Remembering 44 On This Day

Through an employee auction at my work, I just scored a VHS-DVR dual deck recorder and have begun the process of bringing old video tapes: basketball games w/friends, old TCA projects from college, and (not the least) old 44 videos.

That kind of kicked me back into gear on the old tape to CD conversion I began last summer. an attempt at archiving past, taped, musical endeavors (chronicled on two consecutive posts, one sad and wistful, and one somewhat more hopeful.

Anyway - another song here from that time period where 44 was in its prime, such as that was, with artistic true-seeing constrained within the limits of twice a week practices. This is a live, practice space recording of a Dan-penned song, sometime in the spring of 1999, I See You When I Can.

I'd had the chorus running through my head for a couple of years. In the genre of songs that had to do with Sharon living far away and not being very accessible, but playfully, with a "Green Eggs and Ham" sort of idea playing itself out: "I see you when I can/I'd see you in a van/I'd see you in Japan/etc etc. Couldn't get any farther than that. Then I decided to pursue an idea I'd always wanted to try - as a lark, but it seemed to work. Using the chord progression - literally - of A, B, C, D, E. You hear this at the beginning and we return to it a couple of more times. Gibbs wrote the freaky stalker sort of words at the very end, which I embraced within this song which was more just a fun departure than any true expression of feelings. Also - in an "I buried Paul" sort of moment, with a close listen in the final chorus, you might just catch something that sounds like "I eat my sausage from a can."

Recording is with a single mic on a regular old tape deck, so there's no accounting for quality - but I think it sounds like a band having fun. Hopefully, you can spare five minutes, and hopefully you enjoy this.

I See You When I Can

Still Here

It's crazy - this is probably the longest break between posts I've had since entering the Blogosphere back in - what - 2004?

Doubly crazy; one would think I'd have more time for bloggin', as I am theoretically dialing it back a notch and taking time to be with my family for a few months and not leave Sharon with as big of the parenthood load; especially during a period of time when Rose is at such a high-needs stage of development.

But I've been tired, lately. Very tired, and in a way that is different than my chronic state of being underslept, to which I'm pretty accustomed, After a number of weeks of going to bed crazily early (for me, anyway, that means prior to 10:30 pm), I was unable to feel any more rested. Of course, the fact that I was able to drag myself to bed that early at all should have tipped me off that something was amiss. Following on the heels of this mental & physical exhaustion came a melancholy feeling, and an eerie suspicion began to grow in my mind that I was dealing with the outer fringes of some mild form of depression. No ambition to take care of even very simple household responsibilities, and minor reminders of our strained financial situation was sending my mind reeling into a black, hopeless state. What was/is the cause? Culprits:

• Work has been nuts. We're in the (long, drawn-out) process of converting over to a GIS that will benefit my future career aspirations in a great way; however, right now there is a steep learning curve plus all the development & work that goes into the actual conversion of our data & way of doing business plus my normal workload which is, of course, a full-time job. This is just exhausting me. I've been coming home and literally wanting to just drop my bag and keel over. Of course (with a 4-year old running up to me and squealing "Daddy! Daddy!"), that's not an option. Of course, Lucy's vitality is sustaining & infectious to a point, but I would be lying if I said a part of me didn't understand Ward Cleaver's need to spend a few quiet minutes when he first got home, unwinding on the friggin couch.
• Pyschologists might suggest that over the past two years, as I've been so busy, I've submerged some pretty fairly traumatic experiences with the need to keep plugging away and not missing a beat. Now that my post-daughter-bedtime evenings are consisting of noodling away on a computer while Lucy falls asleep on a chair behind me - and little else, I'm paying some emotive back taxes.
• Maybe I really DO need to be busy, and I don't know how to cope.
• Post-partum depression? Or just baby-blues?
• Lack of time with my spouse? Sharon & I have often, in our nearly 9 years of married life, been able to trace irritableness and frustration in life to our inability to find time together. That, appears to run counter to a vast majority of our society, but good for us. Bad for us, though (bad for us spending time together - not bad in the long run, we hope), is the extent to which our parenting techniques are aligned with those in the attachment parenting philosophy. It means that Rose is rarely put down, and usually "slung" by Sharon, and that Sharon's life regulated entirely by Rose's sleeping schedule and feeding habits. It was the same thing when Lucy was a baby - but Lucy didn't have a 4 year old sister vying for parental interaction. It's two on two and we're playing man to man defense, which often draws us off to opposite sides of the court. Tough to have grown up conversations, and with Rose waking Sharon up at 5:30 - 6:00 every morning (and Sharon going to bed necessarily early), we're not finding time together in the evenings, either.

