We Can Be Heroes

It's been a while.

Things are a bit weird and frustrating. The baseline for living is a constant drone of fear, frustration and  uncertainty.

Normally loathe inspiration porn, but some times call for some St. Crispin's Day or "We cancel the apocalypse" moment. I loathe the need to "brand" things to reach people, but in my better moments, I realize that if the other side isn't making effort to understand and bridge, you still do it, despite their history of crapping on goodwill while demanding you show it to them.

So this is my rallying speech.

We Are the Heroes Now

People like stories. And we really like heroes. You hear it all around us every day, especially when there’s a crisis. “They are heroes.” “We salute our heroes!” and so on. We also often hear people say ‘People are the heroes in their own story.”

We a show of appreciating sacrifice. Military service people are praised and thanked for their service. When they don’t return home, it is said they made The Ultimate Sacrifice. We marvel at what predecessors went through with sacrifices made during the Great Depression or World War II.

We have a global crisis going on right now with Covid-19. We are all being asked to make sacrifices, not even The Ultimate Sacrifice. We are simply being asked to sacrifice our lifestyles for a while. We sacrificing comfort, control, and whatever sense we thought we had of what was coming next.

We don’t know for how long, but then again, neither did our predecessors. We speak of the people who lived through those times with reverence and awe. We wonder how they got through it. We doubt that we could. They could. They did. And we can, too. We’re doing it right now, but when we’re living in it, it’s more difficult to see.

Protecting others - acting on behalf of others - is one thing heroes do. We can’t see a virus with the naked eye. We cannot predict who will contract it. We cannot see who is carrying it. We cannot predict who will die from it. We can predict who is more susceptible to it. By distancing ourselves, by keeping public places unsaturated, we can help protect those less able to fight the virus. Yet, even the strong and less susceptible among us can be laid low or killed by it.

In freely roaming we can be a means to bring its harm to others. That’s how diseases work. And this one hides for up to two weeks before symptoms show - if they do at all. We may know or are inspired by cancer survivors and transplant recipients, but their immune systems cannot handle the load. We are a line of defense for those who have already survived something we may never experience. If we fail, we fail them - people who have things to do and lives to live, just like you do.

Once this passes - and it will pass, will we and the people yet to come see how we stuck with it - as with the Great Depression and WWII? Will they see how we all stuck together, how we held one another up even when we stumbled? Will they see how we set aside our individual wants or habits for the benefit of everyone? Will they see how we sacrificed a bit of comfort for a future of survival for as many as possible? Or will they see people who failed to hold the line and prized few over many? Will they see how we prized money and profit over life? Will they see how we prized prejudice over equity?

We love having heroes. And now we get to be heroes. No one said it was going to be easy. We know being a hero doesn’t pay in material goods. But pride, stories, inspiration, honor, gratitude - these are what comes from being a hero. We will be the ones asked about this time and we will have stories to tell. What stories do we want to have that we can tell? Fear is inevitable. Courage is continuing even though we are afraid.

This is a big story - The Human Story  - and we all can be heroes in this latest chapter. 

But not if we back out. It’s time to step up. Be persistent. Help each other. Hold the line.

We’re all being called now.

Be heroes.

FACING DEATH

When one speaks out about injustice, inequity - when you speak out against racism, sexism, homophobia you practice embracing life while preparing for death.

Each time you speak you face the death of associations, the death of what some people thought of you, how some people viewed you. You risk the death of friendships,of family relationships. You face the possibility of the unmasking of conditional love and provisional respect. You face the possibility of that death coming at your own hands as you drop the executioner’s axe on the lines that tie you to someone you once viewed as friend, support, backup.

You walk with death, stare it in the face, sit with its shadow, hear its whispers. You see the bodies and hear the stories of the fallen. You know that could be you someday. Sometimes that stops you.

But only sometimes.

You know your death is coming and before that, after that, the births of others who will either wish you had risked these deaths or thank you for each and every one of them. Others did it before you. You are here, able to risk - or not - because of them.

Deaths of many sorts await. And if we don’t face them, learn them, defy them, who will?

