Spicy Tuna Man

To Miami or not to Miami

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 14:56:00 +0000

This seems to be a weekly thing. Day 2 of my weekly days off, after 10am, mommy and daughter sleeping, while daddy writes. It's a start.

I've started drinking green tea this week after a taste test, walking by Teavana at the mall. Am I choosing to be an addict, or assisting in the consumption of antioxidants, cleansing the body, and bowels? Yes, it has that effect.

As I anxiously hope that the grass-cutting outside does not wake the baby, I was moments ago pondering while watching the local news whether or not I love Miami. A montage describing the pulse of Miami and being proud to call Miami home, sparked the question after one year and eight months away from New York City and its vicinity.

I change the channel to VH1, something i haven't done in at least two years, and i see the VJ Suchin walking through Times Square, and I feel double the pangs of longing. Do not confuse my true feelings of living here - I am utterly in love with my daughter and wife, and no matter where we are together, I call it home. The question is whether or not this environment of Latin America North is the right fit for me, and ultimately, us.

Those two pangs were for the job I once had which I could not translate here to the States, and the city I still love, conveniently forgetting the reasons to simultaneously hate. I came close to the dream job a couple times, being first refusal to the winner of Survivor for the Fox Soccer Channel. Then showing too much personality with a combination of little sleep caused by anxiety, the coffee, then adrenaline during the VH1 audition, resulting in a jittery performance, ultimately serving as a learning tool.

Back to reality, In this moment, the weed whackers, cloaked in bandanas, resembling a Mexican militia, is entering our bedroom and shaking the baby with their handheld, landscaping weapons of minor destruction. In this battle, baby-sleep 1, terrorists 0. They move on, while the Meesch rustles to her side, continuing her slumber.

No matter where we rustle, there will be a reason to dislike where we dwell, grass-cutters being one of them, though i admire their work when I walk out the door. The absence from NYC allows me to forget the physical toll the City takes on one's body, and the difficulty we would discover with an urban infant. Let's reconsider Miami.

The friendships I have made with the Floridians in my retail environment have deepened, and let me preface by stating I rarely hang out with any of them except at work. This is by choice, financial limitations, and fatherly concern. Even so, I feel like my actions and experiences with them are helping to develop a crew of computer-obsess-ees, like myself, into a well-oiled machine of thoughtful, caring, loyal teammates, and empathetic communicators.

This is the most rewarding experience next to parenthood. It's similar to parenthood, but I'm not legally responsible to my team of 14 to 20, and I refuse to change there diapers… until further relationship building… and consulting with my spouse. And in this environment, some of the members move around to new teams, whereas my child would never do that yet. She's small.

Ok, Miami, I'm giving you a chance, but just because I stay here longer, doesn't mean I'll love you more. It means, I might find a relationship with you, as long as you meet me halfway.

Can you do that? Damned, race car drivers on the 836 aren't' helping. Oh wait, that was a cop who cut me off. Come on, get it together. I'm trying to like you.

Walker: The Training Wheels of Walking

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 14:35:00 +0000

Eight months later... Today was the first time the little girl was placed in her walker, and she reached the floor. The rubberized, panda-faced feeties of her panda-bear-encrusted pajamas gave enough friction to hurtle Meesch past the couch, along the tile, towards her desired object - the walker's empty box. Chosen direction: backwards.

It's a start. If one is going to pick the first way one would walk, while seated in an elaborate chair, mounted with plastic flowers, mirrors, Pooh bear, and most importantly, wheels, reverse seems like an ideal direction. I have a feeling she will be an excellent parallel parker one day, just like her masterful father, seasoned in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.

Needless to say, the race has begun, and the anxiety to baby-proof the house draws tighter around my chest, forcing us to draw the cupboard doors tightly-closed and locked to child. If her tiny feet give her vast freedom, authority must limit it with a unanimous parental vote, by bounding her migration and immigration to stores of cleaning supplies and pointy objects, dwelling under sinks. These are the days to harness her legs' bouncing power for good, but for what device, we know not yet.

It's ok, though she is winning, the battle of sleep, that is. Naptime begins today at 10 am, after waking her devoted mother at 5. Both the mama and the baby are sleeping deeply after tiring each other out. Why I don't sleep is beyond me, because I am definitely not immune to the stirring child at that hour, and I awaken like any other father in direct proximity to a smacking arm across the face. At that point, I chew on baby-fingers, not even receiving the pleasure of a baby-giggle. The nerve of her.

Forgiven. One can never underestimate the cuteness factor, quickly deflating the madness directed at the little girl, who needs us to feed, poo, clean and play. The "play" part is being challenged by her independent bounce time in the bouncy-bounce, a spring-loaded contraption, when held in the wrong direction, and plucked by a giant, could be a baby sling shot. In our case, it serves to propel our child several inches up and down, while she strengthens her legs, in preparation for the first walk.

When this may happen is up to her and her training. The most productive training occurs while watching Yo Gabba Gabba, or Wonderpets. The excitement she feels from these musical, children shows motivates her lower body to jump and bounce ad nauseum, without the nausea.

Before I join the two sleeping ladies, I want to say how amazed I am at how dedicated the mama is to our child. I spend most of my days at a store on Lincoln Road in Miami Beach, leaving baby and mama to themselves five days per week. The schedule has been created, the challenge of feeding has been overcome, and a daughter is being raised humbly and triumphantly by an amazing woman. I play my part of caregiver and playmate, but nothing could replace the mommy's role, and the little girl's bond to her.

These eight months have flown past us, and each tiny change is due to the love and nurturing of Mischa's mommy. My soul is overflowing with love for the both of them. Time to take part in the mid-morning nap.

Mischa - Day 1

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 22:01:00 +0000

The first day was a roller coaster of emotions, but day two began with pure joy.

They moved little Mischa Jadyn to the NICU, Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, due to respiratory distress caused by her prematurity. Julie and I would hear another baby cry in a nearby room, and we would feel jealous and sad that we could not hold her in our own room. Although we feel relief by accepting that our daughter's life was saved by our doctor's decision to induce. We also feel the fear based on the sensitivity of her lung development, but most of that fear became relieved.

After most of Monday was spent in the Level 3 of NICU, Mischa's lungs began to fully inhale, deeper and slower, and they reduced her to Level 2, moved her into another room, and we learned that this means progress towards taking her home.

Because of the less critical observation, we were able to hold her for the first time, together. I's amazing how much love one feels when she looks at you for the first time and responds to your voice by not crying or sleeping. The love is different compared to my love for Julie, but just as infinite.

Julie is finding success in her first day of breast pumping, initially, with the collection of colostrum and one drop of milk, making her exhausted while stimulating painful contractions. As she pumped, I went to the NICU by myself, through Julie's urging and my own desire, to hold the baby. I must have sat there holding Mischa for over an hour, communicating to her without words, singing a Carpenters hit and any other song that came to my head.

She would cry in my arms because the tubes attached to her became tucked under her head. So many tubes, which i wanted to move away, for extra oxygen an IV, bp cuffs, etc,, and I foresaw the near future when we could take her home. That's when I would rock her until she stopped. We ended the pure bonding by placing her back in the heated bed, and I touched my bare hand on her entire torso, while stroking her bushy head of hair with the other. Pure heaven as she finally fell back to sleep.

