Studio Z

Shedding

2010-07-15T20:43:00.000-07:00

Today I weigh 63 pounds less than I did six months ago. Since the initial weigh in on January 15th, I had not stepped on a scale.

At six this morning I stumbled out of bed knowing this was the day. The six month anniversary of my flipped switch. ON Fitness. ON Health.

It’s ridiculous, for I already knew of my great progress regarding my weight. The new clothes. The waist sizes not worn since 1992. But still, as I went downstairs to the basement where the scale sits in its judge’s chambers, I felt my stomach drop as I stepped on and waited that two to three seconds for the digital numbers to pop out a verdict.

What I did not expect was my reaction to seeing the number and doing the math. And then realizing “this is real”. For those who have not battled their weight, it may all seem the stuff of a bad Oprah episode. But for me, my war with food is something I've waged in shame – like so many people. Through reckless eating, I gave birth to ½ a new self - a coating that encased the born me and sought to give protection for many, many years.

Assaulting me was a sense of relief mixed with intense mourning. That other self is now gone. He did his job and had to go. But I’m not sure he’s fully accepted that yet. When I cross in front of a pane of glass and catch the transparent reflection, he is ghosting there for a fractioned second before being replaced by the true image. And when I bathe and stroke the soapy cloth over my body, I feel him wanting to be washed too – but when you’re gone, there is no need to shower. How can I tell him this in a way that is not hurtful? He worked so very hard to protect me, never understanding that he only perpetuated my pain and anxiety.

So for now, I am both exuberant and haunted. I have pride in my dedication to adopt new respect for my body and well-being. I give great thanks for the support of friends and family. But I also face the ghost of that extra me. And I wonder – with a touch of fear and a lot of curiosity – if this next phase is about a gentle fading into a permanent good-bye, or the revelation of a needed exorcism to rid myself of the risk…that he will demand a return.

Wet Ink

2010-06-24T10:27:00.000-07:00

Check it out!

Playwrights West: Wet Ink

A Festival of Hot-Off-the-Press New Play Readings

KISS GOBELINUS

by Matthew B. Zrebski

Saturday June 26th at 8p
Sunday June 27th at 2p

featuring

Chris Murray as LEVIN

Cecily Overman as LEANDRA

Nathan Urbach as HADRIAN

and

Natalie McDonald as the Stage Reader

"A man with many secrets. A woman with many secrets. A teenage boy who loves to spy as their secrets collide. Because he has a secret too…a secret about his origins…his birth…from the dangerous fire sparked by a kiss. And he’s about to make his move..."

All tickets are "Pay What You Will". Get tickets at the door or go to: www.CoHoProductions.org And be sure the check out the schedule for all the other incredible plays.

And for more information on Playwrights West: HERE

Gleefully

2010-06-10T09:17:00.000-07:00

In a nutshell, I love the show Glee, because it dares to offer an optimistic release in the midst of a cynical entertainment landscape. Cynicism is celebrated in our culture. And I can hardly blame anyone for that. How could one not be cynical these days? But truth is, cynicism is lazy. And it's easy. It takes no courage. It takes no thought. Well...it may take an intelligence laced acerbic tongue if you wanna get noticed. Nothing gets a bigger laugh than the cynical zinger in comedy these days. But really, it's safe. Don't hope. Live in fear of all intentions. Hide.

YAWN

Glee has been a hit, because people crave a touch of rainbow filled, cotton cloud abandon. But even I could grow weary of that if it weren't for the other thing Glee is doing. It is working very hard to progress social causes and promote equality. Is it at times prescriptive? Yes. Forced? A bit. But necessary? ABSOLUTELY. As a teaching artist, I have seen the positive impact this show is having in schools...it's huge, people. And it's exciting.

Over at awardsdaily.com they succinctly display my glee on this subject, pitting a moment on Glee against the sad truth in Congress as discussed by Rachel Maddow.

Check it out! HERE

Trend Away!

2010-05-26T15:52:00.000-07:00

A very quick blog post to say that I want this new trend to go away. Far away. It creeps me out. I don't know exactly why. But it does. And I'm sick of seeing them at the gym, worn by the type of people who "get ready" to go to the gym to "be seen" with finely coiffed hair and smelling of cologne and sprayed with fake tan. Those people keep wearing these ... these...uh...shoes?

ICK!

Cool Art, Man

2010-05-25T20:09:00.001-07:00

Three recent cool things...

1. Hey, Nostradamus by Douglas Coupland

Yes, I am incredibly behind in reading this acclaimed novel, but I have to say: wow. It captured me so fully, and the final narrative in the quartet was one of the most devastatingly bittersweet pieces of prose I have ever read. If you are interested in a moving exploration of violence and spirituality…true spirituality, then pick it up now…

2. The Human Centipede directed by Tom Six

Many will think I’m a nut for listing this as “cool”. But I do think it ranks as one of the boldest cinematic experiments I’ve seen in some time. Not unlike Antichrist in its audacity, it dares to take an audience into the realm of horror so uncomfortable, you either laugh or vomit. I have always been a fan of Cronenberg films – particularly Videodrome and The Fly. Like those films, Six investigates a purgatory on earth where one is caught in his/her own body as it hangs between life and death in a grotesque cage. I do not “recommend” it – most will curse the film, but I think it is quite an achievement…and it has stayed with me for days.

3. The Gray Sisters by Craig Wright, presented by Third Rail Repertory Theatre

I was so prepared not to like this play. You see – I dislike most monologues. I detest shows where people talk and talk and go on and on. And as a playwriting instructor, I consistently push my students away from using them. So when I learned that this newly commissioned play was a quartet of monologues, I groaned. I went to see the show, knowing that these four brilliant actresses were well worth the time – but I did not anticipate just HOW good they would be. And I certainly did not anticipate discovering my favorite Craig Wright play. His use of the one-sided monologue was so well crafted, so fresh, and the exploration of family, abuse, life, and death so rich...well, you get the point. Shame on me for pre-judging. And all applaud Third Rail for yet another brilliant production.

A handprint has touched me...

2010-05-21T14:52:00.000-07:00

Tonight and tomorrow evening are the final two performances of Handprint Alley. This was a well paying commission to both write and score - and then direct a new theatrical work that would experiment with style, genre, and storytelling techniques. It has been one of the more ambitious undertakings of my entire career - and also one of the most fulfilling. Oh but did I mention?...

It's a high school show.

And therein lies the seed of this blog post. You see, over the past two weeks, I have had to hear no less than four times a statement akin to this: "I don't know how you do it. Aren't you sick of having to teach and do these high school shows to pay the bills?"

And with one exception, these comments came from colleagues who are, themselves, considered "teaching artists". What became evident to me - and this is no real shocker - is that many arts professionals do indeed take teaching gigs and do education based theatre (or dance, or music, or art) for the purposes of "paying the bills." To them, I say - stop teaching. If you are merely a frustrated professional artist who falls into teaching as a necessity, then you are not meant to be in that role... Judgmental? Maybe. But boy, do I mean it.

I write this as a simple response - from my heart. There is not one tiny atom in my body - not one shred of mental firings - not one kernel of spiritual ether - nothing, nothing, nothing within me that feels compromised whatsoever in my career for taking part in the beautiful communion between young artists and myself. It is a privilege to share and learn with young, gifted people. And as I get older, I realize just what a blessed life I lead to continue to spend much of my artistic energy in collaboration with such raw talent. I learn more from them than they could ever gain from me. I remember what authenticity is. I remember what first inspiration is. I remember the pure and simple joy of why I do theatre at all. And for that, I owe these young artists a great deal.

As for Handprint Alley - is it perfect? No. Of course not. It is a big, bold, often epic experiment in theatrical devices and song and myth and movement and visual relationships. I have much to consider regarding the piece once we close. But I do think in the course of my career, this play may be one of my most genuine. And there are beats that feel true - to the very core. I'm not sure I've ever reached that before. And it is precisely because I have been given this opportunity to work with youth that I was able to reach that goal.

I am happily breathing in these final two shows...filled with much love and appreciation.

Handprint Alley
written, composed, and directed by
Matthew B. Zrebski
Two Shows Left:
Friday May 21 at 7p
Saturday May 22 at 7p
$10 / $5
All tickets at the door
1151 SW Vermont St. Portland

a Re-Launch

2010-05-17T14:10:00.001-07:00

This poor blog has been so neglected. Months and months have gone by without a post. I have no idea who will read this, given anyone keeping track gave up long ago. But I made a commitment that this blog would be there for me and no one else; I’d post when it felt right. And now…it feels right.

I could go on and on about the shifts in my life since winter fell on Portland. And there are days when I’d love to find words to illustrate my turn down a new avenue. But really…is it that interesting?

So I’ll keep it brief for now (someone told me brief blog posts should be the only blog posts).

Since my last post (October 14^th!) I have opened seven full play productions and two readings – all new works. And I have lost approximately 45 pounds – maybe more. I can’t say, because I have not weighed. And I did not set out to lose weight. I set out to change my relationship to food and to stop indulging in wheat, non-fruit sugars, corn productions, and most white rice. The result? I am wearing a size of clothing I have not worn since I was 22.

But with this shift came a lot more. And if it feels right..I will blog about it.

Evil Grins…it’s good to be back,

MattyZ

éist

2009-10-14T07:15:00.001-07:00

A dream. Intense and fun. I was at a theatrical production...a new musical that no one had yet seen. The theatre was somewhat like Portland Center Stage at The Armory - but as dreams will be dreams...not exactly.

The show was audience participatory. Typically, I hate that. I mean...I REALLY hate that. But in this dream, the audience and performers became one unit...a blend of energies contributing to a ritual of levity. And I surrendered.

I was seated in the second row...and this worried me, because I always choose an aisle seat. I can't stand feeling trapped. And I wondered how the box office had made such a mistake in putting me in such an uncomfortable spot. But I surrendered.

And then suddenly, it was my turn to participate in the show. An actor came up to me with a large microphone and cued me and a few others to start singing the four notes in a descending minor scale...a classic bass jazz line. We were to sing it as two half notes, then a dotted quarter, with the last note as an eighth note - with two quarter rests completing the second measure...a classic jazz rhythm.

The words to our song were letters. We were to sing: E....I....S...T. Over and over.

I sang loud and everyone around me got into it. The man to my left put his arm around me in camaraderie, and I added an ascending harmony. This made the actor holding the mic giggle. He liked our improvised duet.

The performers were all in bright costumes from various time periods, stretching centuries. And it became obvious that anything could happen at any time and that the show could end immediately or go on infinitely and none of that mattered, for all we wanted to do was keep singing: E....I....S...T.

And then the alarm went off. 5:30am. Time to rise.

As I went about my morning ritual today, I have yet to erase the musical pattern from my head. E....I....S...T has been on a loop. I decided to contemplate the letters. Why those? I mean, it made sense from a singing perspective: two vowels as the long notes and a sharp T as the stinging eighth note. Often a pragmatist, I figured my subconscious simply applied a logical singing pattern. But it bugged me, and I started looking up the letters.

Nope, nope, scroll, scroll, google, google...

And then I came upon something most curious. A Gaelic word: éist. It means: to listen. On its own it can also be used as a command. In spelling it over and over, we were basically singing in Gaelic: Listen, Listen, Listen...over and over.

I also considered an anagram - and I immediately went to the word: ties. There has been much family turmoil over the past year, and I wondered if it might be in reference to the need to "rebuild" or perhaps "cut".

And now, I think maybe my jazzy bass line chant could mean both. In essence: Listen and consider your ties.

And now I have to decide what to do with that.

OR...it could just be...you know...a dream.

Oh, Luna...

2009-10-07T09:51:00.000-07:00

I know this may create many an eye roll. But something about the NASA bombing of the moon on Friday makes me sad... And I realized it's because I feel like we are injuring an actual being.

I know that the moon is the big, dead rock. And perhaps studying a giant cloud of dust for ice particles is somehow relevant to our scientific progress. But on some primal level, I sense that we're slapping our heavenly beauty in the face...stabbing her...scarring her further. And as silly as it is...as irrational and dare I say even "sappy" as it is - it is genuinely bothering me. It fills me with a dense melancholy, but not a personal one. It's the type of grayness that infects my state when a global tragedy occurs...when the connective tissue of humanity is violated.

On Friday, I will light a candle for Luna, and I will apologize to her...

Mindstorm

2009-10-06T11:02:00.000-07:00

There is a storm in my head this fall - more than usual. I have not blogged in weeks, because I cannot seem to find my focus (that, and I have been recovering from piggy flu) - there is so much on my mind.

This morning, I awoke once again to my body tensed up with virtually all my muscles contracted and my jaw clenched. Every move I made for the first two hours of being awake was filled with pain, and the headache will likely linger for the remainder of the day.

Why? I cannot seem to apply the filters I once could. When I was younger, I was able to use a sort of tunnel vision to operate through my days...I had clear goals and I raced straight ahead -rarely wavering - to reach them. Of course, in this process, I was often failing as a friend, lover, family member - and I was certainly not bettering myself intellectually or spiritually. But I tell ya - life felt better than it does now. As I get older and my awareness expands with regard to the world around me - and the world within me - I wonder: will I go bat-shit mad one day from this?

In just the past half hour I have found myself preoccupied with the following:

my family isn't talking and that breaks my heart, Obama needs to pull us out of Afghanistan but he won't, I want to write musicals again but how will I ever find the time, I have insurance now but how will I find a doctor I can trust and who will accept my holistic beliefs on health, should we force people out of the homosexual closet, why am I addicted to carbs, why am I tired all the time, is my partner going to burn out from working so hard, why did my crippling stage fright take hold just as my singing voice is reaching its peak, I really want to adapt this novel into a play but will the author give me the time of day, taxes are too high for self employed people and I see no way out of this hole, gay couples should all stand up and not pay any taxes until they have equal marriage rights, I love the movie There Will Be Blood, why do I love wearing cologne, my hair gets grayer all the time, Ozzy Osbourne had an HIV+ result blamed not on HIV but on his drug use which defies all current testing paradigms and validates dissident theories, I want a kitten so badly but we aren't allowed to have them and even if we were we'd not have the money to properly care for it, sometimes I really do want to be a dad, this bathroom will never get clean until the landlord replaces the fixtures, why did no one tell me we were out of buttery spread, my car is falling apart and without it I can't work, why has my best friend stopped reaching out to me, Portland is #9 on the smartest cities list and Austin is #12, my birth father never contacts me unless I contact him first, high school memories never haunted me until now, is there a ghost in this house, I'd give anything to hug my grandma again and hear her laugh at The Golden Girls, hands and feet are so unique and I get fixated on their stories...

And now I write this...if only to fulfill the obligation of attempting to keep this blog on life support, and it is making my jaw tense again and I want to go outside and run until I fall somewhere in a pile of autumn leaves and can sleep, sleep, sleep...real sleep...and stop my mind...stop it...stop...

Dumb Sheep

2009-08-28T10:40:00.000-07:00

The leaders of the Republican party need to completely denounce the ignorant morons who perpetuate lies - but they aren't doing that. Why? Because the lies work. We live in a highly uneducated, media illiterate country. And so the smart and powerful can prey easily on the dumb and weak. For some reason, Republicans have claimed this corner of the market. And oddly, much of it is "Christian" - and I'm sure Jesus would have just HATED to give up material goods in order to heal the sick. Please. The level of absurdity is unbelievable.

Check out this terrific article from The Independent.

Singing Pig's Blood

2009-08-26T09:46:00.000-07:00

In 1991, a fellow student at the Meadows School of the Arts told me he had mailed away for a bootleg copy of the most notorious musical in Broadway history: Carrie.

As many already know, the film Carrie had a huge impact on my artistic sensibilities. Brian de Palma is very much a "hit or miss" director. He takes huge risks and is never one to shy away from the edge. "Over the top" does not frighten him, and there is no better example of this than Carrie. Watching Piper Laurie and Sissy Spacek do battle in that film is wickedly delightful. It manages to be terrifying, hilarious, and moving all at the same time. And the highly choreographed prom - from it's Cinderella-inspired beginning to it's pig-blood soaked ending - is a masterpiece "film within a film".

My entrance into theatre was through musicals. And I remembered in 1988 seeing Stephen King's novel in stores with a new cover - an unusual, minimalist rendering of what appeared to be a girl - and under it: "Now a major Broadway musical." I asked around the next year about why there was no cast recording. To combine one of my favorite films with my new-found love of musical theater was a dream come true! But I was ignorant to just how "major" the musical was: the biggest flop in history. Five shows. Closed.

But what I came to learn is that the critics, though they panned it to shreds - and rightfully so, acknowledged that a couple of duets from the show were some of the best in the history of all musicals. Ken Mandelbaum, in his book Not Since Carrie, writes about this. He asserts that one of the big tragedies is that Betty Buckley and Linzi Hateley were so good as Margaret White and Carrie, this should have been a star-making show. Instead, the immense talent on display and the raw power of their duets was buried in a heap of incoherence and lethal missteps; RSC Director Terry Hands should never have worked again.

My college friend gave me a copy of the bootleg recording - a scratchy cassette that had been created by someone sneaking into the closing show with a tape recorder in his pocket. Uh...not high quality. BUT...it was good enough to capture the power Buckley and Hateley and from my first listen, the song "And Eve Was Weak" has remained one of my favorite duets of all time.

I came upon this YouTube video - a clip that starts half way through the number...a bootleg video from 1988 at the closing performance at the Virginia Theatre. Again - scratchy...but the power is there. And it makes me wonder...if in the right hands and a competent creative team...could this have been "ground breaking" instead of "bank breaking"?

Songs to Light Me Up

2009-08-25T15:24:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of endless Facebook lists, I offer some songs that have always stuck with me.

