Bye Bye Agosto

**This is way delayed, apologies. There has been a Blogger issue with my computer, but I found a back way in - just like with your mom...**

I can't say why, but it doesn't seem like August should have 31 days. It doesn't seem like that kind of month. It sort of feels like there is some great worldwide calendar conspiracy going on - like those who control the dates are messing with my mind. This also means that they've tapped into my memory and changed that "30 days has September" song that I memorized as a child. It's like the rest of the world stating for fact that 4 is not an even number.

It's my licentious past coming to get me. It's that final snap with reality that the steadfast little voice in my head has warned me of all of these years.

But August is ending folks, do you feel it? Do you? And being it's ending on this unexpected sort of Brigadoon day, this 31st that never was before (I don't care what you tell me) it feels momentous for some reason.

I've been feeling all of this change on the air. Not just my change, 'cause there's certainly a lot coming down my way, but everyone seems to be in a state of movement. People are moving, people are going back to school, people are making decisions to change their lifestyles. And yeah, I know, we're always in a constant state of change, but it seems like we struggle to maintain some sort of steady bearing. I have this feeling that people are giving up on that idea, that frustrating and ultimately destructive idea of pushing against that frightening concept of change; we're leaping into the dark with wide smiles, we're letting the river take us for a little while.

Then again, I'm the one who is dead certain that August only has 30 days...

It's Kyle's last day at work today, he's moving to Germany. I'm excited for him, I know there was a lot of worry and deliberation in that decision. And honestly, while it is an exciting one, the idea of moving to a whole other country sort of makes me want to shit my, or someone else’s, pants. Go rock on with your bad self Kyle, go collect some stories, go live your life with passion and fulfillment. I'm gonna miss that smile something awful...

Okay… Vodka, Chambord and blackberry juice? Shaken and poured with a little ice? What do you think? Fruity yes, but I think good fruity...

Thank you Captain Derailer.

Let's all do our best to see August out with a bang shall we? She's been a good month, been there for us. We begin a final push to the close of our show tonight, I'm gonna celebrate August's demise by actorating all over the audience. Can I get a "hell yeah"?

The Calm Before The Fall

I took yesterday off. I knew it was going to happen, It was a matter of time. I wore myself down and shared close backstage air with a number of sick cast members. I could feel myself starting to get sick, so I took a crash day as a preemptive measure to all out badness. I slept all... day... long... I slept while Strangers On A Train and The Two Towers spun unheeded in my DVD player. I slept and I dreamt of the posting I would miss yesterday.

No I didn't, he said slyly. I did actually dream of my director for the show currently in rehearsals giving me acting notes on a show that doesn't exist. I couldn't understand a word he said, but I kept nodding and saying "okay". Stupid actor dreams. There's also the ones where you go out on stage and realize you don't know your lines, or you've learned the lines for a completely different show.

Oh man you guys, I'm a little fuzzy brained today, I beg your pardons.

I got up in the evening and shuffled feverishly to the theater. It was overcast and humid out, a little cold around the edges. It reminded me of New Orleans a bit; when you can feel all of that pent up rainfall in the air, bouncing off the brick walls, it always does. But it was really the realization that fall was so close to here, like two blocks away on a bike, that made me smile and feel light inside. I just kept thinking of pies and bread and soup, and bundling up to walk outside in air that smells wet and spicy.

We did some heavy, serious, one on one work inside the theater. When we broke for the night we conglomerated outside the theater like normal. It had rained while we were inside and the streets and the bricks of the buildings were shining. I always feel good when I have done some serious acting type stuff, when I have gotten into a place where I'm not thinking anymore and just running on instinct, but there was this nearly post coital calm that I felt afterwards.

Erik asked if I wanted a ride. I didn't, I wanted a slow walk through the light rain, I wanted to indulge myself in a sort of romantic melancholy. The guy who always perches on the sidewalk next to Linda's and gives out a "hey guy" when you pass was scooted as far out of the rain as possible. I gave him my daily salutation back and he laughed with this bubbly glee that makes me smile thinking about it. "Try to stay dry brother," he said, laughing.

