tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59177146953850911552023-11-15T22:21:29.888-08:00Tilting at Windmills Since 1980Wayne Watkins muses on actors and acting, the arts and artists, and occasionally other stuff.Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-57600578640129107162019-05-10T09:18:00.001-07:002019-05-10T12:11:21.331-07:00Mother’s Day is a Gyp<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">No, really, hear me out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My Analysis: </span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In this country, we only have 10 federal holidays. Four of them are based on stuff related to the military or war; one is a function of the calendar; one is based on an Italian guy funded by the Catholic church to find a new way to buy and sell things and who never even set foot on this continent; another one is predicated on a religion practiced only by 1/3 of the planet’s population; still another, while ultimately honorable, was the government’s attempt to mend relationships with labor unions. The final two are MLK Day and Thanksgiving. Fine. (The latter has been consistently misconstrued as a celebration of the Pilgrims, which, of course, it is not. More on that some other time.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My Beef:</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Why do we have those kinda random holidays, yet we don’t have a federal holiday that actually acknowledges the humans who, literally, gift us with life. I mean, come on, a man’s participation in the whole “giving life” thing is not all that complicated or that significant. Why don’t we have a REAL holiday for moms? Those women who actually lug little creatures around for nine months. Their bodies actually become food manufacturing facilities for us – both while they are packing us around and after they finally unload us into the world. Women suffer through hours of the second worst pain known to humankind to pop us out. (The first worst pain is kidney stones, but I would never suggest a holiday for that). At the very least, they deserve a day on the level of Columbus Day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My Proposal:</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">All the other holidays, typically, you get a whole day off. If you don’t get the day off with pay, you maybe get a little extra to work that day. Cool, right? Many of these holidays even get an extra day! You have "the day" PLUS the day you "observe" the day on. What? That’s totally double dipping. We have also gone to great lengths to create elaborate festivities and festivals and cookouts and parties for the current holidays. Mother’s Day, on the other hand, is on a Sunday, which is a day off anyway! Where’s that extra day? (NOTE: Moms never get a day off, which is the whole point behind this little rant.) Top it off with the fact that, usually, the best we can muster for our moms is a cheap ass breakfast in bed made by a three-year-old with food Mom already had in the fridge. Sure it's cute but not really holiday-worthy. I have friends who plan three weeks out for Labor Day Bar-B-Qs, replete with themes and decorations. Maybe, just maybe, Mom will get a trip to a noisy and overpriced all-you-can-eat buffet with the whole family. Shit, she can’t get a break. Think about it, why would we honor a mom with her own day and think that she would want to have her day be exactly like every other day except that she might get a break from preparing one lousy meal. Not cool. I mean, face it, opening day of baseball season is a bigger deal and your team has probably sucked for the last 10 years! And then…AND THEN…boom! Monday again and we’re all back to business as usual. Is it too much to ask, for Moms to get a real, honest-to-goodness, day off with pay holiday?</span><br />
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<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My Daughter</span></u><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Right. To the point, Watkins. Here is the real reason for my post. This person right here. You'll notice I am not posting pictures of this insanely incredible person with her kids (both of whom I love dearly) or her husband (same). It is called Mother's Day after all. It's not Moms With Their Family Day. On Washington's Birthday, we don't talk about all the other presidents. On July 4th, we don't mention all the other military holidays. Yes, my daughter is a mother. But her mom-ness is only a part of who she is. We all should remember that on Mother's Day. It's not even the most important part of her, but it is the reason we give for celebrating on this one not-fully-formed holiday. We shouldn't just celebrate the biological fact of someone being a mom. We should celebrate the influence moms wield on their families, their communities, and, indeed, the world. We should celebrate their ability to multitask with the most important of tasks in the face of insurmountable societal and often familial challenges. We should honor their empathy and caring. They problem-solve, analyze, help with homework, lead by example even when they rather just take a shot of Jameson's and put their feet up. They work, hard. Stay at home moms, working moms, single moms, married moms, LGBTQ moms are all more than just what we celebrate on the day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Why shouldn't Mother's Day be more like Labor Day? (No pun intended.) Why shouldn't we plan big parties with friends and food and booze. Why shouldn't we take the following Monday day off with pay to truly celebrate these people so important to us? I for one was guilty of allowing Mother's Day to be an afterthought. It really wasn't until after my mom passed that I realized how important I could have made that day for her. Instead of picking out the last minute card and calling her for the requisite Mother's Day chat, I should have done more. We should all do more to remind them, and ourselves, that we cannot live without them. Figuratively and literally.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Make this Mother's Day great.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">P.S. Heather, I love you. Happy Mother's Day.</span><br />
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Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-91262168093546837692018-07-31T12:15:00.000-07:002018-07-31T14:32:00.737-07:00A Rant About Unprofessional Actors (Warning: Prepare for F-bombs)I can't help it. I'm usually not like this. I mean, it really takes a lot to get me really aggravated. Seriously, I don't even send food back at a restaurant. Sure, if there is a Brillo pad baked into the bread or a used condom masquerading as salmon in Dragon Roll, yes, I'll raise my hand and try to get the server's attention. However, there are a few things that just piss me the fuck off. (I did warn you.) Some little, some big. For example, people who don't say anything when they are trying to squeeze by you in a store. Say something. "Excuse me." "Pardon me." "Move your fat ass, buddy." Something! Don't just stand there and get all irritated because I'm not clairvoyant. And don't exhale in exasperation as you pass by. That only pisses me off more. Here's another: Drivers who speed up when I turn on my blinker. Really? You're not gonna let me in and you are five cars back? You are gonna speed up just to let me know, what? You're so important that a little freeway courtesy is beyond you? Maybe you're in such a hurry that those extra two car lengths on the 405 are gonna make a difference to you getting to Target before the rush starts? Puh-lease. Asshole. Oh, yeah, those little stickers on produce? Fuck those. You ever try pulling those off a pear or a peach? Who invented those anyway? Ugh. Oh, and then, someone had to invent special printers to make those little fucking labels AND the special machines to put the little bastards on the fruit. No wonder avocados are so expensive!<br />
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Admittedly, those are mere annoyances that I wish could be remedied by civility or, in the case of those sticker-thingies, technology. There are, however, some things that are simply inexcusable. Actors, listen up. Specifically younger actors. I would hope the old pros out there would never do this, but who knows. I'm casting a play. I have cast many plays in my day, but this was a shock. A real wake up call. I put out the requisite casting notice in the trades. About 100 actors submitted for one of the roles. I invited twenty of them in to audition. Of those twenty, ten actors confirmed. The other ten didn't bother to respond at all. I sent the ten actors (who were professional enough to respond to an invitation to audition for a play they had submitted to) their times and their audition material. One of the scheduled ten contacted me the day before the audition and asked if he could reschedule because something important came up. Fine. No problem. The day of the audition arrived...two actors showed up to audition. Seven just blew it off. No call, no email, nothing. They just chose not to show up.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkL1lo5UL8m4bkvewYS5JPqbgHR9xTungvvxDTj2zS3BpKKytfFr1iNyVFk70NA6HFMz_KRdIh6hX5X2d2Hs7eRPCQzpXK1BZz9boXrpdIaHXxduNY2h-J09iv2Gy1TECOQU2wp8vK53k/s1600/shutterstock_700715575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkL1lo5UL8m4bkvewYS5JPqbgHR9xTungvvxDTj2zS3BpKKytfFr1iNyVFk70NA6HFMz_KRdIh6hX5X2d2Hs7eRPCQzpXK1BZz9boXrpdIaHXxduNY2h-J09iv2Gy1TECOQU2wp8vK53k/s400/shutterstock_700715575.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