I can still smell the little baby smell on both of my hands.

When I came back to the room, I watched the videos that you shot, and I completely appreciated all the family sentiments, documented for Mischa's future viewing. One day she will appreciate it, so, thank you for making it fun and enjoyable.

Hope you don't mind that I've written a lot, but I'm tired and I might be rambling.

For pics and some video go to http://gallery.mac.com/jon.salkin.

PR 5th Ave '08

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 19:17:00 +0000

This is a view of the Puerto Rican Day Parade New York City. In NYC, there are approximately 800,000. On Puerto Rico, there are 3.9 million, a relative size difference of one-fifth. It's their island.

Take Another Little Piece of My Heart (or Groove is in the Heart)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 12:46:00 +0000

On Friday, March 14, 2008, our life as we know it has changed. Gone are the days of fear, that her heart will beat at 250 beats per minute, detouring our day or night from the highway of normal life. She decided to get it done, the brave one, after years of bearing down, breathing deep when she could not breathe, swallowing beta-blockers to inhibit cardiac stress, yet affecting her stare, that everything was cool and easy with her beta blocked. Then deciding to not block the beta because normal life did not feel so normal.

She chose to move forward, after years of postponement, and go with the odds, that 99 percent of the time, it will be a success. That's what William Slater, M.D., said, although after the ablation was done, the doctors agreed it was a 96 percent success that she was cured of Supraventricular tachycardia, SVT, the true inhibitor of normal life.

Diagnosed in 1999, Julie has lived with SVT her whole life, at least one major SVT attack per year, and daily bouts of arrhythmia. I have witnessed, I believe, more than four attacks, three taking her to the ER, with me by her side, and guilt by my side, since an episode or two was preceded by a heated argument. My uncertain count is not due to a cavalier view on her heart condition, but due to not knowing what to include, because the small episodes that lasted for short periods of time are so numerous to count.

This is when the bearing down and breathing deep would come into play, where I would close the door and sit on the toilet of our one-room studio apartment, so that she could lie still on the bed and not feel the stress of my gaze, which only added to the stress during her attempt to be still her beating heart.

As I experienced more, and our apartments grew larger, I learned to take a breathe and leave the room, knowing that she can control them, and hoping that we wouldn't need another ambulance, and that her heart would return to 90 beats per minute, her normal resting heart rate, thanks to the extra pathway.

This is how Adam Slotnick, M.D. described it, or my interpretation of his accurate portrayal. Through the heart, electrical impulses flow down a normal pathway like a highway. In Julie's situation, and many others' as well, there is a service road off that highway, flowing down and back around on itself, in a loop. Sometimes, the blood and electrical impulses exits off the highway, detouring onto that service road, and getting stuck in the loop, unable to get back onto the main highway. The heart pumps harder, attempting to compensate for the loss of traffic on the highway, but that compensation only speeds the heart up more, because all traffic has been redirected to that looping service road. This is when the 250 beats per minute comes into play, and where I'm hailing a cab to the hospital, if the bearing down or breathing easy does not help - bearing down meaning an attempt to constrict the chest cavity and through muscularity, control the heartbeat.

But it is done. The service road has been closed off, thanks to the brilliance of the NYU Medical Center team of Dr. Patel, Dr. Aizer, and Dr. Neil Bernstein. Also included in that are the warm and comforting nursing team of Yuri, Juliet and Elisa (I don't know their last names). The team performed a Catheter Ablation, by inserting electrode catheters into veins by her groin, on both sides, snaking wires past her abdomen and up to the heart. One of those wires sent radio-frequency electrical energy, burning the tissue of the heart, and closing the service road, forcing the heart to conduct along the normal highway. This is all done in three to four hours.

After the ablation is complete, they test, and test some more, by adding adrenalin to her body, forcing her heart to beat faster, and verifying that the extra pathway is, indeed, closed. When Julie was in recovery, Dr. Patel visited her and conveyed to us that during that testing, her heart never surpassed 120 beats per minute... I have to re-emphasize... 120 beats per minute. I am tearing up now, as I write. I rarely ever use this word, but it's a miracle. Cured is the word the doctors used, although they must qualify that statement, by saying, we, doctors, never use that word, but in this case, she is cured.

I didn't see the actual procedure that cured, or caused a miracle; I only saw evidence to that truth, a resting heart rate of 75 beats per minute. So now being home with her, minus the daily arrhythmia, I hold a special place in my heart for the fifth floor of NYU's Medical Center, at First Avenue and 31st Street, within the Cardiac Catheterization and Electrophysiology department. This is where Julie's life was changed, and in turn, our lives together. We have spent time enough on that detour, and it is time to re-enter the highway of normal life.

"Falling Slowly"

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 01:50:00 +0000

Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova have completely inspired me, and it helps me to state, I still believe. The belief is in creation and artistry and opening oneself up to the expressive force without looking for consequence.

Who would have known two years ago that these two songwriters would have found their voice in their tiny indie film, which would then lead them to an Academy Award. It helps me take stock on where I am artistically in my life. Doing it for myself, my own freedom, my own sanity.

I must remind myself, it's the journey, allowing myself to fall slowly into the current and let it sweep me away into the undiscovered country of my soul.

Refreshing start...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 03:02:00 +0000

Refreshing start...

It's been a while since I've written anything, and I feel a creative hole because of it. I don't even know where to begin. I feel like after I have my Valentne's day gift, the massage given so thoughtfully by my sweet shim, I can begin to reinvigorate my creative life a little.

In my recent experience, making a short video blog, sketch or whatever was so easy to do, and uploading it is just as easy, I know it's time for me to move forward with this, just to get my juices flowing again. It's not about the end result, but the creative process to allow myself a medium to express myself on a regular basis, an experiment with technology & pop culture, and I get to have fun in the process.

I spent about a half hour making the last video for Julie on V-day, and that's about all I really need to expect from myself, so I can lower expectations, overcome my fears, and just put something out there, into the Ether-net.

I could write something first then perform it. I could improv on camera and edit it. I can just talk or take the camera with me wherever I go and let it out. That's my prerogative and that's my freedom. It's up to me and I decide what to do. That's one lesson I'm getting from my genius training. I make judgment calls and take responsibility on decisions about people's lives, why not my own?

Can't Sleep Makes Me Mad

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 09:20:00 +0000

Why is it that when I'm exhausted and need sleep, my mind won't let me rest, and I'm up at 5am, wide awake? Is it that important that I have to write now? It just makes me angry at myself.

All I want to do is sleep, and I know that I'm taking two hours out of my life by acknowledging this early morning call to no peace and no sleep. Normally, I'm pondering something, turning it over and over in my head, but when I woke up, I was just pissed. Like, why, dude? Why now? Why you gotta deprive yourself of nature's healing medicine, and throw off my sleep pattern for the rest of the work week, especially when you've got FOUR more days 'til the weekend?

Sheesh to my subconscious! I'm mad at you. And my wife sleeps comfortably and immediately after waking up for a quick trip to the bathroom, while I stare at the dark ceiling and yell silently to myself. Why can't you be like that? Asleep right away.

