. . . and then there was pickle.

I'M gonna be a part of it . . .

2006-10-12T08:23:01-04:00

New York. New York.

This weekend The Pickle is going to be making her first trip to the big apple. We have an extensive itinerary including coffee with MetroDad, and an afternoon at the Central Park Zoo.

Of course we will be doing our obligatory running from friend’s to friend’s trying to let the baby see all the people that moved out of Cleveland to chase their dreams in a major metropolis – but the biggest thing is to expose her to the sharp tinge of urine in the fall air.

Nothing like it.

As many of you know – I am a theatre person. I used to just be able to say ‘Actor’, but for the last seven years I have ended up making more of my income as a producer/director than the guy in the eyeliner.

I am professionally trained. I even have a decent resume. Why then, you may ask, didn’t I ever move to New York to try to ‘Make It?’

The answer is simple . . . I hate New York.

I have been to the city more times than I can count and every time I go – I am happiest when I leave. After two days in Manhattan I inevitably feel like a dirty bug no matter how many showers I take.

The second question then is: Why the hell do you keep going back?

The answer to that is a bit more complicated. I do hate the overwhelming nature of the city, but I cannot deny that it is the center of the civilized world.

I’ve been in Rome. I see what New York is to the world of today. I am an over-educated white guy that claims to be in touch with art and culture at the highest level, and yet I have never seen The Lion King on Broadway. It is not a matter of taste. It’s a matter of understanding. I go to New York to see what is at the center of the world I live in – and then I leave as quickly as I can.

When I left college I was told from every angle that if I wanted to make a living in theatre I had to move to Chicago or New York. What I’ve learned through the years is that you make a living where your connections are, and where you fit in.

One of the many reasons why I love Cleveland so much is the blue collar nature of the town. It even permeates the attitude and culture of our arts community. I am a professional artist, but if I had to wear a black turtle neck and kiss ass on a daily basis I would lose my mind. I am just not built that way.

I suppose every professional arts community has it’s quirks, but I have always just really fit in here, and I have always kindof known that I would have never been able to handle the whole New York thing.

This weekend I am going to see The Lion King for the first time. It is something I need to do, and maybe by taking The Pickle there at such an early age she won’t be as intimidated as I was to compete on every level or maybe she’ll just find out where she’s most comfortable.

Who Knows.

Pickle’s Papa

I'm back

2006-09-29T15:27:19-04:00

My show is now up and running. I am back to being at home on a regular basis, and will now return to my self-indulgent semi-poignant ramblings.

We made it through this stint without actually having to take The Pickle to day-care, and although it has been a significant strain on the relationship with the MIL, the wife's stability at work, and the overall cleanliness of the house - it looks like we are going to avoid and early entry into snot-fest '06.

It's not even that I didn't think that day-care would not have significant positive effects or that it wasn't a really solid place for infant care, it's just that I don’t trust anyone with my baby.

I know that no one has the same instincts or understanding of The Pickle's needs and routine. That's not a judgment on anyone. It is a fact. I just have trouble accepting that her comfort has to be sacrificed to enable other people to have time with her.

I know there's more to it than that, but it is often my first reaction when I see people making what I generally refer to as 'rookie' mistakes. I need to let other people learn about The Pickle to make it possible for them to give the proper care to her.

How to get experience without a job, and how to get a job without experience, or in this case how to get experienced childcare without working your child over.

I know that this is just the beginning. Someday I am going to be expected to stand in an aisle and hand her off like a lace wrapped football to some Joe Shmoe who wants a tax-break and regular sex from her.

It's just such an awkward process. It is my job to prepare my child to eventually care for and provide for herself. Yet at this moment it is solely my job to protect, provide, and care for her. The question is: when does that transition begin? When do we start sacrificing our child's comfort for their development?

I think the answer is birth. I just don’t like it very much.

I don’t want anything to hurt her. I don’t want her to have one moment of discomfort more than inevitable. But Inevitable is a funny word. Inevitable. Inevitable.