I felt tired, and I felt sickness trying to pry itself further in, but I felt good damn it. I felt a peace and excitement all together in an intoxicating mix. I felt like all of these unseen pieces had come together just right to bring me to these present moments, and that man, I really couldn't want for more. I felt love for all the amazing people I'm lucky enough to have in my life. I got excited thinking about wrapping the baby bear up and walking through the city to give it it's first taste of the world.

This glorious, heartbreaking world.

Yes, They Went To The Space Needle

I got to see my brother this weekend, and to meet his wife. My brother now lives in Costa Rica full time and had taken his new bride up to the states to tour around. It was decided that they would come see the show I'm in right now. Because of this, my new sister-in-law's first impression of me would be of me in a sparkly, blue dress. This would all be fine and well if I hadn't met his first wife the same damn way.

Okay, that last part is a lie.

She is an absolute sweetheart and beautiful on top of it. She has a passion in her that just pours out of her eyes and smile. She speaks English very well, but was a little self conscious about her abilities and would occasionally slip into Spanish for my brother to translate.

My brother seemed happy, there wasn't any of the quiet, bored detachment that seems to be a family trademark, something we do when we get uncomfortable or unhappy. There was talk, there were drinks, there were a large number of pictures taken. There was an inner remark of wonder when I realized that Evelyn the sister-in-law had had a rum drink, Jagermeister and tequila (at least) in those few hours; this endeared her to me forever. There was a moment when I thought to myself after losing half a glass of whisky that I probably didn't need anymore - this was before having at least another 2.

The next day, after sleeping off what should have been an UGLY hangover (but which turned out to be only slightly unbecoming), we all took the ferry over to Bremerton to visit my grandmother.

I listened quietly to my brother and Evelyn tell stories about Costa Rica, imagining this hot and humid jungle paradise. Something seems vulgar and near blasphemous about Americans (including my parents) buying up land in this country whose inhabitants can't afford to buy pieces of their own, only to jack up the prices and sell it back to other spoiled Americans at exorbitant prices. But I let that slide for the moment, lulled by stories of all of this fresh tropical fruit and seafood from as of yet unspoiled waters, stories of monkeys and images of jungles awash in a heavy and warm rains.

I've wanted to venture into Costa Rica since my brother found his way down there years ago. There have always been issues that have come up; no money, unemployed, moving to a new city. At some point someone was mentioning their desire to get there sometime as well. Evelyn said something in glorious sounding Spanish and looked at my brother with questioning eyes.

"There's no direct translation," he said, sort of searching his mind for something close. "Life's too short."

Yeah, it really is.

There's A Place In The Stars For When You Get Old

He had gotten to that part of an evening of excess where he's literally speaking in tongues; using words that can only be understood between himself and his god. His focus was approximately 12 feet beyond your head when he turned to you and tossed those magic words your way. I was realizing a little late, as I myself had had more than enough thick and ice cold vodka and bong hits, that he was in no shape to be out there in the garage anymore.

I think he may have said something about cowboys...

Scruggs, the bad influence that all bad influences seem molded after, was finding absolute comedy in his shambling and earnest nonsense. He kept providing more drinks and goading him into drinking them. I pulled Scruggs' fat form away and tried asking him kindly not to give him anymore booze. Asking Scruggs nicely to do something was like feeding a five year old candy and coke and asking him to sit still and be quiet. Kindness equated to weakness in Scruggs' diabolical eyes.

His slurs had become passionate, he wanted so badly for someone to understand him. I grabbed him by the shoulders and told him I was taking him home. He tried to focus on my eyes and I could feel anger, derision, fear and hopelessness coming out of there. But it was tough to tell as he wasn't really there anymore, he hadn't been for awhile.

It was on that short trip home that I suggested we get out of town, away from external forces that were creating his demise more and more quickly. He was near tears and I could almost feel the powerful focus it took to pull tangible words together.