Do I have anything important to say? Perhaps a subconscious reaction to Iran's president visiting NYC? Heroes began it's first season last night, and I missed it? I'm sick of selling to customers? That's probably more on track, and the stress of waking up and possibly losing two hours, while facing streams of anonymous shoppers, while lacking energy, stresses me out even more and keeps me up at night.

The ironic twist is killing me. As I stare at "killing me" and consider the alternative metaphors, I delay and deprive the sweetness of rest, in the comforts of my beloved's arms. I hear the murmur of voices through the walls or windows and wonder if they were up all night drinking, or if they're getting ready for work. What kind of place do I live in?

After over a year in one place, the longest stretch either one of us has spent in New York in one stretch, I can't help but long for a change, but the counterpoint of moving again seems less appealing.

I want to break free, fly away for at least a month, or drive away like my brother to the wild west, on a cross-country adventure. The world is calling me and I'm not listening. Well, obviously I am listening, at five in the frickin' morning.

Coffee helped me tune out the voices during the day, but kept me up at nights. Without the drug, my subconscious is running free, and the emotions I've repressed are flowing outward. Go west, young man.

I'm jealous of the voices through the wall. Free enough to have a fun time at this hour. Although, really, they're being free in the middle of a strange neighborhood in Brooklyn. They're probably cuckoo, and I'm being jealous of the crazies.

Ok, I think I've hit some peace. A little night time spewing, and the sleep is returning... 42 minutes later. Better claim it while it's pulling me back to bed.

The Genesis of a Host

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:35:00 +0000

As any might realize, I have recently attempted stand-up comedy, getting up in front of an audience with a mic and entertaining. This isn't new to me. The writing my own jokes part is, but I've been hosting/MC-ing since 2001.

I got my start by accident, attending a birthday party of someone I just met, with a new friend, who happened to be close with the celebrant. It was at a high-end club, complete with Kobe beef on the menu, aptly named The Dish, located at The Power Plant in Rockwell Center, an upscale shopping mall in Makati, Manila, Philippines. When you enter Rockwell, the outdoor entrance iss lined with culinary hot spots, one after another, allowing the upper class to mingle outdoors in tables and chairs, sharing in the tropical revelry of the night heat. As the evening progresses, it tends to resemble any block party on the street, except its imbibing patrons are decked in Prada and Manolo Blahnik, thanks to Sex in the City.

When one enters the mall, first you are hit with arctic breeze of air conditioning or "aircon," then by the international chic of Calvin Klein, DKNY, Guess, Polo, and other famous, fashion labels, just like any suburban shopping mall in America. The difference here is, the ease at which an American in Manila can afford it, thanks to the 50 to 1 exchange rate of peso to dollar. Then we climbed three levels of escalators to the top, where you must be on the guest list to enter The Dish. I must inform, malls are not just places of commerce in the P.I. (Philippine Islands), they are cultural havens, playgrounds, oases from the brutal heat, so the indoors is where the people gather.

I was attempting to meet new people and going out clubbing with them was my means of choice. The birthday girl was a semi-famous, travel show host, a filipina-Canadian, who had relocated here and succeeded somewhat in the business or "showbees." Why not bond with celebrity, and perhaps some of that might rub off on me. At the time, I wanted other things to rub off, OH!

During dinner, a contest, complete with host and game began, and I was singled out to participate, being the foreign-looking, mixed-race young man that I am. As a mestizo, one really does stand out in the homogeneous Philippines. So, the natural ham to get onstage took over, and I joined the other contestants. It was almost like a strip poker, removing one article of clothing for each progression towards the prize, which I forget. Filipinos are shy and most of the contestants were completely covered near the end of the contest. The host then challenged us to see how far we were willing to go to win.

Come on! For real? I had recently completed my acting training in New York, freed of any inhibitions, nude twice in class by my own volition. How far was I willing to go? Well, I didn't want to get arrested for indecency, so I stripped down to my boxer-briefs, with jeans around my ankles, dancing around like any fool in front of an inebriated mass, and got a laugh from the normally restrained party-goers.

Needless to say, I won, thank you, and won the attention of the club's party planners, because through a friend of a friend, my number was given to them, and I got a call to co-host one of the next events with MTV Philippines VJ, KC Montero. It seems, I had the spirit and energy that they were looking for in a host. Shit, show some skin, and you can get a job.

That's how the host was born.

Free from the Bean

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 18 Sep 2007 20:59:00 +0000

Today I'm beating the sickness... caffeine addiction. Every other year or so, I decide to drink it or not. When the taste of coffee or soda touches my lips, it's not the oh-my-god-that-sweet-nectar-of-life feeling, but the that's-a-nice-flavor-I-once-knew-fondly taste, which I do miss every once in a while when eating some pizza.

So I decided to pay a little more attention to my day job, and it seems to have included adding the external substance that many inject from Dr. Starbuck's. I couldn't handle Starbuck's acidity, well, my stomach couldn't handle it, leading to other places, so I went milder.

But today is day three of no caffeine, and the headache is starting to kick in with a vengeance. Actually, a slight bitterness that might be cured with a nap or a good night's sleep.

Oh, how easy I conquered thee, mighty bean. Your fragrant clutches, I pry from my shoulders.

Wow, it's been a while

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 17 Sep 2007 14:34:00 +0000

Ok, so much has happened since April, and I will only update the abridged version. Summer went by in a flash. Finally spent a much needed vacation with the lovely wife in Florida, Miami and Key West, thank you very much.

Upon immediately returning, I performed actual stand-up comedy at Caroline's on Broadway, the Caroline's Comedy Club in Times Square. I shouldn't inflate it too much; it was the completion of my six-week class, that culminated on stage, fueled by adrenalin and my wonderfully supportive family and friends that were there.

They rock!

Probably the most nervous I had been in a long time. From rehearsal at 1pm, to just prior to stage time at 5:30pm, I was on a roller coaster of heart-bursts and recovery, butterflies and netted calm, holy shite, do I know my stuff, and I got it down.

But I survived the rush and am invited back for Caroline's New Talent night on October 9th @ 7pm... Here's the event on Facebook.

The main thing is that I'm back on the blog, playing with video sketch comedy ideas to post on YouTube, of course. So, for my own sake and sanity, I'm writing publicly again.

Always a Hokie

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 18 Apr 2007 09:54:00 +0000

All this time away from Virginia Tech, I've thought of my time there as the distant past, my schooling as an engineer before becoming an actor in New York. But in light of the events on April 16, 2007, the day after my birthday, my memories of that beautiful place, set cozily in the mountains of Blacksburg, have come rushing back to me, and all of them seem good, refracted by time and distance.

I left Tech in 1998 to study acting, here, in New York, then after that lived in the Philippines for a year, and returned only to find the girl of my dreams waiting for me. We've been married almost two years, and lately I've been saying, let's drive down to Tech, it's so beautiful there, I want you to see where I went to school. Now we are definitely going down there in September.

