Tag Archives: hate

Angry & A Wake

3 Mar


I sound like a damn schizophrenic in in these blog entries.  A shitty and depressing entry, followed by frivolity, followed by stupid, followed by numb, then angry, and depressing again.

…Look, I’m TRYING.

…It just feels like the second I get a foothold here, I slip and plummet to the bottom of the goddamn pit again.  I’m exhausted from the effort of basically getting nowhere.

…And tonight is no different.

Currently, I am sitting on the couch with two fingers of 12-year-old Jameson in a glass, neat.  This is my part of a “wake” in Grandpa’s memory, having missed the gathering and mourning with everyone else.

…I am alone, and frankly would rather be at this point.

I’ve done Month-End, eight hours of work, was emotionally side-swiped and launched into a total pissed off rage with nowhere to put it before three and a half hours of rehearsal, and now I’m finally home and having to deal with it all.

Mostly, I am very angry.

…And let me tell you why.

After having spent two sleepless and anxious nights trying my best to figure out how to give condolences to a man I don’t know and haven’t for quite some time now…because it was my blood duty to…because according to birth records, I call him, “Dad”…after beating myself up with guilts I promised years ago not to feel responsible for, because it is the parent’s job to be the parent and not the child’s.  Because after 14 years, it suddenly seemed important to understand what is REALLY important and what is not-so-much in times like these…because tonight I feel betrayed by him.  Again.  And because for reasons I will never know…I was surprised by it.

I am angry.

Because he has hurt someone I love.

…Me, I can take. Him, I can’t.

My father’s practices of hypocritical proselytism under the tent of a faith born of acceptance and love, turned long ago sick with man’s influence of judgement and hate, has always been a major contention with me. Most of all when I got out from under it, having been raised with the blinders it encouraged, and saw the preachings and prejudices for what they were.

…It took me a long time…most of my young adulthood, in fact, to realize the difference between actual love and acceptance, and “the other thing.”

It seems really simple to those not born drinking the Kool-Aide. But for the rest of us imagine it like this: You are born being told that “this” is “blue.” You were taught this from your roots, before you even had words. And you grew up with this knowledge for most of your life. Then one day you meet a person who swears “blue” isn’t “blue” at all. It’s actually “red.” And this concerns you because first of all, how DON’T they know “blue” when they see it, and why do they keep insisting it’s another color entirely with so much fervor?

…And then you meet another person who sees it like that. And another.

…And suddenly you begin to wonder, to actually doubt for a moment, the solidarity of your education in these matters. I mean, they seem to feel so very deeply about this matter. And they have reasons, they have issues, they have people they know who it has actually affected…lives that have been changed because of it.

…And all you have as your excuse is, ” Well…but I was taught this.”

Sometimes there comes a moment when this is just not a good enough excuse. It usually happens when you PERSONALLY find yourself in a situation being affected by it. And there you really have to stand there a second…over the course of however long the ultimate struggle is…and reeducated yourself to the fact that not EVERYTHING you were taught was correct…that sure, there are ground-core beliefs you will always hold true, but that this one…this one has to change.

…Because you suddenly realize that it is the right thing to do.

…So you begin to embrace “red.”

…And it changes you for the better. Because it was a choice YOU made, for the reasons YOU had, and if it makes being a human and living with them a better experience: so much the better.

…Now since my 6-day-a-week childhood church-going habit, I have changed a great deal. Rather “heathen” now. Obviously. But I do still have faith in the things that are my core of importance. And I pay them heed. There IS a level of “sacred” even in those fallen from grace.

…But that was a “red” I chose long ago, as well. And I’m still perfecting it. Which is, I think, the point. Keeping growing as a human in a liquid state, not cast in dead stone, unwilling to budge an inch, even for comfort of a friend.

This is where my anger came through tonight. An outrageously inappropriate cornering of a person I love, on a day of his loss, by a man who so bitter with the years of stone religion in his heart, that he could find nothing better to do than preach at and judge, damn to hell, and speak ill of a person, his lifestyle, his choices, his very core and sense of self…who has never done him an ounce of ill, nor wished to. A man who decided that speaking shame in the stead of love, and grotesqueness instead of acceptance was a more godly thing to do, than a hug of support in the sharing of their loss together.