So - what is it? Increasingly realizing as I grow older that we don't actually live in the black-and-white world that our president sees, I am a champion of the concept of the Nuanced World. As such, I realize that all the above factors are probably affecting me. I am actually finding motivation to turn this post out today because I've been feeling a possible change in the weather the past couple of days. I may be coming out of it, whatever it has been. Tiredness-be-damned, I've stayed up tll past midnight two nights in a row, and actually appear to be no worse for the wear. I'm operating at a high level at work (just not here, now, as I type), and feeling a little motitvated to take on a minor project or two (one that won't draw me away from home, mind you). Here's to the crack of dawn that comes to vanquish each of our own horrible nights, in our own ways.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

* Sigh * In a scene that's been all-too-familiar the past couple of years, we said goodbye to Saraki this morning.

Last night, I was fortunate to have had the opportunity share time with her, as she rested peacefully on my lap while I watched a movie. Around midnight, I carried her upstairs (something that she never would have permitted, were she in full health) to our room and set her on the bed. I then brought her a spoonful of canned cat food - which we'd been using over the past few days to entice her into actually eating. She showed great interest and gobbled it up; some kind of indication that she was feeling good enough at that point. In the morning, however, I was moderately surprised to not find her in bed. And as soon as I made my way downstairs to the living room, I found her body. She must have known "it was time" and come down there to be alone for the end - something that animals will always do if they can (I think it probably is descended from wild anscestors avoiding the troubles that would be associated with dying in a lair).

We said our tearful goodbyes this morning and brought her in to the vet. I took the morning off and Sharon & I reminisced at the coffee shop, during which time our conversation actually turned towards, "OK, so when are we going to get our next dog?" And a very lucky dog it will be.

The picture below is from the vigorous cat we knew about a year ago (not that she was doing all that badly up until very recently). Pre-leg amputation and living life large in a spot of sun.

Not a False Alarm and For Joy Part (?)

Seems like the end of our pets' lives are like those volcanoes that erupt one time and scare the bejeezus out of everyone in a village at the foot of the mountain. Villagers emerge from under the ash and soot, amazed that they're still alive, dusting themselves off and thanking the gods. Of course, pressurized gasses and magma have been creating a giant, growing lump on the other side of the mountain which, after a couple more weeks, explodes and vaporizes everything within 50 miles.

Saraki is now experiencing profound kidney failure (just like Kuna-i); however, she is already on heart medication which thins her blood and makes intravenous fluids not a long-term solution. In short, she's in bad shape and probably won't see the end of the week. In this instance, just like in the case of Kuna-i, the early scare gave me an opportunity to work through a lot of emotions and more or less make peace with my beloved friend's mortality. It will still be really hard for me on the day of - but not nearly as hard as it will be for Sharon, who tends to dwell and regret. Also - I don't relish watching Lucy say goodbye for the last time.

I got away from work for a couple of hours over lunch to go to nearby Hyland Park, where I enjoyed my first trail run of the year. Freakish 70-odd-degree temperatures, chorus frogs so loud I could hear them from a quarter mile away, and my own sure and silent plodding along the turf cast away the pall a bit and uplifted my spirit. Warm, sunny skies and ife in process of renewal will do that.

Speaking of life being renewed - in light of the rash of death, destruction, and calamity that has beset my little home over the past year and a half, I don't know what state I'd be in if little Rose hadn't come along to reverse the trend. And what a joyous reversal she is.

Movie Review Rondeaux: Crooklyn

Damn white people in the background
Warm, earthy streets and funky sounds
We live our lives justs scraping by
Under blue filtered glowing sky
Lots of kids living in one flat
Hit one white guy and that was that

We love each other though we fight
And steal chips though we're taught what's right
A struggle each day just for food
And dad plays jazz, so that's no good
Damn white people

Daily life of a 70s girl
Bliss in an urban jungle world
Sound as if it's lacking a plot?
Consider the appeal its got
Urban nostalgic need to meet?
Dazed and Confused, set in the streets!
Damn white people

This IS Acting: Vol. 6

Photo by Duane Atter

Movie Review Haiku: The Fog of War

30 years late, I
was Robert McNamara'd
into submission

Thanks, Mighty Tom

Well, a long-awaited visit by a close friend is over and the traditional NSE (Non-Stop Excitement), mixed with the newer MDI (Moments of Domestic Inevitability) has subsided, leaving me back in the constant roil of everyday business and routine.