I want to reclaim my school, our school, from this unfathomable event. You would understand if you went there. It was my home for five years, I lived in the dorm where the initial shootings took place, West AJ, I took engineering classes in Norris Hall, where the majority of the violence took place, I crossed the Drillfield daily on my way to class as a freshman and sophomore. I got to look at the gray, granite buildings tower over us and welcome us in to learn.

In the beginning, I appreciated every second there, independent, away from home, in the campus of campuses. School got harder, my direction changed, as did my goal to get out of Blacksburg and go to NYC. Now, all I can feel is the desire to drive down I-81 to see the orange and maroon of our beloved campus and give my support to the families and friends, students and faculty, that call Tech their home right now.

Whatever my political views, I watched the Convocation yesterday held in Cassell Coliseum, with overflow at Lane Stadium. The media has been covering everything and having the day off, I watched coverage all day. And after the speeches, and sincere words spoken to console, from President Steger, to Governor Kane, President Bush, and Nikki Giovanni, the crowd, in unison and impromtu, began clapping to our all-too familiar cheer, "Let's go Hokies!"

Here is what I wrote in Facebook:

My thoughts, prayers and love go out to all the family and friends of the victims, as well as, the Virginia Tech community. As an alumnus who has lived in West AJ, sat in lectures in Norris Hall, I can only imagine the fear students felt during this tragedy. I wish hope and healing upon our school and am grateful for this online community, showing that people care about other people throughout the world. Always a Hokie...

Here's what MSNBC correspondent and Tech alum, Hoda Kotb had to say, and it resonated with me when I watched her video of this.

As more information unfolds, especially about the victims, please keep them in your hearts.

We've always known the Secret

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 25 Mar 2007 12:30:00 +0000

Part of the new energy of writing is waking up in the middle of my night, whether I go to bed at 10 pm or 2 am, I rustle to consciousness when the desire to express nudges at me. I lay in bed for 10 minutes, get up, write for an hour, then head back to bed. Or if the comfort of the bed with Julie nestled in my chest and shoulder fights with that desire, I wait in bed for an hour and a half, until sleep reclaims my consciousness or I am forced to leave that comfort and plop myself in front of the computer. That second description applies now.

The Universe is speaking to me lately and I have been listening. I’m sure the Universe is always speaking but the difference is, now, I’m quite attentive and taking not that things are going to change. Within me, the change has already occurred, and I know that $10 million is heading our way. I have asked, I believe and I am ready to receive. Those are the three steps to “the secret”, which was not a secret to Julie.

She has been teaching that to me for a long time, and I have applied the secret in my life many times, only now, I am conscious of the process of getting what I want from life and the Universe. I understand the effects of changing my focus, attracting the bad as much as the good to me.

This is why my subconscious tugs at me, re-awakening me from my slumber from awareness. I am aware once again, and I am in control of my life. I have gotten what I wanted from life and the Universe before, and it is happening for me again now in the present, and will continue in the future.

I want it all, and I ask the Universe daily, and I believe. I have creative work that I am passionate about, writing, and I will get $10,000,000 for it. Acting will be and is a part of my life forever, on my own TV show and in many films with fulfilling roles. I have asked for love and Julie entered my life. Now with all the money that is mine, I want a family, a beautiful home by the ocean in California, a gorgeous Manhattan apartment in Trump tower at Columbus Circle, waking to sunrises, and watching the sunset from the heights of our corner view. I want a hybrid car for both of us, doing my part to bring health to our world again. Healthy children, at least two, maybe as many as five, are coming to Julie and me.

I have already found happiness and joy on a daily basis, and as I maintain that part of my life, playfully and freely, everything else is following. My heart is full of love which I give to Julie and those in my life, family and friends, co-workers and strangers on the street.

I am open and listening, awake and aware, and freedom is mine. I am free and that is the biggest lesson that I knew, have always known, and now I know again. I am free.

“God” means the Universe to me, where Energy means everything in it, as in physics, everything in the Universe is energy. I am energy, and my energy is transformed and radiating outwards, calling and attracting through electromagnetic forces. I am simply waiting to receive it, playfully and aware. God bless the child in me.

Change of Life

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 09:18:00 +0000

It's been two months since my last entry. During that time, I've become full-time in the computer store, spending hours upon hours on my feet, answering questions, helping newbies to the world of computing, and selling people things they didn't know they needed, until I educated them on it.

It's a different world than the investment bank, and although, I won't name names on either side, I am enjoying this computer, retail world much better than being the beckon-call guy for million-dollar bankers and lawyers. At least I'm dealing with people in normal life, normal mainly being international tourists, but normal meaning their casual time to improve their lives with a computer.

The writing has paused, but the ideas have swelled, beginning to formulate outlines for the novel or screenplay I am writing. This is a big plus, and just getting it down on the computer has inspired me to keep going. Julie's ideas on scene arrangement, staying clear of typical chronology of plot, is helping me to create fresh ideas. She's really good at that stuff.

Besides that, auditions here and there, on a higher scale, but no bites... YET. I know it will bite soon and the $10,000,000 will be in my bank account shortly. Came close with VH1 lately. It seemed like the likely path, but the path has other plans for me.

There must be plenty of karma in the savings account, hopefully, acquiring interest, as I help people on a daily basis, 40 hours per week. I woke up this morning, unable to sleep, thinking about the two situations that I wasn't able to resolve before the customers left the store.
Wishing I got it right, and remembering the situation for next time, my subconscious is keeping me in check, which is why your actually reading a new entry, at 5:20 AM, before the sunrises, while the east coast sleeps, and Manhattan is shrouded in darkness.

So many people pass through the store daily. It's organized chaos, as my brother-in-law put it. There's a tug between two sides of me while I'm selling. Sell what needs to be sold for me to look good to the managers and make sure the people are getting what the need and want. Usually the two sided align, but sometimes I'm selling things people may not need, although if they choose to learn about what they have bought, they will find those tools easy to use, and fun to begin with, as far as the newbies are concerned. It's a fine line, and I want to make sure I get it right, otherwise I'm up in the middle of the night worrying if they know what they need to get.

I forgot something as simple as getting someone a printer cable to go with their new printer. It saves them a trip back, and time at home going, "where the heck is my cable?" But their lies the guilt, which happens. Mistakes are made, days are long, and I'm always talking all day to people.

Funny, I never saw myself in sales or retail, but I really enjoy it at times. One, I'm a geek and have always been a computer geek. I've denied that side of me for too long, and the real geek in me is allowed to flourish. The other, hammy, actor side also gets served while giving newbies and veterans an intelligent show, about products I love and believe in, and have acquired fortuitously while in the employ of (insert name here).

In the process, I've acquired friends, albeit younger ones, who are all artistic balanced with enough nerdiness to know about the exploits of the gigahertz, memory, hard drives and graphics card. All walks of the arts are represented, and there is a reason for me to work here. I have craved stability and consistency; ask and I have received. I have benefits, stock options, and a potential 401(k), all in the realm of adulthood, responsibility, and leaving the 20's way behind, and I'm totally cool with that.

I'm also learning so much about what I have denied myself for a decade, since leaving engineering and finding acting. I'm in touch with techno tools that only deepen my love for art and creativity. There all tools, and I'm using my movie chisel.