…This is the man who might have raised me.

…And I thank God, tonight, that he did not.

…It took me long enough to pull out of those years of hatred-and judgemental foundation as it was. Imagine had it been allowed to seed further? Imagine if I were standing beside him today seeing “blue” because it was the only color ever taught me, with no encouragement, no support, no friends and other family to help me grow and learn and question these prejudices?

…Imagine if I were the one yelling at my brother, whom I love, with all my heart and guts and pieces…as if I had any right in the least to tell another who to love or not, what to feel or not, how to live or not?

…Imagine if I never learned the color “red?”

All I can say is, “Thank God that I did.”

…And shame on the man too closed-minded, who hasn’t.

…And slainte in a toast of remembrance to Grandpa. To my family in their remembrances of him, and to my Puff, whom I love and support in all his joyful perfections.

Just the way he his.


A Little Script Soapboxing

19 Dec


Now onto scene breakdowns and work-throughs. 

…Ran lines today, several times then hit the books again in more research.  Mostly picking apart reviews of other performances and seeing if there is any info there to help me…better than popping in the film, but still informative in opening up your options. 

I don’t want to accidentally ape another person’s work, so never like watching other versions while working on a show.  Sometimes the critics come in handy though…not necessarily for their specific opinion on what works where, but more HOW they write about the piece, the theme, and what they think the underlying tones are at any given moment.  Essentially what the Director has shown them as a whole, is what I wanna see.

…Lots of layers in this one, so lots of room to make a lot of different choices.

…My favorite argument they all seem to be throwing around is “Why now? What keeps this 30’s show relevant to today?”

Apparently in a world where gay marriages are now taking place with welcome, and it’s “okay” to live a life of your choosing, this show is supposed to be in some way out-dated. I say, “Pardon me?!” for a variety of reasons…pointing to not only all the OTHER states in the Nation wherein your private life choices are NOT sanctioned as “acceptable” by the majority of the population, but I ALSO point to the rampant rash of social networking,bullying and ostracising, pushing people to the point of mental incapacities with violent reactions.

…There are parts of the script (mostly the language) that are dated, sure. But there is nothing outdated about the theme or content. I keep going over and over it again, reminding myself of it, and why this was written. The message needs to be clear at all times. And it doesn’t get any more clear than in a directly quoted monologue from the end of Act III. Still gives me chills every time I hear Marty say it. The weight the words carry, and the ripple of it’s truth at that point, should make people legitimately shiver, every night:

“…You told us that night that you had to do what you did. Now you have to do this. A public apology and money paid and you can sleep again. You and all those who always know how right they are. What’s somebody else’s life to you? A way to show your righteousness. And if you happen to be wrong, then you can always put it right some other day. Get out of here and be noble on the street.”

…If you take them, not just as words printed on a page, but say them…out loud…with all the conviction you can light underneath them…it is a devastating truth. Doing without thinking. Condemning without license. My convictions outweigh yours. Safer to assume the worst. Difference is a sin. You are clearly sick. My beliefs are more Holy than yours, And IF…IF I am wrong…IF it isn’t so…IF enough people think it’s more humane to deal with this another way…well then, an apology will suffice, because we are (after all) only human. Better to be safe than sorry. No harm, no foul.


We’ve all seen what happens. And we’ve seen it enough time to know the price paid when these seeds of hate and judgement take root and begin to grow.

Hypocrisy is a plague, which has only one cure: a conscious decision to stop it. We all do it to some capacity. We all have the power to eliminate the weed before it starts to grow. But for some reason…especially today…we feel it a special privilege to scream our conviction at full vocal capacity and never mind about the people we may hurt, or the devastation left in our wake. Who the hell gives us these rights? A Constitution, some would say. Legal tape.

I get it.

…But how do you explain those actions (and their repercussions) to a child coming home crying from another bullying and bout of rampant rumors…who may (at some point) become so ostracised because of them, that tragic consequences seem their only way of getting out of it?