Why would anyone do that? People talk and people remember. Additionally, you never know where something might lead. My own company, for example, is work-shopping this new play (the one we're casting for), we have two movies going into production, we are working on a TV series, and we are planning a theatre season for 2019. As petty as this sounds, I will remember every single person who failed to show up, didn't call or email to cancel. Sad to say, I'll probably remember them more than the people who actually showed up, gave me their all for 3 minutes and didn't get the part.<br />
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Guess who I ended up casting? The guy who rescheduled. Why? First, he killed the audition. Second, I knew he was professional and would probably treat the role and the play with respect.<br />
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The business part of being an actor is hard. Really hard. It is as difficult, if not more so, than any other career. If you called a plumber and he never showed up after confirming a time to fix your sink, would you ever call him again? If you missed half a day of work for the cable guy to show up in that asinine four hour window and he never called but just didn't show up at all (okay, maybe a bad example), you would, at the very least, be somewhat annoyed. Do yourself a favor and treat your creative career like a profession not hobby. If you truly love what you do, afford it the people in the position of getting you work the same respect you would any other professional. Don't make me have to write something like this again.<br />
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Thank you. Next!<br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-47281514746137427802018-03-27T18:33:00.003-07:002018-03-28T08:49:33.873-07:00On Being an Actor. The Long Haul.Some of the best actors I know have never made a movie. They have never been in a Broadway show. They have never starred in a TV series. They work hard, they take class, they audition, they have day jobs, they commute to small theatres to do good roles in order to keep their chops up and, perhaps, have someone see their work. Sometimes, they move to smaller regional markets and work in Portland or Phoenix or Dallas or Chicago. They pay off their student loans, shell out hundreds of dollars a year for new head-shots, and hope their new agent might get them more paid work this year than their last agent did last year. It's not the glamorous Hollywood red carpet stuff you see on Entertainment Tonight. It is the work-a-day slog of countless journey(wo)men actors across the country. Well-trained, talented, dedicated.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkiRsPnAFdAR67SXYkkjXZ5gDbPKxPlrZSY1W86LHd_ipNrc5ye1HHtWXB_siQkz-ugiagUw6EAuOMj2urufeApD2Fg23QYMRYlWrmu8e9iWgcZP7iKzwUrhbeNCHR7GB1tbFfEnPIu0/s1600/Sherlockmayfair1_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="842" data-original-width="1122" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkiRsPnAFdAR67SXYkkjXZ5gDbPKxPlrZSY1W86LHd_ipNrc5ye1HHtWXB_siQkz-ugiagUw6EAuOMj2urufeApD2Fg23QYMRYlWrmu8e9iWgcZP7iKzwUrhbeNCHR7GB1tbFfEnPIu0/s640/Sherlockmayfair1_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Fox-Brenton and Benjamin Stewart in "Sherlock's Last Case" at the Mayfair Theatre, Santa Monica, CA</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of you reading this have probably never heard of an actor by the name of Benjamin Stewart. Benjamin was one such actor. I had the pleasure of working with him on several occasions throughout my career. The first time was at the Grove Shakespeare Festival in Garden Grove, CA. While we didn't act in any shows together, we were in a couple seasons simultaneously. I was a young actor with drama school and 10 or 15 shows under my belt and Ben was the mainstay character actor in the company. Later, I would be instrumental is his casting as Dr. Watson (pictured above) at another theatre I happened to being working at as a producer (and box office manager!). Many years later I would call on Ben again, once at a professional regional theatre company I had founded as well as a Shakespeare festival I was fortunate enough to briefly lead in Arizona. The last decade or so of his career he spent constantly on stage at the Arizona Theatre Company in Tucson and Phoenix. Benjamin was fabulous actor. Did he have a career? Absolutely. A fine one. Did he make a lot of money? Hardly. Never made a major motion picture. Never had his name above the title. Never walked a red carpet at the Oscars or the Tonys. He was an actor, though, and audiences who were fortunate enough to see him perform were moved to laughter and often tears.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also in the picture is David Fox-Brenton, another one of those excellent career actors you've never heard of. Interestingly, both David and Benjamin passed away in June of 2013 just 17 days apart. Both were 70 years old. It doesn't really mean anything, since to my knowledge this was the only play they were in together. But, I just just think it's interesting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nationwide, there are about 160,000 members of SAG-AFTRA and about
50,000 members of Actors' Equity. Granted, not all of these people are
actors, per se. Some SAG-AFTRA members are journalists, radio
personalities, hosts, musicians, etc. Also, many AEA actors are also
members of SAG-AFTRA, so there is going to be some crossover. Remember
though, these are just the <i>union </i>actors. There are easily (I'm
guessing here, but I'll stand by it) at least as many non-union actors
as there are union actors. Maybe more. These would include young actors
just starting out, actors in smaller markets (i.e., NOT Los Angeles, New York, or Chicago), actors who have dropped
out of the union in order to pursue their craft in ways
not allowed by unions restrictions. These kinds of actors are no less
professional, no less talented, no less dedicated than their union
counterparts. Should you join one of these unions? Maybe. That union card is a badge of honor for most of us. But if you are just starting out,
think hard about it. Sure, you'll feel good about the fact that you have
the card, but once you take this step, you will cut yourself out of lots
of acting opportunities - student films, indie productions, intimate
theatre shows. It's a tough call. One of a thousand you'll make over the years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For our friends and family, it may be a little difficult to accept that there is no magic key to unlock the door to financial success as an actor. No secret handshake. No one guru with all the answers. No special workshop that will suddenly alert studio executives you have arrived. There is no ONE way, no one person, no one role that will automatically launch an actor into Emma-Stonedom or Ryan-Goslingville.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiI-NNqzLNqYre2jXXadpyzT0-3_ar-qIhoTASzFnZ34VOafQpQaIcfR1Mya4ZSJMp0LcxqxF_ODe1vmTXsXG7rOEZdDc5WCoYmVSlga-LXtxcE1wbQdQ0lm7UhTI81ObFECWPH3ySSKk/s1600/MalteseFalcon_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1228" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiI-NNqzLNqYre2jXXadpyzT0-3_ar-qIhoTASzFnZ34VOafQpQaIcfR1Mya4ZSJMp0LcxqxF_ODe1vmTXsXG7rOEZdDc5WCoYmVSlga-LXtxcE1wbQdQ0lm7UhTI81ObFECWPH3ySSKk/s320/MalteseFalcon_.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Left to Right: Humphrey Bogart, Peter Lorre, Mary Astor, Sydney Greenstreet in <i>The Maltese Falcon.</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is also frustrating to understand that the timetable is different for everyone. How many </span>parents<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and </span>spouses<span style="font-family: inherit;"> have insisted that their </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> talented young thespians have a "five-year plan," a "Plan B." Pure </span>and<span style="font-family: inherit;"> simply, no one can do that. It is </span>different<span style="font-family: inherit;"> for each and every actor. Some of you will hit quickly, others will start later, still others will become Benjamin Stewart. </span>Bryan Cranston (of <i>Breaking Bad</i> fame), for example was 44 when he finally made a name for himself in <i>Malcolm in the Middle</i>. Stage actor Sidney Greenstreet made his film debut when he was 61 playing Kasper Gutman opposite Humphrey Bogart in <i>The Maltese Falcon</i>. There are no rules and you can't make any.The universe will not listen. <br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Being an actor is hard work. The work isn't just on stage or in front of the </span>camera<span style="font-family: inherit;">. It's involves all the </span>other<span style="font-family: inherit;"> stuff that gets layered on our creative life. Taking classes, reading scripts, watching films and TV (yes, that's actually part of the job), researching and preparing for </span>auditions<span style="font-family: inherit;">, the auditions themselves, commuting to all these things, sitting for </span>photographers<span style="font-family: inherit;">, networking, volunteering at the small theatre where we are a company member, the list is long. Oh, yeah, plus we have to make a living at the same time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As silly as it sounds, being an actor is a calling more than a career. Those of us who have been doing this a while will tell you that we don't chose acting, it chooses us. People become actors because they have to. They have little choice in the matter. I've