Why not?

Funky Sexy
-Son of a Preacher Man, Dusty Springfield
I always liked this infectious tune, but when I fell desperately in love with a bisexual preacher's son in 1996, the song was burned into my brain forever. I soon had a note to self, however: Don't fall in love with bisexual preacher's kids. :)

-Closer, Nine Inch Nails
So yeah, this is not exactly a subtle number from Trent Reznor, but I dare anyone who is in a randy mood to hear this and not get caught up in its hypnotic, debauchery-inducing spell. This became the theme of what came to be known as the Dionysus parties in my college years. No explanation needed.

-Criminal, Fiona Apple
The opening lyric sets the tone. "I've been a bad, bad, girl. I've been careless with a delicate man." Brilliant. Fiona may be a bit nuts - but this debut album was truly amazing...her talent and soul cannot be denied.

Darling Nikki, Prince
I was pretty young when the Purple Rain album came out, but my parents loved it and so it played on an endless loop in our house. And as a pubescent boy, this particular track was not lost on me - even if it didn't reflect my eventual persuasion. And Prince?...genius. Truly.

Funkier Than a Mosquito's Tweeter, Ike and Tina Turner
I am not sure, but I think this was the flip side of the 45 we had of Proud Mary. I know that it got played a lot before I was five. And I know that I used to shake my butt to it in my diaper. Later, I came to find it completely humorous for its sexy-silly euphemisms. Nikka Costa did a GREAT cover of the song on her album: Can'tneverdidnothin'

Smiles and Movin' Feet
-Chains of Love, Erasure
Bubble gum dance music at its best - and with a message. In an era plagued by overt homophobia along with AIDS deaths and thousands of deaths now known to be attributed to AZT poisoning, this gay anthem was a perfect antidote to a difficult reality. Together we'll break these chains indeed!

-Love Shack, B52s
Sadly, this song has almost worn out its welcome. Overplayed at weddings and the like. But I heard it again the other day and was able to travel back to high school when it came out... everyone running to the dance floor to celebrate youth and friendship. Some say the Cosmic Thing album was their "sell out" - I think it's great they crossed over and kept their unique brand of harmonies and humor.

-You Spin Me Round, Dead or Alive
This may be one of the best dance songs ever recorded. But to enjoy it, one must abandon all sense of good taste and dive into high club kid drama. It's in that sugar coated drug induced neon state that the operatic vocals and psycho-synth arpeggios can be fully appreciated. And what other song has a veritable Tarzan call as its signature?

-Express Yourself, Madonna
I must clarify that though I can still groove to the more electric version of this song as heard on the Immaculate Collection, it is the more acoustic, big band version on Like a Prayer that really stands out. Until this point, I had no interest in the material girl - but this call for independent thinking rang true to a gay kid just discovering theatre in 1989. And those backing vocals! Love it. And let's remember that now famous director David Fincher shot the video along with Vogue.

9 to 5, Dolly Parton
-How can anyone hear the opening vamp of this song and not smile? It's one of the catchiest tunes...EVER. And makes me want to dance like a silly cartoon character (I don't understand this myself, so don't try.) But I also associate it with the film, which is one of the few movies I can see from any point and it never fails to put me in a good mood. And Dolly...so plastic and genuine at the same time.

Tears and Melancholy
-Hurt, Johnny Cash
In his final moments, Cash recorded this song by Trent Reznor and delivered a masterpiece. Whenever I hear, "What have I become, my sweetest friend?" I choke up. There is something so quietly desperate in both the lyric and melody. There are times when it's almost too much to listen to...

-Here Comes the Rain Again, Eurythmics
The combination of soaring strings and fast-moving synth beats offered a unique fusion for radio in 1983. Pop songs do not sound like this anymore. And there is no voice like Annie Lennox at the climax - a siren's cry for answers. In 2005, I got to see her perform it as a quiet ballad on solo piano. It still packed a punch. Not a dry eye. That is the sign of a lasting song.

-Kissing You, Des'Ree
Chosen as the love theme to Baz Luhrman's R&J, rarely has a song felt more appropriate for star-crossed or unrequited love. It is, I think, the saddest love song ever recorded. Des'Ree's smoky voice leaves not a single syllable untouched with longing. And I admit, during more than one break up, this has been my tool for cathartic weeping...both as a listener and singer. Though on the R&J soundtrack, I highly recommend the album Supernatural where it also appears.

-Ordinary World, Duran Duran
This song manages to say it's time to move on without discarding the pain altogether. In this way, I find it to be one of the most mature songs from Duran Duran. The soaring vocals accompanied by a terrific guitar line both massage the ear and hit the gut. There's a good reason this single marked a comeback for the 1980s pop band.

-Angels, Robbie Williams
I cannot help myself. This song is so very cheesy. I know that. But the melody manipulates me into falling for it every time. So what that the simple lyrics feel written by a moody high school girl...when Robbie belts out the chorus and the full orchestra takes over, it's worthy of a thousand lit lighters in a stadium. And dude, it makes for awesome karaoke! :)

Wish/ Expect

2009-08-24T16:38:00.000-07:00

A dear friend and colleague of mine got married recently, and I had the pleasure of attending his wedding. Such a handsome groom and stunning bride; I wish them much happiness. But something happened to me in the middle of the ceremony...something that has taken over a week to process. I got red-faced and angry. As the Anglican Priest talked about Genesis, first man, first woman, and the sanctity of marriage, I sat there with my male partner and had to simply eat the fact that we were outsiders at this party. We are not allowed to marry. And for many, we are an abomination.

This is not new. And I am not naive. But you see, this was the first wedding I have attended since Prop 8 and gay marriage heated up the news and pushed the issue further into the public consciousness. And it made my experience quite different. At previous weddings, not only did I accept the "way things are" - it never really occurred to me that they could be different. But now that's not the case. And I realized, sitting there, that I was not okay. In fact, I felt a bit betrayed. And I have to wonder if I will attend another wedding so long as my civil rights are denied me.

Brad Pitt famously said this past spring that he and Angelina Jolie might get married once it is legal for everyone to do so. It was a bold statement. And it is precisely what the gay marriage movement needs: straights to stand in solidarity with us. And really, if a heterosexual couple truly supports full marriage rights, then to maintain absolute integrity, that couple has no business getting married. They can have a spiritual commitment ceremony the way so many a gay couple has done...but to be legally married? No.

Back to my friend. This is someone I care about very much. And in no way do I want to strip him of his happiness or the legal benefits of marriage. But I have to admit - had he and his now wife made a declaration and postponed their wedding until my partner and I also had the right...that would have been cause for great celebration. Do I have less respect for them because they got married? No. But would I have had more respect had they waited? I gulp as I type this...but yes. Absolutely.

In trying to articulate my feelings on this, another friend - this one gay - said to me: "There's a big difference between what we wish for and what we expect. We don't expect our straight loved ones to sacrifice their happiness for our cause...but boy, we wish they would." Exactly.

And I dread the next wedding invitation that comes in the mail. Because I'm really not sure I can do it again.

House of Numbers - film review

2009-08-13T22:04:00.000-07:00

Director Brent Leung is a brave man. But what makes his explosive documentary, House of Numbers, so undeniably effective, is that he didn't set out to be. As he tells us in the film, he was born in 1980...part of the first AIDS generation, a group who came into their sexuality with the threat of HIV strapped to their genitals like a potentially lit bundle of dynamite. A few years ago, Leung came to learn there has always been a debate over the current HIV/AIDS scientific paradigm. Having never known a world without AIDS, this intrigued him, and so his investigative journey began. He was not trying to show courage through radical activism or by asserting some aggressive agenda. He had some questions, and he went around the world asking top HIV/AIDS scientists for the answers.

Now...one would think that, at least on the basic facts, these pioneers of HIV/AIDS research and treatment might all agree. Think again. They not only don't agree, they contradict each other in ways that are truly terrifying. From these orthodox HIV experts, there is no agreement on what HIV looks like, how it kills human cells, how the virus is isolated, how one confirms an HIV test, how drugs should be used to treat it, whether co-factors are necessary, or if our own immune systems can beat it all on their own. And there is much scandal on how it came to be "discovered" in the first place. There are moments in the film when I found myself laughing heartily at this clownish behavior from our world's top scientists; it almost plays like satire. But then I'd remember: this is about lives. And there is nothing at all funny about this. To his credit, Leung does not try to elicit laughs...he simply places the interviews side by side, juxtaposing so as to highlight the contradictions. It serves to rattle any trust one may have in our medical establishment. In an instant, these scientists lose credibility and reveal that on the issues of HIV/AIDS, it is confusion, not certainty that prevails.

In addition, the film gives voice to many self-proclaimed "dissidents" like Peter Duesberg, Kary Mullis (Nobel Prize winner), and the late Christine Maggiore - along with investigative journalists Celia Farber and Liam Scheff. To many, their opinions might seem downright insane. What do you mean HIV might not cause AIDS? What do you mean we're wasting money giving Africans HIV drugs when all they need is clean water and nutritional food? What do you mean "lifestyle" may indeed have played a role in the immune collapse of some gay men in the early 1980s? None of these are said to be "true" and all are politically incorrect at best, heretical at worst. But accompanied by the orthodox swamp of contradictions, one sits back and ponders...deeply.

The film was screened this week at the Washougal International Film Festival. Brent Leung and his producer were present and most humble. Knowing the film has received great backlash from the orthodox scientists he interviewed, I asked the director to respond to accusations that he has somehow misrepresented them in the documentary. He simply said, "Not one person has ever offered a specific example of how I have done so. We invite them to join in on the discussion. We want there to be an ongoing dialogue." An audience member asserted that many of the outraged are linked to pharmaceutical companies that manufacture HIV medications. My research has shown this to be, at least in part, true. And one must ask, "How could he misrepresent them?" There are long interview segments with clear, unedited responses. It's not as if Leung utilizes second-to-second jump cuts to create a message. In fact, the style of the piece is very straight-forward and journalistic with very little editorial commentary. It trusts the audience to draw individual conclusions.

If there is one moment of overt theatricality in the film, it is in its final frames when the score serves to highlight a most shocking revelation offered by Luc Montagnier, who just last year was awarded the Nobel Prize for discovering HIV. He says that one can be exposed numerous times to HIV and that if they have a strong immune system, their bodies can cleanse it out. He is asked to repeat this notion by Mr. Leung...as if the director cannot believe what was just said. Montagnier does not hesitate. He reaffirms with a simple "yes" - and with that, the ominous piano and minor synth-string chords echo out. But you know, this moment earns a touch of scary music - because the implications are monumental.

If Luc Montagnier is correct...if the discoverer of HIV is right...then an HIV+ status might be meaningless. If one is exposed to HIV and cleanses it out, then the immune system's antibodies have done their job - but those antibodies would still show up on the HIV antibody test, resulting in a + result. This happens a lot with other diseases. For instance, I test + for TB, which means I was exposed to it and beat it. But with HIV, a + test result currently means lifelong drugs and eventual death. Are there thousands of people partaking in the drug protocol who actually have immune systems strong enough to battle it alone? Given the drugs are lethally toxic, might this be considered a type of mass medical homicide?

Throughout the film, the struggles of an HIV+ baby girl and her adoptive parents are followed. While still a toddler, she experienced horrific side effects from the AZT regimen given to her by doctors to keep her alive. When the parents reported the horrible side effects, they were told it was HIV creating the leg cramps and other painful symptoms. Finally, the parents turned to dissident Peter Duesberg who convinced them to take their daughter off the meds and leave HIV behind.

During the Q&A after the film, this little girl - now a beautiful, healthy 19 year-old young woman - came onto the stage with her mother. It was a truly breathtaking moment - one that could not be more illustrative. She has not taken a drug since she was a toddler. She has no idea what her "numbers" are in terms of CD4 counts and viral load. For her, it is clear HIV is something of a mythological boogey man...something that haunted her early childhood, and has been forever locked in the closet.

And that is what I was left with. Is HIV the deadly epidemic that defines modern sexuality? Or is it a boogey man perpetuated by a passionate, often well meaning medical community that might have it all wrong? Brent Leung is a brave man, because he dares to ask. But what scares me more than anything is: how have we come to a place in our scientific discussions that one should have to be brave to simply ask a question?

NOTE: The film is screening all over the US and in the UK in festivals and other showings. Check HouseofNumbers.com for more information.

DoggoD

2009-08-03T19:26:00.000-07:00

So I'm sure most everyone has seen this picture by now. It's years old. But my beloved Bill Maher introduced it to me just a week ago on his New Rules segment of Real Time. It's crude and overtly blasphemous, and so of course, it makes me laugh. BUT...what is terrifying about my experience with Jesus in a Dog Hole is that I had the mute button on at the time Bill was ranting about it. I had taken a phone call and silenced the television, and just as I hung up, this image was filling my screen, and, I thought - oh look, a surreal picture of Jesus; Bill must be plugging his movie, Religulous, again. And then I turned the sound back on and heard Bill tell me what I was seeing, and I thought, "Oh no...I saw Jesus in a dog's anus. I had no idea it was a dog's anus." And then I had to recall that "DOG" is "GOD" backwards - the whole thing sent a shiver down my body, and I almost ran to the kitchen to check the tortillas and toast.

It shook be spiritually, dude...like, for real.

And then I thought...Photoshop is cool.

On Theatre for Youth and Texting the Sun...

2009-07-20T11:11:00.000-07:00

As a theatre practitioner, I am devout in my determination to balance my time between professional "adult" and youth/educational theatre. When a colleague asks me, "Wouldn't it be great if you could stop these teaching gigs?"...or, "Don't you hate writing a play and directing for young audiences?"...my response is always a firm, "Not at all!" I will always seek out opportunities to work with young people. It is a sacred part of my personal mission. Sacred.

Arts education and exposure is critical to the development of a thoughtful society, and it is often through the arts that young people develop their most valuable standards of conduct as well as a nuanced view of the world around them. And as theatre often provides a large tent where under people of various stripes may commune - the theatre arts often serve to save young outcasts from a downward spiral. The number of kids I have seen find their voice - find their esteem - find their passion through theatre...well, they number too many to count. But I'm not speaking only of those who actively participate in theatre...but also of those who simply learn to love being in the audience. That young people have the opportunity to be touched by theatre in some way along their journey is everything. And this fills me with great purpose.

As a playwright, staying in touch with the "young voice" is thrilling. It forces me to observe with the most thoughtful eyes and ears the world of the younger generations. And if I can capture that world - capture the concerns, conflicts, desires, and love of youth through a play - and in turn help expose audiences to that world - I have really accomplished something. I can't think of anything more exciting...and maybe more important.

Being asked to write Texting the Sun for the Oregon Children's Theatre/Kaiser Permanente Collaboration has been a huge responsibility - and a perfect example of this. In paying close attention to what thirteen and fourteen year olds are writing and talking about...in interviewing teachers and counselors of adolescents...in studying the many facets of efforts to make people more media literate...I hope to have accomplished a theatrical work that never preaches, never patronizes, but always begs us to take a closer look at what is happening around us. This new century is full of new complexities and chaos - and young and old alike must learn to navigate through the storm...

Nothing Certain!

2009-05-15T17:36:00.000-07:00

I am terribly sorry for my ignoring my blogging duties. There is much up in the air at the moment...and frankly, I feel a bit paralyzed.

--My partner is fighting for his life to graduate this June. Twenty-five credits this term and two jobs... it creates joint stress to say the least. Thank God we love each other so much.

--With that graduation comes the invasion of family to see the graduation. Five guests staying in my house...yes...FIVE. Will be a lovely, chaotic, madhouse of a good time! Weeeeeeeeee!

--Next season is all over the place in terms of questions regarding work. How many classes will I be teaching? How much will contracts be cut? Will I get that commission? Will I get that directing gig? I've been in an application / interview frenzy...

--The weight loss journey continues. Having not met many of my goals despite sticking to "the plan" - I have increased the efforts. Even more exercise. Even less food. My man-boobs hurt and I'm hungry!

--Because I love to get rotating, nagging, chronic health conditions - the digestions issues continue. Severe ulcer pain and dyspepsia for weeks. I have been on tons of DGL, red apples, and other natural remedies - because I live in America and have no insurance. Hope I don't have something more serious. If I drop dead, thank our health care system.

--There is little to no summer money - will we both have work? Will we have rent? Will we need to sing the title song to my least favorite Broadway undeserving-of-its-Pulitzer-Prize hit musical?

--My new, huge, yet to be publicly announced theatre venture moves forward...yes...it's mysteeeeeeeerious. Not really - I think everyone knows. Regardless - it's good stress...but yeah...it's stress.

I am most thankful for re-discovering Bach Rescue Remedy. I used it a lot in the mid-90s. It seems to help a bit. And a bit is a lot right now.

Hugs and kisses to all!

Come Out, Come Out

2009-04-30T11:05:00.000-07:00

I'm really excited to see this - vengeful as my spirit may be.
Check out the link for more...

A film dares to go...yes...THERE.

2009-04-24T09:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked an important 25th anniversary. On April 23rd 1984, U.S. Health Secretary Margaret Heckler announced that Dr. Robert Gallo had discovered the cause for AIDS, a little known retrovirus we now call HIV. The press conferences and interviews that followed presented a confident Gallo - and promised to the nation was a vaccine within a few years. As you know, we have no vaccine, no cure, and oddly, last year the Nobel Prize did not go to Gallo for discovering HIV, but to Luc Montagnier of France.

A new film is making its way through film festivals this spring. House of Numbers dares to investigate the HIV/AIDS phenomenon by including all the important players in AIDS research - but it also includes voices of dissent - scientists, including Nobel Prize winners who question the role of HIV in AIDS. The film is causing quite a stir. Only days ago, at the Boston Indie Film Festival, a near riot broke out between people at a panel discussion. Hot words like "denialist" and "Orwellian" got thrown around. A civilized discussion was not to be had.

