10/12/2006
I'M gonna be a part of it . . .
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
08:23 Posted in Non-Pickle Post | Permalink | Comments (8) | Email this
08/29/2006
I got the job(s)
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
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08/28/2006
I am the best uncle ever
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
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08/10/2006
Happy Anniversary Honey
On the heels of our mutual attacks - The Wife and I must face the most difficult of subjects: Why the hell am I married to you, again?
The annual affair, now in its third year, tends to bring up all those questions regarding why it is that we’re married, what you expected it to be, what it really is, and are you happy in it?
So far I give us a B+.
My biggest fear about getting married was that she’d stop having sex (especially with me). That didn’t happen. So everything else can be tolerated.
All comedic tendencies aside, we have a fantastic marriage. We are a relaxed comfortable team that communicates our needs, fears, and goals while working to better our lives and spirits together.
The biggest thing - is that we have fun together. I am so happy to be sharing my life experience with her, and feel lucky to be allowed to be on her journey as well.
I think the most gratifying part of marriage, which I never could have understood before taking the leap - is that I am never alone. I will never have to face my fears, traumas, and failures alone again.
The Wife is at my side, and I at hers – for better or worse.
There is a peace and strength that comes from giving yourself to someone in marriage that can come in no other way, and the key to its success is trust, acceptance, and the overwhelming desire to make the other person happy.
I have spent the majority of my life living as selfishly as one could imagine, and the main reason I married my wife was because she was the first person I ever met that brought me joy through her happiness - without any anticipated or expected reciprocation.
I love making my wife happy. There are times when I don’t. Mainly when I see a single act in opposition to her greater good and well being, but I try.
I have been lucky enough to have felt and fallen in love more times than I should have. Perhaps it is something in my nature, but there is nothing like the passion and awe of love coupled with an honest and healthy relationship.
I owe that to my wife, without whom I never would have known how to love in peace - and live with, for, and through another person.
This is our first anniversary as parents, and after everything that has happened in the last year to bring The Pickle into our lives - I have come to a new understanding and depth to the love and life that we share.
I cannot imagine going through what we have with anyone else, and I see our beautiful little family as the most perfect balance and collection of souls that have ever been brought together in this world.
It brings tears to my eyes to think of growing old with you and watching our world and work become the life that you deserve.
I love you so much knowing that we are whole, and that we have a lifetime of mistakes and dreams to live together.
I love you.
Happy Anniversary.
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06/30/2006
I'm done
Well. I did it. I am fairly certain that I will never sit in a purely academic classroom in the pursuit of a degree ever again. It only took me until the age of 32 to finally get it, but that’s right - I’m done. . . you may now call me master.
I have to say that I now have a different perspective and relationship to education and knowledge than I did when I started attending institutions of higher learning, when I enrolled at Berklee College of Music at age 15 for a ‘summer session’ all those years ago. I’ve learned a lot about learning.
When I began my education I had decided that I wanted to be a composer and teach music theory and history at the university level. My parents did not have any money, so I began my collegiate career at a local community college where I knocked out my Associates Degree on proper course. It is when I transferred to our major state university that my plans began to show flaws. I quickly learned that I detested university politics: especially in a conservatory setting. This is not to say that I was not in the loop. I performed at Carnegie Hall with the Cleveland Orchestra, and had a concerto of mine performed by the Cleveland Chamber Symphony. I even sang back-ups for Kenny Rogers and Andy Williams.
After 3 more years of study, and what was supposed to be my senior year I auditioned for a joint production between the music and theatre programs – The Three Penny Opera. Now, I went to school on a vocal performance scholarship – so I knew I could sing, but I had not been a true thespian, despite my winning best supporting actor my senior year of high school. Much to my surprise – I was cast in the lead. I was Macheath – never having taken a single acting lesson in my life.
I was hooked. I began to essentially live in the theatre. I soon realized that I had only been “acting” like a composer, and found my true calling.
This is the part that completely embittered me to academia. When I put my request into the university to apply for a double major – the head of the music department dropped me as a major. This was to prove some power-trip point as to the relationship and quality of students between the music and theatre programs.
Yeah.
I was no longer eligible to receive my bachelor’s in music which I had invested 5 years in. I was now going to have to put in another two years to get a bachelors degree because of politics. I did a year and a half before I started to get professional work and decided to ride the wave. Because as an actor if you’re getting work – you’re doing better that most MA holding waiters.
So I went to work, and did well, and started my own professional production company and it did well. In 2004 my old school invited me back to direct a show there as a guest artist in exchange for paid tuition for the remaining 4 classes I needed to take to get my degree.
