Reppe.com

Random Bullets

• The story of Hansel and Gretel fucks with my head. I can deal with the weird ass step mom wanting to abandon the kids in the woods and even the weird ass witch of the forest who's been living alone for so long and taking bong hits off tree sap or whatever the hell she's doing that she has turned herself into a cannibal. It's the dad that puts me off my lunch. He's so enamored with some gutter slut pain in the ass that he claims he doesn't want to abandon the kids but since the gutter slut wants to he just can't bring himself to say no. If I'd written that story it would have ended with dad all happy to see the kids return after the death of the StepMonster but Hansel would've gone all Clint Eastwood on his ass and thrown off the serapi and nailed him between the eyes with his six shooters...I think I need to create the American film industry version of our most hallowed fairy tales. Snow White is the 7 Dwarves concubine, Cinderella's Prince gives her the clap from hammering more ladies of the court than Tiger Woods on the Monday after a major, Bambi grows up neurotic as hell from Mom being killed at a young age and can't hold onto a relationship, and don't even get me started on that Marquis De Sade freak up at the North Pole who's all into fetish sex and cosplay.
• What in the fuck do you do with the Auschwitz "Arbeit Macht Frei' (work sets you free) sign after you've stolen it? I used to steal signs and flags and things with my friend Mark back in High School. So, on some level the sheer audacity of this is impressive but, like, you can't show it to anyone. 
• It's that time of the football season when sportscasters and journalists step up their ongoing assault on the English language. "They control their own destiny" and all of it's derivatives. Destiny can't be controlled you twits.
• Christ, I hate Eggplant. I'm certain it's a left over scourge that God visited upon Job.
• The woman in the room next to me at the Hilton this week had one of those buzzsaw voices - nasal, grating, loud, and constant - that cut right through the walls as she'd talk to her friends or business associates until midnight every night. I learned an alarming amount about her sex life. She's juggling four guys and they're all bad in bed. Seems like at some point you have to at least consider that you are the common denominator in this bad sex equation. Just sayin'. She'd make up for it by falling asleep to the TV jacked waaaay the hell up. Awesome.
• I find it alarming that I live someplace so cold that traveling to Chicago in December results in a 25 degree temperature improvement. Don't get me wrong, it's still cold. But it ain't Minnesota cold.
• I have officially re-established my cred as a snotty power traveler. Got all bent out of shape today when I learned I wouldn't get upgraded to the Big Chairs. This is not a positive development.
• My trusty old steed (a 2000 Nissan Maxima) gave up the ghost back in August and I was carless for a couple of months. Beginning of November I bought a new one. I'm a little too enamored with it and think it's a sign of dramatic aging that the thing I like about it the best are the seat warmers. Renting a car for work this week that doesn't have them and my level of suffering and histrionics has hit the operatic level. I know I'm old and fat. Didn't know I'd turned into such a wimp.
• But it is really fun to drive around in my new toy.
• So wrapped up with work I've not really paid attention to the holidays approaching until now. That's kind of a bummer. Gonna find some non-shopping Christmas-y things to do this weekend and next week will take the time while I'm in downtown Chicago to stroll along the streets and check out the lights and wander into a candlelight service or two. When I get home I'm planning on a Christmas Eve Day trip to a big ass toy store and maxing out the credit card and then delivering a whole whomping hunk of stuff to one of the homeless shelters or orphanage's in Minneapolis. Not good for my debt load or credit rating. Really good for the soul.
• Found the best eavesdroppin' restaurant ever just a half mile from where I'm working. To wit...
• • Couple next to me sharing a meal and a whole passel of naked hostility towards each other. To the point where they had a spat about whether the the butter was actually butter and gave a shit about the outcome of the argument. It was like a prison yard scene in a movie...no one backing down. Somewhere in the course of that I thought to myself, "somebody cheated on somebody and they're fighting about everything but that". Not 30 seconds later the dude says "So...you met up with Paul last Saturday instead of your friends." Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. Deep sigh. "Nothing happened." Whoa, Nelly! Way too pregnant of a pause for that. Dude wasn't buying it even a little. It became clear that he was at a point where he was looking for The One and she was, rather emphatically, not. Finished off with the dude getting up to leave and her asking "how am I supposed to get home". Dude says, "Call Paul. I'm sure he's all about riding you." Good parting shot to a really bad night.
  • The elderly couple on the other side of me dressed in mourning black eating quietly started chatting with the very friendly, very hispanic bus boy who was sweet as can be but struggled with English. While I couldn't hear what they were saying to him I heard him, before he broke away to turn his attention back to work say, "My heart, it hurts for you" with such sincerity that I choked up.