The orthodox scientists view HIV dissidents as dangerous to the public. They believe that to question the current medical paradigm is to promote unsafe sex and other reckless behavior - and that to forego pharmaceutical drugs in favor of nutrition and alternative therapies is to allow the virus to keep mutating and thus prevent vaccines and treatments from being effective. In a taped interview, men such as Mark Wainberg, former President of the International AIDS Society, have called for a constitutional amendment in the United States that would criminalize the act of questioning HIV/AIDS theories and imprison people so as to silence their dangerous assertions. And in some states, legislation has been proposed to quarantine HIV+ individuals who refuse HIV retroviral medications.

Dissident scientists believe that after twenty-five years, some new paths should potentially be explored. There are many people who have had HIV for over 20 years, never taken a drug, and never become ill. The CDC has continued to state for twenty years that up to a third of the HIV+ population is unaware of their status, and yet there has been no surge of these unknowing people rushing to the ER with AIDS defining illnesses as was seen in the early 1980s. And now, the leading cause of death for AIDS patients in America is liver and heart failure - from the HIV medications. In addition, there is no international gold standard for HIV testing; it is completely possible to test positive in one country and then negative in another - an odd reality given HIV is said to be a virtual death sentence without treatment. And some scientists make the claim that HIV has never been properly isolated.

I am excited to see this film once it's released on DVD. But the controversy troubles me - not the tension between the opposing views in the film (I love that drama!) - but the fact that director Brent W. Leung is being viciously attacked for having the audacity to allow dissident scientists to speak at all. He is also being accused of tricking orthodox scientists into participating in the documentary - not telling them he was going to present both sides. For his efforts I say, YOU GO, Brent! Freedom. Of. Speech. I applaud this filmmaker for having the journalistic hunger to travel the world for two years and then present what is a very important story.

Because again - yesterday was an important anniversary. Twenty-five years in the world of HIV=AIDS=DEATH. No cure. No vaccine. Lots of fear. Disproportionate numbers in the African American and African communities. The list goes on. Why not at least consider that something may have gone awry? Or somewhat awry? And even if people think that dissident views are ridiculous or silly - isn't it the right of anyone to practice free speech and exercise their curiosity as they see fit?

Here is the link to the website and trailer. Check it out. Weigh in.

House of Numbers

Funky Concoction - Film (first 3)

2009-04-19T12:33:00.000-07:00

In an interview, writer William Peter Blatty stated that if done wrong, this film could turn into a laugh riot. I giggled when I saw this, because for many people I know, it did turn out to be a laugh riot. I mean a little girl screaming, "Your mother sucks cocks in hell" is always good for a laugh. And when the film was re-released in 2000, there were notable snickers in the audience. The audacity of the film - and its place in pop culture is just too much for many a viewer to overcome.

Though understanding these responses, I still find the film thrilling. Director William Friedkin executes a completely unapologetic approach to the material. It doesn't play down to its audience like most films in that genre. It is a true horror drama. It also highlights issues that fascinate me. Who are the priests in an ever growing atheistic culture? The doctors. The film looks at atheism and science as a religion that can't cope with the situation at hand. At the same time, it doesn't paint Catholicism as perfect. The exorcism fails, forcing a trade with the devil; one is left to wonder where power truly lies when the credits role.

All that aside, the movie taught me to go for it. When you see the top - go over it and see if it can work. My artistic endeavors have always been on that line between heightened drama and absurd histrionics. And one must only watch Regan masturbating with a crucifix, forcing her mother's head between her legs, spinning her head to face backwards and saying, "You know what she did? Your cunting daughter?" to see that the "top" was set pretty high for me. HA!

This was and escape for my 22 year old mother and her 4 year old son. We saw the film 17 times in the theatres in 1977 and 1978. I could not get enough. Like so many other young kids, it was the explosion of imagination. And its simple themes pulled from the fairy tales I already loved. It taught me that the definition of "win" is not always what it seems. I was horrified when Obi-Wan raised his saber and allowed Vader to kill him - but it shed light on how there's always a different option...one that is truly noble.

What's very important to mention is that the first time I saw Star Wars, we entered the theater in the middle of the trash compactor scene. In 1977, you paid to go in and could sit through the reel as many times as you wanted provided there were enough seats. So we walked in right in the middle and I was immediately thrilled by this cliffhanger moment. There could not have been a better teacher of rising action and mini-climax. My heart was racing - and I loved it. Ironically, I now suffer from major anxiety issues - maybe it's the walls of a trash compactor about to squish me. In my work, I love that sort of rapid acceleration - and I also love epic notions of light and dark.

This comedy of the underdogs still makes me laugh. It combines truly hilarious performances with some sharp writing and a theme that anyone can relate to. Well...that I could relate to in 1980. Though not fully understanding my sexuality - I was not the typical boy by any means. And I found most men utterly distasteful - the way they treated women, the way they strutted about, they way they spoke in righteous cadences out their fat asses, all the while pretending to wear crowns - or in my region, Texas cowboy hats. I felt smarter than all of these idiots - and their sons who loved to make fun of me for not being athletic, for using my hands too much, for having a little sugar in my step. And I found ways to conquer them - through my academics and creative achievements. But what I really wanted to do was tie them up and make them look like the buffoons they were. So seeing Dabney Coleman's Franklin Hart in S&M Garage Opener Drag was very satisfying to the sissy in me. And I aligned myself with Lily Tomlin's Violet - strong but helpless in this world of dick swinging morons.

I find myself attracted to themes of the underdog - the disenfranchised - the abused - the forgotten. I also find my comedic taste to border on the silly and absurd. There's a moment when Franklin Hart comes into the office after everyone thinks he's dead and Violet has a sort of comic spasm which involves her trying to catch a piece of paper that has flown out of her hands. I love that stuff - silly and absurd mixed with sharp wit.

The next 3 coming soon...

Funky Concoction - Intro

2009-04-04T15:01:00.001-07:00

Self-examination often seems an absurd enterprise. The idea that one can possess any level of objectivity regarding one's own puzzle pieces is an idea bound to fail in experimentation. But alas, on this day I find myself curious about influences over the years. And though I'd like to assign them as primarily influential in my career endeavors, I have become increasingly doubtful that a separation between my daily life trek and that of my artistic pursuits exists at all. The things that inform my daily life are always the things that inform my artistic life. Oh, hell, let's stop with the dichotomic differentiation...it's just my LIFE.

In terms of the actual influences, however, I will employ a method for creating the list. And of course, they will all come from art. (I could go on and on about the influences of my family - but good god, why?) So...I have looked at film, theatre, music, and visual art. And within these four I have looked at extremes in style - for I've come to notice that I see myself as a funky concoction - the result of some recipe made by a poor working mother forced to throw the remnants of the pantry into a pot and call it supper. It makes for a funky meal. And I am a funky set of maddening contradictions...to myself...and to so many others.

I will compose a post for each one. The first will be up soon....

My Published Concern

2009-03-28T13:01:00.000-07:00

Following on my previous post...

I had emailed a letter of concern to the editors of The Dallas Voice. To their credit, they not only published my concern in the paper, but posted a link to the commentary on the front page of this week's online edition. It has sparked some intense comments that serve as the perfect example of how this racial divide in HIV/AIDS must be addressed - not through gross generalizations - but through continued scientific study.

To explain the statistical gap by calling African Americans more "closeted" and "promiscuous" is beyond offensive. HIV is reported to be a non-discriminating pathogenic virus. It does not see skin color.

So what's up?

See the online edition article and comments:
http://www.dallasvoice.com/artman/publish/article_10964.php

AIDS and Racism

2009-03-22T17:21:00.000-07:00

As many are aware, new numbers came out in the Washington Post, revealing that Washington, D.C. now has a 3% HIV+ rate - and that the disease is spreading rampantly throughout the African American community. Only two days ago The Dallas Voice/Pegasus News published new numbers for Dallas, TX - which indicates 50% of all new HIV/AIDS cases in Dallas County are in the African American community. This matches nationwide numbers as reported by Anthony Fauci of NIAID - where he points out that African Americans make up 12% of the population but account for 50% of all new HIV/AIDS cases.

Since the turn of the century, the "on the down low" phenomenon has continually been cited as a leading reason for this trend in the African American community. Whether you're watching Oprah Winfrey, Tyra Banks, Law and Order - or reading countless blogs and news stories - you will get told that many, many black men hide their true sexuality - and thus have sex with other men, catch HIV, then turn around and give it to their wives and girlfriends. You will be told that these men do not wear condoms when having sex with men, because to plan for sex by bringing a condom would mean to admit their intent to have homosexual sex - and that somehow by not wearing a condom, they psychologically avoid their own sexual identity. You may also read reports that indicate there are larger numbers of bisexual black men than in other races.

The Dallas Voice article article continues to perpetuate the notion that the transmission of HIV from black men to black women is largely due to "on the down low" behavior.

Nobles also noted that HIV/AIDS has increased dramatically in recent years among black women, many of whom contract the disease from men who have gay sex on “the down low.” In 2007, for example, 81 percent of all new HIV/AIDS cases were in males, but 32 percent of new cases among blacks were in females.

“They have a gay lifestyle but in the public they have a wife or a girlfriend, and so the disease is crossing over rather rapidly in this particular population,” Nobles said.

It is extremely important to note that in scientific literature, this has been discounted - or at least viewed as highly suspect. And what floors me is that a very important study reported in the Annals of Epidemiology in 2006, addressed the issue head on. Here are a few excerpts from Reuters reporting in 2007:

This assumption was mistaken in many ways, they explain. First of all, the practice of straight men secretly having sex with men is seen across all ethnic groups.

Also, Ford notes, while black men and women have higher rates of HIV infection than other ethnic groups, they also report fewer risk behaviors, suggesting researchers should look elsewhere to understand the disparity.

and

Research has refuted the claim that black men living the down low lifestyle are driving the spread of HIV, Ford said, but the perception that this is the case remains, even in the epidemiology community. She points to a dean at a colleague's school who urged researchers to study "the down low" after seeing a TV segment on it.

The view of black sexuality as deviant and diseased has deep roots, Ford noted, pointing to the way the public and the medical community viewed syphilis in the early 20th century as a disease of the black community.

The careless use of such claims to explain the disproportionate infection rate among black women is based on anecdotal evidence and is not scientific in the least. It serves to demoralize the black community and may even hurt - as the Reuters article suggests - research efforts to discover the true reasons behind the trends.

And what about these trends? The recent "3%" number of infected Washington residents has been all over the news and has been the subject of myriad press conferences by health officials - but in January of 2008, American Medical News reported that 5% (or 1 in 20) of D.C. Residents were HIV+. Not 3% - but 5%.

This is a 40% drop. So is there actually reason to celebrate in D.C.? A 40% drop in HIV infections in a single year is significant, yes? Sarcasm aside, the better question is: how is this data being gathered? And the biggest question is: why are journalists so quick to report numbers and never check previous statistics and studies?

I have been looking at comments on many blogs where the D.C. numbers - and now Dallas numbers - have been reported. There's this general acceptance that African Americans are simply "different", "more promiscuous", "more homophobic" - etc., etc. - and when I'm teaching inner city at-risk youth and they are shown posters for Black HIV Testing Day - and they say things like: "Why is our community too stupid to not get AIDS" - my heart sinks. This is a dangerous sort of racism. The reasons given by the media are oversimplified in an attempt to explain disproportionate numbers that make no epidemiological sense.

I ask all journalists and bloggers to consider these issues and make sure that great care is given when hurling accusations at minority communities. Ironically, in an effort to "help" - I fear health care practitioners may be missing the actual causation of this trend among African Americans - and in the process, are promoting racial stereotypes. Does it truly add up - just using common sense - that "black homophobia" can account for 50% of all HIV cases in the US - but African Americans only make up 12% of the population? That's an absolutely staggering number - and I think harder questions and better research must be conducted to truly understand what is going on.

As I have said in previous posts...don't be so quick to accept what they say - because who are they and how did they get their information? When dealing with issues as important as infectious disease...when using words like "epidemic"...when using phrases like "national health crisis"...when using tax payer money to fund research and understand trends...a critical mind must be employed. It is far too easy to simply accept and go along with statistics and gross generalizations - especially if it isn't affecting 88% of the population that is YOU.

Portland is :(

2009-03-15T14:07:00.000-07:00

Unhappy Portland

As I said on Facebook to a friend who asked about this:

As we are also often ranked the #1 most enlightened city - in terms of arts, literature, environmental awareness, etc - it makes sense that 8 years of Bush/Cheney would have created a pit of despair. I know many people - including myself - who have been extremely worried about the country and where people of our "Portland mindset" belong. That's really over simplified, but maybe there is something to it.

What do you think, readers?

Thanks, Diablo!

2009-03-09T12:11:00.000-07:00

Okay - so I am not the biggest fan of Diablo Cody. I love the characters she creates. But the "look at me I'm a clever writer!" thing she has going on is like sideways rain hitting you square in the eye.

That being said, I must thank both her and Steven Spielberg for The United States of Tara. The show has received mixed reviews. Amongst my friends and colleagues there is little consensus - which may actually indicate genuine artistic innovation - though few can doubt the genius of the multi-talented Ms. Toni Collette. I am a junkie for the show, but it is not for my general enjoyment that I offer thanks.

(Spoiler alert!)

The homosexual story line in this show has unfolded in a truly unique way - one that gives me great hope for how gays get television treatment in the future. As we discover that fourteen year-old Marshall (the adorably dorky Keir Gilchrist) has a crush on fellow thespian Jason (Andrew Lawrence - yeah, Joey's younger hunky brother) - it appears the show will predictably adopt the "coming out" subplot. I figured it was prefect as a way to exacerbate Tara's Dissociative Identity Disorder - and it has certainly provided interesting moments for Tara's "alter", Buck, who is homophobic. But as I waited to see Marshall being forced to grapple with his dark homosexual secret - turns out his whole family already knows. And it's never really addressed. Not in terms of it being an issue. It's presented as a non-issue. They learn he has a crush. His older sister makes deliberate - and yet oddly affectionate - homophobic stabs at him in the nature of sibling ribbing. His mother says things like, "If he likes you, he won't care about the stings" - (referring to a bee incident). And then this latest episode - #9 - it happened.

Jason, you see, is a preacher's kid. Marshall is crushing hard on him - enough to even participate in the church's Hell House (the moral haunted houses of the South where they show homosexuals burning in hell, etc.) - and in recent episodes, Marshall tries to figure things out by saying things to Jason like, "I hate labels. If there were no labels on the food in the store, many people would try things and find out they like it." Poor Marshall - I tried all that when I was in high school. Can I get him in bed if I talk philosophically? HA!

So - Episode 9. Marshall and Jason are doing a project. Marshall and Jason drink from the parents' liquor cabinet. Jason falls asleep beside him. Marshall is in heaven. And Marshall takes the plunge. He kisses the sleeping Jason - who wakes up and...kisses him back.

It was one of the sweetest things I've seen since Beautiful Thing. And who knows if Jason will turn out to be actually gay (will the liquor be his excuse?) but the moment was captured with such purity and innocence - it was simply truthful. But better was what happened after. We see Marshall's Dad come home - he runs into an awkward and guilty looking Jason who is leaving. He's very nice to Jason - knowing it's his son's love interest. Dad discovers Marshall inside drinking tea and looking dazed. And eventually Dad says, "Shit. You got it bad don't you?" Marshall nods - between crying and laughing with the joy of his first kiss - and Dad says so lovingly, "There's nothing like love."

And of course, my face is streaming with tears. Could the show exploit my issues any further? I mean seriously? Gay issues. The much unrequited love of high school. And of course - DAD ISSUES. All rolled into one. It left me a mess. But past my own personal connection to the material...how refreshing to see this family not give a shit about their son's sexuality. They want him to be happy. They honor him with no fuss.

Thanks Diablo. Thanks Steven.

--from a sappy thirty-six year old 'mo who is happy younger 'mos will have better television to watch than he did at their age.

Behind the Curtain...

2009-02-28T20:50:00.000-08:00

This past week has offered three brief moments when I feel I've peered behind the curtain...

--Watching the live news on CNN. I answer a phone call - quick conversation - turn back to the television. And it's repeating. Not the story merely being covered again - that happens all the time with these looping news cycles...but literally, the television is repeating...same newscaster...same words...same bad joke at the same time... I check my DVR to make sure I have not hit rewind. Nope. Live. Again.

--The man at the gym. A very sweaty man. A very sweaty man who does the stair-mill nearly every day for over an hour without even listening to an iPod. He pours sweat onto the machine. Puddles form on the ground around the machine. And I guess it's gross but oddly, I have always found him to be an inspiration for endurance. Until I was doing the stair-mill next to him. About thirty minutes into my own workout, I feel a presence. A staring. I turn to the left. He is staring at me. A statue. Shark eyes. I get an image in my head -it bleeds into my physical seeing - he has a knife. He is butchering men in dark spaces. Gore everywhere. He comes back into focus, the macabre images returning to their dungeon. He does not look away. I look away. I look back. He is back to working out. And I know that a serial killer is sweating like mad on the machine next to me.

--Taking a walk through the neighborhood, the streetlamps start going out. This has happened before. Five in a row. As I pass them - within a foot of walking by - black out! Dark. After number five, I turn back to stare at the darkened street. I whisper, "light the way" - You see, I did this the first time at the Americana Apartments in Killeen, Texas when I was 7 and escaping the angry home of screaming Mom and new Dad - they went dark and I said, "light the way" - and they did. When I was 7, they came back on. All at once. And this time - 29 years later - I say the magic words again - and they do - they came back on...all at once.