The only thing that is remembered on a daily basis... I am an artist, and will always be an artist.

So the writing continues, the pursuit remains, and the expression of thoughts, emotions, dreams and truths will forge through the ether, seeping into the energies of my Universe.

Love is in my bed at night,
and this font of soulful reserves,
spills and drenches,
cleansing and purifying
My soiled feet that have tread
the pathways of men and women
laid forth before my birth
whose creators are no longer flesh
yet wander those same paths alongside
the tourists, the wanderers
the new creators
always adding layers to the path
while wearing down the dirt and concrete

this is the city of spirits and light
dueling with darkness
and a hole in its heart
at the end of the pathway
the spirits linger waiting
waiting to rebuild
waiting for an end to lingering
leave stones in monument to them
and keep walking your pathways
finding a place to place my own stone
and come back home to bed
to cleanse from the font once more
every day
every month and year
Love is in my bed at night

Read this article in the NYT

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 22 Jan 2007 18:26:00 +0000

I got all mushy about those darn kids. A great story to be shared.

Refugees Find Hostility and Hope on Soccer Field:

The mayor of Clarkston, Georgia needs a flogging and a wake-up call to the real world. But he may change his ways yet...

Last Week's Auditions

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 22 Jan 2007 15:53:00 +0000

I don't want to jump the gun, but I'm pretty sure that I didn't get jobs for which I auditioned last week. Had initial meet and greet on Tuesday for a TV hosting gig that would shoot in 13 locations globally, to raise awareness on green-friendly travelling. Won them over with my involvement in Gawad Kalinga, my experience in the Philippines, and of course, my charming demeanor :P. Got the call-back on Wednesday.

The call-back was supposed to be an on-your-feet type of audition in front of the camera. Learn material about a specific location from information they provided, introduce the location with poise and grace, and a little hook, then mock-interview an expert on the green, tourist spot.

On the interview, I over- and under-prepared. I over-prepared a written introduction, trying to remember verbatim what I wrote, without allowing for flubs and winging it. Result, I choked on the intro, after putting tons of pressure on myself to get it right. After three or so takes, I streamlined it, then went into the mock-interview. That part went great, showing them that I did all the research, and was able to ask informative questions to a local expert - the local expert being one of their producers who had traveled to the pre-determined location.

After the interview, I segwayed beautifully into the next imaginary segment. Smooth and controlled. I wish they could have overlooked the intro, I just happened to be the first auditioner of the day, and I was a bit cold. My fault, of couse. Plus, in my experience, when taping in the field or on location, you always screw up, and it's okay. You tape it again, and they edit it later. My problem is that I didn't laugh it off. I looked stressed.

Oh well. Past is past, and at least the casting director saw me. I got this one through my agent, that my lovely wife helped me to acquire.

Second audition was on Frieday, for a commercial spokesperson of a cable company. I was on camera for a big casting director here in New York, and that made me happy. I've been working with this manager, and he got me the audition. Another acquisition through the Julie.

I'm just happy that I've been auditioning regularly in 2007. It feels good and I know this will be a good year for the both of us.

As far as the prior-mentioned choke... I just started thinking about all the good that this potential gig could do for our life. The travel, the money, starting a family, a step up in my career by acquiring more for my hosting reel. Audition techniques are exactly what I learned at the Academy, and I guess I didn't warm-up or go through relaxation enough. Instead of focusing on the material, I was focusing on the irrelevant personal, that should be wiped away to neutral before I get started in front of the camera.

Live and learn, and next time I'll do better. Plus, the more I audition, the easier it gets. You get to the point where you don't care or expect if anything is going to happen, then you become fearless, because you have no expected consequences. Usually that happens when you audition a lot. It's a don't-care, I-own-the-room attitude that gets you jobs, which has gotten me jobs in the past, and will get me them this year.

I predict fortune's favor for the Filipino flava.

Today, I sit atop the investment bank again, assisting executive bankers, answering phones, reserving cars, printing documents, and eating my homemade lunch at my desk. At least Julie is here today too. There's comfort in shared banking experiences.

I'm still waiting to hear about my potential promotion at the computer store.

I feel like I'm waiting for things to happen that depend on other people. That means I need to make something happen this week. There's my goal.

Also, I've been remembering my dreams a lot lately. I wake up, break them down, analyze the symbols, apply them to my life, and the cycle continues daily. That means I'm in touch with my inner self. That's new-agey talke for I understand what I'm feeling on a daily basis. Good for me. I think I went several months without remembering my dreams.

I'm back, baby! Back to sleep. Back to work. Back to the gym :)

Quotes from a Cubicle

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 21:59:00 +0000

From high atop the 42nd floor, I am filling in for another actor. These quotes in no way reflect the views or positions of this blogger. However, they were stolen honestly from the non-private walls of a cube. There are more quotes, but I'd rather not relay what the Goddess has to say.

But these are semi-worthy or worthy for you and me.

"He that respects himself is safe from others." -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"Start by doing what's necessary, then what's possible, and suddenly you are doing the impossible." -Saint Francis
"Whenever you see darkness / there is extraordinary opportunity / for the light to burn / brighter." -Bono

The Actor's Vow

I will take my rightful place on the stage and I will be
myself.

I am not a cosmic orphan.

I have no reason to be timid.

I will respond as I feel; awkwardly, vulgarly, But respond.

I will have my throat open.

I will have my heart open.

I will be vulnerable.

I may have anything or everything the world has to offer, but the thing I need most, and want most, is to be myself.

I will admit rejection, admit pain, admit frustration, admit even pettiness, admit shame, admit outrage, admit anything and everything that happens to me.

The best and most human parts of me are those I have inhabited and hidden from the world.

I will work on it.

I will raise my voice.

I will be heard. -Elia Kazan

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. Is is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, "who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?" Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that others won't feel insecure around you. We are meant to shine, as children do. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us ; it's in everyone. As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other s permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. -Marianne Williamson, 1992

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and
those who matter don't mind." -Dr. Seuss

That's enough for today. Must leave!

Audition and the Goal - Minus Torture

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 08 Jan 2007 18:50:00 +0000

Had an audition today. One of those one-liner, lottery calls that could be won by anybody, but is basically up to the way you look and not the way you deliver the one line. Auditions like these do not bother me if I don't get it, until and unless I get past the first round into the call back, and that's when the skills, hopefully, come in. I got skills.

I'm, also, happy to report that this is my second audition in the New Year. Double the amount of commercial auditions I've had in the second half of '06. I'd like to call that progress. This will continue. I have confidence in the fishing-net, talent-recruitment style of the manager I'm using, taking in many headshots/resumes and pushing them out in large numbers, hoping one of them bites. It's the numbers game. Cold calling. Cold calling. The ABC's. "Always be closing." Yes, I quote Mamet.

My schedule is strange this week, as I await my promotion at the computer store, and raise, hopefully, and I am working last minute at the investment bank. To protect the innocent, I use not names of fame and grandeur.