Dirty Clothes and Toilet Seats

She stood outside of the security line yesterday watching her husband leave. They are both in their early 30's, he tall and strong and wearing his uniform. She medium height and a little heavy. She is legally blind, though not entirely sightless, and wears hearing aids. She is a housewife. He is a soldier going back for his 3rd tour in Iraq.

As he makes his way up the line she changes locations to get as close to the screening gate as possible. When she moves she loses sight of him, or of the blur that represents him. She is just on the other side of the nylon barrier rope from me. I ask her what her husband's name is. "Kevin," she says.

I shout his name, he turns and I wave and point at his wife. Knowing her and her trouble seeing he steps away from the line and waves his arms so she can identify which blur he is. She says his name, softly, over and over and over again while gazing in his direction.

He walks over and puts his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't cry, baby. I'll be back. Besides, you won't have to worry about some big, smelly guy leaving his dirty clothes lying around or forgetting to put the toilet seat down."

As she clutches a part of his shirt in her hand she says "I miss your dirty clothes when you're gone. If you promise you're coming back I'll never complain about them, again."

She says it quiet and desperate, in a way that rips your heart out through your throat.

He passes through security and she stares after him long after he's gone. Her mother-in-law, who has stood off to the side to give them their moment, comes for her and says, "He's gone, now, Kallie."

She says, "I know."

"We should leave now, honey."

"Not yet", Kallie says. "This is as close as I'll be to him for a long, long time."

Recessions - The Economy's Laxative

Recessions, which admittedly suck, do tend to have a cleansing effect. They flush out lots of bad business thinking as desperation sets in and no-brainer ideas that could get no traction before suddenly seem brilliant. An example...

"General Motors Co and eBay Inc (EBAY.O) said Monday that they launched a test program in California that will allow consumers to negotiate with dealers and buy vehicles online.

The car shopping website -- gm.ebay.com -- marks a departure from the way new vehicles have been traditionally sold in the United States and is aimed at helping GM gain ground with consumers a month after it emerged from bankruptcy."

This is not a new idea. eBay has been approaching auto manufacturers with this for years. The auto companies have toyed with, and killed, various proprietary attempts to do so. Channel conflict being the most used excuse but, really, it's just that they were big, arrogant, and as a result, stupid. So, finally, the auto industry is meandering towards the 21st century by taking advantage of technology to make it easier for consumers to purchase from them. That's part of this that is so welcome...GM is going to allow people who wish to hand it money to do so with greater ease. Makes sense they were so opposed to the idea.

The Running People

Just finished reading Born To Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and The Greatest Race The World Has Never Seen. It is an absolutely brilliant cultural study and a wonderfully told story. I'm not a runner...hell, I'm barely a walker. This book isn't really about ultramarathons...it's really about running as a return to our ancient roots and the way that is embodied by a handful of modern runners and, most interestingly, the Tarahumara (also Raramuri), a tribe hiding out in the Copper Canyons of the Barrancas in Mexico.

I found myself so wrapped up and enthralled by the book that by the end I:

1. Was cheering on the race participants...not cheering anyone to win but cheering for them to continue to find joy and communion simply by racing
2. Wanted to go run barefoot in the grass...which I did. Which ain't something that anyone woulda bet on happening. And I loved it.