"It's not the drugs," he said, trying to beat me to any reasoning. He was wrong, but also so right. The drugs had caught him in a spiral that he couldn't or didn't care to pull himself out of. What I didn't see at the time beneath the constant flow of that crystal river though was the depression and fear and self loathing that opened that appetite.

He had passed out by the time we got to the apartment. Out so far that a volley of good shakes and couple of hard slaps couldn't raise him. I tried to get him out of the car, only managing to watch him tumble to the parking lot. Had I not gotten him over on his side, it was likely he would have drowned on the flood of whisky and vodka and beer that erupted from his mouth.

I struggled for close to 40 minutes, trying to get his lifeless form up an amazing amount of stairs. And I swear to his god and anybody else’s that it had occurred to me more than once just to leave him outside. But I got him into the apartment and left him sleeping on the living room floor.

The following days, the last days that I would spend living in Southern California, things seemed to be easier between us. There seemed to be a breach in the shields of avoidance we had been carrying around. There seemed to be a decision made for the better...

“Seemed to be” is way too pliable a thought to rely on though.

Can't Understand, Just What Does He Say

I awoke this morning with this vague sort of dread that it had been awhile since I'd heard my alarm go off. I quickly grabbed my phone, putting it up to my face so I could see clearly. It was a little later than it should have been, but nothing dire. My next immediate thought was, what the hell caused that awful taste in my mouth? It tasted like someone had snuck in during the night and filled my mouth with swamp water and road kill possum.

None of this bade well for an easy going morning. I am a little worn out and tired and so, a little cranky. And when I get cranky at work I find it necessary to listen to my ipod or I will snap. The sound of some of my coworker's voices can be enough to make me want to launch into an ill advised tirade; the sort that I usually form in my head, keep silent about and laugh at my bitchy cleverness. When I get tired and out of sorts like this, sometimes I get the ideas of sharing my wit and just being plain hurtful mixed up.

So ipod to the rescue. I was making a playlist for my pleasure and delight and began remembering how much fun I had DJ'ing on the college radio station.

I think being on the radio was always a dream that I had kept in the back of my head from a young age. After I saw the movie Pump Up The Volume, I so badly wanted to start a pirate radio station. Without ever bringing it up myself, my friend Dave once asked me if I would do a pirate radio show if he and Keith stole the equipment to make it happen. I nearly threw him to ground and made sweet, sweet love to him right there. Would I? Fuck yes I would!

So when Biffy got a show on the San Francisco State radio station, I eagerly pushed my way into that (I'm sorry by the way if I totally stepped all over your shit Bif). We had a blast, we played whatever the fuck we wanted to and would spend long breaks talking about random shit that would crack us both up. And I loved the search for the perfect twenty minute song which would allow us a quick restroom break, a smoke and a trip to the student union for a bag of Corn Nuts.

In case you ever need this knowledge, The Diamond Sea by Sonic Youth will allow you to accomplish these things and it’s still a great song.

Mmmmm, those were good times. And while I miss it, and wouldn't mind going in and doing a show from time to time, it makes me a little sad to think about doing that for a living on a real station. Those folks who have to play off a playlist, never talk about anything interesting and feel the necessity to speak in that friggin' fake retarded DJ voice, they seem desperate and sad somehow.

Anyway, the day is picking up, it's not as bad as it looked like it might be. I hope y'all are doing well.

p.s. Listening to tapes of Mercedes as a DJ saying, "It's Friday!", with more energy than a mere mortal has the right to have, is a delight that I hope to never forget.

p.p.s. If you listen to only one X song today, make it Adult Books. My god, I love that song!

Oh Man, Look At Those Cavemen Go

It happens all the time - I push myself and I get tired and the mind starts to wear down and I start to mumble blasphemous things under my breath and become emotionally unstable... I'm loving it though guys, I'm performing and rehearsing and being pushed as an actor (which I effing love). The only drag to the inner-Billy circle jerk of joy is the job.