What else is back there?

The Why Theatre Prompt

2009-02-19T09:44:00.000-08:00

So I have been in residence as a professional playwright for Literary Arts as part of their Writers in the Schools program. In simpler terms, I am a WITS teacher. For fifteen weeks at Grant High School - once a week - I have taught playwriting to freshmen in what's called the Access Program - sort of a Talented and Gifted class...and also to third year theatre students...and also to seniors in a creative writing English class.

Tonight, students from various Grant classes (mine and those of other WITS teachers) will have the opportunity to share their work at an open mic "slam" - at Fleur de Lis Bakery and Cafe at 3930 NE Hancock - 7:00p.

Now...as part of this annual event, the writers in residence are asked to share a piece of their own. In past years, I have chosen monologues from Rubber 'n' Glue, The Vespiary, and Darkstep and Dawning. This year - without anything "high school appropriate" to share, I decided on something more fun. On my final day just this past Tuesday, I asked the students to rant on paper about "Why theatre?" I gave them nothing else. That single prompt. I told them that from their rants, I would take inspiration and write a monologue addressing that question. I took their ideas - some direct quotes - and certainly their passion. And I gave myself only one hour to write.

Here is the monologue - which I will publicly read this evening. Knowing that most of this was influenced by the young may add a sparkle to the day of those who occasionally fall into "theatre depression."

Why Theatre?
a monologue by
Matthew B. Zrebski
inspired by the rantings of
students at Grant High Shool in WITS classes
All Rights Reserved 2008

Why theatre? Why theatre?

Wha - what kind of question--? Are you trying to make my blood--? I -I -I mean did someone drop you on your--? Okay, okay, hold up! This is like one of those I-have-a-real-job-why-don't-you?-why-spend-time-doing-all-that-artsy-fartsy-no-one-cares conversations, right? Is that it? You think no one cares? No one--?

Let me tell you - people care. They care so much that theatre is like some addictive disease - like a drug - but a love drug - one with no end - that's how much they care. But unlike money and created "black and white" truths and antiquated paradigms that cage and sink you into coma-like reality TV show trances - theatre is present. Present. It's in the "now". It gets in your face in the moment. No separation. No big screens and 3-D glasses and ear buds and shuffling your play list! It's a white room filled with containers of colored paint. And when that color starts to splatter...it's raw energy out to you back to the stage. Thoughts - straight to you and back. Feelings - slamming at you and back. Back and forth- a rhythmic dance between artists and the audience - a ritual - one that goes back to the caves and campfires and hunts and the many, many Gods. That's why theatre.

Why theatre? Why not?

Maybe because it can't be genetically modified and produced in twenty-seven different sweat shops. Maybe because it's the virgin child of silent thought. The knot between the ribbons of emotion and voice. Maybe because it is a Teleporter from anywhere to anywhere - another person's shoes to wear. Or maybe because in that small bite fed to us in a performance, we can attempt to dissect and determine something for ourselves. Or more simply, maybe people want to make believe. To be four again. The magic. The suspension. Imagination. The stillness coming to life. The thrill of a single spotlight. Not the rut - but the possibilities. Anything is possible. No, those aren't ropes and cardboard clouds - that man is flying. Don't we all need to fly?

Why theatre?

You mean because there are movies and television - why theatre? Because film and television can perfect the performance - gloss the delivery - stamp into forever and perfect the product? Well, first let's get real, tons of movies suck! Commerce and stars and red carpets and who are you wearing...? But that aside - and I love movies too - brilliant art form - but does it replace - ? Are you suggesting it should--? That's been the suggestion since talkies started - but theatre is still here! Perhaps less "perfect" - less " glossed" - but you know what? There's more "real" there. People are imperfect - people are flawed - people are not glossed over with soaring soundtracks and CGI and line-line-joke comedy and run-in-slow-motion-on-the-beach-and-kiss endings. Back to basics - that's why theatre - it may be nothing but one person standing in front of you, telling a story - basic, pure, and resonant.

And this is where you accuse me of elitism and trying to assert my views onto your experience of life. But what are you experiencing? Do we experience anything in this day to day numbing up- the-down-escalator daily assault of zombified reality? Do we? I don't know. And humans need to experience. That catharsis that comes from live, crackling communion with storytellers. The walls expanding just a bit - different points of view - an attempt at some semblance of universal awareness - so that in those private moments in the darkest places, you know we are not alone.

(Beat.)

I am not alone.

(silence.)

There will be no final black out. There will be no final curtain. There will be no final playbill left to whither and rot and flake away into some wind just because you ask me why theatre? It is mine - it is yours - it is his and hers - and you may not know it yet, but that doesn't make it not true. So I'm telling you.

Theatre will never die.

Disappear

2009-02-15T23:32:00.000-08:00

Ever have a day when you feel you're living a fraction of a second behind or ahead of everyone else? It's like when the sound isn't quite synced up with the visual in a film - and you wonder is it me or is the sound fucked up? That was the good part of my day.

I awoke completely out of sorts. I felt like I'd had nothing but fever dreams all night. A splitting headache screamed hello to me just as my eyes cracked open, and my legs wobbled zigzaggedly as I got out of bed to turn off the alarm - which is across the room for very good reasons. I figured this was simply a result of the very spicy Thai food I ate last night as part of our stay-in Valentine's Evening - which also included watching the three Peanuts Valentine specials on DVD. (On a side note, we discovered that Michael really is Charlie Brown and I am Schroeder.) But as the day unfolded, things only went more askew.

I drank my coffee. I drank a liter of water. I ate some protein cereal. I did some stretches for my achy muscles. I tried desperately to fling off the muck - whatever it was. But the tension was building within - heart rate rising - dizziness coming on. Yep. Anxiety. This was going to be what I have come to call "one of my bad days." I would almost welcome the full-on panic attack. If you Google it you get told they last only a few minutes, and as long as you remember they are harmless and cannot cause any permanent harm, then they get easier and happen less frequently. Problem is - my panic attacks are in slow motion. They tease first from a distance by pouring a little kerosene in my stomach and lighting it on fire. Then they attach rubber bands to the back of my scalp and pull me slowly towards the floor. Then they nuzzle my chest with brick noses that weigh a ton and prevent me from breathing. And then worst of all, they slide into my thoughts and make me wonder if I - like my grandparents, my mother, and other relatives - if I too am battling a kind of madness. And this can last anywhere from an hour...to two days.

Dread already break-dancing in my gullet, I discovered that my sister's phone had been disconnected. And then I discovered through friends that she has not been seen for a few days. And then I did the perfect thing...I went to Portland Center Stage where I had my ticket to see How to Disappear Completely and Never Be Found by Fin Kennedy.

My intellectual assessment of this experience is quite simple. This is the best show I've seen on a Portland stage in maybe five years. The play is dramaturgically daring and refreshingly contemporary in style. The themes resonate deeply. The acting was superb all the way around - with particularly fine turns by Cody Nickell and Ebbe Roe Smith. The scenic and lighting and costume designs were in perfect alignment - and Jen Raynak's sound was what I call "stupid-good". I mean can this woman get any better? Jesus. And Rose Riordan has put on Midas gloves this season and turned her shows to gold with knock out direction. She's always strong - but the match up of her aesthetics with both The Receptionist and now, this production...well, it makes for some fine, FINE theatre.

My personal / emotional experience was nightmarish at best. I can't think of a worse place to be than this production if someone is anxiety prone - or having an ongoing long attack. The design and space configuration is deliberately claustrophobic. The sound is loud, disturbing, and coming at you from all sides. The lights menacingly strobe and toggle between colors. The set explodes forth one nightmarish surprise after another. Blood flows from noses and knuckles. Characters are either mad, going mad, or were already mad to begin with. And in this performance, I had an assist-dog in training behind me who - bless his canine heart - was terrified by the sound and lights and kept trying to get up and run down the aisle. And I kept thinking, my sister has disappeared. And then at one point, I found myself weeping as I watched the character "Adam" laughing himself into tears in a bathroom - and I thought...this play is about me. And then I looked around, and I thought, this play is about everyone. And then I thought, this play was not a good idea today. And then I thought, this play is perfect for this day.

I walked out of the theatre, looking stoned, I'm sure. And what happens next? So back up... Before the show, I saw a cute gay couple sitting in the lobby. One of the men looked very familiar. After the show, they were a few people behind me as we were exiting the theatre...and as I got to the middle of the lobby, I turned around again - determined to figure out this familiar face...he sure looked like...

And the guy makes eye contact with me and says, "Are you...?" and I say, "Mike?" And he nods. And we hug. Yes. Mike Ryan. College classmate, one year ahead of me at SMU. Brilliant actor. He now teaches acting at Santa Cruz. I had a huge crush on him in college and was envious of his girlfriend. It's been fifteen years, and now he's introducing me to his boyfriend, and I think, "Damn, the missed opportunities!" Turns out he came up here for Valentine's Day with his boyfriend and he's good friends with Cody and Kate - who are both in the show - and...

blah-blah-blah-serendipity-rah-rah-reunion-kiss-kiss-buh-bye- see-you-on-Facebook!

And this made me think further about identity and how people change and how I have changed and how life changes me and how I change my life and what keeps us from all running away? And then I sat in the lobby eating pretzels and drinking a coke, and I worked on my new play while I waited for Michael to get off work, and I talked to various PCS folks, and we all love the show, and on and on...and it was nice, but it wasn't altogether real, because the sound was still not in sync. Not fully. I was sitting in the lobby. But really, I had no idea where I was.

Now it's late. I found my sister. I had dinner. I had a mini-breakdown talking to Michael. I watched Big Love and The United States of Tara. I have posted many congrats on Facebook to the "Disappear" folk. And all I can do now is go to bed and wonder about tomorrow. Will I wake up and will things once again feel steady?

Do they ever?

Oh, Father

2009-02-07T19:37:00.000-08:00

Teaching a class yesterday, one of my high school students spoke of spending time with his daughter this weekend. I shared with him that I had been a high school pregnancy - that my mother had me at seventeen - and that my eighteen-year old father did not stick around. I told him I was proud of him for committing to his child - that there had been many times in my life I'd wished to know my father. This seemed to mean a lot to this kid.

It was an odd moment for me...a deep haunting crept into my lower belly and did not leave the rest of the day. I wrecked my diet on the way home from class by buying nachos and gobbling them up like the drug of choice they are. I sat numb in front of the television for hours.

In the summer of 1997, only weeks before moving to Portland, I did meet my father. My last name comes from my adopted father - but my birth father is named Bill Whitley. And I found him through a national search service. The call to his home that summer was one of the most terrifying things I have ever done. I think it took me more than five days once I had the phone number and address to actually dial. I did not know what his life was like. I did not know if he had a wife - or kids - or if they knew about me. I had no desire to inject myself into his life and create misery.

Luckily, all went quite well. I said, "I'm Laura Peterson's son." And he said very plainly and calmly, "I thought this call might come one day."

Turns out, he lived only twenty minutes from me, a little north of Dallas. Only days later, I traveled to meet him, his wife (who was remarkably close to my age and very kind) and my three half siblings...all little children. And days after that, Bill Whitley - also a trumpet player in high school - also a composer...came to see my musical Hunger at Youth Could Know Theatre. And at that show, he was reunited with my mother. And I watched them talk in the lobby...my mother had been desperately in love with this man...so much so she wanted to consume him...I'd heard a lot about him as a little kid...and now they chatted like old friends...laughing and talking with awkward pauses, then moments of ease...it was beyond surreal.

Bill and I talked twice after that on the phone. Once in Dallas. Once when I got to Portland. And for reasons I cannot explain, I never reached out again. And he never reached out to me. I literally have no idea why. Later, when asked, I would say that as nice as he had been, I did not find him that interesting...that it made no sense to build a friendship...but that was a complete lie. And I don't know why I lied. Or why I would be so mean. I don't understand any of this.

After eating myself into a coma on the couch, I found myself at the computer looking for him. The contact info I have is long defunct. So I Googled away...and luck was on my side. His graduating class of 1972 at Belton High School has their own website. A nice one. And in February of 2008, Bill Whitley had been found by his classmates - and there was his email address.

I looked at his high school picture...this awkward eighteen-year old whose features I share. I looked at how thin he is in the photo - and thought about how stout he was when I met him - and I realized I took the same physical path...(it's not nachos, you see - it's genes!). And...I wrote him an email. And I sent him pictures. I told him I regretted losing touch. I told him I'm human...and these blood connections haunt me...and I hoped to hear from him.

My mother and I have not seen each other in nine months.
My adopted father and I have not seen each other or talked in nine years.
And...maybe the father I never had will write back. And maybe he'll become more constant than the others. Is that the motivation?

As I said, I don't understand any of this.

For now...I wait.

(That was the end of my post. As I signed in to publish it to the blog, I discovered his reply email. I am deeply moved by it - and will share some small excerpts...)

From Bill Whitley to Matt Zrebski: 2/7/09

"I remember when she told me she was pregnant. It scared me half to death and I wasn't very kind to her. I didn't want to believe her and I rationalized my way out of it although down deep I knew she wouldn't lie. I was a stupid, young and scared kid. I got to go on with what I wanted to do and your mom was forced to grow up fast. It wasn't fair and I'm not proud of it! The fact that she apparently never told you that I was a selfish SOB is proof of how good she is at heart..."

"It's good that you've decided to stick to what you love to do. Even if things are hard, you'll be happier in the long run. It's taken me a lot of years to realize that. I didn't do it, and I've always had regrets. Follow your dreams! Try your best to never quit on them...I'm trying to learn how to play trumpet again. My dream is to quit work and be one of those old guys you see on one of the side stages at the jazz festival..."

"I'll look for some pictures to send you. We should at least be able to recognize each other. It's really good to hear from you and I'm glad you're doing OK. I enjoy hearing about what you're up to. By all means, stay in touch. Take care, Bill."

And now, I sigh big and deep...and light a candle...and cry a little...a lot...and try to embrace the wonder of this life...and its many paths, twisting, turning, over and over...

Winter Juggles

2009-02-04T17:19:00.000-08:00

Yes yes yes!!! I know!!! Oh, how I have juggled...

I have posted very little as of late. Since my last post I have:

-- re-drafted my play, The Bathing of Christopher End and submitted it for consideration to the 2009 JAW Festival at Portland Center Stage as well as to Kitchen Dog Theatre's New Plays Fest.

-- read and critiqued 217 ten-minute plays. Did you get that? 217

-- conducted extensive research on my next play project, interviewing people around the country via phone.

-- begun teaching two new courses at the Greenhouse School of Theatre

-- staged Open City for PlayGroup as part of the Fertile Ground Festival.

-- fought a sinus infection...still going...

-- been rejected by CoHo productions for a production of my play, Boy. :(

-- revisited cult classics What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, Videodrome, and Blue Velvet.

-- become addicted to Big Love (season 3) and the United States of Tara (inaugural season).

-- written a new song I like called February Snow and have done a rough recording.

-- become very fond of canned Mandarin oranges.

-- decided not to go to grad school after all - then reversed that decision - then reversed it back - and now am in limbo.

-- received more hassles and scares from the IRS.

-- attended a community forum on new plays and found myself talking very candidly about the close of Stark Raving Theatre - for the first time in public - even if limited.

-- seen Apollo at Portland Center Stage and am glad that Nancy Keystone is a theatre artist.

-- hated people posting hideous pictures of me on Facebook.

-- cried hard almost every day.

-- laughed hard almost every day.

-- wanted to disappear.

-- wanted to take the stage.

And now, I will work to post more on this blog...

xo,
MattyZ

Fitness Shift!

2009-01-18T12:25:00.000-08:00

I will be adding the measurements to this post going forward, rather than creating new posts every other week. I really don't like the blog being so much about thiss personal issue. So if anyone cares - there will be an edit every two weeks...

(sorry to be a day late on this update...I still cannot get onto the 'fat ratio' site - it keeps freezing...so instead of waiting, I'll at least give you the improved numbers.)

3/1/09
Weight: 241
(lost 4 pounds)
Waist: 43 inches
(lost 1 inch)
Hips: 45 inches
(same)
Forearm: 12 inches
(same)
Wrist: 7 inches
(same)

2/15/09
Weight: 245
(lost 2 pounds)
Waist: 44 inches
(lost 1 inches)
Hips: 45 inches
(lost 1 inch)
Forearm: 12 inches
(same)
Wrist: 7 inches
(same)
Body Fat: 27.1%
(lost 1.5%)
Amount of Fat: 66.4lb
(lost 4.2 pounds of fat)
Amount of Lean Mass: 178.6lb
(gained 2.2 pounds of muscle)

2/1/09
Weight: 247
(gained 3 pounds)
Waist: 45 inches
(lost 2 inches)
Hips: 46 inches
(lost 1 inch)
Forearm: 12 inches
(same)
Wrist: 7 inches
(same)
Body Fat: 28.6%
(lost 2%)
Amount of Fat: 70.6lb
(lost 4.1 pounds of fat)
Amount of Lean Mass: 176.4lb
(gained 7.1 pounds of muscle)

1/18/09
Weight: 244
Waist: 47 inches
Hips: 46 inches
Forearm: 12 inches
Wrist: 7 inches
Body Fat: 30.6%
Amount of Fat: 74.7lb
Amount of Lean Mass: 169.3lb

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So I'm going to launch a shift in how I handle my fitness goals. Merely weighing in is proving to be maddening. This week I gained a pound and am at 244. Overall weight loss over 11 weeks is only 8 pounds - and I'm spending nearly 8 hours a week at the gym and eating a fairly "normal" diet.

