasion, I am good with words. But nothing I write will ever beat:
“You want to know about Ruth? Well, she’s right over there. Go spend some time with her – then you’ll see what I see.”
Yeah, that can’t be beat.
Just my thoughts,
Betty & DD, a documentary series covering classes taught at an acting school in Hobart, NM (located in the arts & medical building by the underpass) is in the midst of its second season.
Lot’s of intrigue, as they answer the question: Who shot Storm McCarthy?
Check out their first three eps:
For more Betty & DD, as well as behind the scenes material, check out their youtube page.
Today I had the deep honor of carrying Daisy Christine the final fifty yards she will travel in this world.
It took just the two of us, Joel and I, as the casket was small and the burden so light.
A grave for a child put me in mind of Jeremiah:
This is what the Lord says:
“A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.”
There were tears indeed, and mourning.
But also an odd sense of hope and a touch of comfort mingled in.
Attendees were encouraged to wear bright colors; children were not only welcome, but encouraged to attend.
Reverend Kim pointed out that Daisy will never know what it means to be hungry, or alone, or fearful. Never. A revelation that brought tears and hope.
Allyson sang “It is Well,” as the program notes reminded us that the soothing roll of melody was written in the heart of tragedy – written for a day such as this.
Ray wrote lyrics specific for the day, and Karen delivered them – words of heartache yet yearning for the time when we will dance together.
Indeed, Jeremiah, in the same passage describing inconsolable weeping, penned this promise:
Then young women will dance and be glad…
(Ever so much more poignant, as Daisy was the child of a dance studio, and many of the young girls in attendance would indeed be dancing in response to their communal grief…)
Then young women will dance and be glad, young men and old as well. I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.
Oh, Daisy of the graveside, may you be now and ever more Daisy of the dance!
Just my thoughts,