PATIENCE: ALWAYS THERE, OFTEN IGNORED

You fail to recognize that you are the beneficiaries of a colossal amount of patience. Patience is not without limit. When patience grows short, at least two things can be expected: emotion flows outward or it flows inward, sometimes both.

If we express our frustration, our dissatisfaction, we are immediately a problem. Your repeated lack

of attention or stubborn ignorance eventually demands going beyond the calm, assertive reasonings and ample citations. For all the demand for evidence, none given is ever sufficient. We are seen as angry and divisive no matter how calm we are. You would rather not talk or question yourself or be challenged.

If we grow quieter, if we withdraw, nothing changes. We become silent, even easier to ignore. And that is your "normal": our invisibility is your "calm". Our silence is your "quiet". Our complicity is your "peace". Your undisturbed comfort is "justice".

Repression causes psychological and physical damage. It distorts, it erodes. Yet our national modus operandi still encourages repression and suppression, a foundational legacy established - often forcefully and with deadly results - by the Puritan immigrants centuries ago. It is unhealthy as a standard practice.

That is the old way: you accepting us on your terms, you giving status as equal people at your whim, you determining what "equal" means, what "objective" means, keeping "normal" narrow and biased. "Coming to the table" only means your table, your place settings, your comfort as the "middle ground". The old way and the ways you continue to cling to them are being rejected.

What we seek is nothing new. Your responses are nothing new. Your stubbornness is as generational as our tenacity and the struggle itself. You are the obstruction. It is not our failure to do enough, it is yours.

ON ELECTIONS, PARTIES, AND RACE

The election cycle is at another turning point, as it always seems to be these days. A supposedly (but not really) improbable presidential race outcome, people not running for re-election, and people resigning from/being run out of office – the calls to political and voter action are at a fever pitch. With that comes the expected discussion of “Both sides do it!” and the belief that conscientious abstention or protest voting can move the wheels of progress. With that comes the once-every-four-years Libertarian drive to try to win more people to their ranks, presuming all they need to do is either jingoistically or pedantically “reason” people into seeing things their way.

As long as pundits, parties, candidates, and voters continue to deny it, the differences between parties, their demographics, and the votes they get will be dependent on flawed means of addressing the issue of race as well as the too frequent lack of doing so honestly and effectively. They will all try to get as many POC votes as they can without scaring away white people, or abandon that route and scare enough white people to vote a certain way. It has been this way for a long time.

The Republican Party's support base is glaringly white. Libertarian Party's support base is glaringly white. The Democratic Party's support base is noticeably less so. This is not just a function of Democratic party marketing or voter base ignorance. What can be observed time and again is conscious selection. Yes, the Democratic Party, liberals, progressives, whatever you want to call them — definitely have some issues to face regarding race and racism. Yes, execution of ideals can be flawed or stymied, if successful in the first place.

BUT

to regard POC as if we don't know the difference — as if we simply don't know what other parties have to offer — is ignorance. We know how to weigh options. And when your choices between options are based on observing and weighing degrees of racism, words, actions, and cluelessness or lack of compassion, the one party who rates relatively highest will tend to find our support, tenuous though it may be.

It speaks poorly of our country that It’s 2018 and a significant bar for POCI is still which is the least racist option. It's a low bar, yet we are frequently given excuses for and examples of how it is unrealistic, antiquated, or an unjust expectation that is simply too difficult to manage.

We are surrounded by the social concept of whiteness all day, every day. We see how it moves throughout our world, how it is constructed, how it is maintained, how it operates, and how invisible it is to those who benefit from it most. Many of us live at intersections of identity and know how whiteness and those intersections relate to economics, jobs, healthcare. We have experienced how it all ties together generationally. Our progenitors were surrounded by this whiteness. We have entire families and robust social circles who are. We talk. We share experiences. We compare and compile notes.

Social media augments that shared experience and erodes the historic strength of white-centering propaganda. We have to navigate you and that whiteness. It is how we survive and thrive, some of us to achieve the very status that is turned back on us and weaponized to shame our own who have not achieved it. We see you. We know you. 