Inspired by what I already knew and by the reminders of friends and other bloggers like Mr. Mead - I needed to deal with reality a bit more...

Today, I found a very good home calculator for body fat ratio. It is accurate within about 3% and is very easy to do. And I think this will become the best method for assessing where I'm going. It is based on age, gender, and weight along with the waist, hips, forearm, and wrist measurements.

Going forward, I will list all of this every two weeks. There can be enough change in two weeks to actually measure - but once a week is a bit excessive for this type of calculation. I will still weigh myself periodically - but for the blog, this will be my new method.

One thing that was very interesting about this is how we are becoming quite fooled by the clothing industry. In the past a "32" meant the waist of the pant measured 32 inches. Not anymore. For fun, I measured various jeans at Fred Meyer and found that most pants added anywhere from 4 to 10 inches. In other words - waist size and "off the rack" size are not at all the same anymore. This explains why in May of 1992, I was wearing "36" jeans and weighed 190 pounds. Today I wear between a "36" and "38" and weigh 244 pounds. But the real numbers are quite revealing. And I need to deal in real numbers. Painful as they may be!

1/18/09
Weight: 244
Waist: 47 inches
Hips: 46 inches
Forearm: 12 inches
Wrist: 7 inches
Body Fat: 30.6%
Amount of Fat: 74.7lb
Amount of Lean Mass: 169.3lb

This is extremely helpful in calculating my ideal weight. To become very healthy, but not "athletic", I need to get this body fat percentage down to 12%. If I were to maintain my Lean Mass at about 170lb, then to have 12% body fat, I'd need to weigh 195lb. Given I am going to continue weight lifting, my Lean Mass will likely go up a bit, so I think to be reasonable, I need to shoot for about 200lb.

I have 41 weeks until I hit the year mark of my fitness launch. So basically, I'd like to lose a pound a week.

We'll see what happens!

Angell of Truth

2009-01-17T12:05:00.000-08:00

"...conflicts of interest and biases exist in virtually every field of medicine, particularly those that rely heavily on drugs or devices. It is simply no longer possible to believe much of the clinical research that is published, or to rely on the judgment of trusted physicians or authoritative medical guidelines. I take no pleasure in this conclusion, which I reached slowly and reluctantly over my two decades as an editor of The New England Journal of Medicine."

--Marcia Angell

This quote comes from Angell's January 15th article in the New York Review of Books called "Drug Companies and Doctors: A Story of Corruption." It is significant that she speaks out so blatantly about what has become one of the biggest threats to our country - because she was in fact an editor for a most prestigious medical journal. Her credentials are sound and her scathing assessment of our health industry should be noted.

Read!

In a time when we are perhaps about to move toward a nationalized healthcare system, we must address the collapse of scientific study - particularly with regard to medicine. Because what is very possible, is that the government will have even more to say in how we treat our ailments, and also continue to pad the FDA with members of the pharmaceutical industry. As a country, we are blissfully ignorant of how this system operates, how doctors practice, and how much research studies have become pseudoscience. Bluntly, much of it is a scam, and a lot of doctors are assaulting patients with dangerous snake oil.

I hope people take the time to educate themselves. Doctors have become the new priests in America, and it's time to remove the cloak and demand that the patient and not the wallet is the only thing that matters.

Weigh In #11

2009-01-11T09:33:00.000-08:00

1/11/09

Weight:
243lb

Weight Gain in Past Week:
.5lb

Total Weight Loss:
9lb

Exercise Last Week:
5 gym visits
cardio and weight lifting
60 to 90 min per visit
1 long walk

Goal for next week:
242lb

Oscar Whore

2009-01-04T18:11:00.000-08:00

One of my trashy habits is to follow the movie awards season. And let me tell you, the world of Oscar Bloggers is a frightening place to observe. These people live and breathe this stuff year round. But I admit, I kind of love it. It's like gambling for movie geeks. There are sites that compile critics awards, reviews, money spent on Oscar campaigns - and there is much discussion about past trends. What movie falls into the "epic" slot? What about the "period" slot? What about the "quirky independent" slot? What about...? It's lunacy, but I'm a bit of an addict.

Right now, the Best Picture Race looks like it will come down to this group.

Slumdog Millionaire
Milk
The Dark Knight
Frost/Nixon
Doubt
Wall-E
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
The Reader
The Wrestler
Revolutionary Road

Of course - only five will emerge when nominations get announced later this month.

I have been catching up on the movies on this list. I have seen five of the ten - and will keep catching up as movies get released nationally and money/time allows. So here are my mini-reviews thus far.

Wall-E
Breathtaking computer animation blended with action-based storytelling plucks the heartstrings to great effect. Gender role reversal is interesting. As a satire of America's future, it almost works, but the ending is very "Disney" and for me, nearly wrecked the whole experience. Of the Pixar films, this holds its own, but I think Finding Nemo and A Bug's Life are better.
GRADE: B

Milk
Gus Van Sant completely transports the audience to another time and uses a bold, yet subtle visual style to grip the viewer. Very few political films have moved me in this way, but does it work for a non-queer audience? I think it does. Sean Penn, Emile Hirsch, James Franco and Josh Brolin (along with everyone else) are so good, you simply do not recognize them as anyone but the characters they portray. This film does not apologize for anything - which seems appropriate given its subject matter.
GRADE: A+

The Dark Knight
Menacing and powerful, this movie is the best comic book film ever made. It takes the material and plays it without a single wink to the genre. It is a crime film - not unlike Mann's Heat or Scorsese's The Departed. It is hyper-masculine and adrenaline filled from start to finish with a performance by Heath Ledger that is terrifying - and heartbreaking, for this actor was one of our finest. If there is a mark against the film, it is that director Christopher Nolan loses some focus in both his screenplay and direction in the third act, but that's a small complaint for such a cinematic achievement.
GRADE: A

Doubt
Shanley executes a competent screen adaptation of his hugely successful stage play. By the end, the overt manipulation of the audience - to not tell, to not be clear, to not find out what happened - is so obvious it loses all meaning. And though overt metaphor is not offensive as I do love my operatic theatricality, if the wind blew again (to show the wind at the back of one's life as preached by Flynn), or another light bulb blew (to show the self applied veil of Sister Aloysius), or the camera tilted again (to show how off-balance everyone is) or the camera shot from above (God's judging hand - of course) - I was going to fall out of my chair. But the actors are to die for. Streep, Hoffman, Davis, and Adams are on their game. Streep, particularly, gives one of her finest career performances. For acting, this is one of the best films of the year. For content...yawn.
GRADE: B-

Slumdog Millionaire
This is filmmaking at its very best. And for once, Danny Boyle does not mess up the final act of his movie. He seems to have reached a new level in his talent - and this time, has the story to match. Rarely does a film have me glued to each frame. The style, the music, the cinematography, the acting - it all comes together to create a stunning adult fairy tale about class warfare and love - and all with the framing device of India's version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? Some criticize this film for its lack of plot credibility. To those, I say they have missed the point. Sometimes simplicity works. And where the story may lack complexity, its execution has layers upon layers to contemplate long after the credits have rolled.
GRADE: A+

So...if I had to choose between Slumdog and Milk? I must contemplate further! And I have others to see!

Weigh In #10

2009-01-04T18:09:00.000-08:00

1/4/09

Weight:
242.5lb

Weight Loss in Past Week:
1.5 lb

Total Weight Loss:
9.5lb

Exercise Last Week:
4 gym visits
weight lifting and cardio
60 - 90 min. visits

Goal for Next Week:
241lb

Weigh In #9

2008-12-28T23:06:00.000-08:00

12/28/08

Weight:
244lb

Weight Loss in Past Week:
0 lb

Total Weight Loss:
8lb

Exercise Last Week (SNOWBOUND!):
1 gym visit
cardio only
60 min visit
2 Snow walks
60 min each

Goal for next week:
243lb

THEY

2008-12-27T11:36:00.000-08:00

Contemplation does not comfort. It creates an unsteadiness...a feeling that the ground is composed of very loose soil...and that a sinking is possible.

Nothing exemplifies this more than our love of referencing "they" when citing our expertise. In our use of this amorphous source, we seem to be saying, "Don't give me specifics...it might shake my reality." And doesn't any person spend the majority of his/her life defining reality...a place to call "home" so as to breathe easy and settle into routine? There is great comfort in predictability...in knowing "what is"...and we have this comfort based on what "they" say.

In a benign example, take this recent weather in the Northwest. You heard it constantly...in grocery stores, from friends on the phone, from those passing on the street. "They say we'll be getting another six inches of snow this weekend." "They say it's going to warm up and melt soon." "They say this will be a harsh winter." Etc. Etc. And people spoke with such conviction. Then when things did not always turn out the way "they" said it would, people felt betrayed. "They don't know what they're talking about!" "I made plans and they were wrong!" And on and on. But if these people had simply looked at the four or five different weather models online, they would have seen there was virtually no agreement amongst the myriad meteorologists. So the only question is: which "they"?

And this is what I'm getting at. The majority of our society bases reality on a surface understanding of virtually everything. Without even scratching the surface of possibilities, people claim to know things. They use this knowledge to build a foundation for themselves...and often, it is all an illusion.

Less benign is the fact that the media is completely corporate controlled. And these corporations have biased political interests. This leads some to seek knowledge from blogs or other online sources - which have much to offer, but many are simply exercises in narcissism. Where does one find trust? Our science industry is run by stockholders. It is almost impossible to get a grant for research if the result of the funded research is not a sellable product. If those funding research are mostly companies run by stockholders, then how is there any possibility of reliable results? If the scientist wants more funding, the results better yield something to sell...so the scientist will want to make sure this happens.

Point is...be careful of what "they" say. Who are "they"? Did you bother to look for yourself? Did you bother to question? Or is it too inconvenient, because the simple answers give you that longed for foundation? Is it troublesome, because if you looked deeper, you might find the answers don't fit your politics?

What is your excuse for accepting what "they" tell you?

Weigh in #8

2008-12-21T10:38:00.000-08:00

12/21/08

Weight:
244lb

Weight Gain in Past Week:
+2lb

Total Weight Loss:
8lb

Exercise Last Week:
4 gym visits
cardio and weight lifting
60 to 90 min per visit
2 Snow walks
60 min each

Goal for next week:
243lb

Sister

2008-12-15T12:41:00.001-08:00

I waited with sweating palms and short breaths, bad vending machine food stuck inside my cheeks as her father came into the waiting room and said, "It's a baby girl." I was twelve. No longer an only child. I had a half sister.

I watched her in a baby swing - the ones you wind up and set rocking - and I sneezed and she laughed...a huge laugh out of a six month old. And so I sneezed again - fake sneeze. And she laughed harder. So loud, so tickled, happy tears crawling down her cheeks. And I sneezed again and again and she cackled and cackled and I began to learn more about unconditional love.

Oh, how she was stubborn. Oh, how she had to have her way. Oh, how we were so much the same. And oh, how we fought. Yes I was 17 and she was 5. So what? We did such battle when I babysat. I had changed her diapers. I had stayed up with her some nights when she was scared and so I had the right to tell her what to do! She'd have none of it. She told me what she thought about me and bellowed "I hate you!!!" as she ran to her room. And I went in there and hugged her as she kicked and screamed for me to let her go...and eventually her body went limp and she began to curl her limbs around me, and her head fell upon my chest and she cried soft sobs. And I realize that though we were both so stubborn...these tears had nothing to do with me. She had entered this world haunted. And it would take much to exorcise that.

Back from college, I stood in an elementary school hallway with a big yellow visitor's badge stuck to my shirt. And around the corner a line of munchkins came marching. She didn't know I was coming. Near the back of the line, she finally looked up to see me there. Surprise! A lunch date. She was permitted to leave the chain of children and take my hand. And we were off!...through the lunch line of hairnets and unrecognizable food and to a table not meant for a 20 year-old ass (especially mine). She babbled excitedly about her class...their projects...her teacher...her second grade friends. I shared what I could of the college experience. Lunches are so short in elementary school. She rejoined the line. Conformed as she was told. Her teacher smiled at me and winked as they faded around the corner, little shoes clicking on a checkered tiled floor.

I was marinating in dramatic tension. I'd walk out the door and be back to Dallas and then off to Portland in a U-haul. Away from Texas. And thousands of miles away from family. Good-bye time. A hot afternoon. The high windows cast perfect rectangles across the living room. I stood up from the couch and the embraces began. And she looked at me...now twelve. In between little girl and young woman. She hugged at my waist. A tight, forever hug. And my mother, eyes fully welled, mouthed to me... "pick her up." I reached under her arms and lifted her. She wrapped her arms and legs around me...and she wept. And I wept...holding her as I did when she was a napping toddler those not so many years ago.

And then a strange and inevitable acceleration. The Portland years. So many and so fast. A birthday visit for her fifteenth birthday. Living with me while her mother battled a divorce in Texas. Giving her an internship at the theatre (no one takes line notes like she does!) Offering her a place to stay when things got bad...and worse. And then becoming roommates, and fighting like roommates...but quieter than in the past, passive aggression as the new "I hate you!!!". Wiping tears off her face during her first big break-up. Hugging her in another good-bye moment as she headed to California to breathe in a new understanding of herself. Phone conferences about school, career, travel, and of course...what to do with our family. Embracing her as she returned to Portland...with much baggage in tow.

Yesterday we had a winter blast hit the city. Snow and wind and magical spirits reminding us of all the meanings of cold. And there is much cold here. My family is divided. I am on the outside...anchored firmly to boundaries and principles. And so that leaves one person to call family. You know who. And call we did - literally. With my partner out of town, this empty house was beginning to assert its weight. And who better to offer levity?

She came over, exuding such excitement about the snow. She has this ability to harness a child's wonderment in almost any given moment - and it's incredibly charming and makes her shine so bright. After a quick coffee warm up, we decided a walk was in order. I bundled up and put snow grips on my shoes. And off we trekked down the white path. She casually reached down to grab some snow. "Don't you dare!" I yelled at her with as much big brotherly authority as I could muster. Oh how tempted she was, the snowball forming in her hand. Her eyes were filled with much mischief. Again, quite charming - but not enough to stop my threats. "You will be SO dead if you do that! You have no idea. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!!!" And we giggled and the dance of 'will she? won't she? will she? won't she?' went on a bit longer until I managed to slap the frigid ammunition from her hand and send it exploding onto the road.

We laughed. We slipped. We stepped over yellow snow. We shivered as whirling dustdevils of icy powder assaulted us in the ripping wind. We cursed the teenager racing down a long driveway to do doughnuts. We marveled at the obvious joy of dogs in the park. And at one point, she grabbed her camera phone, wrapped her arm around me and directed me toward the lens. A quick click. A moment in time captured. This moment. Precious. And needed. Me - now 35. Her - now 23. Friends and unconditional love.

I wrote "I had a half sister." But of course, she is my whole sister. And now...she is my whole family. There is nothing and no one in the world I love more than my sister, Katie. And yesterday, we got to play in the snow...

Weigh In #7

2008-12-14T09:30:00.000-08:00

12/14/08

Weight:
242lb

Weight Loss in Past Week:
3.5lb

Total Weight Loss:
10lb

Exercise Last Week:
4 gym visits
cardio and weight lifting
60 to 90 min per visit

Goal for next week:
240lb

Thin Line

2008-12-11T11:31:00.000-08:00

I have often been accused of taking things "too close to the line" in my theatrical work. This means different things to different people, but mostly it refers to my love of the grand emotional moment - one that sits on the razor thin line between comedy and tragedy. This has led many a colleague to worry about my work in terms of its intended tone. Will it be misunderstood? Misinterpreted? Accepted as emotionally truthful? Laughed off the stage as histrionic trash?

I'm entering a third stage in my artistic life. In Stage One, I would receive this sort of criticism and I'd simply blow it off. My wall of arrogance was so impenetrable such comments were brushed off my shoulder like irritating dandruff. As I humbled and worked to develop lasting collaborative relationships, I swung the other way. Stage Two began, and I became terrified of such critique. I became confused as to how I could have such a skewed perception of my own work. And I worried endlessly about pleasing everyone. I worked to imagine scenarios for plays that might please the masses - please the critics. I looked to colleagues who were being produced...who were getting far more acclaim for their offerings...work that seemed more accessible.

Now I enter Stage 3 - and I'm simply trying to embrace my own taste. Truth is, I love moments in art that push me to that line. It is often a place where the audience member has to choose to "go along" or "check out." I look closely at the horror genre, which I love immensely. You cannot be scared by horror unless you choose to be scared. Okay, I suppose there are those who frighten easily. But what I mean is...if you buy a ticket to see a horror movie and buy a horror book...you are making a contract with yourself to feel scared. You agree to that experience. Otherwise, it would all be comic. I can also look at opera in this way. And that may be the best way to discuss my taste. I love the operatic gesture in sculpting emotional moments. I love the extreme. This does not mean mindless melodrama. But it certainly isn't subtle. And I've come to loathe those who believe that a lack of subtlety means a lack of complexity. Subtle can be beautiful...but it can also be plain BORING.

This came up for me a few days ago when I was watching an interview between Ed Norton and film critic Elvis Mitchell. To my shock, Norton went off for a moment about how great Faye Dunaway's performance is in Mommie Dearest. Mitchell was clearly perplexed and tried to nuance his reaction by saying something like, "But that's more like a Kabuki style..." Then Norton went on to discuss how much courage it takes for an artist to take something to the very edge and how much he admires that. I was tickled, because I have always felt that Dunaway's performance was stunning and quite misunderstood by those who enjoy it merely for camp value. Even the new DVD packaging hails it as a camp classic and is clearly intended to target the drag show audience. But to this day - and I saw the movie about a year ago - I find her portrayal honest. It is not subtle. But I find it filled with integrity.