She just had her first real cold.

I have learned from personal experience that cold medicines don’t heal you - they just cover up the symptoms. I have twice ended up with pneumonia in my life due to my body being so filled with cold medicines it no longer knew it was sick and decided to stop fighting. My brother has a house full of kids that have been pumped full of antibiotics from the time they were hours old that they have never bothered to develop immune systems and are constantly sick.

Over the last three days I have fought through crying, snot, sleeplessness, and coughing to let my daughter's body learn how to fight a cold.

I need to learn to do the same thing with her being as I have done with her body. But it is not easy.

Pickle’s Papa

ok. I'll post.

2006-09-26T21:23:18-04:00

As per Mad Momma . . . I must post.

Some random thoughts.

My daughter is standing on her own in the crib . . . and the house is still not baby proof.

To my family: something I learned in grad school. In managing relationships it is ok to set high expectations; however, when you place a hoop to jump through - don't move it after the expectations have been met. It tends to create a disgruntled work force.

To my production: set designers should be taken out into the street and slaughtered like cattle.

To my administrative position: I dont type.

To my wife: Talk to your mother.

To myself: Get over it.

In general:

I like rediscovering friendship. I recently had an unexpected solo camping trip in which I was surprisingly paired up with an old friend, the bird trainer whom I once shared a stage with, and that I spent the summer's free time rebuilding my '76 280Z. His wife was a cop, mine was finishing law school - we had our futures together as kept men, and then he moved out into the country and vanished.

As I was facing the perils of a weekend alone in the woods I looked over to my right in line at the campsite check-in, and low and behold stood an actual friend.

I will skip the dirty details of how I ended up in this perdicament for my therapist, but needless to say - it was a good thing I was rescued by someone that was interested in my story and having me tag along on the day long canoeing excursion that I was going to do by myself anyway.

Brandon now has a son, 15 months old, and we had much to commiserate on. It turned out to be a great trip for completely different reasons than those originally planned.

But needless to say I hate my family more than words can express. Every fucking one of them except my father - whom everyone else says is crazy, and I am starting to think is the only sane one of the bunch . . . yes, you too mom.

ON Cleveland:

It is really hard to be a loyal Cleveland sports fan. I hate us being the character in the story line that we inevitably become season after season. Even in the games where we are supposed to get excited about now - I cant help but see the rest of the story line play out before me. At half-time this week of the Browns game - I already knew we were going to lose. Even though no one else did, why? because we're Cleveland.

True - we have Ohio State Football, but I can already feel the Michigan upset in the air.

I hate becoming emotionally invested in this shit, but every year I still end up being shocked that we dont walk away the victor. I have only once not been let down, 2002 Buckeyes, and I never actually expected to win that one. We were'nt as good of a team as Miami.

So many Browns and Indians teams should have gone all the way over the years, and yet - here I sit in Cleveland. The Browns have more all around talent than most any team in the NFL - yet, without any semblance of an offensive line I remain a Cleveland sports fan.

I am bitter, and overworked - and looking for a win.

ON ART:

I need a drink. I forgot how hard it was to make this shit pallatable. I loathe the way we, as artists, have to kiss ass and lie to make the lights come up. I also hate how every one else working on a show seems to be an imposition on the work I'm doing rather that an aid. For god's sake - just let be do my bad british dialect, and get out of my way.

In the mean time- The Pickle comtinues to grow. I continue to become salty, and The Wife tolerates me less and less.

Good Times.

Pickle's Papa

Theory vs. Practice

2006-09-12T12:25:43-04:00

So I had this whole parenting thing pretty much worked out when it was all I had to do, think about, and take the time to climb up on my soap box about.

I am now running around from rehearsal to meetings, memorizing a book, and building a strategic plan for a program from scratch while I am supposed to maintain this idealistic super-parent plan that I hypothesized about when I was still human.

See, nowadays I’m lucky if I have the time or patience to recognize that I have a daughter – let alone analyze the best practice scenario of how I should rear her.