I did it, and directed a truly unique version of Rosecrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. I enjoyed it, and finally got my BA. This is about the same time I was burning out as Artistic Director of my company. I jumped ship to our local amusement park where I ran the entertainment department for 1 season (after working as an actor there for 3 years).
In this process I realized if I was to ever to get to where I eventually realized I want to end up, as director of a large arts organization, I needed to get a degree in business management. I found a local program that has an 11 month intensive MBA program. So at age thirty-one with a baby on the way I went back to school to learn about business.
I had successfully run a company so I was fairly familiar with the basic principles – bring in more money than you spend, and do bigger and better things for more people.
My degree is a Master of Management, which is essentially an MBA with a focus on Organizational Development and Human Resource Management.
A lot happened since I started the program. I became a father, and am no longer sold on having to work in the arts. I have learned that management is management and if I am going to essentially be doing the same tasks - I may as well get paid to do it.
As life continues to meander onward - I never cease to be amazed at how my goals and ideals transform to fit the needs that I find most important. I can now think of nothing more important than being able to provide a stable environment for my daughter - especially now that I have the skills and education to be able to provide for her.
I think my ego would now be better served by vacations and a college fund than the self-serving aspects that I have always chased as an artist. They say that your life no longer becomes about you when you have children, but I disagree. I do not think that I am any less selfish. I am just trying to build my ego by making her love me instead of the hundreds of thousands of strangers that I wanted to have love me throughout the years on stage.
This week I gave one of the most important performances I have ever given when I presented my paper. It was the same night as the reunion of our ‘birthing class’ – and my professor let me go first so that I could leave right after my defense. What that meant is that The Pickle and the Wife were in the room while I rambled about Six Sigma applications and streamlining a value chain.
The Pickle was absolutely silent, and I was brilliant. This professor fails 40% of Capstones, and I got an 88% - and did it with my motivation in the back of the room.
The other sad aspect of this is that it is the beginning of the end of my time as a SAHD. I now need to begin the process of looking for a job. I will always appreciate this period that I have had as a student and father, and I guess it just proves that it’s never too late to start being a grown-up.
I only hope that she some day recognizes how hard the wife and I have worked to try to do the best by her. I love her so much.
Pickle’s Papa AA, BA, MMG
16:23 Posted in Non-Pickle Post | Permalink | Comments (9) | Email this
06/07/2006
I'm a genius
I would now like to outline a recent sequence of events that will further outline and highlight my great apprehension in regard to my genetic material.
I haven’t had the best of luck lately with technological devices.
This is my recollection as best as I can muster, and if called in to testify – the facts may be altered slightly, but mainly in relation to dates and times. I screw things up. Its been known to happen, and there’s really no one to blame but Mr. Jackson’s ‘man in the mirror.’
The background and base for this story lies in my uncanny knack to fry hard drives. This could be related to the fact that I refuse to pay top dollar for a computer, and usually piece them together from geek warehouses of used materials that somehow resemble a shady edited scene from an old Star Wars movie – this apart, I have lost more Word Docs and originally Lotus Spreadsheets than the average human.
I have a history of failure.
Christmas 2003 I was gifted my first ipod. It was a ten giger and was my new favorite toy. It lasted just long enough for me to dump a glass of cheap red wine over into it. Yes. That’s what I said –Carlo Rossi Paisano into the ipod. This was an uplifting moment for me, as it confirmed my place in the universe - as one of those people that really can’t be trusted to have nice things. I hate it when my father is right.
By the way that warranty thing - doesn’t cover stupid.
So I got my new ipod, the twenty gig, for Christmas ’04. I have always been a music person, and now that I had a player that could almost hold all of my CD’s I converted my entire music library – all 300+ CD’s to my hard drive.
The irony is that I bought my first fancy schmanzy, brand new, Best Buy 80 gig drive for the sole purpose of music storage. I was very careful with this drive – no late night impulse porn surfage or anything. And yet one day there came the error page and the inability of my machine to take me to wonderful world of windows.
One must also note that after converting my music to the drive – I whored my discs out on half.com like a junky at Christmas.
One of the reasons I sold my CD’s is I thought that as long as I have both my CPU and my ipod – I’ll be safe. Well it has been months since my drive crashed (I’ve been living on an old Dell laptop), and now the tale of woe ensues.
I will now backtrack and give the parallel story. I had an old piece of crap Nokia phone that had the butt end of it ripped out by the cleaning lady in our hospital room when The Pickle made her arrival. The phone worked, but was unable to be charged. I spent a month saving the remaining charge – trying to find some way to copy my contact list onto a new phone to alleviate having to manually transfer all of the numbers (like 200). As it turns out I did something in my past life or they’ve really kept better track of this one than I was hoping – but I had to spend an entire night of my life copying all of these numbers (there goes another bottle of Paisano).