Blankenchip

I know I've been away for awhile and it irks me that after not writing for a number of months since my last post, about my father's passing, what brings me back is another post about death. It's not my intent for this to become the Death Blog but...well...a very good man died today and I felt like writing about him.

Back when I was in college I had a teacher. Okay, I had a bunch of teachers, but was blessed with a few who were really quite extraordinary. One such man was John Edward Blankenchip, a gentleman who I referred to, lovingly (kinda), as "you ol' fucker".

He was the crankiest, crotchetiest, snarliest piece of work I ever came across. I'll always be thankful for the things he taught me about theatre and acting and all that good stuff, and I'll always be thrilled that he showed a great deal of belief in me. More than anything, though, I owe him an enormous debt of gratitude for, not to put too fine a point on it, more or less saving my life.

When I hit the absolute bottom during my time as a drunk and drug addict (coke-head) and had pretty well hosed up just about every facet of my life, culminating with...well...let's just say a particularly ugly event that resulted in being arrested and looking at some pretty harsh consequences...the ol' fucker went well out of his way to help me straighten that mess out and, with his customary subtlety and tenderness (meaning he pretty much hit me with a 2-by-4) was, more than anyone else, responsible for helping me get straight and sober. I learned alot from him but that one act showed me the difference that you can make in someone's life simply by giving a damn. And, at a time when I made it pretty hard for anyone to find much that was good in me and when I had essentially given up on myself, he rather tenaciously forced me to see me in the same positive light that he saw me. Which was enough to get me to white knuckle my way through the mess I'd made of my life. In comparison to most drunks I know, my bottom really wasn't that bad. But it seemed pretty awful to me as I was going through it, scared shitless at 21 years old. I've often wondered how far down I would have sunk had it not been for the velvet hammer of the ol' fucker being brought to bear and have always feared that, without that rather fortunate one man intervention, I never would have stopped falling. Fortunately, Blankenchip ensured that I'd never have to find out just how much more damage I could do to myself.

And for that I am deeply and forever thankful.

Dad

Today, November 26th, 2008, my father died. He was and will remain my hero. Hero is an annoyingly overused word these days. But he's always been mine. Only one I've ever had.

As we're approaching Thanksgiving I guess it's appropriate to give thanks. I'm grateful for a mother with a bottomless reservoir of enduring courage and perseverance. The Stroke Monster had blasted Dad pretty hard over the previous 14 years. Mom never failed to impress me with how she could stay upbeat through it all and how she could sacrifice for Dad.

I'm grateful for my younger brother, Bob and the way he repeatedly stepped into the fray when crises hit regarding my Dad's health and how he brought so much joy through the beautiful bond he formed with Dad.

I'm grateful for my older brother, Rod for a whole passel of reasons. Right now I'm grateful for the way he put my Dad at ease today...a day of agonizing pain for my father as the systems were shutting down...by letting him know that it was alright to stop holding on and stop hurting. That he would take care of the family. It's something that my Dad needed to hear and something he needed to hear from Rod. I'm nuts about my family, always have been. But the way they helped that wonderful man when he most needed it...I guess I'm even nuts-er about them than ever.

Mostly, I'm thankful for winning the paternal lottery. You don't get to pick who your father is. I don't know how I got to score the one I did. I don't mean to be sacrilegious but when I first got hip to the whole all-powerful all-knowing God thing...well...sounded like Dad to me. As I sit here watching the movie in my mind play back this great epic film of my old man I realize that I always viewed him as a cross between God, Superman, and John Wayne. He was kind, all knowing, all powerful, could fight crime, and kick ass. Not altogether bad traits in a father. I also know, that as he grew older, as life dealt him some harsh blows even before that fucking Stroke Monster took up permanent residence in his brain, that I finally started to see him as he really was...just a guy. But such a very good, very kind, very giving guy. I hope I can live up to that very simple but daunting standard.