Several weeks ago I knew exactly how and what I was going to guide The Pickle through the landmine filled path that is her development. Today I am wondering if I am going to be able to recognize barbed wire from a building block.

I have always been a very effective multi-tasker, but I know that no matter how you look at it parenthood isn’t something you can schedule in. It is a 24 hour a day job that requires your full focus and cognitive ability in an unpredictable and inconvenient time-frame.

I have another week of full-time rehearsal before we go into performance, and I am just trying to make it to opening without completely undermining all of the work I put into my relationship with, and understanding, of my daughter.

Every day I feel further and further removed from the intuition which once guided my care of her. I knew from morning until night what she needed when, and why she was doing what she was doing.

Today I come home and look at her as a new and growing mystery from which I have somehow lost the key. I know that this is a norm, but it is a new one for me. I suppose I, like everyone else in the world, wanted to share every moment of growth and wonder living through the eyes of my child.

She is beginning the path of separation. I know it is nothing compared to her leaving for college, but it my first taste of knowing she is a person all on her own – and it’s not the easiest idea to accept.

I want to see every moment of discovery, every fall to comfort, and every dream to help build – because I need all of those things from her too.

Pickle’s Papa

Working Life

2006-09-04T13:04:23-04:00

OK. I may not be blogging as much as I used to. This whole employment thing is really putting a damper on my free time.

It is amazing the amount of work I’ve already had to do just to get my office in a position to functionally accomplish work in here again. I once ran a company from my home office, but that was a while ago, and the physical needs of going to grad school vs. running a business are significantly different.

I have spent the last four days cleaning, re-organizing, and throwing away more nostalgia from my previous incarnation that I just no longer have the room to keep. I really let this place go to hell.

I dusted about an hour ago and I still haven’t stopped sneezing.

I have also gone through and created a whole new electronic system of organization that is quite impressive including a weekly work log and year calendar with all significant dates already denoted.

You’d almost think I was organized if you came in here.

At the moment I am genuinely looking forward to winter – as my office is in the loft, and I am sweating my *alls off. It is only in the mid-seventies. Good thing this is usually the most comfortable room in the house in winter.

So we’ve been looking into daycare, and wow, is that unreasonable. It seems as though infant caregivers require that you sign up for full-time care regardless of your actual need. We have a pretty good daycare center at the end of our street, yet they would want us to pay for a full week’s care even though we would only want to put her in 2-4 days a week on a varying need base.

Even on the days she would need to go in it would usually only be for 5 hours or so. I think they’ve got a racket goin’ on.

I don’t know.

Anyway, I thought I should let you all know that my postings will be slim for the next couple of weeks as I am in full-time rehearsals during the day, and scheduling every possible groundwork meeting around that I can.

I am busy. Pickle is happy and the wife is enjoying a four day weekend.

I will be brilliant again soon.

Pickle’s Papa

Childcare

2006-08-30T18:58:06-04:00

Or how to pull a babysitter out of your ass in three easy steps.

One of the major things that has happened with me getting not just one job, but two - is an overwhelming need for Picklesitting. This also occurs when the Mother-In Law is on hiatus visiting the wife's sister in Seattle (yes, Zero Boss that bitter tension in the air is probably not a coincidence).

So here I am having to beg favors from any reliable source. I have even gone so far as to ship my mother in for a couple of days - having her bail on her adopted library kids. It is pretty desperate here.

I have been so preoccuied with the issue of finding childcare over the last couple of days that I haven't had to emotionally prepare myself for the actual moment of driving away from the drop off without her.

I have not felt this good about myself since I landed the 6 foot Romanian girl who didn't speak English on St. Patricks Day in 1999 when I was so drunk I couldn't speak English, but this morning as I got in the car . . .

That sucked.

I don't like crying. It's not a good look for me - especially at red lights, but there I sat feeling like I had abandoned my child to the wolves. In all actuality I left her with Mya's Mommy whom many of you have read enough about to know is completely trustworthy.