For those of us who are conscious of and concerned about this country’s history and how it continues to affect things today, we tend to side with whom we do because we believe white people can do better. We believe white people want to do better. If we don't participate we will get screwed even harder — by you and/or by people who look like you, who have the same privilege, and the same glaring denials and lacks of awareness you do. If we don’t believe in your will and the potential for redemption, our souls are as damned as yours.

So, we choose the least of the many available evils. The least evil has the best chance to get us closer to where we want to be, where the USA claims it wants to be. The most virtuous options usually lack the power and the funding to get us there, so we hold our noses and vote for what we believe is the best chance — the least racist. Time and again that tends to be the Democratic Party.

Demographically that camp is well past the stage of playing representation bingo. That doesn’t happen overnight, it doesn’t happen as a windfall or lacking awareness, and it doesn’t happen from siding with whomever offers the most free stuff. For better and for worse, they are well ahead in the realm of maintaining their POC voter base instead of awkwardly struggling to build one they don’t have. And yet, that camp faltered in the last election and is stumbling under the weight of its timidity, tripping over the leavings of its own  hubris and ignorance. This is setting the foundation for a potential, truly

progressive upheaval.

We learned from our so-called allies that we and our inconvenient awareness of the lasting effects of racism and intersection were to blame for that. Apparently our belief that people who call themselves allies would be willing to work on behalf of actual, active inclusion in policy is unfair or unrealistic. It's most definitely not appreciated or taken seriously. And that does not go unnoticed.

We see you. We know you. We talk. We share experiences. We take notes.

Quite a few democrats/progressives/liberals have been increasingly loud about purity tests being the thing that hurts party unity. If only we would set aside these expectations and rally together, the party would be stronger. Purity tests are not the problem, and these are not purity tests: they are calls

to do better, expectations to pay more than lip service or delaying games. The dismissal of the validity of those expectations is the problem. The repeated deferral and denial — the trillionth time someone is told “Now is not the time for this” — is the problem. The fact that currently living generations still pawn it off to the next is the problem. The idea that unity can only be achieved by setting aside these expectations is the problem. Patience has its limits and our patience grows dangerously thin.

This is the 21st Century. We have had these issues of equity — these dehumanizing -isms — for generations and the fact we still have them is the problem.

The time is long overdue. If equity is truly your goal, why should we continue to take a back seat? Do you truly seek progress? Are we truly your companions in the struggle for equity? Or are we simply warm bodies to court just so one party or another can win? Are we still just livestock solely serving to comfort the egos of America and American whiteness?

It’s not just economics. It’s economics and race. It’s not just jobs, it’s jobs and race. It’s not just health care, it’s health care and race. Unless POCI are explicitly included in word, thought, and deed, we are excluded in word, thought, and especially deed. It shouldn’t be that way — we know it and you know it. We experience that it is that way and you dismiss our experience. Examination of history repeatedly confirms our experience.

You know what needs to change. The information is out there; you should know better. You can do better. If you don’t know better, you can learn. The expectation to do better is built on faith you can do better, the hope you will, and the charity of repeatedly giving you another chance to do so. The expectation to do better is the call, the challenge to pursue a path to individual and collective redemption.

Which party is willing to accept the less than flattering reflections of themselves, their ideals, and history, and work at being less racist? We can’t answer that question - only you can - but best believe we are asking it louder and louder, noting the responses. The answer will be up to the parties, the people that determine their courses, and the predominately white populace who votes for those people.

You don’t have to tell us to hold our noses and vote. We’ve been doing it for generations. It’s more than fair we expect you to face your ego, challenge your ignorance, and do the work for equity or confirm the cynicism we constantly battle. You must recognize and address the role race and racism play in the creation, passing, and implementation of policy. If we are truly in this together, it's way past time to act like it. It's not realistic, fruitful, or decent to expect POCI to keep taking hits, but it is definitely American.

Being American can be better than that, regardless of political party.