There are other moments in film/theatre that have divided audiences where it was declared the "line was crossed into absurdity."

--The final scene in There Will Be Blood
--Almost anything in The Exorcist
--The climactic monologue in Suddenly, Last Summer
--George C. Wolfe's staging of Angels in America
--Jack Nicholson's performance in The Shining.
--Piper Laurie in Carrie
--The Tokyo story in Babel

This is a list of some of my favorite artistic things. I find none of them comic or inappropriate to the material or vision. As I look at it, I realize that much of it is immersed in sex/religion/violence. When these things are mixed into the emotional arc of a story do I simply have a high tolerance? As I said in a previous post, it may have much to do with my desire for art to transport me to completely different place. The unreal. And as "large" as these moments are, they are filled with truth for me. They thrill me.

Anyway...point is, I can only create what ultimately pleases me. I'm trying to own my aesthetic and create work that I enjoy. And hopefully, within that is the potential for truth and emotional relevance. And if a few laugh and roll their eyes, ("Oh, Matt....you WENT there...") so be it.

:)

A Pride

2008-12-08T10:10:00.000-08:00

There is a particular sentence in yesterday's blog post that is incredibly insulting. I stated: "My work is a series of failed experiments in artistic expression, none of which have brought me a bit of satisfaction." To all of the many incredible artists with whom I've worked, I'm sorry for declaring such a thing without clarification. My point was simply that I am never fully satisfied with my work - the part that is my job. (This is said of all perfectionists - I am certainly nothing special.) What I must do is chill the fuck out and realize that artistic expression is a flash in time - a snapshot. Five minutes after that moment, the artist's viewpoint may change - the world changes - and so the art changes - and may no longer please the artist or audience. It is a maddening chase, is it not? If an artist is fully "present" - then his/her work is always in the past - leaving a vast emptiness to the front and a line of relics in the back. Is this why so many artists never fill the void?

But to not be satisfied is different than to not have pride. And I have a lot of pride in my endeavors - and even more pride for those who have been by my side. The nagging demons in my head have nothing to do with you. I am filled with joy when I think of the artists who have been so gracious to share with me and of those who have handed me my opportunities. So please...don't misunderstand my indulgent and melancholy ramblings...

I am proud of my work. I am proud of your work. I am proud of any artist who works hard to filter his/her inspiration through a rigorous exercise in craft. That's integrity. That is something of which to be most proud.

And now...I have more chasing to do.

Cave Dwelling

2008-12-07T11:17:00.001-08:00

This is highly indulgent - maybe even irritating. But then, I set out to reveal the warts and all.

Yesterday was a tough day. And I have no idea why. I have no idea why late last night, I wanted to crawl into a cave and not come out - or why this morning, for breakfast, I have swallowed down the lump in my throat multiple times. I feel isolated and alone and as though my mind is sucking me into some version of hell where all I see is disappointment. And I have no idea what brought this on. I rarely do. All I know is that these moments are happening more and more frequently, and I don't know how to push the rolling boulder back up the hill; its weight threatens to crush me into a version of myself that is simply...lost.

My beautiful and empathic partner sensed my darkening mood last evening. I tried to talk it out with him. In doing so, I had a moment of silence - like one of so many "beats" I insert into my plays - and I simply said, "I'm a complete failure." Michael almost laughed - not out of cruelty...really out of sweetness. He said, "You would never accept that from me...if I said that, you'd smack me down." He's right. In my tough love Texan way, I'd probably hug him, give him a kiss, and then say, "Quit whining, Little Camper!" as I bopped him on the head.

But in that moment, it is how I felt - feel?

I am almost 36 years old. I live pay check to pay check. I haven't had a play of mine seen outside my immediate community. One of Portland's beloved theatre companies closed under my watch - and with that closure, my passionate dream for a thriving new works driven theatre company was obliterated. And I was humiliated. My band, Zero G, dissolved - really because I was unable to compromise my principles - but was that smart...or once again, short sighted? My family is divided - I have not seen or spoken to my mother or littlest sister or nephew in over 6 months. And my anxiety disorder is ramping up to a point that I now have major IBS issues along with painful aches and deep energy collapses - which make every single work assignment nearly impossible. Every day is filled with terror. And as I manage to push myself through - sheer ego navigating the way - I come out the other side exhausted - more and more each day. And in the quiet moments, I have no idea how I became...this.

I am aware this sounds like a pity party. It is. It's my blog. So shut up. :)

I'm also aware that I have much to be thankful for. I have a partner that is a truly magical spirit...he is...it would take one to put up with me. I have many wonderful teaching assignments and have gained much respect from my colleagues in this field. I have many students and parents who show me incredible gratitude. I have also had an amazing two years regarding readings of my plays - and have been well received by audiences and colleagues. And though I do live pay check to pay check - I AM making a living completely in the arts. Independently. And I am thankful for this.

So what gives?

I came across an old file of recommendations. The amazing Charles Helfert...long time Associate Dean of the Meadows School of the Arts...and largely responsible for my being able to attend SMU, given his determination to find financial aid for a blue collar family trying to send their son to an "Ivy League of the South" school - this amazing man wrote me a recommendation two years after my graduation. I asked for this letter as general testimony of my potential - something to give theatre folk as I tried to move ahead in the business. It is a generous letter and in it he says that the Meadows School is often looked at in terms of the eras of its now famous alumni. The Kathy Bates Era. The Beth Henley Era. Etc. He closed by saying "One day, we will be talking about the Matt Zrebski era."

I almost ripped this letter into tiny pieces. Such embarrassment.

What makes things worse - is I can't simply wallow into a pool of sadness - because I know how stupid it is to do so. Even as I type this, I'm berating myself. I have a spiritual awareness that there is a cosmic logic to why I am exactly where I am right now. As I continued talking to Michael about this last night - I may have landed on something that gets to my dilemma.

I said, "Michael. My arrogance is the only thing that pushed me through my twenties and early thirties. And arrogance only hides insecurity. As I worked to reign in this unpleasant aspect of my nature, the vulnerability took hold. Because the fact is, I'm not confident in what I do, and I never have been. Because secretly, I've not been pleased by one single artistic offering I've ever produced. It is never good enough by my standards. I fail every time. Others may compliment my work and have nice things to say, but in truth, I feel I have simply pulled the wool over their eyes. My work is a series of failed experiments in artistic expression, none of which have brought me a bit of satisfaction."

And then a small epiphany. (Is that oxymoronic? Anyway...) I must learn to be thrilled by and completely accept IMperfection. This is not a completely new concept to me. I have long known my "all or nothing" self-assessment is an evil in my life. How did I get to be 75 pounds overweight? Because if I couldn't have the perfect body, why try at all? This is ludicrous, but it's something hardwired into my brain. And I know where it comes from - but no mother and childhood bashing in this post...

What this means is I feel I am living in my own cesspool of "mediocrity". And no word I can think of is more repulsive than that.

I'm now trying to find a way to bring this post to a close...and I cannot. So it's simply going to end. And I'm simply going to hope this day will turn up. I am going to see A Christmas Carol at Portland Center Stage tonight. Barring any anxiety attacks - which I have 90% of the time I attend theatre - it will be a pleasant evening with Michael, watching a terrific adaptation with magical stage craft...maybe I can learn from the ghosts...maybe.

Weigh In #6

2008-12-07T08:41:00.000-08:00

12/7/08

Weight:
245.5lb

Weight Loss in Past Week:
2lb

Total Weight Loss:
6.5lb

Exercise Last Week:
4 gym visits
cardio and weight lifting
60 to 90 min per visit

Goal for next week:
244lb

Thank You, Hans...

2008-11-30T09:19:00.000-08:00

I owe a thank you to Hans Zimmer. If you don't think you know him, you probably do - his music has underscored many movies you've seen including his Oscar Winning score for The Lion King. I could list his many credits, but you can simply Google him if you care. I have to thank him, because it is one track from one CD from one film in particular that allowed me to finish the second draft of my latest play, The Bathing of Christopher End.

My use of his score for The Thin Red Line is not new. There are a few film scores that have played on an endless loop as I draft and re-draft. This is one of them, along with Philip Glass's score for The Hours and Elliot Goldenthal's music for Alien 3. Certain music unlocks my creative center and helps me stay "in the zone."

But it was a few days ago, while digging through the second half of my play, when my ears perked up and I actually listened to the music again. Track 3. Titled: "Journey to the Line". It's a little over nine minutes long. I sat back in my chair and took in this music as if I'd never heard it before...it has two sections. The first is a repetitive building motif that eventually explodes with sorrow and passion as the french horns fully take over the melody and wail with unapologetic agony. The second part - a release of tension - goes to high strings and minimal orchestration to invoke a sensation of absolute surrender and "lift". It is almost a meditation on what has just transpired...a cool wind blowing over a sweaty brow.

This nine minutes of Hans Zimmer's genius made me highlight the final forty pages of my play and delete them. Zap. Gone. For I finally understood Christopher. And I actually wept a little. Not at the loss of forty pages - that's really not a big deal - I'm a writer, there's always more... It was about this understanding of a character I so wanted to know better...and now I felt I did. Prior to this musical intervention, I had seen Christopher as complex...layers upon layers of history and wounds...but really, he is quite simple. And in this simplicity, I found the end of my play.

Now, is it any good? Who the hell knows? I can say that I enjoyed being inside the world of this play more that I have anything since I wrote Rubber 'n' Glue in 2004. And I can say that it is very me....whatever that means!

When I wrote End of Play as this second draft was complete, I made myself a cocktail, walked over to my stereo, and turned up "Journey to the Line" at full blast - I floated inside the music as I sipped my Vodka concoction - and I thanked Hans Zimmer.

Weigh In #5

2008-11-30T08:23:00.000-08:00

11/30/08

Weight:
247.5lb

Weight Loss in Past Week:
.5lb

Total Weight Loss:
4.5lb

Exercise Last Week:
5 gym visits
(1 on Thanksgiving Day!)
cardio and weight lifting
60 to 90 min per visit

Goal for next week:
246lb

Weigh In #4

2008-11-23T08:41:00.000-08:00

11/23/08

Weight:
248lb

Weight Loss in Past Week:
3lb

Total Weight Loss:
4lb

Exercise Last Week:
5 gym visits
cardio and weight lifting
60 to 90 min per visit

Goal for next week:
246.5lb

Nothing Real About It

2008-11-21T11:37:00.000-08:00

I want the words "realistic" and "realism" to be eliminated from theatrical vocabulary!

Last night, I had the pleasure of seeing Adam Bock's The Receptionist at CoHo Productions. Expertly paced and staged by Rose Riordan - and executed with immense depth by the cast - this show will probably go down as my favorite of the year. What was shocking, however, was that afterward a colleague said to me, "It was so real...so very realistic." WHAT?! There isn't one thing "realistic" about this show. There are naturalistic moments, yes. Real coffee brewing onstage - dialogue that seems almost improvised it's so mundane - an actor dripping saliva onto the carpet because she has actually stuffed her mouth full of salt water taffy to the point of an explosion - but the brilliance of Bock is that his plays beg for this approach and yet are often nestled inside a heap of outrageous scenarios - not realistic, but ARTISTIC.

As I often lecture to my students - the act of seeing theatre is a bit absurd, yes? We make this agreement when we buy our tickets to suspend our disbelief. We decide that we will play make believe with the actors. Even in what I call "boring living room plays" we must do this. A curtain goes up and on the stage is a perfect replica of a living room...this is absurd. And as perfect a replica as it may be - it is still a huge leap of imagination to play along. There is no realism - there is nothing realistic about any of it. And THAT is the magic of theatre. It begs us to use our imaginations and to go along for the ride. It begs us to buy into the outrageous - often to escape - or perhaps to experience catharsis through something entirely NOT real.

When my students say, "I liked that because it was so realistic, " I say, "Well, do you like Lord of the Rings?"

And they most often say, "I love it!"

"And do you find yourself buying these characters and their relationships?"

And they mostly say, "Yes. I cried."

And I say, "But that's fantasy."

And they pause. And then I say, "The word you're looking for is 'truthful' not 'realistic'."

Point I'm making is - anything can be credible in the theatre if the artists have transported the audience with integrity. Then there is that element of truth. My issue here stems from the fact that young people are getting more and more bound by this notion of "real" - they are less and less imaginative each year - and the word "realistic" comes up time and time again. They start seeking only the stories that can "actually happen". But that flies against what I feel theatre is supposed to do -which is to unchain our minds. There's nothing wrong with writing what we term a "realistic" play - but to believe that's the ultimate goal...or to congratulate a play based on that word - it rubs me wrong.

In the theatre, anything can happen. And it's truth we seek from art, not realism.

Weigh In #3

2008-11-16T19:32:00.000-08:00

11/16/08

Weight:
251lb

Weight Loss in Past Week:
0.5lb

Total Weight Loss:
1lb

Exercise Last Week:
5 gym visits
cardio and weight lifting
60 to 90 min per visit

Goal for next week:
250lb

My Chair!

2008-11-12T09:52:00.001-08:00

Portland is often referred to as a City of Cafes. (Seattle had the title first, of course.) And I have certainly fallen in love with my cafe time. There is something really soothing about taking my work to a cafe, sitting over coffee or loose-leaf tea, and reading amidst the hum of espresso machines and intellectual conversations. I'm not a snob about corporate versus independent companies, though I admit, I will never think of going to Starbucks as soothing. Starbucks is for "on-the-go" caffeine grabbing. But I will often settle into Peet's or even Barnes and Noble - if for no other reason than they are close and consistent. I also love Fleur de Lis which is independent and beginning to thrive as a destination point for my lovely Hollywood neighborhood.

Anyway...soothing - but not lately. Why? Chairs.

Once again I find myself amazed at the self-involvement of people. Where many of the cafes I frequent used to be filled mostly with loners and couples - something has shifted, and the cafe is becoming quite the social gathering spot. Whole families are showing up to suck coffee and space. They arrive, look around, and this expression of utter shock spreads across their faces as they spy nothing but bistro tables flanked by two chairs. They have walked in with a spouse, three kids, and sometimes with another family as if they are all going to pose for a portrait entitled Americano Americana.

Now...once realizing the cafe was not designed like Applebee's, you'd think they might re-think the plan. But...no.

Two days ago I was at Peet's, waiting for a dramaturgy client. This is my favorite place to meet clients as it is so easy to get to, but as this location is very popular with the neighborhood locals, I do find myself anxious about finding a table. I got lucky on this day. In the corner, nestled away. Ahhhh.....soothing. I was fifteen minutes early for my meeting. As I'm finalizing my notes, this man walks up and tries to take the chair from the other side of my table. He doesn't even ask.

I stop him. "Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm waiting for someone. I have a meeting here in a few minutes."

He grumbles. "My kids need a place to sit."

I look over at his brood. Three kids, a wife, and another couple. Yes. Seven people. They have hijacked the table that is reserved for those with disabilities - as it's the only large table - and can accommodate a whopping three chairs. Not seven. They have managed to pull the table away from the window, blocking part of the pathway to the cash register. His wife and her friend are sitting one-ass-cheeked on the window sill. They have managed to squash four chairs around the table already. I notice that there are now two bistro tables completely naked - no chairs at all, because they have been amputated by this man.

I smile. "I'm sorry, but you can't take my chair. My client needs a place to sit."

He glares. "What? You don't have a real office?"

I smile again. "No I don't. And I guess you don't have any real manners."

He stomped off. I silently fumed at the stupidity of people. And yes, I got petty. I looked over at this ridiculous sight - drinking their coffee, feeling trendy, but irritable because they had no "real" table at which to sit. They had, as I already mentioned, pushed the table out into the pathway. I made a mental measurement. And I called over to the manager who was stocking some napkins.

"You know, those people have moved the table, and it looks like there's less than three feet now in the walkway. Isn't that a fire code violation? I know it seems silly, but I get really paranoid about these things. Call me neurotic!" I laughed. Fake but convincing.

She looked at the table. Sighed. Looked back at me. Rolled her eyes. "You're right, and that is ridiculous. What do we look like, Applebee's?" She made her way to the table and told them to move. I looked back down at my work. I heard loud grumbles and stomping. And then I looked back to see the table empty - back in its proper spot. And the manager and I shared a wink.

Leave my chair alone.

Weigh In #2

2008-11-09T09:48:00.000-08:00

11/9/08

Weight:
251.5lb

Weight Loss in Past Week:
0.5lb

Total Weight Loss:
0.5lb

Exercise Last Week:
5 gym visits
cardio and weight lifting
1 hour per visit

Goal for next week:
250lb

Party Foul pt 2

2008-11-07T08:06:00.000-08:00

Given there are two prominent news shows with gay anchors now - this California debacle is getting a bit more coverage. Both Anderson Cooper and Rachel Maddow have offered more focused information. I was unaware of some of the strategies for passing Proposition 8.

Many know that early on I had issues with Obama's followers. My issue was that Obama was perceived as a "non-politician" or a "new politician". His stance on gay rights revealed to me that he was no different - and in fact, he was quick to call upon his faith...much more than Hillary Clinton - though their positions are basically the same. Here is the quote from Obama in an interview with the Chicago Daily Tribune:

"I'm a Christian. And so, although I try not to have my religious beliefs dominate or determine my political views on this issue, I do believe that tradition, and my religious beliefs say that marriage is something sanctified between a man and a woman."

It is precisely this quote - and others like it - that were used in robo-calls and ads in California - specifically targeting African Americans. Reportedly, Obama was not happy that his words were being used to promote Proposition 8 - but the campaign couldn't possibly risk bringing gay marriage into the spotlight days before the election and so had to let it go.