seen talented, passionate actors return to it after being away for 30 years, simply because it is who they are. Acting is how they express themselves, how they relate to the world, how they process emotions and meaning in life. The first time you were bitten by the acting bug, a </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">career</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> as an actor didn't matter, did it? You just wanted to be one! It was the joy of the work, the intensity of the process, the passion for the words, the pleasure of the community. It was the smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">While all this may seem grim and hopeless, it isn't. Quite the opposite. The life of an </span>actor<span style="font-family: inherit;"> is a full one. Hope, ambition, variety, emotion, knowledge, close friends, and lasting relationships. Scene study class is therapy. A long run in a good play is safe haven. Your time on set is educational and inspiring. Thousands of talented, young actors stream to LA and New York year after year to start building their resumes and begin their journey through characters and stories and emotions. Thousands more, older and wiser, with loads of experience ranging from Simon to Shaw to Shakespeare still persist and persevere in regional theatres, stock companies, tours, and tiny converted store fronts. Each looking for the play, the role, the opportunity, the coach, the mentor, the director, the tribe that will connect with them, nurture them, create with them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In short, you are not alone. You never will be. You will become part of a tribe of creative people, encouraging each other step-by-step. You will help each other make new projects and find new voices within yourself. You will have support when you feel like you'll never </span>work<span style="font-family: inherit;"> again and you will have applause when you take your bows or land your first big series. It will not be what you thought it would be, but it will be a uniquely personal experience the whole time. Enjoy the ride, even the bumpy parts. It doesn't matter if you are </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">a Benjamin Stewart or a Meryl Streep. You are an actor, do the work of one...wherever it leads. That is part of the fun.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Places, everyone, places.</span><br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-15113692031200375632018-01-04T15:26:00.000-08:002018-01-04T15:46:46.669-08:00In Defense of Hollywood, Again<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="js_o5o">
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2017 was a tough year for Hollywood. Hell, it was a tough year for the nation. For the planet, even! With Awards Season upon us, we are about to be bombarded with more angst. We are about to hear from...wait for it...actors. We are about to watch award shows where (gasp) people say things that we might not like. </div>
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About a year ago, Meryl Streep, arguably the greatest film actor of her (or any) generation blasted then President-Elect Trump. So began the Twitter wars - well, a Twitter war - waged on the "Hollywood elite." Hollywood. That monolithic, hypocritical, evil-headed hydra that is out to promote it's liberal agenda. That nefarious conspiracy bent on corrupting our children and poisoning the minds of our lawmakers. That factory of fantasy that dares to make us think about alien invaders, hope for superheroes, long for true love, fight for free press, indulge in crazy sex, and maybe even fall in love with a hairy monster (or even a slimy, scaly one).<br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">In an article shortly after Streep's acceptance speech for the Globe's Ceceil B. DeMille Award</span></span><span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">, Timothy Stanley in CNN Online (<a href="http://www.cnn.com/2017/01/09/opinions/meryl-streep-hollywood-hypocrisy-stanley/index.html" target="_blank"><i>Hollywood, Spare Us Your Hypocrisy</i></a>), launched some very typical arguments - all of which we have heard before. </span></span><span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true"><span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">Now, granted,
much of what Stanley says in the article is fair and he certainly seems
to agree with Ms. Streep's fundamental points. Yet, he, like so many others, creates this strange Hollywood specter that most of us in the industry simply do not know and have never participated in.</span></span></span></span> Hollywood casting is hypocritical and bigoted. Hollywood is unfair at best, out-right discriminatory at worst. Hollywood is a Trumpian corporate greed machine concerned only with profit. Hollywood is a red-carpeted <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skynet_(Terminator)" target="_blank">Skynet</a> just waiting to drop a mind-controlling virus into our neural implants while we shove popcorn in our pie-holes.<br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">These tired, old arguments are all far more complicated than the 35 year old Brit, Mr. Stanley, makes out. It's a deeper, more nuanced issue that few actually ponder before spouting off their opinions about "Hollywood." There is no "Hollywood." Hollywood is a phantom concept too often used as a scapegoat. There is no big tall building where bloated, cigar chomping movie moguls sit around conspiring over which white, British, male actor under 35 should get the next big role in <i>Saw 9</i>. </span></span><span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true"><span class="inline_editor_value"><span class="rendered_qtext">Not every movie has an action figure licensing deal attached. Not every movie does a billion dollars worldwide at the box office. Do these things happen? Yes, they do. Rarely. No matter what you hear, actors (and other creatives, for that matter) are not interchangeable cogs in some giant golden gear cranking out lucre. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true"><span class="inline_editor_value"><span class="rendered_qtext">"But," you are saying, "Harvey Weinstein!" </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true"><span class="inline_editor_value"><span class="rendered_qtext">According
to the Motion Picture Association of America (yes, the MPAA members are the six "major" studios, but the data is real), there are somewhere around 400-500 "major" movies created in the U.S. every year. In 2015, over 2,300 dramatic features were submitted to to the Sundance Film Festival. Add to that some 1,800 documentary features. Add to THAT the countless short films that pop up out of every graduate film school across the country. Oh, and the U.S. is only #3 on the list of the world's top movie producing countries. We're behind India (Bollywood) and Nigeria. Nigeria! The people making these movies range from struggling young artistes with very specific points of view and very distinct, personal stories to tell all the way up to the giant blockbusters with budgets in the hundreds of millions. Hate to tell you, but there is no great and powerful puppet-master pulling the strings to all these stories. The handful of perverted assholes you hear about do not represent the vast majority of people in the world making movies for all the RIGHT reasons.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true"><span class="inline_editor_value"><span class="rendered_qtext">Do bad things happen in what is commonly called the "movie business?" Yes. Is there corruption and under the table dealings? Certainly. Is it always fair? Hell, no. </span></span></span></span><span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">Are there casting problems up and down the industry? Fuck, yea. Have been for a while. Will be in the future. Do we need to do better? Yes, absolutely. </span></span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">Casting, in particular, will never be perfect. Ever. There will always be something at issue in the process of casting. </span></span> So long as actors want to act, so long as opportunity is not afforded those who desire to pursue a career in acting, so long as theatre and film and television are viewed as hobbies for young people and not respected as actual industries of excellence and advancement, so long as those who attempt to study in order to learn the art and craft of the actor are marginalized or dissuaded from doing so, the playing field will be uneven at best.<br />