POEM: Parade of Virtues, 5:45am Thursday

PARADE OF VIRTUES, 5:45am THURSDAY

You wrong us

We let You know how

- is that not love?

You ask how to do better

We believe you can

- is that not faith?

You stumble or fail

You get another chance

- is that not patience?

You obstruct

We continue

- is that not persistence?

You press down

We rise up

- is that not determination?

Though You fail

We believe you'll succeed 

some day

- is that not hope?

You renew the cycle,

still We walk among you

- is that not tolerance?

We've offered You answers

when You have sought them

- is that not charity?

You ignore or dismiss this

and think You're doing fine

- is that not ignorance?

30-Some Years and Counting

I remember you.

I don't remember your names or your faces or what assorted small Iowa towns you came from.

I was probably the only black person you'd ever met in person. You probably never knew a black person. I definitely didn't act or talk like the black people you'd probably seen on tv. The fact I didn't talk or act "Black" was something I heard a lot, especially in my teen years. You probably had no clue how to react to me.

I heard you that night in our cabin at the retreat center. It was late, lights were out, you weren't ready to sleep and you started telling jokes to pass time. Maybe you thought I was asleep.

I wasn't.

I heard every joke. Every word. Every use of the word "nigger".

I remember how easily and gleefully it came from your mouths, how easily nigger joke after nigger joke came from your seemingly endless stores of comedy black gold. I heard the reason we have sex on our minds all the time is because of the pubic hair growing from our heads. I heard about the truck with the shipment of bowling balls that picked up a hitchhiker and how the state trooper was dismayed when he discovered one of the nigger eggs had hatched. I don't remember all the other jokes, but I remember I dared not move, I dared not speak, I dared not give away that I was awake, and I definitely dared not fall asleep until after you did.

I may have told one counselor the next day, or I may have told one of my friends. I don't remember. If I did, I don't remember if anything happened as a result. No one left, but my trust definitely did. In a retreat center in small town Iowa, surrounded by small town Iowa Catholics I felt even more isolated than before. Washed over by messages of love and unity and service and acceptance, I remained on even higher alert.

I have never been called "nigger" to my face, just when nobody thought I was listening.

Poem: BURDEN OF PROOF

BURDEN OF PROOF

Prove to me

you can actually believe

Can you cite evidence

that my efforts

have any chance to actually

change your mind

For a chance of change
I have to have faith

in your good faith

though it seldom

proves to be so

I have every reason to doubt

you actually want to know

and want to try

rather than to simply

bog me down

or shut me up

If you actually did

I have to believe
you'd look for yourself

There is more than enough proof

You would choke on citations

cough up study

after study
be sick to death
of mounting evidence

you would drown in proof

while I have no proof

you would actually believe

this time

Poem: I OFFER MIXED BLESSINGS

I OFFER MIXED BLESSINGS

I do not wish you ill

I wish you awareness

I wish you realization

I wish you an open mind

open ears

and an open heart

When those truly come

the weight of your ignorance

will cause confusion

turmoil

sorrow

pain

May you lament your past perceptions

and may the ignorance of others

drive you mad
drive you to speech
drive you to action

You might understand
our rage

our resilience

our restraint

the depth of our faith

and our dismissed strength

You may even grow

to resent their resistance,

remember it was yours,

and know at times

it could too easily be
again

I do not wish you ill —

only the experience

of awareness
as catalyst

and also
as curse

Poem: BLACK ENOUGH ACTOR

BLACK ENOUGH ACTOR

I see others sweat,

see them wait and prepare

almost all of them looking like

a Black Actor

I hear them sing, one by one

voices sounding like Motown

or church —

knowing that's not me

my voice is not like that

I hear them perform, speak,

and recite

each one dramatic,

whether soft or raised voice

each one sounding like

a real, Black Actor

Is that what they want?

Is it better to choose

my favorite Angry Aaron

or stick with the coin flips

and be the only one like me

they'll likely see?

Should I use my time clowning,

geeking up hallowed space

before local theater

decision-making power?