Didn't matter. I cannot recall feeling simultaeously so proud and ashamed of myself for one single act of going to work. I have to admit that I have not been able to ignore all of the subtle and sometimes not so subtle opinions of those who felt that I should be the one earning a paycheck. I kept feeling like once I went to work - it would show them that I was capable too.

In all actuality I feel very much like I've turned my back on all of the issues that I have come to feel so passionately about. I feel as though not only am I abandoning my child, but I am also turning my back on the validity of what I have been doing for the last seven months.

I do believe that having at least one parent stay at home with an infant is an invaluable asset to the development of a child. I think a father can play that role just as well as a mother, but unfortunately it is an asset that we cannot afford. I somehow feel that my going to work is an insult or degradation of the role and value of a stay-at-home-dad because in going to work I have walked away from my job.

I knew this day was coming but I don't think I knew how hard it was going to be to do the job - how hard it would be to deal with the insecurities it brought, and now to walk away from it. In the build up over the past couple weeks to getting work, I didn't think through one vital element - in getting these jobs I would actually have to quit the one I was doing.

One of my flaws is that I am never satisfied with the work of others. I am now passing off the care of my child to someone else, or rather, several someone elses, who I know will not put the same love and dedication into satisfying the lovely angel that is The Pickle. I dont want to leave my old job.

This is not easy, and as happy as I am that I have the work I do - I cannot help but wish I could clone myself to still spend my days with the little girl I have come to know and love.

Pickle's Papa

I got the job(s)

2006-08-29T12:54:52-04:00

Yep.

I got the job, and one I wasn’t counting on.

I am now the co-coordinator for a local theatre’s youth outreach program. I will be producing four shows a year that will utilize high school talent, touring to schools in the greater Cleveland area. The program is to focus on key social issues such as abuse, suicide, etc.

I will be responsible for all aspects of production, booking, and fundraising. I will once again be the one-man-band that I was with my old company in the early days – except now I’ll have a budget, credibility, salary, and a product that I can actually rally some funds around.

I will be able to primarily work from home – which is good.

It is good because while I was waiting to hear about this job I got a call from a different local theatre wanting to know if I would be interested in acting in their touring show. It is an eight-month contract touring ‘The Hobbit’ all over Ohio, some parts of Indiana, and Pennsylvania. It is sporadic work that depends on the bookings and will work perfectly with my ability to build my own calendar with the outreach program.

When it rains it snows.

I am now dually employed as actor and administrator, and start rehearsal tomorrow.

This is more than I could have hoped for, and I am ecstatic to have actually landed a job that is not only in my field, but a step up from where I was – with the opportunity to build a program from scratch that will showcase what I am capable of as a producer and director.

This is exactly the kind of position I had in mind when I went back to school, and although the money is less than I was hoping for - the scheduling aspects allow me the flexibility to get freelance work as an actor and director, which will help to keep me balanced and sane.

So, yeah me.

Pickle’s Papa

Very Overdue Vacation Pics

2006-08-28T21:57:24-04:00

Well, as we have been back from Hilton Head and parts South for over a month now - I thought, "What the hell . . . Why not upload those vacation pitures that have been eating up my memory."

This is a brief synopsis of the journey.

It all started well . . . The Pickle got everthing packed.

Upon arrival The Wife and Pickle hit the Pool.

Of course the true purpose of a family vacation to let the family smother the baby with kisses while mom and dad sleep.

But enough of this goofing off- we soon hit the road for one of the South's most beautiful destinations, Savannah. We did so under the direction and guidance of our navigator - El Pickle. The trip took longer than anticipated.

Hey Pickle, What do think bout Savannah?

Well, lets explore then.

Savannah is pretty cool.

But at some point you have to eat, and we did in the oldest standing building in Georgia - where Robert Louis Stevenson wrote Treasure Island. It had the most awesome southern style buffet and air conditioning.