Politically, I agree with this. But it makes me very sad - and it reveals that Obama, though an exciting new President, is still not going to venture onto that third rail. And perhaps I need to take him at his word. If his Christianity is so dear to him - then I must assume he really doesn't support gay marriage. We must not be truly equal. We must not be worthy of "something sanctified."

What do I think will help change the country? Hillary Clinton on the Supreme Court.

Party Foul

2008-11-05T23:36:00.000-08:00

I had a very busy day.
...Private dramaturgy meeting.
...New teaching residency at the amazing FOCUS program at Alliance High School. ...Director/producer meeting with Blue Monkey Theater for my play, Ablaze.
...Pick Up rehearsal for the New Works Fest, Blitz.

So I was out and about. And I can't count the number of times I was greeted with "Happy Obama" day. My response? "I know, I'm so thankful. But for the gay community, it was a terrible day for human rights."

I said this to every single person who brought up the election. Now, make no mistake. I am relieved with the Obama win. I feel blessed to witness this moment in history. I wept like a baby the second CNN announced him the official President-Elect. But for gay people, it was a terrible day for human rights. And I, along with many queer people around the country, am feeling a little left out of the party. Florida and Arizona banned gay marriage. Arkansas made gay adoption illegal. And let's not forget the disaster that is California's Proposition 8. 18,000 gay and lesbian couples are already legally married in Cali. Their rights cannot be stripped. What an absurd situation. Those 36,000 people are legally married, but no other same sex couples can marry now. How does this work with rights? It's a cluster fuck.

How did this happen? Lots of money. And not on the side of progress. This bigotry was largely funded by the dangerous cult commonly known as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Yes, folks...the Mormons in Utah were really scared they might catch something...the gay disease was going to infect all the Californians then spread through Nevada and penetrate their magic underwear.

But there is another nasty statistic that has newscasters saying politically correct things like, "This is intriguing. No other group voted this way. How does one interpret this information?"
You see, African American voters in California voted 70% to ban gay marriage. No other ethnic group did so. All other groups split down the middle. African Americans carried the ban on gay marriage to victory.

Need I even articulate the irony?

Now, before anyone gets too uncomfortable - I do not vilify the African American community for this. But there is a big issue with gay rights within this community. Having dated more than one black man in my life, I can tell you - there may be nothing harder than being a black gay man. Documentaries have been devoted to it. Studies have been lectured. Suicide rates are much higher among black gay men. It is a really big problem. Why? Is it religion? There is a large evangelical tradition in black communities across this country. Does it have to do with ideas about masculinity? I know with the Hispanic community this is very true. My Hispanic partner and I talk about these issues quite often. It gets bizarre - in the Latino community you are only really considered gay if you are on the receptive end of sex. So long as you are merely receiving pleasure or "topping" - you are simply "getting off" and remain "manly." Or...does it come down to education? For over a hundred years, bigotry has prevented many African Americans from receiving equal education opportunities - so this perhaps leads to misunderstandings about homosexuality.

I don't know.

But I am left feeling less than 100% joyful today. I am thrilled to see President Obama lead this country. I am in awe, really. This may change the globe. But I must remain aware of the injustices that remain.

It was a very bad night for human rights. And we cannot forget that.

Weigh In #1

2008-11-02T23:14:00.000-08:00

This is a blog about exposing myself - that was the original intent - a sort of stepping out from behind my many masks. I have decided to also use it as a way to be publicly accountable.

In the next day or two, I will post at length about this decision - what it means, history, etc. This is not some impulsive decision based on a "fat day". I have done a lot of contemplation on the subject for over a year. So more to come on that.

Today I will simply state the stats and the goal.

Matthew B. Zrebski
on 11/2/08
Height 5' 11 1/2"
Weight 252lb

GOAL:
on 11/2/09
Height 5' 11 1/2"
Weight 180lb

TOTAL WEIGHT LOSS GOAL:
72lb in 52 weeks, roughly 1.5 lb per week

Each Sunday I will post the weigh-in results for that week. Don't worry - I don't intend to turn this blog into a Richard Simmons or Oprah Winfrey sob fest about fat. I will simply post the weigh in.

And...I'm off!

is the Word

2008-10-28T12:55:00.000-07:00

Yes.

Me. 18 years old. Danny.

My friend. John Walker. 17 years old. Kenickie.

Caught during pre-show warm-ups in the greenroom. I hope I remembered to take that watch off!

Seems to be the season for folks sending me old pictures of my past. I guess I should own it. I mean really - how cool were WE? And we put the songs in from the movie - long before this recent revival on Broadway...Grease is the word...is the word....is the word...is the word...

Lordy I need a drink.

Five Nuggets

2008-10-26T10:12:00.000-07:00

Random and Scattered Offerings...

1. Blitz opens next week. October 30th to be exact. It's the 5th Annual New Plays Festival at Lincoln High School here in Portland, OR. And this is proving to be one of the most challenging productions I've ever attempted to mount. It may also be one of the most satisfying. Eighteen new pieces all in one three-act evening. I finally got to see the whole thing in one sitting last Thursday before giving these high school kids a three-day weekend. It's a show of extremes. There's brilliant writing. There's greener-than-green writing. There are acting moments that rival the best in the business. There are acting moments that feel like...well...teenage acting moments. But what is not divided is the feeling of unapologetic expression. These kids know how to use their imaginations. And this year I allowed a more "messy" exploration. I am often accused of reigning in my productions to the point of sanitizing them out of being interesting. Not this show. These plays are all over the place - and I think the title is appropriate. A blitz indeed. And I hope a very entertaining one.

2. I want to set up an education retreat for high school kids. One month. And the camp is simple. Everything goes back to 1980 technology. No cell phones. No Internet. No personal computers. No personal videogame devices. No MP3 players. Etc etc etc. I came to this while trying to reinvent my syllabus once again for my various teaching contracts in the high schools. You see, one of the organizations I work for likes to encourage an extremely kinetic teaching style. "Keep the kids moving. Keep them jumping from one thing to another. Use many, many prompts." And for years, I did this. One exercise I developed in 2005 - one so popular I actually got paid to teach it to other educators - involves passing photographs of people around so quickly that in less than fifteen minutes, a writer has over thirty characters to develop for a potential play. Crazy! Fun! Fast! Woohoo! But what the fuck does it have to do with being an artist? NOTHING. It is simply a way to surrender to the pace of the times - a pace that is destroying the ability to observe. And observation is the key to any artist's success. We must use an artist's lens through which to view the world. And this requires being still. So this year I have gone against all the people telling me to go fast and furious. I'm slowing down. And instead of 30 photos in 15 minutes...they looked at 2 for almost 45 minutes. I am teaching kids how to observe and be still. And though there was a lot of shuffling, talking, distractions - the kids also seemed...relieved. Don't we all want to slow down?

3. I saw Religulous with Michael. We had a day date. And it wasn't the best date. We have no idea how to "not be working" right now. Two neurotic Nellies fighting anxiety attacks all day. Between my ridiculous October and his full time school with two jobs - we are a wreck. All we seem to know how to do is eat nervously and drink coffee - and that is really helping our waistlines let me tell you. But we tried to have a date. And we did enjoy Bill Maher's expose on religion. It was incredibly thoughtful. And hilarious. His meeting with an "ex gay" Christian - a man so coiffed he looked like he was about to go compete on some Bravo show - was HILARIOUS. Bill was downright dirty with him - and I loved it. I tried to feel sympathy for this poor 'mo with guilt over the Lord - but no...I just thought he was an idiot who needed to go jump in a sling and admit how much he likes it.

4. Yesterday I had a scary impulse moment. In the midst of trying to clean out the mountain-high "in box" I jumped from my computer and said out loud, "I must go to Bath and Body Works." And I did. Because they sell the best stress-relief candle on the market. It is a mix of spearmint and eucalyptus oils, and it tends to calm my nerves. So I bought one. It is burning now. It makes the air crisp and clean. I alternate this with my more seasonal apple cinnamon spice candles. Because you must understand. I AM a Candle Queen.

5. Finally...I was watching a documentary yesterday - one I've seen many, many times. I will perhaps talk more about this film in later posts, but for now it will go unnamed. There is a line in it - and I may not have the quote exactly right - but the concept is this: "There is something really seductive and euphoric about giving up." The person who says this is talking about being diagnosed with a deadly illness and deciding not to fight. Many people talk about this in the film - the relief of giving up. Stopping the fight. Stopping hitting one's head against the wall. And I began to weep very suddenly. Hard. Not for them - but for a longing I so often have to do just that. To give up. Not in terms of living - please, people, don't read into this. But just to "stop the fight". And as I wept, I thought about how I have framed almost everything in my entire life...as a fight. I thrive in conflict and in overcoming it. It has defined almost everything about me...at least in how I see myself. And I'm so, so very tired. That framework must change. But I simply don't know how to do it.

Octoberllision

2008-10-12T09:25:00.000-07:00

<--------------Scary huh? Indeed.

I sit here this morning writing this as I listen to the delightful new Joan Osborne CD, Little Wild One. I also have a nice cup of coffee. I have my comfy green hoody on and thick brown socks. I am burning a rich, clove and cinnamon candle. And I just put down the book, The Places That Scare You by Pema Chodron.

These are ingredients for survival.

You see...this October is what I have come to label a "collision month". As a private contractor, I must track no less than five projects at all times - often more. They criss and cross on my day planner, dancing in a frenetic and acrobatic ballet. And this month, these dancers, carrying my energy and time are ever so close to tripping - to leaping in the wrong direction - to falling into each other in a dangerous explosion where my creative blood will drain out altogether, resulting in quite the failure.

--200 students...this means roughly 600 pages of text per week to read and comment on...
--A high school new plays festival with 11 student writers, 3 adult writers, 17 plays, 1 musical, 15 students actors, 15 student crew members, 4 adult designers...it opens the 30th. I'm directing it, scoring it, writing vocal arrangements, and doing things like organizing T-shirts and potlucks with parents...
--facing playwriting deadlines...yes, I'm still trying to write...a new play...a play I'm extremely excited about, but I think has no marketing potential, so why do I bother...because I have to get it out...but will it be finished...

Okay, writing the above list is NOT one of the ingredients for survival - it sort of makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. So back to the ingredients...

Joan Osborne:
She defies genre definition. She is soulful. Her lyrics are truthful. She soothes me. She is, in my opinion, one of the top artists in the past decade. It's a shame her "God is One of Us" song made her famous in the 90s...it may be her weakest track.

Coffee:
Actually, it's coffee mixed with milk and dark chocolate. And I love it. I give up coffee all the time, going months without it. As someone with anxiety attacks, it seems coffee would be lethal. But actually, caffeine has often helped my anxiety, which indicates a hyperactive disorder - speed helps hyperactivity. But I don't really care about the "whys". It's tasty, and it helps me focus. I will counter it this evening when I have my evening ingredient for survival: Tazo Calm Tea.

Comfy Green Hoody and Thick Brown Socks:
I would live my entire life in loose jeans, tennis shoes, and comfy big hoodies if it were appropriate. It's why I love fall and winter so much. And why I can never again live in a place without months of cool weather. Sorry Texas. I also admit, it covers my chubby gut - the perpetual chubby gut. Only in 1992 was I truly slim. But I was also anorexic. Another story. Anyway...I love my fall comfies. OH - and the socks...well who doesn't like warm fuzzy socks?

Clove and Cinnamon and Candles:
Like a sweet grandma cooking me goodies, this candle brings on the fall with a fragrant kiss. It also covers the smell of mildew and recently poisoned mice in my basement studio.

Pema Chodron:
A Buddhist nun, Sister Chodron has written many books on practical spiritual practices and philosophy. The passage this morning dealt with the ego and our obsession with not changing - with ferociously holding onto the "characters" we have created for ourselves. This hits close to home - I always determine the mask I am to wear for a given project - and I am determined to play that role with perfection...and this is ultimately my downfall. But God, what would happen if I were just myself? Who IS that?

Okay - today I must go write 200 sound cues, read a few hundred pages of student writing, re-stage four short plays, do some laundry, vacuum, mentor a young composer, check in at the theatre on set and lighting load-in, design the back of a T-shirt, go to the gym, and prep for classes that I teach tomorrow...

There may not be enough ingredients in the world this month.

Thirteen

2008-09-29T09:37:00.000-07:00

Oh that thirteen year old version of me. My first letterman jacket in the fall of 1986. I was such hot shit. Later that year, I would realize my hair did not match my potential, and I would go get a strange variation of a mullet. You know - short and spiky all over - bleach blond tips - but just near the base of my neck, the hair was allowed to remain long - not a rat tail (I wasn't THAT cool) but a little fall - some flare, you know?

I got this picture today from one of my closest friends in 8th grade, Scott Ray. We reconnected recently in cyberspace. He was such a cool laid back kid - had a great house with a pool. Sleep-overs and parties were the best at Scott's house. He played the trombone. Those guys were always more fun than the neurotic trumpet players like me. In the summer - just months prior to this picture - I made a movie with my camcorder in my house. My parents agreed to be gone for the whole day. Just me, Aaron Morris, Scott Ray, and Kyle Woolsey. We had no script - just an outline. Improv and real time shooting. A horror film called Deadly Regrets. I was the maniac. So much fun. I still have that horribly edited VHS tape somewhere.

I am terrified of pictures. Nostalgia overwhelms me and often makes me feel unsafe. Lately though, I have tried to take more time to peek at them. Peek at me. And remember times when things were far more simple.

I long to recapture some essence of the kid - that band geek with the green junior high letterman jacket. I miss him. A lot.

The Blue-Green Chronicles - Part 3

2008-09-21T11:50:00.000-07:00

Panic.

I find it most humorous to post this after the last message on pills - it may be the result of a growing mania inside me.

In the late summer of 1998, I suffered my first panic attack at a performance of Rent at the Keller Auditorium. I was with many friends, along with my two visiting sisters (who were 13 and 11 at the time). We had enjoyed a nice dinner and had gone to see the touring show which by then was already a cliché - but that's another subject.

About five minutes before the curtain went up, I began to feel strange. And then BOOM - and man, what an experience. Heart rate exploded. Gag reflexes became sensitive. Bowels liquefied. Sweat poured. Left arm went numb. Skin felt like it was burned. And it lasted for about an hour. The shear terror of what was happening to me kept me paralyzed in my seat - and at intermission, I ran to the bathroom to gather myself.

A nightmare had begun.

Prior to this attack, I was fearless. My past included being drum major of a Texas marching band, singing in front of thousands, speaking at huge events, performing Shakespeare solo in front of James Earl Jones at Lincoln Center, conducting orchestras for musicals, interviewing for the Drama League, and the list goes on. I had nerves of steel that I knew would carry me to great success. In terms of the personality test, this would all have been a fearlessness put forth by the green part of my essence. So long as I was prepared for these high-pressure events - I would be fine. That's logic. Do the homework - be ready - and all is well.

Two weeks after that initial episode, I awoke in the early morning with what seemed to be a heart attack. Left arm curled again. Chest pain beyond belief. Pounding head. The symptoms took about 15 minutes to subside. I went to a clinic. Tons of heart tests. Blood work. The results: "Your heart is very strong." "Your thyroid is normal." "There are no other abnormalities." Diagnosis: "You have an anxiety problem." And this is my favorite: "You're gay and this is probably a result of underlying fears - that you will die from AIDS, be the victim of violent attacks, and die alone." The woman who told me this was a lesbian nurse practitioner - very caring, but man, did she adopt "victim mentality" for the GLBT community. Plan for treatment: "Anti-depressants and anxiety meds." I refused, but said I'd accept a mild sedative. The result: "a .5mg prescription for Ativan." And it helped.

The green in me did not like it. Rearing its head and logically stubborn as ever, it said, "You cannot rely on this drug. It's absurd." And in the fall of 1999, I got off Ativan for good and have never taken it since. But the result: I have had nearly a decade of ongoing anxiety attacks.

The blue in me wants attention - it has taken over in many ways. Empathy is a powerful thing. And I believe that I am extremely empathic - to the point of sensing and adopting emotional stress when I'm in the presence of others who may be distraught. It has allowed me to grow as an artist for sure, but it has also crippled my ambition. I believe the anxiety comes from that struggle between the empathic and the logical. The tug of war threatens to tear me apart. But the truth is, I have also become a classic textbook case: the fear of having an anxiety attack is now the primary reason I have them. For I have come to expect them. And they come - relentlessly.

I now have no less than three full attacks per week, often while in the presence of others. I can barely attend theatre anymore, because I cannot bear to be in an embarrassing situation where I need to leave and disrupt the show - I always grab an aisle seat, or I won't attend. I have become more and more reclusive - agoraphobia has infected my life. What sort of irony is that?

Please understand...this is not a pity party. I have great faith that I hold the power to change this - that in some way, I have the power to re-balance my internal colors. In exposing myself on this blog and more and more to my friends, I hope to remove the shame from my struggles. And in doing so, I can only hope better days are ahead.

Because they have to be.

--image by Regina Lafay

Pill People

2008-09-18T10:45:00.000-07:00

As many people know, I have a real bad attitude about Western Medicine. I feel that science has been hijacked by greedy industries and we are paying the price. I feel we are being pushed into addictions and those benefiting are the stockholders of Big Pharma.

Here is an article in Men's Health. Many like it have been published in the past six months, but much more coverage was seen in other countries...of course. We Americans don't want our quick fixes taken away. And no one really wants to see behind the curtain, do they?

Bottom line: question everything!

I hope some will take the time to read this:
PILLS IN THE HEAD

Liberty Weeping

2008-09-15T10:55:00.000-07:00

Liberty is blinded and she may never find us again.