Fear makes safer seem sounder,

stops me spreading my self

and my soul

Sinister, stifling whispers of fear

make safer seem smarter,

sensible,

sounder

stopped me from spreading

my self

and my soul

Almost.

I can't stand up to be counted

if I count myself out,

a different design of triple threat

but am I Black Enough,

or will they be won

by the One And Only Me?

Poem: THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT

THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT

Kids,

you are all right

you are fine

yes, you're doing fine

do not allow yourselves

to be crushed

there are those of us

who will stand for you

who will stand with you

some who want you

to stand up for yourselves

to stand with each other

to get more involved

to get off the couch

are now standing against you

shouting you down 

all from their couch 

in so many ways

they have been crushed

and let things happen

again

and again

they have been crushed

ground down from the grind

and convinced

that there's nothing you can do

but give thoughts and prayers

say thoughts and prayers

and thank American God

it wasn't you

you stand up

and march

and make sure you're heard

because if things never change

it could have been you

who could have

changed them

thoughts and prayers

and thank American God

that right here, right now

yes, it is You

Poem: I BELIEVE IN MAGIC

I BELIEVE IN MAGIC

There is magic, child,

in how people rush

to justify the unjust

how protectors

can kill with impunity

and almost 

every

time

be found guiltless

and go free

There is magic

in how speaking out

is a bigger problem

than injustice itself

There is magic

in how the right act

is an affront to liberty

in how doing better

is slavery

and the expectation to do better

is oppression

There is magic in how

somehow

there is not Enough to go around

but there is always Enough

for more of the same

There is magic

in how racism thrives

but no one is racist

in how sexism lives

as excuses die

and in how They demand

you always say "Please"

to get Them to give you

what you should already have

There is magic around you, child.

Just open your eyes.

Poem: COME TO THE TABLE

COME TO THE TABLE

This work has needed doing

There have already been others doing it

You may be joining just now

but you are welcome here

Come to the table

and see how old it is

See the nicks and scratches,

gouges and splinters,

knots and holes

and chipped off edges

Acknowledge these and remember

that you are welcome here

Look at the smooth places,

the polish, the varnish,

the grain, the stain

the way parts are patched

and joined

and mended

The care with which it was made and maintained

Come here and know:

We will laugh and cry

fuss and fight

teach and learn

speak and listen

struggle and strive 

Come here and know

it will not be easy

people always leave

and some come back

Look, now

See all this

Know all this

Think

Reflect

Make your choice

With all this, know

you are welcome here 

My Kind of Portfolio

Fellow humans, I have been charged with the task of creating a portfolio.

I love doing things. I love writing, improvising, clowning, taking pictures. I am self-critical, but I enjoy sharing as well as being shared with. That usually wins out.

Patches in the road thus far:


WRITING

• a piece for Wanderlust online journal about diversity in yoga

• a piece for Wanderlust online journal about hiking up Mount Fuji

• a blog entry about performing at Mixed Blood Theatre

• a transcription of freewriting from an audition for Sandbox Theater


PHOTOGRAPHY

My Flickr album for Stubborn Photography


VIDEO

While I was in Japan performing on Kinoshita Circus, I helped a friend of mine by filming videos illustrating some physics principles for her high school classes.

• Newton's Second Law

• collisions


PERFORMANCE

• solo improv, Where I Am Now: Loose String

• solo improv, Where I Am Now: Oil Painting

• clowning at Four Humors Theater's Firsty Thursdays: "Passing Through"


SPEAKING

• excerpt from The Pratfalls Podcast: "Buckaroo Banzai"

• excerpt from The Pratfalls Podcast: "Being (sm)arty"

Dad Hands

When I was talking to her, I had to stop and think about it: are my dad's hands still larger than mine? I looked at her tiny hand laid against mine, palm to palm. I was sure the difference wouldn't be as dramatic, but his are surely still larger than mine. They must be — he's my dad.

It had been a while since the last visit. I live in Minneapolis, just over three hours up the road from West Des Moines. It's not that far, but when you work weekends as well as weekdays and get no paid time off, it complicates things. When you're an actor juggling multiple jobs, it makes the concept of vacation time even more unlikely. At ten months and counting, home felt too close for it to have been as long as it had been.