Last night, I finally watched Syriana, and this geo-political drama, so much more common these days, was a maze of characters, implications, story lines, and Big Oil politics, making me eager to torture a Texas or Saudi oil exec in Guantanamo and coerce them with electrodes, beyond borders in Afghanistan, to lighten their lobby on the Hill, and create more Hydrogen and hybrid research in the U.S. If Big Brother's contradictions of Constitutional law can continue, than I can follow their lead and whip up a terrorist spy, and when it hits the media feed, deny all knowledge of the terrorist, and blame the former spy for their unsponsored acts, because I didn't know anything about it, and I'll support only moral and just spies who torture under our very own borders. Yeah, that's right.

Good movie. I want to re-watch for the details I missed. Complex, inter-woven, mult-POV, fragmented stories seem to be the way to tell geo-political dramas lately. Let's thank Tarantino for the trend, which has been embraced from TV to film - Heroes, Lost, Babel, Traffic, Pulp Fiction, though most of these aren't geo-political; geo-comic-book-ensemble, maybe.

That's it. Back to work, salads, and fried chicken.

One last thought before I nosh - I admire the man behind the drama, and winner of Oscar for his role in the film. George Clooney gives all us aging actors (I'm not too age-d yet) hope that it can still happen later in life. The fame and fortune are not my desired ends as much as the ability to always work as an actor in relevant stories. That's all I really want. The money part is secondary. Not only that, to be able to write and direct those stories too, like the man Clooney, wouldn't be so bad either. Oh yes, it will happen. Unlike the aforementioned oilmen, I would not like an enduring torturous process to get there. Although an enduring process is a reward in itself. Thanks be to time and the Universe, minus torture.

Dislocation in D'Country 2 - The Voyage Home

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 03 Jan 2007 15:07:00 +0000

My cousin has recently returned from living abroad in Japan, for only a two week stay here in the New Jersey/New York area, and I am brought back to my return from the Philippines back in Dec. '01-Jan.'02. When I was in the Philippines, I felt like I was in it, connected, on the verge of something purposeful, and that I had life by the benwah's. I had recently appeared on a national talk show there, and people were recognizing me on the street, albeit sparsely. But as I entered JFK airport, waiting to get my passport checked, a group of three Filipina girls stopped me and said, "weren't you on the show, 'Mel & Jay'?"

That 'flip'ped me out... yeah, you like that? I can say flip because I am half of one, but Michael Richards, you cannot. So, as all of that was going for me, I returned home to a flag-filled America. The woman checking passports was a large African-American lady, and I hadn't seen black people for five months, so I wanted to give her a hug. The Philippines is very monochromatic, which is why I stand out as a mestizo (mixed), and why I loved returning to my wounded city of diversity, ingenuity, determination and courage.

It was a painful time in the nation, and I just wanted to get re-acquainted with what had happened while I was away. I felt guilt that I wasn't there. Guilt that I wasn't at home to experience it with our country, but I knew I had to continue with what I was doing over in the P.I. (Philippine Islands).

I bonded with family through our Holiday traditional stay in New Jersey. I walked the circumference of Ground Zero alone, to see it for myself. I cried again. I came back to my aunt, uncle and cousin's Jersey home, and I just remember not being able to get warm. My body was acclimated to the tropical heat of the Philippines, and returning in winter, I couldn't find a jacket that kept the heat in me. While I slept in the day and stayed up all night, adjusting to the time difference, I wrapped myself in blankets, caught up on TV, movies and music and reconnected with friends and family.

I felt in between. I didn't belong here at home because I had no purpose here. My purpose was far away, though when I was there, it felt so purposeless compared to what was going on in the world at the time. A week after 9/11, I performed in a semi-slapstick, definitely schticky, play with an all Filipino cast, about a Filipina who returns from the States to her humble hood of Tondo (a very bad neighborhood), and comedy ensues. For high school kids. I had to do a terrible filipino accent, because I didn't know how to do it at the time, in front of high school kids, in a large school auditorium, all the way on the other side of the world, while the ground was still smoking back home. It just felt wrong.

Three months later though, the need to return to a time zone 13 hours ahead still tugged at me finishing what I started was the goal. I would be on TV again, as a VJ/TV host, and I really went for it. And it happened. The energy was in my hands then, and everything that I set out to do over there, came to fruition.

Maybe now, I'm displaced again. Far out in the wilds of Brooklyn, and it's time to harness the energy once again. I really want it this year. And although I'm five, jeez, five years older, I know that within me, I have the power to manifest what I want, without.

It was only a matter of time, and with the emotional foundation of my wife and family, I am ready to place myself in a state where I grab benwah's again and start making them jingle.

My cousin is figuring it out as we await dry-rub BBQ ribs tonight, and he will. To stay or to go. And when he goes, he'll ask himself again. But where he is now, although physically in his childhood house in New Jersey, he is far away, and he will come to the answers, ponder where he is, in mind, and find his way home.

2006 - Zero Sum It Up

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 14:37:00 +0000

I might be fooled to think that nothing of import happened in the year 2006, but I'm sure after careful consideration, the losses and the gains might add up to where I was last year at this time, costing me nothing, zero.

But that is quite wrong. Despite the lack of acting or writing career improvement in a tangible sense, I have progressed in the world and grown to the clever recluse that I am today, if you consider a recluse one who attends three weddings in Norther Virginia, California, and Mississippi. And travels to Miami in January and again in December for the love of family. Not to mention the traditional New Jersey visit with the Filipino and Jewish/Italian crew, in separate locations, of course.

It started on the Upper West Side, living off the government dole for the husband of a recently-unemployed actress. The dole was spent, her new acting role helped, I modeled a bit, but nothing solid and stable, an occasional temp job here and there, until we were forced to move, without warning, by our landlords. Nice of them to give less than a month's warning that they were converting our apartment complex into a low-price hotel. We soon discovered this when women of high vocal talent screamed and moaned their way into our private dwelling. Maybe you pay for a night and the women are included? So forced out in May, and we had no power in our sublease state.

On to Brooklyn, close to the end of the line, saving and subway-ing it. A wedding outside D.C. happened, we found employment in an investment bank, working for bankers and lawyers, making more as temps than we were used to, albeit much less than the wife's Broadway money, that we lived so comfortably with for almost a year. Then summer came, and we never left. We saw a beach once, Memorial Weekend, Coney Island, if you can consider that a beach and not a broken-glass depository. We got our Nathan's hot dogs, and vowed never to return as beach-goers. I feared what lay in the water itself.

In the midst of the investment bank, the long commute, and the unfulfilled art, I began writing a blog and creating a website. September was my first full month of blogging, and Julie and I began our subway book club, to pass the hour both ways with enrichment and Asian-oriented books. Three Kingdoms, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Still Life with Rice. 3 Kingdoms was hearty and chock-full of early Chinese history, and the others gave historical and fictional accounts of life in China and Korea. I also read David Mitchell for the first time, Ghostwritten, and loved it. And if you have read my blog, the one book that is still haunting and beckoning me to write is Screenplay.

Did I mention the life-changing revisiting of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead? Julie just finished it for the first time last night, and I am about to finish it shortly (I had to finish other books and get my own copy). Our little book club is enriching us and our sense of self, opening our eyes to what is false and real in the world. Atlas Shrugged is next... thanks to Dad and his encouraging gifts.