I'm sure I'll properly eulogize my Dad at some point. But not now. Too much swirling around for anything to be clear. With four exceptions...

I am so very glad I got him as a father.

I wish I'd been a better son. Not saying I was bad. Just saying I wish I was better.

While I will miss him every day of the rest of my life I am so, so thankful that he isn't hurting anymore...'cause he was hurting alot here at the end.

And my old man could kick John Wayne's ass. Really. Wouldn't even be close.

While I Was Walking Down the Street...

...in Washington, DC last night. I got done with work and walked out of the building at 11:02pm Eastern. This coincided perfectly with when the networks apparently all called the race for Obama. All around me I heard an eruption of car horns and shouting.

On the three block walk to my hotel I saw...

An older black man standing in the middle of a very busy intersection waving a huge flag and singing, to his own tune, "Yes, We Can" over and over as tears streamed down his face. Car after car honked and waved at him with many stopping to get out and hug him.

A group of 15-20 young African American women bouncing up and down, squealing, hugging each other and dancing in the street. Literally, dancing in the street. One, in tears, ran up and gave me a hug repeating to anyone who would listen "This is crazy! I can't believe this," before running on to hug someone else.

A car full of young men, black, white and asian in a small sports car stopping at every stop light and getting out and dancing while chanting "Obama! Obama!"

Cab after cab flying down the street with flags hanging out their windows, honking like mad.

I got to the White House late. There were a few thousand people gathered there. Apparently I missed the airheads who were hurling vulgarities at the building. Airheads because they couldn't be heard. Airheads because if they were it wouldn't matter. Airheads because rage and gloating got in their way of enjoying this community, this celebration, this new beautiful America. By the time I was there it was a sea of happy and inspired people just hanging out. Not really doing anything. Just hanging out. Happy to be in Obama's America. Happy to believe, again.

It's My Fault

Two weeks ago I was working in Manhattan when AIG, Lehman, and (nearly) Merrill imploded.

This past week I was working in DC when the Bailout blew up.

Coincidence?

Things been goin' on...

It's been a rather eventful month or so since I've been here last. Lots of little things going on but they're dwarfed by the one BIG thing that's going on up in here.

Um.

I'm engaged. Jill and I have been dating (dating?) for the last couple of years. Decided we oughta go and get us hitched up proper. Gonna happen next June. We were originally thinking somewhere out in California, on a beach. Pretty picture but logistically this is proving...um...challenging since neither one of us is actually there. It's looking like Minneapolis. Expect more details in the not terribly distant future.

It's a good thing, a great thing, the best thing.

Back

Got back from way out yonder in Redwood country. We were having so much fun hiking amongst the big trees we didn't make it to the Garlic Festival. I get to work from home this week. This is a good thing. I can do some prep for the Fringe. The Rockstar Storytellers have a show in the big hoo-hah this year and I'm poppin' in at three of the five Rockstar performances to do a little woodsheddin'.

What, pray, is woodsheddin', you ask?

Well...it might be a disaster but the idea is one stolen from Delta Blues country by way of the Jazz Fest. Back in the day you might have two rippin' guitarists (or drummers, or brassmen, or whatever) show up at the same little roadhouse in the Delta. They'd start headchoppin'...trading songs to see who could outplay the other. The magic would happen when they'd stop choppin' and start playing together. The miracle would be when they'd riff their way into a brand new song that they'd more or less make up while standing onstage together. We're gonna try to do the storytellin' equivalent of that. Don't worry...there will always be three "regular" storytellin' slots in case the woodsheddin' thing sucks. Personally, though, I think it'll rock.

Not doing any regular storytellin' slots in the Fringe. Friday night I'm throwin' down with Laura Bidgood. Sunday with Mike Fotis. Saturday with Dave Mondy. Should be fun.