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When actors take classes or go to drama school they are taught that the purpose of learning their craft is to create characters. They are trained in voice and movement. They take classes in history and literature. They sing and dance and wear masks. They believe in and pursue the notion that they can play any part with the right amount of dedication, study, training, and talent. How many white actors have aspired to play Shakespeare's Othello? How many black actors have dreamt of playing Hamlet? Should performances of John Merrick in Bernard Pomerance's <i>The Elephant Man</i> be restricted to only actors with similar physical deformities? Should the role of Elisa (played by the fantastically gifted Sally Hawkins) in <i>The Shape of Water </i>have gone to an actual deaf mute actor? Is it unfair for a highly talented actor to play a disabled war veteran if that actor does not have that exact disability? Actors long to explore character and experience. They strive to experience and empathize with the wide variety of challenges set in front of them by playwrights.<br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">I know what you are going to say. You are right, this isn't the 1600s, or even the 1800s. There actually ARE actors of color, actors with physical challenges, women actors who can play female roles instead of the men that used to play them in Shakespeare's day. I get it. Look, this ain't easy. But to tell an actor, any actor, that they cannot be allowed to play a part because they are not perfectly <i>typecast</i> flies in the face of every reason the actor becomes an actor. </span></span><span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">I once directed a play that had a character who was 75 years old. I auditioned 200 actors. Not a single 75 year old actor came to auditions. Not a single 60 year old actor came, either. I cast a 50 year old and aged him up with make up. Am I ageist for doing so? Should my theatre have done a different play with more easily cast characters? Should I have kept looking? Hired a first-time actor? </span></span>Don't blame actors for the parts they get. It's a hard game.<br />
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Art is not segmented into the neat pie charts of population demographics. Not film, not theatre, not painting, not literature, not music. Art does not represent the masses. Should it? Perhaps. Maybe. Should it strive to be welcoming and fair? If anything should, art should. That said, art is also messy. It is subjective and devoid of the black and white that defines other parts of society. It is shades of grey and rainbows of color that many people just can't focus on.<br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">If we must wield a sword of blame for all of this imbalance and unfairness, let's use it to hack at a country whose very culture oppresses those with points of view, those with stories to tell, even though we claim this is not the case. Blame family members who demand productivity from their loved ones instead of creativity. Blame a government that does not support the arts to any truly significant degree, so much so that young humans of color have no opportunity to create their own stories or even dream of doing so. Blame a system of education that is more concerned with children's test scores than actual knowledge. A place where these same children are not allowed to dream of a world in which they are valued. Where dreams of most young people are sacrificed for a notion that education of any kind, if you can afford it, is a job factory rather than a place of gaining consciousness and understanding. Education should never be just about choosing a career. In a perfect world, our schools would be dedicated to creating well-rounded human beings full of information AND imagination. After their schooling these same human beings would be full to the brim with questions of the cosmos, overflowing with an appreciation of nature, AND know how to balance a checkbook. They would understand civics, appreciate history - everyone's history, AND love poetry. They would be passionate about literature and the arts, they would respect other cultures and colors and creeds. These kinds of humans could adapt to any profession. Any job. They might even become filmmakers.</span></span><br />
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To clumsily paraphrase Shakespeare, The fault is not in Hollywood, but in ourselves.<br />
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<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true">Oh, back to Meryl Streep. If you are one of those people that think actors should not publicly voice their opinions on anything other than acting, I will welcome your silence at the bar when my Packers are playing. Unless you've played pro football, zip it.</span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="8vmqj-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span>Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-51579600633562459112017-12-31T10:24:00.005-08:002018-01-01T21:59:23.357-08:00New Year 2018<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Db5aAPvbg0bc3z9Lwd6cPX1NzHtou1lDXNyN1bnV94TWjJPHoSgRCh7r8wz3qd3P0HLfWjrsOMgUW7aGF5o8s9gezHeCXiYxXlheQST-ltE63d-F3JG05d7Grag3lwv5JNJ9BRu1WPA/s1600/happynewyear1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Db5aAPvbg0bc3z9Lwd6cPX1NzHtou1lDXNyN1bnV94TWjJPHoSgRCh7r8wz3qd3P0HLfWjrsOMgUW7aGF5o8s9gezHeCXiYxXlheQST-ltE63d-F3JG05d7Grag3lwv5JNJ9BRu1WPA/s320/happynewyear1.jpg" width="320" /></a>The "New Year" is my favorite holiday. Hands down. (Okay, okay, maybe tied with Thanksgiving. But it's super close.) When you think about it, it really shouldn't be a holiday at all. It's just a day. A man-made reckoning of the passing of time. Nobody's birthday is attached to it. No famous battle started or stopped on this day. No historical screw up that evolved into a party. Just another day, but yet - not. The fact that we all - all of us, all over the world - decide to celebrate the simple act of turning a page in a calendar is important (as well as fun).<br />
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New Year celebrations for me have always been contemplative. No, not in a gazing at my navel meditation way. In a clearing out the file drawers of my life way. More like what you do at tax time only with joy and mindfulness instead of angst and anxiety. Know what I mean? The end of a year is rather like taking all the memories from that year and visiting them one more time. Like so many snapshots, some beautiful, some not, we take one more glance at them before we box them away and put them on a shelf. We write the year on the box in big, bold Sharpie in case we need to reference it in the future. Put a little smiley face next to the year if it was a good one. A frowny face, perhaps, if it was laced with difficulty or sadness. This box then gets slid right next to the others in chronological order.<br />
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Then we open a new box. Empty. Clean. It has that new box smell. It waits for tender memories, exciting new adventures, new selfies, new challenges, new everything. This new empty box calls to us quickly, daring us to start filling it up. Boxes hate being empty. <br />
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<br />
Throughout the year, I've noticed many people post
pictures on their social media sites of themselves in their "happy place." All of these pictures
have one thing in common. There is, usually, only one person in the
picture. Of course, someone probably took the picture so there would
have been at least two people, but the happy place referred to is
typically the happy place for the person in the picture. Alone. These happy place pictures are always very beautiful. Tropical beaches, peaceful harbors, snow-capped mountains, sun-kissed pine forests. Stunning pictures worthy of Arizona Highways or Popular Photography. Not "happy."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnyn5xcUcBy6osvVIWEhoG1E8yoi1LNxKBE_Fn1gqTntg7CZYTqRNfTp4QpZ9R6iDRphIJgBHqki7m7AReP34j_HXR5QPToBVW5V-LFEaqzlM81u3we0XEm3MonG-l872uze36P0PRw_s/s1600/happy-new-year-love-wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="618" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnyn5xcUcBy6osvVIWEhoG1E8yoi1LNxKBE_Fn1gqTntg7CZYTqRNfTp4QpZ9R6iDRphIJgBHqki7m7AReP34j_HXR5QPToBVW5V-LFEaqzlM81u3we0XEm3MonG-l872uze36P0PRw_s/s320/happy-new-year-love-wallpaper.jpg" width="320" /></a>I think what people mean by "happy place" is "quiet place." Those are two different things. When I think of a happy place, I think of , well, you know...happy! Joy, gladness, laughter, friendship, love, camaraderie, jokes, stories, food, wine. Personally, my happy places always involve other people. Drinks with a friend as we solve the problems of the world or settle an issue with our significant other can be a happy place. Dinner with loved ones where we catch up on stories and lie a lot and laugh more is definitely a happy place. Watching a play in a crowded theatre as we hold our collective breath. Concerts where everyone knows the words. Museums where people crowd around a masterpiece. Happy places, too. I had a happy place this year that took me by surprise. For the first time ever, my daughter and I were at the zoo (momentous event in itself). Hardly a quiet place, definitely a happy one. She and I were standing together - shoulder to shoulder. My arm around her waist. A throng of other zoo-goers hustling and bustling by. We stood in the middle of this polite chaos, watching as her husband and eldest daughter laughed at some animals with my wife. Two people watching three people as they leaned on a railing to see the flamingos. Happy place. Shutter click. Into the box.<br />
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When we wish each other a Happy New Year, we are NOT hoping that we each have a long string of quiet days where dogs don't bark, babies don't cry, and the restaurants are silent with the sound of old people gumming their mashed potatoes. We are saying "have a great time this year!" Fill your new box with amazing things. Have a million happy places not just one. Have your quiet time, sure. We all need to decompress, slow down, take a breath, reboot. Just don't confuse quite for happy. There is nothing quiet about happy. Happy is laughter and love. Happy is friends and family. Happy is sometimes messy and marvelous.<br />
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The passing of one year to the next is the one time of year when the sole purpose of the holiday is to wish that the person next to you - wherever you are - has a happy year. That is worth celebrating. That is why it is my favorite.<br />