So last week when the thunderstorms came through – we rushed to get everything inside from our outside luncheon. What was apparently left behind was my ipod, which was playing through an old set of computer speakers that were purchased at the afore mentioned Star Wars scene.
Two days later I cannot find my phone.
In the space of days I have lost over $5,000 worth of music, and every phone number I have in the world. Not to mention the cost of the ipod, and the phone.
All my fault.
Some of you may recall a very positive and uplifting sequence of posts a while back. This is sarcasm - I was a depressed freak. This is the correlation.
Correlation is not causation.
And now, at last, here comes the ‘up with people’ happy ending:
So I was mowing my lawn (for the first time since I lost my phone), and much to my surprise I see my phone – covered in mud, having been rained on for a week. I plugged it into the charger, and I’ll be damned if it didn’t come back to life. Go Kyocera.
Yesterday I went to the Apple Store to find out how much is was going to cost to fix my ipod – when the man behind the counter said, “I see you didn’t purchase the extended warranty – well, we’ll just exchange it for you.” No shit. Brand new ipod.
On the car ride home last night I get a call from a friend of mine, my old IT guy from my company, who said he’ll be by this afternoon to recover my files from my old drive, and get my old PC running again.
So all is right in the world again.
I don’t know the direct route of causation between these events and The Pickle, but I’m sure that her having a father that’s not an irritable SOB for a couple of days is bound to have a positive effect.
Pickle’s Papa
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05/14/2006
Non-Pickle Mother's Day Blog
As we approach Mother’s Day I cannot help but join the parade of bloggers everywhere by celebrating the women that have made all of our lives and children’s lives possible.
I had been fairly certain that it was a subject that I was going to avoid - as I have recently read several blogs that pretty much summed up anything I could hope to say. What changed that was my experience Thursday night.
After class got out I had the rare opportunity to do what we sometimes refer to as “ruining oneself.” The mom had the baby out on the town with her sister who was only in town until Saturday morning. They also had morning plans without me – which meant I could sleep off any damage uninterrupted.
I ventured out to Becky's - the true center of this tale - as well as the people that I have spent so much of my life with there. The bar is centered between three of the most significant locations in downtown Cleveland to my development as an adult. The university where I got my undergrad degree, the main theatrical center where I produced and acted in many shows, and it is also one block from the law school, which graduated my wife. I also managed a coffee shop, right out of school that was four blocks from the bar, worked as a limo driver out of the same complex, and for a short stint I even worked at Becky's directly.
Needless to say we have history. I have spent many a sobering morning watching the sun rise through the glass block windows facing 18th street, and the owner is one of the few people that I can truly call a friend - Tim. He was the first sponsor of the first show I ever produced, and without him I doubt that my career would have ever gotten off the ground.
The most bizarre aspect of Becky’s is that I know the history of that bar better than most anyone, and yet in all my 13 years of hanging out there– I never met Becky. The bar was purchased by Tim’s mother for his sister, the legendary Becky, in the mid-eighties - and she soon moved to North Carolina. The bar was then run for a short period by Tim’s older brother but was wisely shifted to the control of Tim in the early 90’s.
Thursday night, in one of the four times I actually walked in the door in the last two years, I was introduced to Becky. Becky was in town because their mother is in the Cleveland Clinic and not doing well. She had a heart attack, and is unfortunately untreatable until they clear up a major intestinal infection. The outlook is not currently positive.
As the night went on we all told stories of the woman who’s purchase had interwoven our lives, and really created the relationships that we all had.
I have only met Tim’s mom a couple of times, but she is the consummate bar owner. She was truly fascinated by people and wanted to know everything about you, and of course - could convince you to buy a round for complete strangers before one in the afternoon (which I did).
The night wore on, and as eight double Jack and Coke’s will do at two in the morning, we all started reminiscing about the women that shaped our lives, and I couldn’t help but gain amazing perspective on the value of a mother’s impact on not only her children directly, but all of the people that they effect through the way their values and acts effect everyone that they come into contact with.
I sat there hearing awesome stories of a woman I couldn’t recognize on the street, from her children who were facing losing her on Mother’s Day – and I was so moved in gratitude that she gave me the opportunity to have the relationships that I have gained and that place that was a home away from home for so many years.
One of the ways that Becky described her mother was that in their house – there was always an extra bed, and a place set at the table for someone that needed somewhere to stay. Through that nature – I know that her children helped to create a place that made me feel at home when I was facing the brutality of life in the city.
And as I drove home at 3:30 in the morning it clicked as to why I was so moved – because I knew that as an adult I grew up in her home too.
Pickle’s Papa
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