I wasn't smooth about asking and with Dad I didn't have to be. I told Dad how tiny her hands are and how it made me wonder. Being the person he is, knowing his adult children to be bigger, more experienced versions of the tiny humans he helped create and raise, he obliged.

I had expected there to be a huge difference.

Because of my frame, my hand was not as thick. The fingers were more slender. My skin was lighter than his, but the differences were small. End to end, heel to finger tip, my hand was the same size. It was odd. And it was a testament to the fact that I am indeed an adult.

By my age, my father had a fourth child on the way. Even when I stopped being short and could look my dad in the eye, he seemed to tower over me. Even now, when I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the man who taught me to shake hands — and hug — like you mean it, I feel I will never be as big a man as he.

Sunday Callback Freewrites (with prompts)

I had an amazing callback audition on Sunday. Part of the process involved freewriting and even though neither of them was incorporated in the final product (which we were proud of), I liked them enough to keep them. Sometimes you don't have to kill your darlings, but you set them aside for other uses.

THE SUN SHONE THROUGH THE CRACKS IN THE GYM CEILING LIKE LATTICEWORK IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN.
Weaving a pattern, a blanket of light. It was an odd blanket, but in that way that mystifies instead of scares. It was thin at one end and spread wider and wider, with room enough for anyone who could see it. Dust motes were not dirty, but living, warm and comforting, massaging each tiny hair that rose in goosebumps. I wasn't cold; I was energized.

GRAVELLY, DRY, DUSTY; THE ROAD TO HEAVEN IS PAVED WITH KNUCKLES, EARTH, PRESSURE, TIME
You hate the struggle — resent it. You learn to curse your tenacity and loathe your ambition. But you are so focused on the goal.
     "Keep your eyes on the prize."
     "Follow the drinking gourd," the ancestors say.
Why do you do this to yourself? Not cool, Robert Frost. "Road less traveled" my stubborn, Black ass. But if I quit, there's no way to succeed

Whatever Helps You Sleep At Night

Fresh off of arguing the inaccuracies of "the best actor for the role" and another in a never-ending chain of discussions about representation and questioning the idea of "default" and all of the entitlement that comes with it, Creatively Independent posted this essay on meritocracy and bias, merely by coincidence. Afterward, I reflected on a recent experience in which the veil was lifted on the notion of acting being nothing other than a meritocracy.

I recently auditioned for a commercial for an amusement park in the greater Twin Cities area that featured a father and a son. Maybe I was too animated for a television commercial. I'm more of a clown and physical actor, and without direction, sometimes I can play a bit too big for the camera, so that is a possible factor. Maybe I'm not fatherly enough or don't look old enough for people to buy that I was a father and I can buy that. Maybe my shoulder-length dreads would have made it too much of a problem-solving issue for hair and makeup to make it look like I was stuck upside down. It could have easily been for any one of those reasons I almost didn't get the callback in the first place. That happens all the time, but this audition was different. My agent clearly explained the client wanted to schedule a callback, but it might not happen because they didn't have any Black kids.

While not getting a callback or not getting a job is typical in the business, sometimes the reasons behind the outcome can also be more frustratingly, disturbingly typical than we want to accept. Even if I had not been the "best actor", I was nearly denied the chance to prove it on the field of battle as an equal, even after passing the first test. I also might have been the best actor and didn't get the job, but I won't ever know. I can always improve, but when the issue became the color of my skin and the existing reasons in society why I wouldn't have worked out, that's notably bigger than a one-man job.

By extension, it was also a statement on the composition of families in the United States of America. I almost didn't get a callback because mixed families apparently aren't a thing or obviously blended families due to remarriage isn't a thing or adoption isn't a thing. Having a kid that didn't obviously spring from the loins of this man wasn't a leap they wanted to make and because it's a business, was likely not a leap they were willing risk trusting or expecting their intended audience to make. You have to match because at least in matching, you don't have to ask the more conservative members of your audience to consider the idea of a "nontraditional" family as being valid and worthy of consideration. Remember: we live in a country where a Cheerios commercial depicting an interracial family was considered groundbreaking and controversial — in the second decade of the 21st Century.