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HAPPY New Year, Friends. Happy New Year.Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-47939764467372163812017-12-19T15:01:00.001-08:002017-12-19T15:06:22.638-08:00Wayne's Folly, or Why You Need to Eat Your Peas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaEr00t98BE31f_wvlDE10t802TUnIsCx9R9dxaRJGZ8QpaD4gVFVGq3BIjxguoPXId0FEzkp00JrAF-ux5eLdPaW86Y208mAFrl4FShglU2InsFEVkrLyyHgWi_Gdy7MxLVbPv0r8M1o/s1600/fOLLIES.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="630" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaEr00t98BE31f_wvlDE10t802TUnIsCx9R9dxaRJGZ8QpaD4gVFVGq3BIjxguoPXId0FEzkp00JrAF-ux5eLdPaW86Y208mAFrl4FShglU2InsFEVkrLyyHgWi_Gdy7MxLVbPv0r8M1o/s320/fOLLIES.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
When I was a kid, my mom made me eat peas. Canned peas. They were gross. Yeah, you could blame it on the technology of canning back then or you could, like I did, blame it on my mom for cooking the already mushy, gag-inducing little seeds beyond anything remotely acceptable for consumption. I worked out this amazing con to get out of eating my peas: I started helping my mom "clean up" after each meal. I would grab everyone's silverware and the used paper napkins and take them into the kitchen for her. Silverware in the sink, napkins in the trash. Any good con takes planning. I knew, eventually, we were going to get served peas. I was prepared. Serve the peas and I was going to shovel those little bastards into my napkin and get them into the garbage before anyone was the wiser. It worked, too. For a while. Then everyone noticed that I went from complaining non-stop about how terrible peas were to cleaning my plate of them. Hum. So much for my plan. Busted on week three of the Great Pea Stratagem.<br />
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Years later, I would nervously revisit peas. Not canned, of course, but frozen. I liked them. In fact, I really, really liked them. Next came fresh peas. Then different kinds of peas. I am now a certified pea fanatic.<br />
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That's right, I'm using a pea analogy to talk about musical theatre. Boom. Mic drop. Bet you didn't see that coming.<br />
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Every playwright has their "problem plays." William Shakespeare had <i>All's Well That Ends Well</i> and <i>Measure for Measure</i>, Henrik Ibsen had, well, everything, and Stephen Sondheim had <i>Merrily We Roll Along</i> and <i>Follies</i>. Ultimately, I think every problem play can be overcome with creativity, intelligence, a great cast, and thoughtful collaboration with a deft director. Or not. In some cases, the play is not to blame, at all. The peas aren't the problem. It's how you cook them.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREXnMAqsrtiZar-9Avb7oPRfyZjKSxvLcbrklvcG7w_5pqGXIHV9As2dZ57ccBwUCJIrlU3GcfcjQa2Gl0ZEmtKXVnhqqLhQtuN4hwOJjfQyzz0kmhOwAB-2yLBnAbY0l-w36uo2wraY/s1600/fOLLIES2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREXnMAqsrtiZar-9Avb7oPRfyZjKSxvLcbrklvcG7w_5pqGXIHV9As2dZ57ccBwUCJIrlU3GcfcjQa2Gl0ZEmtKXVnhqqLhQtuN4hwOJjfQyzz0kmhOwAB-2yLBnAbY0l-w36uo2wraY/s400/fOLLIES2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tracie Bennett as Carlotta Campion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i style="font-family: inherit;">Follies</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> has been, until recently, a problem play for me. I love everything Sondheim and I have seen this musical staged a few times. Each production was - off. Was <i>Follies</i> a love letter to the theatre or an indictment of a bygone era? </span>Is it about dreams deferred or the futility of hope? <span style="font-family: inherit;">Is it a fantasy? A domestic drama? A psychological character study? </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sure, sure, it's got a couple well-known</span> tunes (if Streisand sings it, it must be good, right?), but I was never really able to wrap my head around it as a whole piece of theatre. Then, I saw Dominic Cooke's production from the National Theatre (thank you NTLive and Fathom Events).<br />
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Follies</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Stephen Sondheim. 1971. It debuted on Broadway and was was nominated for 11 Tony Awards and it won seven of them. One of the seven was<i><b> not </b></i>Best </span>Musical<span style="font-family: inherit;">. Lights, Costumes, Scenic Design, Direction, </span>Choreography<span style="font-family: inherit;">, Score - yes. Alexis Smith won for Best </span>Performance<span style="font-family: inherit;"> by a Leading </span>Actress<span style="font-family: inherit;"> in a </span>Musial<span style="font-family: inherit;">. The musical itself got snubbed in what was a pretty lightweight year on the Great </span>White<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Way. In it's day it was the most costly show ever produced on Broadway. It was also a financial failure, losing it's entire investment. Full scale revivals have been few and most of the </span>notable<span style="font-family: inherit;"> remounts have been "concert" versions, </span>which<span style="font-family: inherit;"> in my mind, while </span>entertaining<span style="font-family: inherit;">, cannot deliver on the whole of the play - the juxtaposition of one's youthful dreams against one's mature regret.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">To be sure, this is a bleak musical. Beautiful, but bleak. For fear of sounding a little arrogant and old, this play is also not for young people. If you are under thirty, sorry, but you don't know jack shit about this subject matter. Which may explain why it took me so long to really understand it. As a person of a certain age, Sondheim has held a "mirror up to nature" for my generation. Maybe that's not fair. Maybe I should say, instead, that this is a play for people who have <i>lived</i>. Really lived. Made decisions, tripped, failed, succeeded, been scarred, been scared, loved hard, laughed loud. If you have ever questioned the very meaning of your life, ever wondered "what if?" ever thought that maybe you could have been better, gone elsewhere, done something else, seen the future, avoided the past. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMbcE8qtHT-BxOskKjJYRPtdIJE5hKpE_bgCuZDbZEgs_cwe7FBkTLf6937mO4zRzD0bpZnI3YzzqJuxDPXgvQhqJaG09Lnkp2FIabva_jdG_PQ3jcUWm56avE1GXLQrem3F4ZcwEZ-0/s1600/Imelda_Staunton_and_Janie_Dee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMbcE8qtHT-BxOskKjJYRPtdIJE5hKpE_bgCuZDbZEgs_cwe7FBkTLf6937mO4zRzD0bpZnI3YzzqJuxDPXgvQhqJaG09Lnkp2FIabva_jdG_PQ3jcUWm56avE1GXLQrem3F4ZcwEZ-0/s320/Imelda_Staunton_and_Janie_Dee.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Imelda Staunton as Sally Durant and Janie Dee as Phyllis Rogers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The brilliance of Cooke's take on the play is how he weaves the ever-present younger selves of Sondheim's characters through the staging. Never a doubt that the older versions are still yearning for a "do over." Just one. Tracie Bennett's Carlotta delivers a breath-taking version of "I'm Still Here." I mean that, literally. A moment of transition in the middle of the song will take your breath away. She parleyed an exquisite piece of technical acting and combined it with a brilliant lyric. I didn't see it coming. "The Road You Didn't Take" hit me like a ton of bricks when Phillip Quast's Ben , basically, sang my own life's insecurities back at me. With each song and each line of dialog, this production uncovered an emotional experience I don't ever recall having with a musical before. Imelda Staunton's Sally will break your heart with some of the most specific acting choices I have ever witnessed. "Losing My Mind" leaves you no doubt about the characters intent or state of mind. Brilliant. The stand out for me was Janie Dee as Phyllis. It is her play. Her cynicism, her resolve, her biting disappointment. "Could I Leave You?" is a show stopper and all her. Well...her and Sondheim.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What makes the National Theatre's version of this play so remarkable is its clarity. Cooke's direction is crystal clear. He never waivers in how he presents the emotional inner workings, past and present, of the characters. There are no protagonists in this play. There are no antagonists. Everyone is flawed. It is painful. The pain and regret at the very core of this musical is at once the show's greatest </span>achievement<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and also the reason it has probably failed to be a commercial success over the years. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Each performer has made specific, artistically distinct choices about their character. Choices that, more often than not, do not square with other productions you may have seen. Choices that not merely ground the character, but that also inform the other characters in the play. </span>This is an actor's play, start to finish, and this cast shines every step of the way and the director lets them.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is not an easy play. You do not leave the theatre hopeful and happy. You leave pondering your own life, questioning your own decisions. There is a pressure in your chest while Sondheim's music still rings in your ears. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you are able, go see this production, even if you think you might not like it. It's not easy to grow up. It's not easy to admit you made mistakes. Wrapping your peas up in a napkin isn't the answer, though. Eat your peas. You'll grow to like them.</span><br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-12037471351991732992017-12-18T12:23:00.003-08:002017-12-19T09:18:32.480-08:00Comfort FoodMy mom was a terrible cook. She was. My brothers are going to disagree with me on this, I know. In fact, I think that's them calling me now. This is not to say that I don't look back fondly on meals from my childhood - I do. I remember them as very delicious. Mostly, anyway. The whole reason for this post is based on the love I have for my mom's cooking. But my dear mother was no Julia Child. She worked crazy and difficult hours in a casino coffee shop, so the meals she prepared were quick and simple. They were as nutritious as the era would permit. We always had a meat, some kind of vegetable and a starch (that's what we called carbs back in the day). On Monday nights she worked the "swing shift." My dad would throw some wienies in a pot of baked beans and we boys would chow down in front of the TV with Howard Cosell and a two-quart bottle Pepsi. All this was normal for our household. We didn't know what we didn't know.<br />
