Johnny Bravo-He Fit the Suit

Anyone over thirty five knows about Greg Brady's brush with stardom on tv's The Brady Bunch, when he fit the suit designed for rock star, Johnny Bravo. It was a role he got, not because of talent or hard work, but because he fit the suit already designed for the star. This, as it turns out, is a great allegory for life.

In many areas of my life, I don't fit the suit. Literally.

Last month I talked about having a few Dark Passengers (Dexter reference). I admitted to my brush with alcoholism and where that took me. Now I'm going to tell you about the one that has brought me the most shame. My weight.

I was a fat kid from about eight years old, if I remember correctly. Now I know enough psychology to know that when kids suddenly start putting on weight, they are often protecting themselves from something.

I stayed overweight, or husky, as we called it back then, for most of my life. I grew up as the fat faggy kid. Nope, no therapy needed there. In my early twenties, after I got sober, I began to really love myself and my new life, so I dropped 85 pounds in a year and a half. I had actually become anorexic, because I never do anything half way. I stayed thinnish (within by goal weight by about ten or fifteen pounds) for about eight years and then I started packing the pounds back on. At this point I was in my thirties and had stopped smoking so it wasn't coming off as easily as it did at twenty two, but I tried. I tried, but the shame kicked in and finally I gave up. Gave up on weight loss and myself.

Okay, that's the history lesson. Now, back to my point. I don't fit the suit. Recently, a friend of mine has lost something like 85 pounds now. I've told him how much I admire him and how much I struggle with my own weight. In tears one day, I asked him (and myself) why I couldn't seem to make any progress with weight loss. His answer was very simple. "You're just not ready yet." My first instinct was to ask what kind of bullshit answer that was, but I instinctively knew he was right. Fat is a great protector and I wasn't ready to break down that wall that keeps me "safe." Being a fat gay guy at forty seven makes you pretty much invisible. Most other gay men won't even make eye contact, so I don't have to worry about them wanting something from me I feel powerless to say no to. Food is my comfort and fat is my protector.

Until now.

I'm tired of my size standing in the way of having the things I work hard for and deserve. As an actor, you can be incredible, but if you don't fit the suit, you don't get the role. Part of me thinks that's bullshit, but the reality is that it's true. My size limits me to the fat roles. Overweight people rarely get promotions. We get put in this box where people think we can only do what they think we can do. I'm here to say that too is bullshit. I am capable of so much more than what people think I can do. I'm tired of having to perform in the box others have built for me (or I have built for myself).

Aside from all of this, I deserve to be happy and be at my full potential. That's the first step. I said before that I lost that 85 pounds when I started loving myself. That's how I'm approaching it again. No fad diets. No pills or surgery. I'm going to love myself enough to feel my feelings rather than shoving them down with food. I'm going to love myself enough to make me the number one priority. I love myself enough to put healthy foods into my body. I'm love myself enough to get moving because I feel so much better when I do.

I may never truly fit the suit, but I can sew. I'll make my own fucking suit, and I will feel terrific when I do.

As an aside, I'm down ten pounds from December 31. Now I'm off to the gym!

The Responsibility of Fame

I've never wanted to be famous. I'd love to be a great actor or writer, but the fame is something I don't aspire to.

Some people live for fame. This is why we have so many reality shows with average people doing idiotic things, or airing all their dirty laundry so they can have their fifteen minutes of fame. It's like a drug. They always need more. We judge each other's (and I hate this word) "relevance" by how many Twitter followers they have, or how high their ratings are. Just because a lot of people watch you be an idiot, doesn't make you any less an idiot.

For all those fame hungry whores, there are people who are doing what they do because they love it, or their work happens to be in the spotlight.

There's been a lot of talk in the past twelve hours or so about Jodie Foster's acceptance speech at the Golden Globes last night. It was her "I'm Not Coming Out, I've Already Done That, Won't You Leave Me Alone" speech. Some say it was like the ramblings of a mad person. Others, like me, were very touched by the speech. It was honest, and real. Not something we usually expect out of Hollywood.