If the world of theater truly were a meritocracy, colorblind casting might not be as much of a thing, and representation might not be as much of an issue. If acting were truly a meritocracy, one might have to look at how representation repeatedly shakes out on stages across the country and then admit that when one says "the best actor" one usually just means a white actor, and is at peace with all of the messiness holding and supporting such ideas might contain. Or maybe we just need to be more forthcoming about admitting the cultural factors that add up to the need to cling to the idea of a meritocracy to make us feel better.

New Blood

I am in rehearsal and I am sitting in a chair in the main house of Mixed Blood. The theater is an old firehouse built in the late 19th Century.

There is remodeling and upgrading being done during the rehearsal period. There is another rehearsal happening upstairs. Today, more than the other days of this last week-and-a-half, it smells old in here.  I am not smelling paint fumes or the recently cut wood of the set and stage. I am smelling and looking at old wood. It is a scent that is comforting and grounding.

They say that the bell tower on the northeast corner is being restored and a bell will live there again. That is one of the coolest things I have heard all week and the thought excites me. I can see US Bank Stadium on the other side of the freeway to the west. I steal glances at the progress each time I go to the bathroom. It doesn't look completely horrible, but its existence is complicated and problematic.

The subject of this play — race, representation, and portrayal — is complicated and problematic.

An Octoroon is a play about race, but not in the comfortable way that is accepted in the current state of theater. It is not the sort of play that will have people nodding their heads congratulating themselves about How Far We Have Come. It has a wicked sense of humor that is tied to a storied history of laughing through examination of pain and airing of grievances. After laying this show in the laps of audiences night after night, there will be talkbacks. I have never heard of a show or a theater having talkbacks after every performance. This is an exciting idea to me.

The play we are rehearsing is based on a "tragic mulatto" melodrama from the late 19th Century. It is as much an adaptation as it is a sendup. Its point might be lost on some people. The audience may miss some of the points or come up with their own. It may very well escape them that a character that is known for being mischievous and lighthearted is being silent and still, calculating and focused, contemplative and evaluating and for very good reason. It often escapes people — even some "clowns" at times — that a clown is a real person and that real person has real reactions. Sometimes that person has had enough and drops the antics because the audience and the situation need it.

I did not think as a clown and improviser that I would be on this stage in this theater, let alone any such notable stage in the Twin Cities. But one day a friend called an audition post to my attention. My eyes glazed over in disbelief and I signed up for an audition slot. Three months later, I sit here in this old building among new people, having a new experience.

I still have trouble believing this is happening. And yet here I am: in this building with a history, doing a play with a history but mutated by the present, in a medium whose problematic and complicated history we challenge simply by continuing to engage in it. It's been frustrating to pass on project after project, a role here and a role there because of this show, but this feels great. It feels big, like something I should do right now. This is a new adventure.

You Still Have Much To Learn

YOU STILL HAVE MUCH TO LEARN

If your belief

your memory

is dependent on a symbol

for its strength

then your memory

your belief

is a weak one indeed.

Followers of Christ

did without crosses

Tribes of Judea

did without stars

People on whose backs this country 

was built

the people whose lands

were stripped

(so we would eventually
have strip malls)

did without

a place for ceremony

a place to call home

and without the dignity

of being recognized

as equal humans

And if only you would look

(beyond maintaining

your own reflection)

you would notice

they still do

Your comfort then

commanded as much priority

over being decent people

as you demand it does now

This country

is not just yours.

This Past First Year

One year and a week ago, I returned to the United States of America after touring Japan for two years with Kinoshita Circus. I was nervous and anxious. During the months leading up to my departure I was agonizing over numerous issues: I must be crazy to turn my back on such good pay. What if nobody remembers me? What if I have to start all over in acting and improv? What if I never clown again after this? I don't want to be a has-been or a never-was. What will I do for work? Will opportunities even materialize?