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Until I was about 16 years old, I thought the oven was just a place you stored pots and pans. Harvesting vegetables was a simple matter of digging the can opener out of the junk drawer and ripping through that can of peas without cutting your finger off. We also didn't have any of these new age food lubes. No EVOO, no peanut oil, no coconut oil (puh-leeeze), no flaxseed oil. My mom had bacon grease in a one pound Hills Bros coffee can (or maybe it was Folgers). Sound familiar, boomers? Thought so. I never once saw my mom change that bacon grease. I saw her <i>add to it</i> after frying up some Farmer John's. I saw her <i>take from it</i> before frying up some tacos or hamburger patties. Never saw her empty it out, clean the can, and start fresh. Pretty sure it was kinda like sourdough bread - you always need some of the original "starter" to keep it just right. <br />
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Mac and cheese seems to be a common comfort food. Every restaurant on the planet nowadays has macaroni and cheese on the menu. It usually runs around 10-14 bucks and is made from 8 kinds of smelly goat cheese. That is a rip off. Everyone knows, the only real Mac 'n' Cheese is made by Kraft, comes out of a blue box, and all you gotta do is mix the orange dust with a whole stick of butter and a half cup of milk. Brussels Sprouts? My mom never roasted Brussels Sprouts. She never added pancetta or balsamic vinegar or truffle oil. Didn't marinade them in the tears of a mermaid or braise them in aged Yak Butter. She boiled them. Boiled the shit out of them until they were soft enough to eat. Steaks? Fried them in bacon grease in a big honking cast iron skillet that we would clean over a campfire once a year on a hunting trip in the Ruby Mountains. Put that sucker over the fire, let it get red hot, scrub it out with a battery terminal brush...viola...good as new. Meat loaf? Really? It's a giant hamburger patty that you slice. <br />
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Some things she made did take time. Her famous homemade chicken noodle soup is legendary. The noodles were made from scratch, too. The deliciousness that was this soup was probably due to the salt shaker she emptied into every batch. Thanksgiving is always a chore, right? Face it, no one's Thanksgiving meal is as good as your mom's. Ever. Only thing is, all American Thanksgiving meals are pretty much exactly the same. Admit it. It's really hard to screw up a turkey. You got your giant genetically modified bird (the bigger the better), your root vegetables (candied yams and mashed Russet potatoes for us), your chopped up stale bread (always Mrs. Cubbison's - I told you, mom was busy), and your variation on cranberry sauce which you only eat once a year because...well...it's awful (ours was canned Birdseye. Sliced. Gross).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ02dbHO7Jx-c_WN9KlZYiB7240MK6x22gT1jJZ4bFZ6INm1zrUuxJCkiVWMmCKaVRU4_zbOmeiB84vFphSpIHFA0wuwQTRi1IY8d6tY0fEUDM-9i288ODuLjebYA3c67zmxqQvnmCe_E/s1600/meatloaf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ02dbHO7Jx-c_WN9KlZYiB7240MK6x22gT1jJZ4bFZ6INm1zrUuxJCkiVWMmCKaVRU4_zbOmeiB84vFphSpIHFA0wuwQTRi1IY8d6tY0fEUDM-9i288ODuLjebYA3c67zmxqQvnmCe_E/s320/meatloaf.jpg" width="320" /></a> Comfort food. All of it. Whatever you ate as a kid becomes your comfort food as an adult. Sometimes you put you're own twist on the classics from your childhood. You'll add an ingredient. You'll cook it in glass instead of the hand-me-down aluminum pan that still has baked on residue from that stew that went wrong in 1995. You'll swap a cheap Chardonnay for chicken broth. Yet, at their very core, the recipes remains the same. Caloric, rich, simple. More important, though, memorable.<br />
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The whole point of comfort food is wrapped around emotions not flavor. It's the joyous memories that flush your face when a serving of Grandma's Galumpkis hits the table. When you dip your spoon into that pot pie, it's your mom's voice saying expertly, "Careful, it's hot," as she passes the salt shaker down the table. The string of grilled cheese getting stuck on your chin. The flavor is the memory not the taste.<br />
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Sometimes comfort food may evolve out of friendship as well as family. After acting school my best friend and I were roommates for a few years. We made a tradition out of drinking Jameson's Irish Whiskey late at night while reading Shakespeare out loud or trying to impress a date (often both). I still drink Jameson's and whenever I pour myself a glass I think of my friend even though he only lives about a mile away. And, yes, I consider Irish Whisky a food. Our exploits in that little apartment off Fairfax will live on so long as that distillery in Cork continues to produce.<br />
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We all have something. A BBQ rub (never enough cumin), a pot pie (always turkey), a spaghetti sauce (no sugar please), a pastry (croissants). That one food that evokes a vivid memory of someone we hold dear. With every bite we slide effortlessly into a warm place or a sweet adventure. I have several enduring "comfort foods." Two of my favorites are my mom's baked chicken (the only time the oven was ever used for it's intended purpose and something we make to this day often) and homemade candy. Specifically, my mom's homemade Christmas candy. Each Christmas, Colleen (my mom) and Jackie (her sister) would team up to produce a staple of the entire family's holiday celebration. Honeycomb, taffy, nougat, divinity, peanut brittle, caramels, pralines, and of course, the obligatory fudge. They are both gone now and I happily took up the mantle although not on their scale. That would be like Milli Vanilli trying to sing Sondheim. No, I am not as good at it as they were. My annual attempts are no where near as delicious. Yes, it is a lot of work. More work than I ever knew. But for a few days every year, I get to relive a few moments with my mom in a tangible and very real way. The recipes are incantations of sorts. Maybe closer to a meditation on my mother. The pages faded and the margins penciled with alterations in her perfect cursive. If read out loud (which I must often do to make sense out of the fractions of spoons and cups), they are chant-like, magically switching on a time machine in our kitchen. The spatula, a magic scepter, that channels her deft wrist and determination. My awkward pouring and ham-fisted measuring forever chasing her perfect eye and effortless grace with sugar and vanilla and heat.<br />
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Her caramels and chocolates made up for every overcooked floret of frozen broccoli; excused each spoonful for canned zucchini; forgave the mashed yam, the iceberg lettuce, and each well-done fried pork chop.<br />
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Whatever your comfort food is and whatever it represents, I hope you have lots of it over the holidays. Just maybe hold the salt a little and back off on the butter. Oh, and don't forget to take all the pots and pans out of the oven.Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-26006681776310296102017-12-08T16:34:00.002-08:002017-12-19T09:26:10.229-08:00Christmas Movies: The Good, the Bad and the UglyBad title for the post, I know. Of course, "The Good the Bad and the Ugly" is not a Christmas movie. It was released on December 23 in Italy, so I guess there could be an augment made for including it a list of "Christmas movies," but that would be dumb. Plus, if you have to put quotation marks around the term Christmas movie in order to describe it as one, then it shouldn't be considered as one. Many movies released during the holiday season are not Christmas movies at all. Christmas is simply a time when many people head out to the cinema during their time off or to get away from the in-laws. Box office matters in the movie biz and big movies get a place on the schedule. Okay...blah, blah, blah.<br />