I could do the usual recap, which would include specific details of our adventures and misadventures, but I will simply provide you with this shot, which pretty much sums up a particular shared joy of our time together. Tom was in the mood for Wheat Beer, and I was in the mood for Volume, so it really seemed like the things to do. At the point this picture was taken, we were probably about a gallon or so into the endeavor, so you must excuse the expressions on our faces.

Let's Not Forget Loo

Everyone always wants to know, "How's the baby?" At times, it almost seems forgotten that we have an amazing 3-year old in the house with fancy that is captured by everything under the sun and with a spark in her that burns brighter than the sun. She is a neverending source of joy, merriment, and wonder and I love her with everything I've got. So let's all not forget Loo.

Haiku Movie Review: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Something familiar
Total Recall sans guns, or
Star Trek: TNG

I Can't Help Myself

I just keep acting.

Actually, the truth is that we were trying to cast someone a little older, a little rougher around the edges (appearance-wise, anyway), for the part of Garcin in Sartre's 'No Exit.' Unfortunately, a few people we reached out to didn't pan out; and, in the whirlwind world of once-a-month Reader's Theatre productions, we just ran out of time. And so, for young Dan of Waterloo, opportunity knocked.

I really did try to find other people to fill the role, and I really did intend to slow down a bit and let the world catch up to me. But I'd be lying if I said the opportunity to really stretch myself into a role in which not only didn't I see myself, but I wasn't even sure how to approach. Now, I'm gaining confidence by the readthrough, and having a blast.

Of course, I'm doing this in and amidst also producing the show, and making preparations for an upcoming guitar/vocal stint this Saturday for friend & music teacher Krista (performing dual role of Lennon & McCartney, accompanying a number of her students in a "favorite Beatle song" recital).

In any event, I hit the stage again next Friday.

Cat Update

So, this is nuts. They brought Saraki back in on Friday, rolling her over onto her other side so she could inflate that one lung. I thought she had a collapsed lung as a serious medical condition. I guess if a cat is laying just right, their lungs can just simply "collapse." Part of the whole twisty, bendy, malleable physiology that is one of earth's odder creatures. Well - and this is the part that's nuts (and also another odd characteristic of feline physiology) - whatever the black mass was that they saw; it's now pretty much cleared up.

The explanation? "Cats can do that." They can, apparently, alternately hide and fake the most serious medical issues. So, we've got her back on an additional, second, medication; one that she'd been on shortly after she was diagnosed with a heart condition about a year ago, and her breathing is down to about 20/minute, which is well within normal parameters. Is it still possible that there's something very, very wrong that's still going on and that it's going to rear its head in the next few weeks? The only ways to find out more conclusively what's going on in her body are C.A.T. Scan (for which cats get no discount - I checked), or ultrasound-guided aspiration biopsy. And, at this point, that's not somewhere (financially, or in terms of what our 7 pound, three-legged cat with a heart condition can handle) even the Hyltons are willing to go.

She seems happy & companionable and we're going to continue to enjoy her company for as long as we can.

Ah, Netflix!

For some reason, I found this extremely funny:

Daniel, the following movies were chosen based on your interest in:
I'm Gonna Git You Sucka
Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One
The Queen

It's Worse Than That (of course)

Labored breathing not entirely due to heart failure, but in fact due to a collapsed lung. Why a collapsed lung? The x-ray looks as though she may have cancer ravaging it. However, x-rays on collapsed lungs are tough to read. They're bringing her back in today to inflate her lung and have the radiologist take another look. All signs point towards cancer except for the fact that it the black mass seems to be limited to one side of her body. Small chance it's not cancer, but a black mass of anything that looks like it's ravaging your lung can't be a good thing.

Good God (bad God?). Bad news is bad enough, of course. But why must we always be dealing with inconclusive evidence of any of a number awful inevitibilities? Add to the burden of grief more tests, more negative results, more debt.

Here We Go...

So, our budget for the next year (and beyond) was based on a "no disaster" principle. A bit of a stretch, since we've not really had a year free of financial catasrophe yet in our marriage, but it was really the only way to make the numbers add up.

Well, we're now three weeks or so in since Sharon's official resignation, and God has decided it's a good time for a curve-ball. Or, perhaps, a hit-by-pitch.