In a sense, what Jodie was saying to all of us was, "stop expecting me to live up to your expectations." LGBT groups for years have been wanting her to come out publicly as a lesbian. By somehow coming out she would give the rest of us in the LGBT bracket some kind of legitimacy.

I've never been a fan of outing. While it is my private hope that LGBT people in positions of authority, or the spotlight, do come out so the average American can see we're just like everyone else, I don't think we have the right to force them to do it. Coming out can be a difficult process for anyone, and to do it publicly can make it terrifying. What Jodie Foster said last night was that she didn't need to come out because she had already done that years ago to the people who mattered to her. She didn't need to make a public declaration.

This pissed off some gay groups who think she owes us something. No, she doesn't. She's given forty seven years to the public eye. Leave her the hell alone.

I know there are many advantages to being famous. You get free stuff and you get great tables in restaurants. Other than that it's more responsibility than it's worth.

I've always liked Jodie Foster, but now I think I'm in love with her. She showed true courage last night when she stood up against the reality show train wreck which is our society today. I have no doubt she will continue to leave her mark here on Earth, even if it isn't done on three thousand screens.

Don't we all affect one another in quiet, private ways? My greatest heroes are not celebrities, but they are my parents, my grandparents, an acting teacher, a fellow writer, a hospice volunteer, a Mom whose husband was in Afghanistan, a friend with an autistic child, and so many other people. Maybe none of them will ever be famous, but they will have left their mark on many of us. Aren't those the true role models?

Let's stop looking to professional ballplayers, and actors, and rock stars, and politicians to be our heroes. They don't owe us anything. Let's look to the single mother next door if we really want to be inspired.

A Gun in the House

I've never been strongly for or against gun control. I've always said laws wouldn't keep guns out of the hands of those who want them any more than laws have kept heroin out of the arms of junkies. On the other hand, I think we do need fewer guns all the way around and that without them, many of the killings wouldn't happen. That is what I believed until last night.

I don't own a gun, but I'm pretty sure if I went to get one I wouldn't run into any problems. I'd pass a background check easily and if you know me you'd say I'm probably a pretty stable person. I could be trusted with a gun. Or could I?

Last night around 1:30 am. I was lying in bed reading when I heard a "bang". After the second one I thought perhaps some snow or ice was falling off the roof and hitting the side of the house. Then I heard another one. At this time I went to my bedroom window and looked out.

I live directly across the street from a bar. In fact, the courtyard is less than twenty yards away. When I opened my blinds to look out, I heard the cheering of a crowd. There was a group of about ten guys in the courtyard of the bar and they were looking my way. And then the snowballs came again. At first I thought they might have been friends urging me to come out and play. Then I realized I didn't know any of these guys.

I couldn't understand and I stood there for a minute trying to wrap my mind around why they would be throwing snowballs at my house. Had I pissed someone off? No, I was lying in bed reading. Were they guys just trying to be cool and see who could throw the furthest? Were they just trying to hit the building or were they aiming directly for the windows? After a few more throws I realized they were aiming for the windows.

Now I realize they were just snowballs and probably just some drunk guys trying to show off, but at 1:30 in the morning, all alone in the house, with no apparent reason to be targeted, I felt like I was under attack. I was scared and then angry. My next thought was, "I wish I had a gun."

I watched as six guys took turns throwing snowballs at the windows standing between me and the cold night air. I needed to make them stop before one of the windows was broken.

I needed a gun. I didn't want to kill anyone, but I was damn sure if I went out waving a gun at these punks, the snowball throwing would stop and a couple of them might piss their pants. I wanted them feel just as violated as I did. What's more, I suddenly needed a gun because if they were randomly throwing snowballs at my house, I could just as randomly be targeted to be beaten up, robbed, or worse. I needed something to protect myself.

The feeling and need for a gun was quickly replaced with sound reasoning. I called the bar and asked them to tell the guys to stop. They did and it stopped immediately. Then I spent the next hour wondering if they would be retaliating against me for reporting them.

I don't know why they picked my place to throw snowballs at, or why they wanted to break some windows, but it probably wasn't personal. It was random. A random act done by some, probably drunk, guys trying to be badasses.

