Back in the Saddle

Write. Every day. Whatever. No matter what. Write. Write every day.

Apparently, once I fall of the wagon, I fall hard. I’ve had numerous ideas for posts in the last couple years, even started banging out early drafts of a few of them, and never got around to finishing them. I’m looking at them just below the box I’m typing in, wondering if any of them are worth finishing at this point, since they’re largely dated. No idea. May go back and give each of ’em a once-over just for the sake of it, and maybe save anything promising.

Write. Every day. Whatever. No matter what. Write. Write every day.

I carry a notebook around with me most of the time so I can jot down thoughts and ideas, nuggets of inspiration and whimsies, and, since most of the time my hands are full of baby these days, the notebook doesn’t get much use. The spine, stiff from lack of stretching, desperately in need of some book yoga to loosen it up, get it feeling like a BOOK again. I used to be really good at scrawling random musings in a notebook. Even had one where I played with the format of HOW I wrote all the time, writing upside-down, solely around the edges of the page, spiraling into the center. The kind of shit you do in your twenties that you think makes you “edgy”.

Write. Every day. Whatever. No matter what. Write. Write every day.

I spend more time writing posts on Facebook, ranting about politics (which I did this very morning) or making amusing comments on the latest Onion article (a venerable, worthy institution, one for whom I would love to write someday if I could only remember how to be that funny). I do, apparently, make several friends’ day with my efforts, so it’s not a total loss. But I’m not really saying anything, not generating any thoughts of my own.

All that’s about to change.

Don’t worry, I’m still gonna post articles from the Onion, because they’re funny as hell and some of the most painfully accurate satire there is these days. Can’t live without that. But I’m losing my own voice, and I can’t have that. So that’s why I’m repeating this little mantra.

Write. Every day. Whatever. No matter what. Write. Write every day.

That’s my challenge to myself. Whatever it is, write it. This blog. Plays. Screenplays. Prose, Poetry. My own brilliant satire, whenever I come up with some. Turn the goddamn TV off and write. Put the kids to bed and write.

Oh yeah, I have two kids now. Pretty much anyone who follows this blog is already aware of that. One’s asleep in his crib right now, and the other is outside playing with his dart guns, so I’m stealing a few minutes to get to it and write. I love my boys so much it hurts, but they’re a lot of work, and it makes it hard to do the other work that matters to me, too. But

I’ve always tended to be pretty stream-of-consciousness when I write; too much structure up front stifles me, and if I know exactly were I’m going at the end, I often lose interest in getting there. But, I live in Los Angeles now, and scripts need to be tight, well thought out, and usually of a certain length. I ain’t too old to learn new tricks. So, my professional work is gonna be tightly plotted (with room for improvisation and inspiration), and the other stuff – like this blog – is gonna wander.

But I’m still gonna talk about the things that inspired this whole blog-like thing: I’m a dad, I’m a men, I’m a lot of things, and I’m gonna continue to explore them and write about them. Fatherhood, manhood, guns, movies, fart jokes, books, Star Wars, sex, comedians, politics (once in a while, if I can keep the vitriol down). Anything and everything. and beer. DEFINITELY beer. I’m turning this blog into my little notebook that I thought was so cool. And, I’m gonna start writing in that notebook again, when my hands aren’t full of baby. Damn, he’s big.

I ALSO wanna take a moment to recognize all the new fathers I know from the past year. Whatever was in the water, we all drank it, and DAMN, there are some amazing new creatures in the world because of all of us gettin’ naughty. Congrats to Eric, Dan, Kahlil, Colin, Jonathan, Joey Bag-o-Donuts. I know there’s more, and I apologize for not being able to remember your names right now, but , as you all know, baby brain ain’t just for women anymore. Welcome to the brave new world of raising a responsible human being. You’re about to earn your grey hairs.

I ALSO wanna open up this forum to all the dads I know, new and old, and invite you post your own musings on manhood with me on this page. Basically, let’s start talking about it together. I’m happy to moderate, if anyone’s interested. If not, I feel ya, I’m tired all the time, too. But I’d love to hear from you. No rules on content, format, whatever – you wanna write a play about being a dad, bring it. I’ll post it. Whatever’s on your mind. If you’re so inclined, this is a place to let it all rip. I’m sure you’ve got something to say, so let me know if you want to say it here.

Write. Every day. Whatever. No matter what. Write. Write every day.

If we keep it up, sooner or later we’ll write something worth reading.

 

P.S.: Next time, I’ll write about my new baby boy. Stay tuned….

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Man of Steel

So I just watched the latest trailer for the new Superman movie and suddenly I can’t wait. I’ve been on the fence about this movie for a long time, and, in just two minutes, Christopher Nolan and Zack Snyder have given me reason to hope. 

I was born in 1973, and, like every other boy my age, Christopher Reeve was, is, and always will be Superman. And Superman will always be my idol – the ideal I strive toward every waking day. I would have gotten the shield tattoo if not for goddamn Bon Jovi. But I’ve dreamt my entire life of putting on the red cape and soaring into the sky. I choke up every single time I hear the John Williams theme song, and in preparation for this summer, I’ve been choking up a lot. But there’s another reason, too.