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I love movies. All kinds of movies. There are good movies, bad movies, and merely mediocre movies. There are how-did-this-POS-ever-get-made movies and OMG-I-have-to-see-this-again-right-now movies. There are awful movies with brilliant performances in them. There are movies that we enjoy very much even though we know they are not very good. There are movies we hate even though Rotten Tomatoes tells us the critics LOVE them and our film snob friends tell us they are the best movies of all time and the 22 year old director with the silly hair is a genius. Movies, like all art, are subjective. I get it. But Christmas movies have rules.<br />
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Yes, they do.<br />
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For example (these may seem harsh to some), here are some things NOT allowed in Christmas movies. Let's not even call them rules, okay? Let call them guidelines.<br />
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<li>A Christmas movie cannot be an action movie. Sorry, "Die Hard" is not a Christmas movie. No. No it is not. It is <i>set</i> during Christmas. But that is the only thing Christmasy about it. You may watch it during Christmas. It may have a Christmas song at the very end. Not a Christmas movie. I really like <i>Die Hard</i>, but no. <i>Batman Returns</i>? Hell no. Let's call these kind of movies, "Christmas Adjacent."</li>
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<li>A Christmas movie cannot be a concept movie dressed up as a Christmas movie in order to capitalize on the idea of being a Christmas movie. <i>Bad Santa</i> is not a Christmas movie. Hold on, hold on - I know it was a pretty successful, R rated, black comedy that lots of people liked, but that doesn't cut the pudding. You cannot share it with your kids and grand kids. Well, you could, but then I'd have to cal social services on you. </li>
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<li>Just having a Santa Claus character in it doesn't automatically make it a Christmas movie. Also, having cute girls in Santa outfits dancing to "Jingle Bell Rock," doesn't magically elevate <i>Mean Girls</i> to Classic Christmas Movie status. That is cheating. Or marketing. Might be marketing.</li>
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<li>Horror movies cannot be Christmas movies. Just no. Admit it, I'm right on this. Watch them at Halloween? Fine. Dress up as Scary Santa or Ax Murderer Rudolph. Great, whatever flies your sleigh (slay?) Just don't think they should be played every single Christmas while the family is over for pie and wassail. </li>
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<li>Any movie with the characters of Pee Wee Herman or Ernest P. Worrell are not Christmas movies. Full stop. You know it, I know it, we all know it. Let's make sure that never happens again, please Hollywood.</li>
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I cannot just list everything that Christmas movies aren't. Besides, you'll get used to knowing a real Christmas movie when you see one. This is just the high level stuff that you need to know now that you are getting serious about the subject.<br />
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You don't always need Santa Claus, St. Nickolas, Father Christmas, or Kris Kringle. That would get boring. Also not required is your reindeer or your elves or your snowmen. Unless you can find the perfect voice actors, this can be problematic anyway. Everyone knows reindeer and elves and snowmen have to talk and the voices have to be perfect. Nobody wants a snowman to sound like Kristen Chenowith. An elf, maybe. There are, however, some themes that must be present. Not all need to present in every film, but a true Christmas movie will have many of them neatly weaved together.<br />
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">The <b>Ebeneezer Syndrome</b></span><b> </b>(also known as the "Scrooge Complex"). Charles Dickens created the perfect "meaning or Christmas" story in <i>A Christmas Carol</i>. Any movie putting a spin on this theme qualifies as a true Christmas movie. Doesn't matter if it's any good or not. Yes, it hurts to say that, but...that's life. Examples are <i>Scrooged</i> (Bill Murray), <i>An American Christmas Carol</i> (excellent and overlooked), <i>Scrooge</i> (the musical with Albert Finney and one of my favorites), <i>The Muppet Christmas Carol</i> (the Muppets AND Michael Caine? Puh-leeze.), and <i>Mister Magoo's Christmas Carol</i>. Basically, any story where a soulless curmudgeon is redeemed by cuteness and nice people. </li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>It's Silly, But I Believe</b><u>.</u> Similar to the </span>Ebeneezer<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Syndrome except a little kid, instead of an old geezer, is the asshole that finally comes around to believing in the spirit of </span>Christmas. In the process of this happening, elsewhere in the movie somebody who is stuck up falls in love with somebody who is nice and they live happily ever after.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Miracle on 34th Street. </i>CLASSIC. Edmund Gwenn is the best Santa ever. </span></li>
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<li><b>True Love Conquers All. </b>Even when it sneaks up on you through a serious of hilarious interludes and often romantic singing and dancing. If you don't watch <i>White Christmas</i> and/or <i>Holiday Inn</i> every single single year, you'll know why I choose to ignore you at Trader Joe's. <i>Love, Actually</i> has become a contemporary classic. I will say, right here, right now, it is one of my favorites. Watch it with a significant other and I guarantee you will love it. You might even get lucky later that night. It's that good.</li>
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<li><b>Don't Be a Dick at Christmas</b>. This is more a motif than a theme, but it turns up in the best Christmas movies. It differs significantly from the ES above, since the Xmas Dick is not universally hated by everyone during the course of the year. Only at Christmas. The Christmas jerk is always redeemed by love, faith, children, or the supernatural. In the <i>The Bishop's Wife</i>, David Niven's character is a rather insensitive priest who is very close to losing his fabulous wife to an angel played by Cary Grant (of course). It's perfect.</li>
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Finally, there are a few other very significant things Christmas movies must have. In fact, these may well be THE MOST important elements to any actual, for reals, authentic, sure fire, play-every-year-and-never-get-tired-of-it Christmas movie. They have to be a little sappy. It's the one time of year where we really are expected to wear our hearts on our sleeves and go all-in for a little schmaltz. There has to be a romance. Doesn't have to be all "Beauty and the Beast," but love is the reason for the season after all, right? And last but not least, every Christmas movie must have heart. Heart. Compassion. Empathy. Call it what you Like. Every other holiday can have a little slice of snark, a little bite of bitchy, a chunk of cynicism. But Christmas movies should really remind us that it's never too late to be a good person. Hopefully, we won't shoot our eye out in the process.</div>
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Purely as a public service, I will leave you with <span style="font-family: inherit;">Wayne's Christmas Movie recommendations:</span><br />
<ul>
<li>Shop Around the Corner (1940) </li>
<li>Holiday Inn (1942) </li>
<li>Christmas in Connecticut (1945)</li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Star in the Night (1945) </span></li>
<li>It's a Wonderful Life (1946)</li>
<li>Miracle on 34th Street (<span style="font-family: inherit;">1947</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">) </span></li>
<li>The Bishop's Wife (1947)</li>
<li>Holiday Affair (1949)</li>
<li>White Christmas (1954) </li>
<li>Scrooge (1970) </li>
<li>A Christmas Story (1983)</li>
<li>Love, Actually (2003)</li>
<li>Elf (2003)</li>
<li>Get Santa (2014) </li>
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Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-45503010520298009722017-12-04T15:51:00.000-08:002017-12-04T15:57:03.647-08:00Words Mean Things<br /><br />Books. Plays. Movies. Lyrics. Poems. Speeches. Conversations. Whispers.<br /><br />Words. <br /><br />With so many ways to communicate with each other, yet such a limited amount of time to say any of it, we humans spend an excruciating amount of our very lives thinking about saying or writing things (aka using words), but then not actually saying or writing any of them. Why is this? Whether there are issues of the head that require resolution or matters of the heart that must be shared to find relief, we often wait too long to put them into words. Often never doing so.<br /><br />Even in our daily lives, when we are forced to communicate, we increasingly tend to choose NOT to use words. They take too much time to hammer out with our thumbs on the face of a smartphone. We use abbreviations (LOL, OMG, I <3 U, txt me) or emojis. I have found myself spending so much time looking for the perfect emoji on my phone for a message that I could have written a whole letter in the same amount of time.<br /><br />I am as guilty of these word related transgressions as any modern human. Moreso maybe. I do find occasion to jot something down when I have something on my mind. A letter. A card. A terrible poem. A Tweet. A Facebook post whose very brevity is intended to convey a whole range of thoughts and emotions. Those usually come out alright. At least they come out. The beginnings of a play. The first five pages of a movie. Those are, more often than not, slower to manifest themselves.