But the writing slowed down with the arrival of a new direction in work-related, time non-management, in my computer sales job. The time, energy and people-oriented position allowed me little discipline in writing, although another side of me has opened up. A side that isn't ashamed of my computer geek past and engineering experience. Embrace it, is what I say. But at this point of retail boom, that will begin to taper off, I must remember what I really want to do, and that has been tugging at me more and more through every hour I spend on my feet at the store.

Sure, there is a future there, but I feel my art calling me and this is the year when I really push for what I want. At least, push again the way I used to and show what I am capable of doing.

I always forget to mention that I was a VJ, a TV host, and I came very close to being one again here in the States this past year, which helped me to land an agent. I host many public functions and do it quite well. I love acting. I love writing. Why not combine the three and find my way into stand-up? It's the logical direction, and like Julie said, comedy has no time limit, unlike for women in modeling and acting. For men, it's another story. Although things have changed for women in the Desperate Housewives era.

So there's the potential direction. I still want to act. I still want to write. I still want to host. I can do it all. I will push the envelope, literally, licking and stuffing my own envelopes and mail out my face to the casting directors of the world, or how about New York and LA.

Our far apartment feels great. It's big, spacious and we keep our things in it. We have a car and a computer, due to resolution of past tax issues, and we are hoping to buy an apartment or house in the time to come. We want children, but our goal is to go to the Philippines and Japan first, to visit family, possibly work out there, and then we can have it all right here in the boroughs of New York.

This is 2006, and I am truly looking forward to 2007, married to the best friend and companion, the most beautiful woman in the world. I am thankful and fortunate, and just damn lucky to be in her presence every day. I am a better person for it. I'm filled with love right now for her, and the time we've recently spent with family, together. We are our own culture and comedy troupe of two, including our best sell-out audience. As fans of each other, the screaming and yelling of the cheering support, makes us grow and entertain and keeps life worth living. My love is in my chest and in the next room.

Time + Pressure = A Worthy Treat

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 18 Dec 2006 20:01:00 +0000

The spice is back in the man. The tuna is merely for sustenance. Too bad I had a Chinese take-out tupperware filled with spaghetti and turkey-meat sauce. It not only sustains, it impregnates.

Which seems to be an ongoing, imposed opinion from the familial world, especially a niece and two nephews in particular. There is the usual fake pressure from adult friends and family, like, "So, when are you gonna have children," wink, wink, nudge, nudge-kind-of talk. And then, there is the direct and passionate questioning from the children, who want to be elders. "We want you to have children."

Julie asked them if they would be willing to babysit. "Oh, yeah. Of course." You do know that when we have children it will keep us very busy. "We know." And the baby will need a lot of attention, and Aunt Julie won't be able to spend as much time with you guys.

Silence.

Deep thought.

"That's okay." "Yeah, that's okay." When our niece summed up her self-view. "As long as I'm the only girl."

Ah, a healthy woman's view formed at 7 year old.

That's pretty much my attitude right now when it comes to being with my wife. Right now, I'm the only boy... and I like it that way. But if accidents happen, I can easily drop that male-centered stance. Though we feel like we're in no position at the moment financially to have children, we understand the time clock, and we're ready for the promotion from married couple to single-child family... after we take one big trip on our own, out of the country. After that, no problem.

Looks like 2007 is the year for that. We'll probably hit the Philippines and Japan, where the family lives, and come back richer, deeper and more voluminous after deep-fried pork intestines in the shape of a beautiful flower line our stomachs. Dip it in vinegar and it cuts the fat. In my mind.

Also in my mind, is my decision to take classes. I'm putting it out there now, that I will take improv classes and stand-up classes this year. There it is! Steps towards writing.

I'm going to re-read my writing books and actually start writing the beginning of my masterful script. 2007 will be a full year of accomplishments, as I climb the computer-retail ladder, it will sustain my spicy outpouring of words and well-versed wonder-whipping on page.

Commercials, TV hosting arise! Find your way onto my plate, and let me consume your utter financial freedom! Let me talk my way out of the hole, and send the energy my way!

Do Not Fear the Foe

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 27 Nov 2006 16:24:00 +0000

There must be a reason that I haven't been writing. I'm so distracted by my work at the retail computer store. Distracted and exhausted. My schedule confuses me only b/c I wake up with my wife at 7am and don't go back to sleep, when I have to work at 5pm.

The creative voice is laying dormant in fear and repose. I have learned a Shakespearean monologue, finally. Now, I must learn a comedic one, and 2 more contemporary. That's the plan.

I haven't had one audition from my manager nor my agent. They ask for new headshots, but there has been a LONG dry spell of auditions.

I read Syd Field's book, Screenwriting and I was inspired to write an actual screenplay b/c of the ease in which Mr. Field explained the process, making perfect sense to me. It seemed easy, and I did the exercises up to a point. When I was supposed to brainstorm on a character biography, I stopped writing and continued on with the chapters reading.

That's where the fear kicked in, filled with self-doubt about my skills as a writer or creative voice. Doubts of why crept in as well. Why am i doing this? Why should I write something? How important could it be? How self-involved to write a story.

Then I read Kung Fu Monkey, the blog, and his Writing section helped me to understand that writing, no matter how creative and expressive, is still a job. A job that you work on 8 to 10 to 12 hours a day, if you are lucky and talented enough to be hired as a writer. As an amateur writer, that is the kind of goal to strive for, and remember, if I can force myself to write like it's my job (despite that my energy is consumed with two other jobs), then which "job" would I much rather do?

I don't like the temping job, despite the money. I like the computer store job, despite the lack of money and bad schedule. I may never know the possibilities of the money if I never write.

And at this point in my life, I have no creative writing under my belt, so that virginal project has yet to be popped out. That's the biggest wall. I've never done it, so I don't know if I can do it. Then I read, no matter how good your first screenplay, or play for that matter, it will not be produced. Well, play itself, I can produce with investors I know, but screenplay is a different monster. It takes agents to like the spec script, then it rests in their files forever. At least, I know that.

But with all my fears preempting my literary strike, I have no idea, and will only slow down in output in this blog. I know, I've looked. The number of entries are lower. Hey, I write more at the investment bank b/c I have more time. At the computer store, I am at the beckon call of the customer. The remaining time is precious, to be consumed by my loving and understanding wife.

There are no excuses. I know there is time in the days when I work the store, it's the sleep schedule that screws me up.

Basically, struggling artist, battles own demons to start a script. Fear is winning. Will he fight back? He is aware now, or at least, acknowledges the fear, the mighty foe. Is this the time to do battle with his own worst enemy? Tune in and find out.

Draft This

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 20 Nov 2006 15:05:00 +0000

Almost two weeks since the election. Happiness ensues. Rep. Charles B. Rangel(D-NY) wants to reinstate the Draft. Slavery ensues. Again.

Now, I do agree with raising troop levels in Iraq to at least three to four times the amount present to win this war fast and get the hell out, but reawaking this devisive and unconstitutional measure seems insane and a throwback to dividing the nation. And of course, he had to be a long-time Democrat from New York. And here I was proud to be a New Yorker and relieved that the majority of Democrats won both the House and Senate.