I had one extremely part-time job to return to, a website to scour for auditions, and a pair of friends who offered their spare room as lodging. Oh yes — and I also had a car to buy. Ten days before I returned stateside, I received a panicked call and email from my younger sister: a tree branch fell on my car and totaled it. I had been on the verge of owning it outright — one [big] payment shy for which I had the money in my account. I had been waiting strictly on ceremony.  In spite of these fears and that last big financial bump in the road, I had a list of goals to pursue upon my return.

This last year has yielded more than I can imagine.

I should rephrase that, for as Han Solo said: ". . . I can imagine quite a bit."

This last year, more of my goals were realized or set on track than I had expected.

I was in a show in the MN Fringe Festival. I got to participate in something clown related with my girlfriend for the first time. I attended a couple of general auditions for the first time. I auditioned for and was in a show produced by Live Action Set. After many years, there was a remounting of "A Klingon Christmas Carol" and I auditioned for and was cast in it. I had my first leading role in a show. I performed solo improvisation again. I taught some workshops, including one for current Ringling clowns. I took workshops. I started freelance writing on an occasional basis. I started feeling like I actually knew what I was doing, that I knew what I was talking about, and that people would listen to me. I had people approach me to include me in projects. I started delving into improv coaching. I returned to the Science Museum of MN. I was accepted into two improvisation festivals.

There were plenty of bonus features to boot. I was cast in an episode of a locally produced show (that has yet to air — on cable!). I got to sit in a makeup chair and be worked on by a professional effects makeup artist (I'm still wetting my pants over that one). I performed in the Chicago Avenue Theater Project. I attended my first comic convention. I was in a show at a major theater in the Twin Cities. I had the chance to audition for The Tortuga Twins and made it. I got to work with Sandbox Theater company. I got to hear people say that they had heard about me from other people. I became part of another show for this summer's MN Fringe. I was part of Dangerous Productions's parkour project. I became involved with coaching and judging high school speech individual events.

I learned a new level of how I cannot do all of the things and did my best to hold fast while I was riding the edge of burnout. I started re-learning to say no because I was so busy, but I also became better at taking the good kind of risks. Along the way I missed friends' birthdays and shows. I missed so many concerts. I missed an entire season of roller derby for which I was supposed to be a favorite team's mascot (That particular eventual "no" hurt a lot.) I felt crummy because of it. I spent February through now juggling rehearsals and shows and work, with every show's rehearsal process having to sacrifice space and time to another (or another show) at one time or another, with at least two people in charge weathering increased hypertension as a result.

I connected with a fellow cast member so much that we have a sort of nerd media/nerd representation salon/panel/collective idea in development. I connected with people in improv who —in startlingly typical improviser fashion — I thought wouldn't give me the time of day. I've had project and show ideas. I've been included in project ideas. I've had ideas to apply to clowning and I have an ever-clarifying vision of where I want to go in my effort to bring all-too-absent clowning and physical comedy to the local scene of the neo-burlesque wave that's sweeping the nation. I have grown in my ability to discuss matters of race and representation and have started to think I might even want to turn that into something.

In this last year, I have relied on the generosity of many people. I don't like doing that. I was able to help out some friends and family monetarily and that made me feel good, but I'm better at helping than I am at accepting help (while still feeling good about myself). I learned that through all of the years of loathing the idea of networking and how slimy the concept felt, I'd been doing it the whole time. I learned that real networking isn't trading favors or having a slick pitch for yourself. I learned that it was more about actual connection and fostering those connections honestly.

I say all this not to brag, but to share and to give thanks. I've had a lot happen this year and my plate was full, even when my bank account wasn't. Success is more than monetary (although money is marvelous) and love and respect are solid currencies. No one is an island and I have countless people to thank not only for the past year, but for a great many things that led up to it. I intend to keep working, keep building, and keep thanking.

NaPoWriMo: 29 April 2015

Even when doing something you enjoy,

No matter how fulfilling it is,

Or how you're living out your dream,

Sometimes

you still don't want to get out of bed.