See, Ryder is now a Superman fan. He’s got the Underoos (which are now readily available, as opposed to when I was kid, and also much more flame retardant, as opposed to when I was a kid); he knows the score (aforementioned John Williams). He’s seen me wearing the T-shirt since his birth, and he’s had at least one of his own. He even had a Superman birthday party a few weeks ago. Full-on, too – Supes bouncy house and costumes for both father and son. My own costume, however, was slightly modified, as I discovered there’s a reason why kids look cute in Spandex costumed and adults do not. Two words: dance belt. Thus, my own costume consisted of the cape from the costume (the only flattering part of the whole ensemble), a replacement for my old, well-loved and now ill-fitting shield T-shirt, shorts, and lots of beer. I called it Barbecue Superman, and I eagerly await my action figure. Guests were invited to bring their own capes, or we would help them make one of their own. A couple of brave souls took us up on it, and there’s a photo floating around of some SuperDads. Awesome. 

But my son also loves Superman. And this was done by me very much on purpose. Until recently he hadn’t much exposure to the character. We just watched the Reeve film for his first time about a month before his birthday, and I have to interject that, while dated in many, many ways, Christopher Reeve still shines. (Side note: I was one of few human beings who will admit they liked the 2006 reboot just fine – soon as the first notes of the theme music hit my ears, my throat closed up and I was seven years old again.) The experience with Ryder is one that will stay with me forever. As we watched Lois Lane’s helicopter plummet over the roof of the Daily Planet and Clark Kent searched desperately for a phone booth in which to change, Ryder started to scream because he didn’t want Lois to fall. He got more and more upset, crying and jumping, honestly frightened for this character in the film for whom he had enormous empathy and whom he did not want to see hurt. I had to reassure him several times in the next minute that it would be all right, because Superman was coming, and he would save the day. When the Man of Steel finally rocketed toward the falling copter and caught both it and Lois, both of us breathed deeply and relaxed. The rest of the movie continued without further incident, for which I was glad, and we enjoyed every second of it. For days after, Ryder would tell me and everyone else how scared he was when the copter was falling, but that then Superman would come and “save the day”. 

It gets better. Now, Ryder plays Superman and rushes thru the house saving people (as any good little boy should) from imaginary threats, holding these innocents in his arms, protecting them and depositing them safely elsewhere. He also talks often of how he’s Superman too, and how he’ll save the day. And I love him for it. 

See, I’ve always used Superman as my moral compass. From my earliest memories, I’ve held him up as a symbol of the best it is possible for humanity to be. Never mind the facts that 1)he’s fictional, and 2)he’s an alien – not important in the least. He taught me that power does not and should not make you superior. He taught me that the best thing you can do is help those who cannot help themselves, and that a hero is measured by his deeds. He taught me that striving toward an ideal is important, and that, no matter its source, it’s good to have that ideal. Christopher Reeve embodied that ideal for me as a young boy, and, if the trailer gives me any glimpse of the quality of the story being told in the new film, Henry Cavill will do the same for my son. I have plenty of issues with the casting choice – looks the part, yes, not an American actor, not happy about that, because I’m a little tired of European actors grabbing all the American roles (and yes, there is something very American about Superman, but this entire tangent deserves its own post on a very different blog) – but if he does his job well, and Snyder and Nolan have done their job well, the IDEAL of Superman will shine thru, and it will give my son an example of what the best in us can be. 

Ryder and I listen to the theme song from Superman very often in the car, and he also asks me to sing it to him sometimes. I happily oblige, “Daaa-da-da-da-DAAAAAH”-ing my way thru the entire piece. I memorized it as a child, and I have never forgotten it. I’ve heard that it won’t make an appearance in the new film, and I guess I’ll have to be okay with that, but anytime we’re in the car, guess which music I’m gonna play? And it matters to me on this level: Right now, at this moment, and for a certain number of years, my son will look up at me and he will consider me his ideal, the man whom he strives to become. I am his hero. His Superman. So it’s important for me to continue to strive toward that ideal myself, to be worthy of that love, that adoration, that worship. I have to earn the right for him to tell me that, when he grows up, he wants to be just like me. Every father is Superman to his son. Never forget that. 

This is terribly important in the world today, especially in light of the events yesterday in Boston. We need heroes in the world today to remind us all that people, as a whole, are decent, and that they deserve better and more. They deserve to be protected, they deserve to be loved. They deserve to believe that there is someone, somewhere, who will help them no matter who they are, no matter color of their skin, no matter the people they love, no matter how much money they make. They deserve a hero who will stand up to those who would beat them down, who would cause them pain, who would tell them that they do not matter. We all deserve a Superman to watch over us. 

