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.

Well...Christmas songs by The Killers kind of put me in a good mood.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpXXpufFrP8



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1HuJJOhFvo

French Press/Friends/Festivus

Probably since the separation of my parents I've been slowly becoming a very quiet Scrooge. I won't go out of my way to ruin Christmas for anyone else, but I'll hardly enjoy it myself. I know the season means too much to too many people to be that kind of dick, no matter sometimes I just want to yell and scream about it. Maybe it has been too long It's A Wonderful Life? Regardless, I did celebrate Christmas early yesterday. All in all I think it went well. It was the first time that my entire close clan was having a dinner together over a holiday as well as including Christine, my dad's wonderful girlfriend. It didn't turn out as awkward as planned.

The gifts were good. I found an 8 pack of the "Little Miss" books (ala Little Miss Sunshine, Little Miss Curious, etc.) for my niece and the first ten issues of the 1980s G.I Joe comic book in 1 volume for my nephew. I think they dug the gifts. I know they dug what Santa brought them. Simon received a fancy new bicycle (his first), and Cecelia got a badass Cabbage Patch doll. I'm not sure they appreciated the note from Santa (that I served as medium for) but no matter. I have to remind myself today and tomorrow aren't about me. If they're about anyone, they're about my niece and nephew.

Speaking of loot: I am a lucky man. Mom fetched me a snazzy French press. I'm having some right now. Lordy it's tasty. Dad got me a kettlebell and some money so I can pay some bills, which are much needed. Probably my favorite gift thus far aside stuff from last night was a hand knitted hat from my friend Anne. It's warm, it's wool, and it's wonderful.

My friend Dieter has been passing in and out of town (for those reading, this is not John Dieter). I've been trying to enjoy his company but the man is changed. Dieter is one of my oldest friends. The man's Loki re-incarnate, a trickster, a brilliant mind with a devious, devious sense of humor. Anyone who thinks they corrupted me to the joys of dirty humor doesn't know that Dieter sent me down that path back when I was 10. But Dieter has had some really tough times as of recent: my marine friend identifies his symptoms as PDST. It is bizarre to see him take himself so seriously, to watch him look so intensely into space. It scares me. I feel like his soul has been robbed of him. James(Marine), Dieter and I were a triumvirate. James brought the extreme discipline and logic, Dieter brought the creativity and wit and I was the middle balance and just being in the prescence of both was so bizarre because James has only become a better human being with age.

It just scares me. It scares me to watch so many people fall down around me and knowing I really cannot help any of them.

I'm trying very hard to be hopeful about 2010. I'm trying with all my might.

Merry Christmas to you and yours. I'll put something more optimistic up later.

KKKKK

I just finished jogging 5 miles in the hellish wineter. I was bundled with about three layers, so I was decently warm except my face. now that I'm down to just about one and I'm trying to get some water into my system, I realize how awful/like man I smell. But I kind of like it, even if it smells awful. It's a reminder of how hard I worked. I think we need those reminders sometimes.

Excuse me while I kiss the sky.

Holy shit I logged nearly 1,000 miles of driving in a week.

Why does Adam's Song by Blink 182 make me cry?