These freakin' idiots I am forced to talk to in order to get a paycheck... They make me want to set my knuckles on fire and then punch them in the face repeatedly.

And on thinking about that, I was reminded of a night, long ago, outside the Steps of Rome in North Beach, San Francisco... Follow me now, will you?

Corado and I were walking down the sidewalk, a little drunk on red wine when we heard a loud and heated argument break out. Two older men, who looked a little - shall we say, disreputable - began yelling at each other about a woman and how said woman was taken by one of the men. Things escalated really quickly and suddenly punches were being thrown.

I don't like witnessing real violence; it makes me uncomfortable and it shreds the small amount of faith that I have that we as men and women have the ability to divine something greater out of our basic animal origins. I at times can get into that vicarious thrill of film violence, but sometimes I even get overwhelmed by that. I talk all tough, but it would actually take a lot for me to purposefully hurt someone else.

"It's amazing how fast it happens..." Corado said, watching these two salty bastards go at it on the street corner. I imagine myself grimacing while I look on. At some point, this tussle knocks someone's coffee cup onto the street and I turn to watch the fluid course its way down the sidewalk. Defense mechanism, perhaps, but my entire attention went to watching this brown stream of coffee find the path of least resistance to the drainage grate in the street, where it would then lead to San Francisco Bay and then to the Pacific beyond. I got completely wrapped up in the idea that water, like energy, just continually recycles itself and its very nature is to get on back to the mother ship.

And now I cannot get my mind off the fact that Pluto is no longer a planet. It makes me want to freeze my fist in liquid nitrogen and punch an astronomer in the face with it until one of them shatters. I refuse to change my model of the solar system, I'll go ahead and be wrong. Lick my balls bitches!

I would pay good money though to watch the dog Pluto duke it out with Goofy...

In The Morning

It would be awesome if instead of waking up to the trilling, electronic sounds emanating from my cell phone, I could awake to the warm tones of a fanfare played by a French Horn. And I mean a person standing in the corner of the bedroom, playing the French Horn.

At first I imagined a middle-aged man, not necessarily English, but maybe with an affectation of a slightly British accent. I also imagine him wearing a red velvet blazer. But on further reflection, I'm thinking maybe a tall, young woman in her twenties, plain but pretty, and still in that red velvet blazer. She would play until I got my lazy ass out of bed, at which she would say with a smile, "good morning" and leave to go wherever it is she goes. Probably to the library, I think she's doing a research paper on the long term effects of Carnuba Wax in foodstuffs.

I'm typically against the idea of servants, but if I had the money, I think I could rationalize having a French Horn player on the payroll.

It would also be awesome if I would get up early enough to lounge in the hot shower for awhile and listen to a good chunk of Dieselhed's Tales Of The Brown Dragon while I suds it up with hemp peppermint soap.

This stuff is awesome by the way.

It would also be awesome if I could stop saying "awesome" so much.

And as long as I'm wishing on more morning time, I would love it if after that shower and dressing, if I could have a nice warm breakfast and cup of coffee sitting by the kitchen window. I first thought of eggs benedict, but I'm gonna start packing on the pounds if I eat that everyday; maybe just some simple scrambled eggs with potatoes and toast.

I have a particular fondness for sitting at our little green table, at the window, and drinking coffee early in the morning. I especially appreciate this for some reason when it's cold out.

I can feel the season change coming - a little early I think. There's a darkness to the mornings that wasn't there a couple of weeks ago, a chill to the air that is just flirting with the idea going pro and becoming serious cold. I'm looking forward to the upcoming fall with that quickened beat of the heart that is reminiscent of the return of your love after being away from home for a few days.

I've realized that with the return to living with actual seasons again, there is this constant excitement with the coming of a new one; just as I start to get tired of the current season's actions, the next one comes around.

Man, I hope my French Horn player finishes her paper soon, she really seems stressed about it.


Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: Some mambo song that is in La Dolce Vita, this one’s a clinger…