Rangel's proposed bill and Sen. John McCain's trumpet for escalation is just what everyone was talking about after the election - bipartisan smooching and rubbing. I doubt it will pass, and the support of those in the military and in America will not allow such an event to happen, but I'm sure glad Democrats and Republicans are getting along so well, gosh darnit.

There has to be another way to do it. How? I have no idea. I don't want my brother, who is 23 this year, heading over there. I'll give him money for an extended trip to the Philippines instead of having that money go to his own personal body armor. While he's there, he can remind American officials of the past conflict, after the Spanish-American war. When the U.S. liberated the Philippines from the oppresive Spanish colonialism, a decade-long insurgency of Filipino nationalists and Muslims wanted to push America out of the region, reluctant to more foreign rule. The conflict was long, protracted and unpopular here at home.

I want America's past idealism to ring true in the present, but poor leadership has created a lesser world view of this once beacon of hope and prosperity. I don't want to think about it anymore. Iraq, war, immigration, Homeland Security, Terror. And that's why someone else is doing the thinking for me, our elected officials. It's their job to focus on it when everyone else must go about there lives. But if something like the draft starts to affect more and more people's lives, there will be dire consequences here at home, like the sixties, and individuals will start thinking for themselves and taking action.

After Hitler's invasions followed by Pearl Harbor, America rallied together with a million strong in the military through a phased draft and volounteers. Vietnam was a slow burn without a great rallying event for the people, although the Gulf of Tonkin incident sparked more military increases and a draft. 9/11 brought the country together and we felt accomplishment in Afghanistan, though Osama still has not been found. But along the way, the course was not stayed, and we ended up in Iraq. Something else needs to be done by our country as a whole to rally together again, in order to prevent the tragedy and national mourning of another 9/11. If a large scale attack happened, our country would again rally, and it is absolutely possible that attacks will occur. If that happens, a draft might be feasible. But that doesn't mean I'd agree with it. And neither would Americans, taking their cause to the streets.

Vote or Die, again

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 06 Nov 2006 19:03:00 +0000

With the election tomorrow, I feel compelled to read as little as possible about who's who in New York. I don't like what's going on, so I want them out. I'm not even living in New Jersey, but the constant, ugly barrage of mud-slung ads is making me feel dirty. I need an apolitical shower.

Wash away the dirt and grime that has put a stranglehold on America. Even though it's common knowledge that the New York Times' has a strong liberal bias, I don't really mind. I'm a re-transplanted New Yorker, born North, grew up South, moved back North with a liberal-conservative mesh of sensibilities. The NYT's editorial on the election is about the only thing I've read, and I appreciate the writer attempting to re-define the NYT as a common supporter of moderate Republicans, but this year, the NYT supports none. I hope that that is enough soap to promote good voting hygiene.

How many scandals can there be? How many more hypocrites of the Christian right can be exposed? How many Constitutional rights can be tread on roughly and swept under the rug of Checks & Balances, only to be recovered when the next staff of Washington's sanitation workers comes into power. Our republic is a war of inches, and each inch that is given away, bill by bill, Patriot Act by Patriot Act, will slowly lop off the feet and limbs that support a free and more perfect Union.

I'm so tired of the way things are being done. I don't follow politics as much as some, and I know more than others, but as an everyday citizen who watches enough of the news over the past four years, and reads into little details here and there, I want them all gone. I want our country's rights back and a departure from the fall into executive dictatorship that has happened with a Republican-led House, Senate and Executive Office.

I may be speaking in general terms, but I know enough of the specifics to feel embarrassed about what's going on in our country. I never thought there would be such a return to the storied past of the Vietnam era. Scandal and war, secrets and cover-ups. I thought that the culmination of those times would end with progress and change, and learning from the past. But under-achieving cowboys tend not to learn about the failures of the times when partying it up on Daddy's bill, snorting blow and failing at running a business.

If we're going to dive into the past, I want to call upon a voice of the past, a fictional one that called to a nation to get "Mad as hell, and [I'm] not going to take this anymore!"

I hope the nation is angry. I hope the angry turn out to vote. I hope the winners shake up the current losers in office, and I hope the new leaders will not fall into weakness the way the current base, fearful representatives have done.

We need hope and we need courageous individuals who are willing to risk there first term on doing what is right and fighting for it, life or death. Life or death is what our soldiers are facing, and life or death is a suicide bomber's choice culmination. Our leaders need to be willing to die politically in order to save our country. Let them be martyrs for the Cause. Otherwise, we shall sit in this pigsty for another two years, maybe longer.

Today's Fortune

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 03 Nov 2006 14:10:00 +0000

A week's gone by without writing a blog. Funny how I write more at the investment bank than at the retail computer job. It's just been difficult to get situated in my contrasting schedules. Mondays and Fridays I work the nine-to-five life, Tues-Thurs I work 5pm-midnight. I was working 7pm-2am, catching the subway and getting home at 3:30am... not my preference.

I used to do it all the time, cater-waiting, bar tending, working as a bellman at a fancy, boutique hotel. I didn't mind then, when I was single and had no one to come home to. But now I do, and home is all-important. I was also living in Manhattan, so the commute wasn't so bad. If it was way too late, I'd take a cab home. A $40 ride doesn't fly in the distant realm of Brooklyn, far, far away. A normal person with a car can go a hundred miles in two hours. But us super creatures, highly-evolved at public transportation, can travel 10 to 20 miles. By car, at night without traffic, we could drive to north New Jersey in a half hour. By train, two hours. That's why we rarely visit family across the Hudson.

And that's why we accept automobile donations. Feel free to leave the keys in the car. Just holla and pull the car up to the curb. We'll gladly take it off your hands. Hell, I'd take your yellow cab if you offered. It's just that people would try to flag us down all the time. It'd be a little weird with strangers jumping into my backseat all the time. "No, I'm sorry, can you get out." That's why they invented locks, yes.

We like to tell ourselves that being in the City is worth it. It's where we have to be. It's where all the action is and where all our business is done. Well, it is. But being a son of the South, where cars and trucks are lifeblood, I miss the freedom of just walking outside, braving the elements for only a minute or two while the car warms up or cools down, and propel myself to point B. In New York, there's no avoiding the elements. It is in your face.

Two days ago, it felt like spring. I was walking around in flip flops, T-shirt and jeans, thinking, I love November. Today, it's frickin' winter, and I'm ready to migrate my tail feathers to Miami. "That's the Chicago way. And that's how you get Capone." Huh? Sean Connery at his best.

Pulling back into the bank building - I like to pretend and use a car metaphor, I can dream - I realize it's the simple things that make me happy. Sharing the subway ride, snuggling up to my honey. Eating a nice warm Everything bagel, which includes rock salt on the Everything, giving it that extra Umph, stuffed with hot eggs, ham and melted cheddar. Breathing easy and in good health. A decent paying job that gets us by, allowing me to write a little, while holding onto the dream. A hot-as-hell apartment in frigid little Moscow (I've said hell twice, now three times - I'm so free-wheelin'). That's what keeps me going.

I'm really appreciating, in this moment, all that I have. I've got my family, friends, and the love of my beautiful bride. I'm a fortunate man.