late night goodness

So the bane of my existence is this "natural" split keyboard that I'm typing on. I think they were a big hit several years ago. But as I can barely type fluidly on regular keyboards, this keyboard is maddening. Anyway. . .

My favorite kind of art is the kind of art that makes me glad to be alive. Perhaps that is not really saying anything, since depending on where you are at emotionally/mentally/spiritually any kind of art could fit that description. Which, I suppose, means that it's all the more irrefutable. And the Canadian tv show "Sling and Arrows," is the epitome of this. Especially the first season (although I am not done with the second yet, so maybe it is just as good).

The main thesis of the first season has to do with the dichotomy between art as revolutionary and art as enterprise. It shows you truth just long enough for you to recognize it, and then it immediately makes you laugh; leaving you in a state of awe and befuddlement. You have an epiphany and then you forget it when Jack (an L.A. actor trying to find legitimacy in portraying Hamlet) paraphrases Shakespeare by saying, "What have you done? What have you done? Fuck me!" The humor is clearly obvious. But when you think about the fact that he is scared out of his mind to be grappling with Shakespeare while sharing a stage with several season performers (not to mentioned being directed by one of the greatest portrayers of Hamlet ever), you now find yourself laughing while thinking that this might be the most honest acting ever.

OK, so that might be a little biased. That scene is far from my favorite. But still, it is an amazing show. And I have absolutely no qualms about talking something I love up. How can I expect that this show will be the next thing you netflix if I half-ass my endorsement?

And the cast is amazing. I basically in love with the three main characters (and perhaps some of the periphery characters as well).

I think my initial feeling about the first season is this: Screw commercializing your art. Talented, honest art will succeed. This isn't to say that if you commercialize talented, honest art, that you will be unsuccessful. But rather, there is no need for commercialization if your art is honest and talented (e.g. not shitty) . And if you take that to another level, you can be sure that if you are honest and true to yourself, you can guarantee that what you crate will be honest and talentfull. And will therefore be successful (as necessarily measured by currency or recognition).

Hopefully some of this made sense. I have been nursing the slightest of terrific buzzes for a few hours now. Anyway, have a great night (morning, day, afternoon or evening, depending on when you are reading this).

God bless us, EVERYONE!

And this is this

And this is this I can't write much, cuz I really need to do something productive in terms of work stuff (which is kinda why I'm writing this; to conjure up some internal drive).

All the out of towners are gone. the dust is settling. And there is nothing special to look forward to (which is kinda nice for a change). I need to not have distractions. I find my job to be incredibly demanding mentally. Not in a hard math sort of way. But in a "gotta keep my head in the game," stay focused on ten different objectives flying around as inconsistently as butterflies. I think I can do it, I just need a little time to get focused. And this past holiday, and especially this weekend, were among the most distracting times ever. I think I figured some things out that I am better of for figuring out. But we'll see.

And in closing, thanks for talking/listening, Mike. And thanks to everyone who visited this weekend. It was pretty much amazing.

Well that's that

So I just dropped off Isaac at O'Hare. Sad times. It was great having him around. And it's been great having everyone else in town. Originally I thought it would be fun to have everyone in town at the same time, but in retrospect, I kinda wish I would have had one person up at a time. I didn't really have any one on one time with anyone. And I was so busy that I was always tired.

I was really happy at the new year. Hopeful. Expectant. Optimistic. Etc. But. . .all of that is gone now. But at least I made it about a month. The thought that went the deepest on my way back from the airport was that I just want to be hugged. I mean like really good and hugged. But that isn't going to happen anytime in the near future. But. . . .

So while typing that mike started playing a new song of ours and morgan picked up one of my hand drums and tried desperately to play and sing at the same time. momentary good times :)

Anyway, what I was going to say was that when you feel like you need a hug just cry a bit. Because then you feel completely emptied and it's as if there is nothing left of you for someone to hug even if there was a someone. The best cries are ones where, instead of using the tears from your tear ducts, you use the tears that have been building up in your heart over the months, or sometimes years (I am incredibly sorry for the emo-ness of that. I'm kicking myself for even thinking it).

I remember when alone seemed romantic. Turns out it just feels tragic.

Son of a . . . I can't keep writing this stuff. I gotta stop before this gets even more ridiculous than it already is (although I'm not convinced it's even possible).

Here's to looking back at this whole thing as a pathetic phase.

God bless us, everyone