In the trailer, Superman sits in a questioning room with Lois Lane (Henry Cavill and Amy Adams), and she asks him why he wears an S on his chest. He responds, “This isn’t an S. On my world, this means ‘hope’.” It’s always meant that to me. 

So maybe I will get that tattoo someday after all. 

May The Force Be With You… Always

First, apologies for such a long gap between posts. Definitely not my intention, and it’s something I’ll rectify pretty quickly now that we’re settled. We moved from Burbank into Hollywood right after traveling for Christmas, so it’s been hectic. I’ve started a couple posts that need more work, but something happened this past week that I have to share. My son became a Jedi.

So just this past week Ryder suffered his first real illness. Nothing major, just a cold, but serious enough to require the whole family to hole up over the weekend and get him well again. And, of course, a large part of his recovery consisted of watching TV – kids’ shows like Sesame Street, Sid the Science Kid, Dinosaur Train (all Jim Henson productions, thanks again to the master) – as well as his favorite movies and some of ours.

Having a child watch television with you is a demanding task. Content becomes very important, and you begin to evaluate which of your own favorite flicks are suitable for a very receptive age. Ryder now repeats back most of what he hears, and so we’re much more careful about what we say around him. Those little ears are like FBI wiretaps – they hear all. But, there’s only so many times you can watch Kung Fu Panda in a week, no matter how awesome it is. Eventually you want something with real people. So when we chose entertainment for all of us, we kept things like language in mind.

Eventually I decided that it was time to initiate Ryder into the ways of the Force. No bad words in Star Wars, so Episode IV: A New Hope was popped in, and our journey to a galaxy far, far away began. He was hooked from the second the iconic logo hit the screen and John Williams’ unforgettable score blasted thru the speakers in what is probably better sound in my living room now than in the movie theatre where I saw the same movie for the first time at the tender age of four or five.

While it may seem like a little too much nostalgia for me to bring up Star Wars so close to a post about the Muppets, it’s not entirely my fault. Some genius decided that it was time to jump on the 3D revival bandwagon and re-release The Phantom Menace in theatres this year. Apparently, George Lucas is serious about his retirement from filmmaking and has realized that he may need some more cash if Red Tails doesn’t take off.

First, let me explain that in this household, there are only three Star Wars movies, and they were all made before 1985. Absolutely NONE of them use CGI for anything. Well, certain corrections and enhancements, but by and large, I’m a purist, and after the disappointment of the second (first??) trilogy and the completely unnecessary tampering with the original trilogy, I feel like the franchise has run its creative course. However, like every male of my age, I have a deep and abiding love for Lucas’ original efforts, Ewoks notwithstanding (I dug them at the time, but I was ten years old and the perfect target audience).

Regardless, Ryder and I had a ball watching the movie, and he’s now a fan. The rest of the night, he would repeat “Star Wars!” over and over again with a giant cheshire grin on his face. And it was because of this that I noticed just how much my little son is paying attention. The next day we were running errands in the morning and we passed a billboard for the upcoming 3D atrocity. I caught a glance of the billboard thru the driver’s side window and promptly ignored it. And then I heard a tiny voice from the backseat say, “Star Wars!”

Ryder had seen the billboard, too. We had watched Episode IV, the original Star Wars movie, with Luke, Leia, Han, Chewbacca, and the rest. Not a single one of these characters was anywhere to be found on the billboard. Darth Maul, Qui-Gon Jin and a young Obi-Wan were splashed across the surface. He hadn’t recognized any of them, had in fact never seen them in any recognizable context before. So how did he know the billboard was for Star Wars?

He had seen the logo.

The iconic Star Wars logo is the first thing that appears whenever one of the movies begins, and it’s one of the only things that connects the first trilogy to the second. Everyone  born after 1974 knows it. Including, apparently, my 22-month-old son. He had, in essence, read the sign.

That blew my mind. I know he’s smart. He picks things up super fast, and he repeats words back to me every day. We now have miniature conversations where he tells me what he wants, describes things that happened to him, tells me about people he’s been around, all in one and two-syllable words, all the time. We read at least a dozen books a day, and he has several of them memorized. He can recite the end of all the rhymes in The Cat In The Hat. But it blew my mind that he could recognize words that he had only seen for the first time the day before in a completely unfamiliar context and recall their original context. He makes cognitive leaps every day. Every. Single. Day. I know this, I just didn’t expect it to be proven so distinctly.

My son pulled off a mind trick worthy of a Jedi.

I mean, I know that’s what he’s doing, I know that it was going to happen anyway, and I know that the logo is really more of a graphic than just simple text. I also know he’s not thumbing thru my Riverside Shakespeare. But he’s on his way, and it’s an astounding thing to watch, every single day. He does amazing stuff all the time, and it’s an absolute joy to watch his little mind at work. You can literally see him thinking all the time, and it’s fascinating and astonishing and human and altogether wonderful. Makes me glad that he’s alive. And he’s not even two years old yet.

The Force is strong with this one.

So I guess we’ll be buying lightsabers soon, which is awesome.