This is my fear. This keeps me up at night. This makes my stomach churn with violent fiery acid. And it makes me so very sad.

Bill Maher said on his show last Friday that Democrats have all the issues on their side and yet are "losing to a 200 year old man and a mountain mama who makes Bush look like a professor."
How is this?

--Our education system is a disaster.
--Republicans want to keep public schools a disaster.
--This means only the rich and few get strong educations.
--Americans become more and moronic.
--Republicans prey on the morons.
--Republicans stay in power.

Republicans: "Me Me Me!!!"
Democrats: "Us Us Us!!!"

Ignorance allows those who think "ME ME ME" to "WIN WIN WIN" which screws "US US US!!!"

It's very hard for Democrats to fight this kind of battle. It takes a monumental reduction in intellect to do so. But I have said to many a friend, "Barack Obama must to learn to convincingly communicate like a 6th grader." I don't think he can do it. He has too much pride in his own education and knowledge to dumb things down. He finds it rude. So do I. But if he doesn't, he very well may lose. If the election were held today, he would.

I wish I had the money to make a series of T-shirts that would make sense to 6th graders.

"If you hate women, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you hate homosexuals, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you hate the planet, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you hate children, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you hate veterans, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you hate farmers, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you love being sick, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you love war, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you love alley abortions, vote McCain/Palin"
"If you think white people RULE, vote McCain/Palin"

"If you hate America, vote McCain/Palin,
but if you still love America, vote Obama/Biden"

Even if Obama pulls this out - I am still deeply saddened. This is not only about winning an election. It is about the rapid transformation of this country - a country where knowledge and intellect and thoughtfulness have quickly become weaknesses - where ignorance and apathy have quickly become strengths.

Liberty walks bloody and blind searching for her children.

Suck it!

2008-09-09T11:13:00.000-07:00

I watched the series premiere of True Blood on HBO. And along with Showtime's Dexter, I will be sucking on this TV drug.

I cannot tell if it's good or not. But I'm certainly not bored. And I've come to believe that cable television is the only place where writers are getting the chance - and with big bucks - to take risks and defy genre. What is True Blood? Satire? Farce? Drama? Horror? I have no idea. And perhaps Alan Ball's attempt to mix all these various elements will backfire. But how cool!

Reviews have been extremely divided on this new show - and isn't that a good sign? I think so. It's managing to be experimental and still be marketed in a mainstream fashion. Why can't theatre do this?

Theatre is becoming the most conservative of art forms. How did this happen? Money certainly lures playwrights to Hollywood - but I'm beginning to think that television may also have a leg up on creativity. This upsets me.

Well...at least we have cable.

The Blue-Green Chronicles - Part 2

2008-09-07T10:34:00.000-07:00

Agnostic - (noun) - a person who holds that the existence of the ultimate cause, as God, and the essential nature of things are unknown and unknowable, or that human knowledge is limited to experience. --from dictionary.com

This is what I am. Forced really by my blue-green split persona, it is the only way to cope with the flood of conflicting input that saturates both my head and my heart on a daily basis. And I like this definition, because often, an agnostic is said to be someone who simply "doesn't know." But really, it's that I hold that no one can "know". In this way, I find both fundamental religiosity and pure atheism equally absurd. And they are absurd to me because of the blatant arrogance displayed in practicing either dogma.

I have often heard one say about his/her faith, "This is what I hold to be true..." And I want to respond. No, it isn't. It's what you "hope is true...and desperately." And I think it is that desperation that creates belief systems. As humans we are very conflicted about our mortality. And most people have had that moment where they sense "something else." Those who have been able to connect to that "something else" and articulate its qualities in a new way have become prophets. Some small - maybe only to their local communities. Some large - like the big J.C. In this way, I feel overtly defined spirituality is the result of our trying to verbalize, organize, and institutionalize that which we cannot know. We have a sense of something - and it is maddening that we can't quite touch it - and our desperation to do so leads to the concretization of something that cannot be concretized.

Some would say to me, "well, duh, Matt - that's why it's called faith." Yes, but people of great faith rarely say they "don't know". They cite their faith as the reason they "do know." And again, this is absurd. I have heard many a faithful say, "If only I could make you understand what I know." Yes, please. Make me. Force me. Convert me so that you can feel better about your desperation - your intense fear - because deep down, you know you can't know. You can only believe - and really, what is a belief but the hope - not the knowledge - that something is true?

It is very important to state that I find atheistic scientists equally silly in their zealotry. I've often wondered if atheists are actually the most prone to religion. The belief in absolutely nothing but what is tested through collection of data and scientific process - well really, it's an exercise in not being disappointed. It is the creation of warranties. It is a way to self-cure spiritual addiction. I visualize this atheist in a sweat-soaked state of anxiety: I do believe in God. I do believe in spirits. I do believe in an afterlife. But I can't know. And I'm desperate to do so. I need it. I want it. But I can't know for sure. And so can't have it for sure. And I can't risk losing it. And so I must ban it from my house.

Atheists often talk of the need for pure scientific data. The issue is that this data must be measured and interpreted through human methods: what we can see, hear, feel, taste, and touch. But ironically, through science, we know that we humans have limitations - and what we perceive is not even "real". For instance, there is no such thing as "blue". And there is no such thing as a "melody" in music. The color and melody are nothing but interpretations in our brain - conversions from input through our eyes and ears. But cats don't hear the same melody. And dogs don't see that blue. And as overly simplistic as these examples are - isn't it easy to assume that perhaps there are things we can't sense at all? Are we so arrogant as to assume that the only data in the universe must be seen, heard, felt, tasted, or touched? What about senses humans may not even have? Speculative? Of course. But Dr. Scientist, quit telling me how you can "know things with near absolute certainty." Because as is often cited - the world was once flat - and with equal certainty.

My green side needs "see it to believe it" information. My blue side senses ghosts, other dimensions, and hears thoughts of others. And at the end of the day, all I can be is agnostic. So when I sit almost daily and stare into a candle, reciting prayers - I also giggle at myself for the Gothic ritual. Conflicted? Yes. But a traumatic conflict? Only sometimes. Really, it's nothing but agnosticism. And I'm trying to embrace that.

The Blue-Green Chronicles - Part 1

2008-09-06T14:42:00.000-07:00

The Test

When I was in high school, a personality test was administered. For the life of me, I cannot recollect why I had to take this test. I seem to recall it happened in an English class, but maybe my school counselor was the proctor. Truth is, I think I have blocked out parts of this experience, because the results were ominous.

--I have a blue-green split personality--

Okay, what the hell does that mean? In this exam, colors were used on a graph for the purpose of grouping traits. Oddly, my test scored in the extremes of both blue and green. This woman (my counselor? English teacher?) was shocked to see this result ("most rare" she said) and looked incredibly concerned for my well being. I don't remember all the fine details, but I do know that my blue score indicated heightened, almost psychic intuition. My green score indicated highly analytical thinking, almost extremist in its scientific "data-only please" methodology. This meant that my life would be filled with internal conflicts, often crippling - for my intuitive awareness would use a metaphor-seeking and ever-changing lens through which to view the world; my analytical grounded eye would seek black and white results with clear data based evidence to shape reality.

The look this woman gave me said, "you're fucked".

I think such tests, along with IQ tests are given far too much weight. I once scored low enough on an IQ test to be classified "Mentally Retarded" and then again on another to be classified "Genius". Maybe I'm a Retarded-Genius split personality. I digress. Though I question any test's value, this one proved prophetic indeed. And I have to wonder, was it truly prophetic, or did that look from this woman plant a seed that sprouted into what has oft been a troubled reality?

In a series of blogs, I'm going to investigate this blue-green dilemma. Read or ignore - but they're coming.

The Blue-Green Chronicles launch...now.

Horror Movie

2008-09-02T20:02:00.000-07:00

At the Republican National Convention...

'nuf said.

Summer Slug

2008-08-30T08:22:00.000-07:00

I am not a fan of summer. Primarily it has to do with heat. (And yes, I'm from Texas, and yes I should love heat, but no I don't, and that's why I've been here for eleven years, so stop telling me I'm a Texan as if this is some new piece of information.) But in addition to the irritating sun that threatens my vampiric tendencies, it is another summer signifier whose disappearance will make me celebrate the soon coming autumn.

THE FLIP-FLOP

I hate flip-flops. No, not the political sort. Well, I hate those too. Sometimes. But I mean the shoes. (Sandals?) I hate them. With a passion.

I have a few friends who are aware of my loathing. Some even share that loathing. But those haters hate for another reason. They are foot phobic. And they often assume I am too. On the contrary. I have no issue with little piggies. In fact, I have always found hands and feet to be the most intriguing parts of the body. They are second only to the face in uniqueness and tend to possess much character. Some hands and feet possess more character than their owners. And as I'm a big believer in acupressure and reflexology - rubbing the hands and feet can promote great healing and serenity. You know what does not promote peace and rejuvenation?

THE FLIP-FLOP

"Flip-flops". The ridiculous name of these equally ridiculous shoes (sandals?) is onomatopoeic. And that's why they make my blood boil. Ladies and gentlemen, flip-flops produce THE SOUND OF LAZINESS. And really, they should not be called flip-flops; they should be called "shuh-fuh-lip-shuh-fuh-lops". But that's too long and too hard to write on sale signs at the top of large metal bins at department stores where lazy people purchase shoes (sandals?) that reflect their sloth-like existences. When I hear this hideous sound approaching - I can only think of something that looks like a slug - yes, a glistening, wet, slug sliming its way through my life for the sole purpose of reminding me that in this country we have adopted a state of "apathy" as the ultimate state of "cool". And yes, I know "apathy" and "laziness" are not the same thing, but one often leads to the other or is a symptom of the other, so shut up. The point is, flip-flops should be banned for subliminally supporting the notion that shuffling along and being too lazy to lace a shoe or buckle a real sandal is "cool." Has it ever occurred to anyone that it is possible to influence mood and action through purely external means? In this pyscho-psychotic Oprah-Phil Tele-world, we are obsessed with things that frankly, we should GET THE FUCK OVER. Your absent Daddy and overbearing Mommy did not make you put on that hideous shoe (sandal?) and make me hate the world. I'm not sure what causes people to wear these things and submit to their disease of apathy, but rather than find the root cause, let's do what Americans do best: cover the symptom and call it good! I'm usually against this sort of remedy, but in this case I welcome it, and my ears welcome it. Maybe if people stop shuh-fuh-lipping-shuh-fuh-lopping, the more pleasant sounds of real footwear will infiltrate the psyche and reduce apathy to pre 21st century levels. Maybe then we'd have a chance to turn corners! To climb mountains! To cross thresholds! To break the ties than bind--

Okay, maybe I just think flip-flops are annoying.

And they should DIE.

Stripped

2008-08-24T19:08:00.000-07:00

Late night surfing on "On Demand" last night really paid off. I was searching Showtime offerings and came upon an unassuming documentary called Naked on the Inside. Frankly, the title made me groan a bit - it sounded not unlike a Lifetime Movie of the Week. But the description was intriguing: "Six extra-ordinary people from around the world reveal their bodies and share their secrets in a unique experiment in search of their inner selves."

Okay. I guess that sounds exactly like a Lifetime Movie...or a New Age Convention here in Portland, OR. But...that it was a documentary - and one made by an obscure Australian filmmaker - I remained interested. Turns out this was one the more unique film experiences I've had in a very long time. The candor with which these six individuals expressed themselves provided such great drama, I almost believed it was all scripted.

-An ex-model with an eating disorder.
-A legless British man in a dance troupe.
-A pre-op transexual (FTM) passing as a male Christian minister in Taiwan.
-An Latino ex-gang member and felon whose actions resulted in the murder of his wife and child.
-An extremely overweight self described "fat activist" who now models for art students.
-An Aussie woman with breast cancer who refuses medical treatment in an attempt to get right with herself spiritually.

The film exposes these people simply and beautifully. Raw. Poignant. Celebratory. Heartbreaking. About half way through, they each have the opportunity to create a video "self portrait" where they talk (or not) and get in various forms of undress for the camera - sometimes embracing their naked beauty, sometimes still struggling with reconciling their fears. And by the time we see this - their nudity both physically and psychologically echoes back and forth in a most provocative and moving fashion.

I have spent my life dealing with severe body issues myself. Food addiction and eating disorders run rampant through my close and extended families. And I typically gain and lose an average of 60 pounds a year in an attempt to reach what feels like beauty. The disconnect between ourselves and our bodies seems like a plague. This film managed to bring the issue to light, and I thank director Kim Farrant for applying a delicate and silent artistry to the material.

If you have Showtime, see it. Rare and wonderful.

Stinging Sleep

2008-08-20T14:40:00.000-07:00

Many people know that I have a fear of wasps. If you ever want to see me get really nelly - watch me in a car where a wasp has flown in through the window. It isn't pretty - but probably hilarious - unless I'm driving and you're in the passenger seat. I feel for you, and hope you're right with the Lord.

Today has been a rough day thus far. I am out of sorts and anxious, feeling a bit faint and cold sweating, which this humidity is not helping. I don't think I'm ill. In fact, this is all due to a very poor night of sleep...insomnia mixed with many a dream of wasps - yellow jackets to be precise. As the day goes on, the dreams are becoming more and more faded. (Kind of like these jeans I keep wearing over and over, because I'm in between fat pants and less-fat pants, but that's another issue.) But one passage in last night's dream overtures has whittled its way into my conscious mind and left quite the imprint.

A wasp nest appeared in the kitchen, attached to the refrigerator. My mother looked at it calmly, coldly. She grabbed the circular hood of a cake tray and covered the nest. As if directed, the yellow jackets swarmed out of their little papery pocket-homes and filled the glass cover. She then looked over at the stove, and I noticed one of the electric burners was on high, showing its menacing orange-hot coil. And with a swift move, my mother dashed across the kitchen, and with the insect filled glass, covered the burner as though it was, itself, a cake. I realized then her intent was to burn the wasps to death. And they did. Burn. As their crystalline jail heated up, they began to scream. I heard them both outside and inside my head. They screamed and screamed like children being burned alive. Not adults. Children. Sad, scared children. Angry children. Children that might at some point reincarnate to seek revenge.

My mother simply watched. Still cold. Still calm. And all at once, the wasps exploded, their boiling entrails spraying on the side of the glass. And no more screaming. Silence. Complete, silence. As the sound of my own heartbeat threatened to overcome me, my mother turned and said, "Well, that worked." And she walked out of the room.

I looked back to the refrigerator. And out of a lonely compartment, a single surviving wasp crawled carefully out of the vespiary and flew up and away - too fast for me to follow its path. And I wondered, what might the wasp have planned for us?

I am haunted today. I hope it passes soon...

Machine

2008-08-18T13:08:00.000-07:00

I went to a cafe today for a meeting. In front of me was a woman who got into an argument with the cashier over prices and procedures for making her favorite drink. Favorite drug? Anyway, the cashier was very nice - and this woman was not having it. "At your other location it costs less. And they don't make it that way. And..." This went on as the line grew longer and longer until this woman had an entire audience.

We've all seen this consumer. The one where it's ALL ABOUT THEM.

Not long ago, I got into a quibble over pedestrians crossing the street. I was crossing on foot with a friend at a crosswalk. He has a tendency to go slower than I do. There was very busy traffic, and I said, "Hurry it up." He said, "I have the right of way and they can just wait." This angered me a bit, because I knew if I were in my car, I'd want the pedestrian - and yay for them for being green and walking and not polluting...RAH RAH RAH - I'd want them to hurry the fuck up, because it's hot and I've been stuck in downtown traffic for God knows how long.

What it comes down to is awareness...the awareness that we are all participants in this giant machine. And for the machine to run smoothly, we must all do our part. If the woman in the cafe was alone with no one behind her - fine, indulge in your righteousness over your need for perfect, overpriced, coffee drinks. But there's a line behind you, lady. I don't give a crap about the price variation of your silly drink - and by the way, it's a DIME. (We all knew it was a dime in difference, because she repeated it like mantra - "It's a DIME cheaper at the other location. Why is it a DIME cheaper over there? Why are you charging a DIME more for the same drink?" She was wearing designer clothing, of course...I guess she's been saving her dimes.) And why not speed your lazy ass up when crossing the street so the person in his/her car can get off the road faster and promote the same green values you promote by walking in the first place? And don't get me started on arrogant cyclists. Oh, and that person who has no idea what they might order in the drive through lane and sits for ten minutes looking at the menu as if they're eating at a fine dining establishment. Again - with a LONG LINE BEHIND THEM!!! (A taco supreme is not that complicated to grasp!) And why don't people have their cards ready and in hand when going to the gym, so that check-in is easier and faster and more efficient?

A machine people! Get with it! We need to all participate in the fine-tuning of the communal machine. I think about this a lot. And I bitch about it too. A lot. And I think I'm right about this - at least to some degree. Right?

Then again, my partner has said to me on many occasions when I'm riled up, "I think we just need to drink more."

Hmmmmm...

Canyon

2008-08-17T13:52:00.000-07:00

Time to stop hiding.

I have spent 35 years doing what many people do - creating a public identity while simultaneously experiencing a separate narrative inside my head. I doubt there's a way to make the inside and outside match completely. There will always be secrets, desires, and contemplations that simmer for a while before going public. But the divide between these two realms has become a canyon. And it's one that has threatened to swallow me for many, many years.

So I write to build a bridge. I know it will wobble, suspended above my fear. But I commit to building it nonetheless. And I commit to crossing over it naked. And my hope is that one day the bridge will disappear, for the canyon will become a mere crack in the earth. And if I'm really lucky, even this crack - dried and thirsty - will drink of my honesty, and give way to nothing but soft, workable, fertile ground.