So now I understand why someone would want a gun to protect themselves, and I also understand that in the absence of a gun, I was forced to find another solution. I'd like to think if I would have had a gun I never would have gotten it out before sound reasoning would kick in. I would like to think that. I guess it all depends on how scared you are and what's at stake.

Isn't All Art Subjective?

If you read this blog yesterday, you'll know I did not enjoy the big screen adaptation of Les Miserables. I said what I liked and didn't like and I also acknowledged that many people will love the film. Some of my best friends, and people I admire, loved the film. How could this be?

Actually it's all subjective. What one person loves, another person hates. Or they're indifferent, which is really the death knell for art. Indifference. The role of art, and I mean this as in cinema, theatre, books, television, photography, or what we usually consider art: paintings, sculpture, etc.. is to invoke a feeling, or interest in a person. It's not just entertainment.

By hating (and I use that term loosely because there were parts I liked) Les Miserables, I felt immediately compelled to call my friend, Preetemdas, and tell him how much I hated it. I ran into a coworker at the grocery store and went on to tell him how much hated it. I even came home and blogged about it. It had me talking. In fact, I couldn't shut up. Like it or not, it did it's job.

In my novel, Postcards from the Desert, I have a character, Elsa, who is a blind artist. She makes paintings by using textures as well as colors. She explains to my protagonist how she sees a painting compared to what a sighted person sees. It's all a matter of perspective. We each bring our own set of baggage, feelings, prejudices and expectations to everything we experience. This is how one person can love The Fifty Shades of Grey and others can hate it. It's where we come from.

Several months ago, I gave a copy of Postcards to some beta readers. One is a writer who is published and has become a friend of mine through Facebook and Twitter. One was a relative. Two were fellow writers from my writer's group. One was an avid reader. When I got their feedback each of them had different things to say. One didn't think a certain part was believable, while another person completely bought it. One thought it was slow in one section, another loved the pace of that section. As a writer looking for feedback, this can be very confusing. What to leave in, what to leave out?

It has taken me several months and lots of trial and error on revising my novel but today it finally hit me. Everyone is going to view it differently. I'm not going to write a novel that everyone is going to love. Some will be angry about it. Some will love it. Some will love parts of it and be uncomfortable in other parts. Ultimately, like Elsa says, "I finally stopped painting for other people and started painting for me."

My revisions just got a whole lot easier. I can stop trying to make the story fit the audience and write the story that's true to my intentions. I hope others will read it, but after all, I'm writing this for me and my characters.

I Dreamed a Dream

It is not often that I leave a movie theatre angry. Well, in the case of subject matter, Schindler's List left me angry, but I was also kind of numb from having my heart ripped out of my chest.

Today I left the theatre angry. I went to see one of my all time favorite musicals brought to the big screen. Les Miserables. Yes, films have been made before about Les Miz but not musical films. I've been anticipating this day since I heard it was being done. Maybe my expectations were too high.

Critics have not been kind to the movie. I chalked that up to "theatre snobs." It turns out they were right. At least in my opinion. Many people will go see it and love it. And they should. If you've never seen the story before, you will be enthralled.

I've had the advantage, or disadvantage in this case to have seen the stage version many times. I've listened to the sound track many many times. It's my "go to" musical. It's about fighting the fight for equality, empowerment, redemption, and forgiveness. All of my favorite topics.

Now I knew not to expect much from the singers. Most had passable voices. Anne Hathaway stood out as excellent, as did, Eddie Redmayne, as Marius. I Dreamed a Dream and Empty Chairs at Empty Tables were my two favorites of the film. Also just two redeeming moments.

My problem was not the voices. I could accept that, although I did wish I was listening to the Broadway Cast Recording at some points, as I watch the scenes unfold. My problem was the cinematography and editing. Two things you don't really notice unless they're bad.

Tom Hooper, the director, is apparently a fan of close ups. The whole film is one close up after another. In fact, I'm not even sure the actors were in the room at the same time when they were filming some of the scenes. Close ups are good when the director wants the audience to catch a subtle moment, or tell them this is important. When you do a whole film of them, you never know what's important and what to pay attention too.