The next major event was heading out on a fishing charter to catch some shark with a really cool guy, Coach:

This is one of my three.

Even the wife got into the act.

and yes, this is our family's fulbright scholar with the Black Tip she brought in.

Eventually it was time to head home though because . . .

Insert 'Home-Sick' joke here:

Pickle's Papa

I am the best uncle ever

2006-08-28T10:11:39-04:00

For years now I have been attempting to win my nephews’ and niece’s love and admiration by spoiling them beyond normal means.

I have had to work this hard because I know that their mother, my sister-in-law, has the lowest possible opinion of me as a human being, and I am sure says very nasty things about me in regular conversation.

To prove to them throughout the years that I am not a bum, psychopath, or general miscreant I have gone out of my way to spoil them with things their parents wouldn’t allow (i.e. drum set, etc.).

I have also always done my best to be a very moral individual outside of the context of organized religion hoping to prove that ‘just you aint got god – don’t mean you can be a good person’ – that’s translated from the Greek.

This weekend I had my oldest ( 10 yr. old) nephew, Tall Boy.

He was dropped off on Saturday morning and I was to return him to the wilderness after the Indians game on Sunday night. For those of you who don’t know – I live in downtown Cleveland, and my brother has hidden his family at my father’s ‘Koresh Institute of Social Dysfunction’ in the part of North Central Ohio that the Amish thought was just a little bit too inconvenient.

He is home schooled for religious reasons, and is generally only allowed social contact with people from their church. This was a big deal, and it turned out to be an outstanding visit.

Saturday morning we went to the West Side Market, our old-world outdoor market, to let him see lamb skulls, whole pigs, and hear more languages being spoken than I am sure he knew existed. There also happened to be an arts and crafts festival going on in the neighborhood with tents lining West 25th street and makeshift easels set up along a side-street for graffiti artists to showcase their work in a healthy fashion – that was cool.

So we bought stuff for lunch, and headed home.

We then went for a walk around the neighborhood and bought ice cream from a really nice Shoppe along the main strip of galleries and boutiques. We stopped in one place that had a small Japanese serenity garden (sandbox with smooth stones and a mini-rake). The Tall Boy put the stones in the corners and raked out perfectly straight lines - then asked what serenity was. . .

Where’s Yoda when you need him?

It was then time to begin the sports segment of our journey. We watched the Browns play their third pre-season game (which they won) and bypassed the free modern dance performance that was going on in the park at the end of my street, mainly cuz I know the company and there was a possibility of me having to ask the Tall Boy to not mention some things he saw there anyway. So we spent the night watching football and I got to explain the difference between a Linebacker and a Safety and why you don’t go for it on 4th and 8.

Much fun.

We woke up to thick sliced bacon from the market, pancakes, and not making him shower before getting ready to go to the game. We then made our way to the corner to catch the bus.

One of the good things about my neighborhood is the public transportation, but one of the bad things about my neighborhood is the people that ride public transportation.

We began our wait for the bus with me being afraid that I was about to scar the Tall Boy into never riding the bus again. We seemed to be at the same stop as a bizarre tribe of white trash females that were beyond genetic analysis.

I spent ten minutes trying to figure out who was the mother of whom. There was one older alpha that was obviously the mother of the second oldest, but beyond that the lines got blurry – and they were all girls, and they looked like they ate their men.

Luckily they wanted a different bus than the Tall Boy and I. Our bus was clean quiet and got us to The Jake in less than 7 minutes.

This is where I get to brag. When The Pickle was born I knew that I would be less likely to show an interest in my brother’s kids as I have in the past – so I went out of my way to plan specific ‘big’ events that would make up for my overall lessening show of affection. I got approval and bought the tickets for this game in February.

Front row seats, in home run alley, in right field . . . awesome.

My family is from Detroit. It’s where my parents were born, met, and I was raised until I was 4. I remember watching the ’84 series on a black and white 13” TV being powered by a gas generator in the middle of the Arizona desert, while oceans of plumbers in the Detroit area with my last name cried openly in public.

