First Friday

Reporting form Canada's place in Overland Park.

I have to keep this brief like the Folger Coffee I'm drinking.

First Friday is this big cultural event that happens in the Crossroad District of KC every first friday in the summer. I went and saw the dance/performance group Canada works form, Quixotic Dance Fusion. They're quite badass. Flaming Hula Hoop + Singing=Nuff Said.

Met up with Jamie M and her folks at a neighboring Art Gallery. Wonderful people. Kind, generous and they spotted a meal and a beer for me at Hamburger Mary's. Nice place. Good burger.

Met Canada afterwords and wondered in the musky KC heat. It felt like 85 even at 10 o'clock at night. We stopped into a printing press place (hammerpress inc.) and I bought the Baker a house warming gift. It's a print of a black cowboy boot with a raven on it, showing it's heart.

We then wandered back to Hamburger Marys so Canada could grab a drink. We then soon realized we were infact at a Gay Bar. We chuckled, enjoyed the prescence of Lady Gaga on the tv screen, and meandered home.

It feels good to travel, even with small McNair responsibilities lingering. They will be taken care of, and I will get everything needed to be done, done. I'm a kinesthetic thinker, I think whilst in movement and for too long Ive been stagnant.

Safe travels, friends.

Old Letters

I tend to keep old letters that have been written to me. I think sometimes I'm perhaps too wrapped up in my past, but I like to remember what others had to say to me and how those words have changed in meaning over the years. There's a particularly relevant letter I'll touch briefly on but I suppose some background on why it means more at the present.

Last night before I went to sleep I picked up the copy of Meisner's Acting Book I'm borrowing. I'm not much for acting books but it is formatted much like Plato's dialogues: it's essentially a pseudo narrative of his class room. Anyway, Meisner talks of those who have it, those who don't and it begins to arise this swarm of doubts about myself in my head about whether I could cut the mustard as an actor. I know I have a work ethic for anything I tend to care about but could I achieve that level of 'honesty' that is essentially the holy grail.

For a moment I doubted myself, but then I realized that its entirely achievable if I care so much. If the idea of not being an actor, or not being good enough to do this upsets me as much as it did last night, then it means this theatre thing is probably bound in my blood, burned out or not. As such, it gave me some resolve that my future isn't unfounded. I then went in to a slumber.

Anyway, a letter. At the end of my first acting class (JBA Acting), we had to write one other person in the class a letter. By proxy, you get one too. Crystal, my beautiful blonde preceptor, wrote mine. Just re-reading this gave me some sense of renewed hope. I never took it as a pep-talk when I first got it at age 15. Now that I look back on it, she reflects upon the fact that "life hasn't been easy for you thus far" (which it hadn't, though I didn't fully realize that until recently). She further predicts that I could accomplish more then I ever dreamed. Accomplish more then you've dreamed. That is sort of an odd thought. To accomplish more then you ever dreamed. I haven't the foggiest idea what that would be. I guess because I couldn't dream it. I mean I dream of making a decent living, doing stage work, maybe stuff on the radio. I dream of owning a house. I also occasionally dream of teaching or touring. I dream of kids who my nephew and niece can play and have amusing Christmas Adventures with.

Regardless, it put me in good spirits and I suppose that's why I keep old letters. I'm going to take a shower or go run or something. Maybe dig out the french press.


Later.

Eggs, Toast and Coffee

I'm a bit groggy. I think I got a bit of the congested bug that Gavin has. Not quite incapacitating; not in the least. However, it's there. It made getting up a chore.

Regardless, despite sleeping in two additional hours I found the moxxy to make my coffee, cook scrambled eggs, toast and shave (my neck at least).

I was working this weekend on trying to make a playlist for my friend Tara. She gave me two cds full of goodness when I left Louisville and I sort of wanted to repay the favor: show where my tastes align and differ with hers.

I forgot how hard making a playlist is. I don't just mean a hodge podge of what I like but compiling a list in a special order that is both an honest representation of the music I love and also has stuff that she'd enjoy.

Needless to say, I proceeded to igift it to her and the playlist was chopped in half due to a mix of Beatles songs not being carried on Itunes and the variety of bootleg songs I have: (Eric Clapton's Danny Boy, The Killers "When You Were Young" from a session at Abbey Road in which it is entirely acoustic, etc). Regardless, she says she enjoyed it, though I've heard no more.

I really like the Format. I forgot about them. Silly me.

I need a chance to run rampant and hit the roads to St. Louis. Soon. Very, Very, Very Soon. Notice the capitals? That's how important it is.

So to the (two?) people who read this: what's your favorite trip meal?