The second thing I hated was the jerky camera movements followed by rapid fire cuts. One close up to another. One jerky pan to another. It made me motion sick.

Les Miserables is a beautiful story set against the backdrop of an unsettled France. It's the weaving of the stories of Jean Valjean, Inspector Javert, Fantine, Cosette, Marius, Eponine, and others. It needs a large stage, or some distance,  to show the intertwining of the stories. Not more closeups.

There were times when I felt like the director was saying, "see, you couldn't do this on stage" as the camera would shakily follow an actor, or highlight a particular prop piece.

The straw that broke my back was during Eponine's On My Own, which she did wonderfully. She captured the heartbreak of the character. Samantha Barks could both act and sing. It was a lovely scene and song until the director decided to illustrate the words to the song in case we were too stupid to understand. There is a line in the song "in the rain, the pavement shines like silver." Don't you know the camera panned down to show the pavement shining like silver. "See told you," he seems to say. Then the line "all the lights are misty in the river." Pan to the street lamp in the fog. Then if those weren't enough, the line is "the streets are full of strangers." Eponine, who has been all alone in this whole segment is suddenly joined by one dark figure walking by and you guessed it, the camera panned to him.

I really wanted to love Les Miz, but I certainly did not. The actors were, for the most part, wonderful. I don't blame them. The singing wasn't bad. The sets, from what we could see of them, looked great. Although it could have all be shot in front of a green screen for all they interacted with the sets, or each other for that matter. I guess closeups can't capture that.

This could have been a much better film, had the director relaxed and let it flow. The audience knows what's important. You don't have to beat us over the heads with it. The people coming to see your film are probably not the typical audience for Honey Boo Boo. We understand grown up things.

Winter Wonderland

Winter in the Oregon District

Imagine

I've struggled all weekend to come up with something to say about the school shooting last Friday in Newtown, CT. I could say something about gun control, but smarter people than I can better argue that. I could say something about mental health, but again, more intelligent people than me are already supporting that cause.

We all ask, "how did we get here?" Each shooting like this is more shocking than the last. We look around for someone to blame. Was it the mother? Society? The media? Was he bullied? Most of the time we will never know what goes on in the minds of these killers.

Since we can't understand why, our next question is how do we stop this from happening. I know many people say gun control, but we're naive to think that's the complete solution. Drugs are illegal, yet drug use is rampant in this country. People will always find a way to get what they're looking for. We have to make them stop wanting to look. How do we do that?

Kindness!

We live in a country so heavily fractured among racial, income and theological lines that we are actually broken. Our society is broken!

We've replaced empathy with apathy. Kindness with cruelness. Encouragement with ambition. We live in a society that says "succeed at all costs." A society where talking heads on television can openly show hostility to the President of the United States. A society where religious leaders can preach hate from the pulpit and say certain people should be put to death. A society where reality television shows glorify greed and manipulation. A society where corporate leaders are given million dollar salaries and bonuses while their workers earn minimum wage and go without healthcare. A society where people people with HIV can only afford to take their meds every other week, if at all. A society where The Westboro Baptist Church can picket soldiers funerals because "God is punishing us."

As long we accept these things, we are all part of the problem. The Constitution guarantees the right to free speech, but it does not say that speech can not be held accountable and have consequences. When the Westboro Baptist Church picketed a young gay man's funeral (Matthew Shepard), a friend, Romaine Patterson, organized a group of "angels" to block them. That's what we need. They showed love and kindness in the face of hate. And it worked.

This kindness doesn't have to be at a global level. It starts locally with each one of us. To start, simply look people in the eye when you walk down the street, and smile. Say "hello." You'd be amazed how few of people are used to that. Most will probably look away, afraid you're going to bum money from them. Isn't that what we all do? We live in our lonely shells and don't let people get too close. We're afraid they might want something. They do. A connection. Even a momentary connection with another human being done in kindness can change the course of a whole day. You might even be saving lives.

"You can say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope some day you'll join us, and the world will live as one." ~ John Lennon, Imagine