When we moved to the Cleveland area in my early teenage years my father would generally take me to sporting events in which the Cleveland team was playing Detroit: Browns vs. Lions, Indians vs. Tigers, Red Wings vs. . . oh that’s right.

It was impossible to not become a Cleveland fan throughout the years. Who couldn’t love Albert Belle?

As a sign of respect, solidarity, and because the Tigers are a much better team than the Indians this year – I wore my Tigers cap instead of an Indians cap. The Tall Boy had me covered by keeping Chief Wahoo displayed on his dome. This way, one of us was always able to cheer.

As it turns out, there were just about as many Tigers fans at the game as Indian’s. This is not that surprising considering the way the seasons have played out so far, but it was shocking to me having watched so many games in The Jake in the glory days of The Tribe. It was odd to hear cheers when ‘The Other’ team did something.

There was a nice young couple from Detroit sitting next to us, and throughout the game the four of us had a blast. They wanted to know where to get food after the game, and I recommended a place just off the beaten ‘post-game’ path to avoid a crowd, and then decided to tag-along with the Tall Boy for fun.

It was really cool giving a tour of downtown to strangers, and simultaneously showing the Tall Boy how to be kind, and not be afraid of everyone you meet. I was a Good Samaritan, host, and uncle all at the same time.

We took The Rapid (the train) back into my neighborhood and walked the eight blocks back to my house.

The Indians lost. We had a blast, and I think the Tall Boy got to see a view of city life that I don’t think he could have imagined.

I am the best uncle ever.

Pickle’s Papa

and the skies parted . . .

2006-08-21T22:35:42-04:00

And behold god spake unto my wife saying on the eighth day I have created buying in bulk . . . and it was good.

I was not there to witness the epiphany or the act of giving herself to the goodness that took place, but the years of preaching the good word have paid off – and The Wife has seen the light.

For when I returned from my day at work yesterday I found a plastic container of 24 rolls of toilet paper, 16 rolls of paper towel, and a box of diapers that may have had its own gravitational pull.

Halleluiah!!!

For you see my brothers, I grew up in a world where the peanut butter jar had to be opened with a can opener, and the dog food at the bottom of the 55 gallon drum was so stale that by the time Dutchess got to it . . . it doubled as a plaque scraper.

And for years - I have argued the point that we. are not. going to stop. Not going to stop needing these items any time soon . . . So why not buy enough to keep from having to run to the store for the same shit over and over and over?

And I believe. I believe that my wife was convinced that she could cheat death out of that second loaf of bread. Yes that's right, because if she didn’t buy it . . . and she happened to die (HAHAHAHA!!!!).

But the bulk buyer doesn't work that way . . . no.

I owe this miracle to my devoted OCD counterpart "Mya’s Mommy" with whom The Wife went to Target and, with the subtle art of a hooker on prom night, nudged my wife toward the understanding that, “yes, . . . that roll is a dollar, and THAT one is sixty cents.”

Now you must understand, Oh my bretheren, for years this has been a point of contention. A strained fragment of the tension between the wife and I, and one I had accepted to never . . . never find victory. And yes, I had reached that lowest of low places where even I had assumed that The Wife was not going to ever give into logic on this - and to continue her battle of will. Her battle of will against having to spend that much on toilet paper (I’ll save her aversion to pay for parking for another post).

I cannot tell you the joy, Nay, the love I am filled with to see my wife come full circle and finally understand that in buying that much at once - you’re actually spending less. Spending less on toilet paper. Spending less on Peanut Butter. Spending less on Sanitary Napkins . . . and less on gas for having to run to the store every two days to get some stupid shit that you’ve run out of.

And lo though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the Dollar Store. I will fear no Drug Mart. Thy Costco and thy Sam’s Club shall comfort me. For thine is the kindom of bulk and I will buy by the PALLATE!!

Can I get an AMEN?!!?

Pickle’s Papa