Yesterday, Sharon called to tell me that our washer is done. A 1969 model, we knew we were living on borrowed time. But why now? The same year our dryer goes down and, of course, we incur expenses ranging from asbestos removal to new furnace a/c & ductwork, new electricity, tree removal, and new toilet? *Sigh* So, that will not "add up," except in that it adds to our overall debt.

Then...last night...we discovered that our cat's breathing rate was extremely elevated (40-60 breaths per minute); a condition from which she was suffering last spring after the whole leg removal, when she developed her heart condition. Most likely, she has fluid in her heart. This morning, she was taken to the vet and she is probably in an oxygen tent, as I type. I think it is remediable; but of course, at a price. A price we will most likely be willing to pay.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: when it rains it pours.

And I've also said this before, and I'll say it again: I'm the opposite of most every famous person you see on Barbara Walters. Everything in my life is wonderful, except finances.

Haiku Movie Review: Match Point

this film is designed
to win points just because the
people are British

Grandpa Returns the Favor

Thanks to a belated birthday celebration at my inlaws, and a trip to the Blue Max.

Four of these beers, I've actually had before. I'm looking forward to them all; in particular, the Arcadia Ale London Porter.

Happy Valentine's Day

It doesn't get any better than that (except for Rose, who looks as though she may have seen better times).

Ruminations After the Big Night

Just a quick mention that the show went very well.

Right from the get-go, it was obvious that the audience was really into the performance. Indeed, an added element was the need to hold for laughter following a few exchanges that, prior to the live show, we would not have even guessed would have elicited a response. Having the sense that the audience is fairly rapt is a good way to spur one on to a more confident delivery and performance, and I definitely felt good about how things came together, through the whole show and on to the end.

Very rewarding, very satisfying, and very fun.

Ruminations on the Eve of the Big Night

Tomorrow at 7:30 pm is the big show. "Big show" is entirely relative, of course, but it certainly seems to apply when you're directly involved. In the last few days I have begun to realize that it is probably the biggest part I've ever had in my dozens of plays; I've had a "lead" here and there, but never a role in which I've been onstage for an hour and a half in a play with a cast of two.

It's great fun. As I mentioned in a post a week or so ago, I could be considered to be a bit outside my comfort zone. To me, comedy acting has always seemed a pretty simple process of bringing an audience along by dropping in cultural signposts. Except in its most sophisticated form, I don't think comedy acting requires an audience to suspect their belief and "believe" in much of anything. Sure, they buy in to the theatre concept, but they're generally just happy enjoying one moment of mirth and preparing for the next. If, at the end of the night, something more powerful or transformative has occurred, so much the better. Provided the concept and writing is solid, and provided the actor has been born with a sense of comedy timing, the actual execution is relatively easy. Relatively. It still takes concentration and it still takes energy, but I'm talking relative to dramatic acting.

Of course, this is just all from my perspective, but dramatic acting requires so much of you. It was suggested last night after our dress rehearsal that I was, perhaps, a "method actor," which (to grossly oversimplify) is someone who subscribes to that philosophy of "becoming the character." I think I must be, because frankly, I don't see any other way to go about it. In fact, it seems only fair, in light of the fact that if you're acting in a dramatic role, you're more or less asking your audience to be "method." You want them to suspend belief, to believe for a few hours that you are someone other than yourself. And I think the concentration level of the audience is so much higher during a dramatic performance. They're not just watching for those signposts. They're trying to relate. Not in the overall situation facing the character(s), but in how the characters relate to what's going on around them. Not everyone can act, but everyone knows what real people act like, and they can smell someone being "out of character" from a mile away. And so, as a method actor you "become" your character. It's not just delivery of lines. It's how you hold your hands, how you breathe when frustrated, the direction your eyes wander when you're lost in thought, how tightly or loosely you clench your jaw. And it's not a simple, one-time transformation. Putting aside how you react to the world around you and all your own thoughts and concerns, you must grow; line by line and scene by scene, as your character grows. It's not a single thread, but a stem that continually branches out, with every new scene and line carrying the weight and influence of all that has come before.

Of course, in spite of this entire transformation, you need to remain somehow aware that there is an audience that needs to be able to see you, hear you, and understand your enunciation. There's no break (well, intermission, if there is one). You're "on" for an hour and a half (in tomorrow night's case). It takes an enormous amount of concentration and energy. And it takes a hell of a lot out of you. Out of me, at least. Maybe there's natural "dramatic actors" to whom this comes easily. They pain & strain over comedy and I'm fighting against the current in their world.

Anyway, that's all for now. More to report after the show, I'm sure.