Maybe it’s just me, but I love when art puts a new emphasis on an old idea. I love the immediacy of the moment of live performance. I love that every night we will perform this script and people will squirm in their seats in uncomfortable inability to turn the channel, or press pause, or take a bathroom break to help ease the intensity of the situation.

They will have to sit there.

They will have to watch and listen to it.

They will have to deal with how the words touch them personally…whether as victims or as persecutors.

And, they will have to witness what comes of it.

…Maybe that is what is really needed, here. In a world where attention spans last five seconds, and nobody “has the time to deal with this right now,” we’re gonna force you to. I’m betting, personally, there won’t be a dry eye in the place.

Just embrace it, guys. We’ll be a hot mess too. You won’t be alone.


Sometimes, It’s Just Not Funny

9 Oct


When the Whs dudes get pissed, they have this little system. 

…It involves demolishing things: product that is already compromised, trucks in the yard that no longer run…I’ve heard tell of it more than I’ve seen it in action, but I have to say, the enticement it offers, far surpasses most anything else.  Great feats in their past include forking a diesel one-ton into the air at its top-most height, than shoving it off, busting tires, shocks, struts, engine pieces and windows at random.  Another (ongoing) is to run into same said truck, with forks primed, and skewer it repeatedly like it is no more than a tin can or something made from aluminum foil.

…They will, upon occasion, shoot nail guns at the dead product pile, annihilating it further as it spews splinters in mini explosions like a machine gun in War.  I’m told that shattering cracked glass is also edifying in accomplishment, or putting a fist through a wood panel…in which case, I will just have to take their word for it.

…All I know is that in the fucked up lunatic asylum that is the “office,”  I don’t have anything to take my frustrations out on but people.  Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to slam my stapler through my office window, bursting it like a bomb instantly.  I would be very content to kick the absolute shit out of the file drawers until they are nothing but dented safes of paper that no one would be able to gain access to, ever again.  I’ve has fantasies of pitching the phone up in the air, and whacking it with a 2 x 4 for a shattering Home Run.  There were less sadistic evil tortures done during the Dark Ages, than I’d like to commit daily, to my computer.  Very few Politicians I hate get me angrier than my Boss on any given day of the week, and when I have HAD it, there is almost not a prop or piece of office equipment…right down to a paperclip, post-it, or a pen, that I could not easily forsee committing homicide with. And this all happens at LEAST once per day without fail.

…Which is NOT a good environment to be in 40 +  hours per week.

I know I am no alone in this. Plenty of people loath their jobs…but they also (most of them) seem to at some point (apparently) come to peace about it, deal accordingly and move on.  I, however, being an exceedingly stubborn person in which “fairness” and “competency” rates higher most days than breathing, absolutely CANNOT come to grips with the hand I’ve been dealt.  Some days are worse than others.  Yes.  But even the not-so-bad days, make jesting about the environment more than I can manage until I’ve put a day between me and whatever it is THIS time, that has royally pissed me off.

…And sure, I’ve had plenty of people say, “well, why don’t you just quit?” And I’ve asked myself that question too, only every twenty minutes in every day.  But the point is: I can’t.  I’m a grown up, with bills to pay, and another career to tend to.  I can’t afford to leave.  Because I can’t afford to drop in pay for 90 days, and any position higher will require me to be on salary with my time at someone else’s beck and call.

…So instead, I implode about crap, give it air time, throw it up in a blog, and try to make light of it, to take away from the power it holds over me.  But it knows it.  I don’t know who I’m really kidding, frankly.  But it seems like the more positive thing to do.  So I do it.

…And I’m doing it now, from my car (again), taking a lunch minus food…just me with my computer and some Netflix, jerry-rigging a sort of drive-in theatre environment for a half hour or whatever, just to cool me down a bit so I don’t go on a rampage shooting staples at the Boss’s face.

It’s all I could think of.

…Well, that and setting the whole place on fire.

But being in jail on arson charges doesn’t fit in my rehearsal schedule, really.

I checked.


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