<br /><br />Where I fall down, though, is in saying actual words to actual people. Now that I think about it, this may be one of the reasons I wanted to be an actor. I loved saying other people's words. They saved me the effort of trying to be poetic or meaningful all by myself. (I've always been a better speaker than a writer, anyway.) I loved the sound of other people's words as they came out of my mouth. I could control how they were uttered even though I had no input into their creation. How often to we crib a movie quote to make a point? A Bible verse to teach a lesson? How many times has a Shakespearean Sonnet been whispered during a night of romance?<br /><br />Some might argue this whole point with me. Some would say that actors become actors to express emotions. But actors cannot do this, even, without words. Actually being able to say them and move people by how well you can manipulate them is an actor's stock-in-trade. How effectively you can make people feel things by wrapping your mouth and tongue and teeth around sounds, is how you are measured. How you can make people believe that what they are seeing on stage or on film is real by the way you utter words, is your passion as well as your job. If you are really good at these kinds of things, then this is what makes you stay an actor. For an actor, words are transformative.<br /><br />Words are also power. I had a boss once that was very disrespectful to everyone in the office. Everyone. None of us would say anything when this behavior occurred because, A) we were afraid of losing our jobs, and B) we knew nothing we said would possibly change this person. So we all endured. We would keep our words bottled up. Stifle our feelings. Contain our anger and insult. Then one eventful day, one person called the boss on the shit. Boom. The floodgates opened. What we hadn't considered was that all the while that we did NOT say anything, we were missing out on the therapeutic nature of words. Words can level the playing field, clarify, and correct.<br /><br />Words can also be used as weapons. In real life, people can sling words to hurt, to insult, to control. How often do we sling barbs carelessly at a loved one in order to manipulate an argument or trick someone into a response. Weapon-words are hard to take back. They are like a bullet. Once they pierce the skin, they often get lodged there, infecting the surrounding tissue and causing lasting scars even after the surgery of removing them has long passed. Even after an apology, the sting and swelling caused by a weapon-word takes a while to mend. (A great example is the bullshit rudeness of people who say, "I'm just being honest." I hate that. I have NEVER heard that phrase used for anything other than being hurtful. In a way the speaker can shield him or herself from the responsibility of their words simply by saying, "I'm just being honest.")<br /><br />My own use of words is often tested. While I try to be specific and articulate, yet still thoughtful and creative, I often doubt my results. Misunderstandings happen all the time, right? We all say things we wish we hadn't then dig ourselves ever deeper trying to figure out the structure and shape of the new words that will make everything better. Words are a responsibility.<br /><br /> I would never suggest that everyone has to tip-toe through their lives weighing each word like so much diamond dust. But there are times to do so. Often. Not to sound too much like a scold or an out-of-touch headmaster, but there are times we should, at the very least, be mindful of what actually comes out of our mouths and from our fingers and thumbs. Not just for others, but for ourselves. Anger can make us sloppy. Love can make us sappy. Emotions push every conceivable button in us. But like anything we work at, we should always want to be good at what we do. We should, as human beings blessed with the gift of language, desire the ability to communicate with each other in the best possible ways. We should also never take this gift of words for granted. In art, in love, at work, at home, at play, in politics, words mean things and we should ultimately ask ourselves to be good stewards of them. <br /><br /> This whole post is, actually, a very good illustration of my own challenges in using words. Admittedly, I just spent about an hour writing this, when I really should have just posted this quote from Tom Stoppard's play The Real Thing : <div>
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"Words … They’re innocent, neutral, precise, standing for this, describing that, meaning the other, so if you look after them you can build bridges across incomprehension and chaos. But when they get their corners knocked off, they’re no good any more… I don’t think writers are sacred, but words are. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones in the right order, you can nudge the world a little or make a poem which children will speak for you when you’re dead."<br /><br /> Okay, well, I guess I'll keep working on it. </div>
Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-84762574353429403252017-11-24T13:55:00.001-08:002017-11-24T16:22:02.934-08:00Post-Thanksgiving PonderGrowing up in Henderson, Nevada, Thanksgiving was simple. It was a juicy turkey, my mom's delicious and world famous dressing, and (inevitably) her nasty-ass canned cranberry sauce that only my step-dad liked. It usually meant brother home from college, a visit from sister across town, a house full of little brother's neighborhood pals, and the requisite cadre of cousins, uncles, aunts, and co-workers dropping by to chat, load up on pie, smoke some Chesterfields, pour a generous scotch and water (in a 16 ounce former strawberry jam jar), and generally just enjoy each other's company removed from the normal daily grind of work and responsibility. The one day of the year when everyone really did pitch in to help do the dishes. Simple.<br />
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During this day of feasting and football, we never talked about the the pilgrims. We did not discuss the monumental wrongs that have been imposed upon Native Americans. Mine was not a house of prayer, so we didn't do that, either. (Unless Grandma Lumsden was in town, then we laid it on thick.) We were thankful, though. We were not rich. My parents worked hard. We didn't live in as nice a house as I sometimes wished, and we never had a new car. But, we had enough. On this day, we sat around the dining room table (the other 364 days our meals were on TV trays or the coffee table in front of the television) together. Talked about anything and everything as a family. Simple.<br />
<br />
Life doesn't seem to be as simple, nowadays though, does it? As much as we would like it to be, the world is not so simple. The
Henderson of my childhood now has a population of close to 300,000 - 17
times larger than when I was a kid. Four high schools instead of one.
There are stop lights now. (Stop lights! WTF?) Our family and friends have spread out, grown apart, passed away, seen their own adventures, grown their own families.<br />
<br />
It
probably wasn't simple back them, either. I truly don't believe that,
in the creation of the American version of Thanksgiving, there was any
intentional disrespect towards Native Americans. (We had and have done
enough of that since the time the Pilgrims landed and the ensuing
conquest of their land.) Point of fact, many other countries celebrate
similar thanksgiving holidays that have their roots in secular
celebrations, harvest festivals, or religious observations. Strangely,
they all happen around the same time of year. I would like to believe
that a given people can "give thanks" for what they have without pissing
off a whole culture. But, I'm not sure anymore.<br />
<br />
I also have come to kinda doubt what "giving thanks" really means. I have observed over the past few years that Thanks-giving seems more like Thanks-taking. We are grateful for things that have come to us. Possessions we have worked hard enough to buy. Food we are fortunate enough to eat. For bounty, often denied others. For success, unseen by many. Things certainly worthy to be thankful for. But the name of the holiday is, after-all Thanks"giving" not "Thanks-foring,"which to me seems to imply that the thanks should be a thing emanating from us not to us.<br />
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Maybe, like mankind itself, holidays might be allowed to evolve into other kinds of things. Christmas has become more secular. July Fourth has become more culinary. Maybe Thanksgiving might be allowed to evolve into something more outward-bound. Maybe the Holiday Season, the season of giving, begins in November with this food-filled, harvest festival that has evolved from a variety of cultures and countries. (Some families don't eat turkey! It's not like it's a rule.) Maybe, through our actions, we can actually turn it into the act, or better, the art of saying "thank you" to people for who they are and what they represent and opposed to the things that we have the good fortune to consume.<br />
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I may be arguing for something that already exists. I may be overly concerned with semantics. I've been known to do that. We all may already do this in our own way. The lines in the grocery stores, the angry words on social media, the ongoing argument about the origins of this holiday all seem to deny this, though. Sure we stop just long enough to spend a day with loved ones and eat. But wouldn't it be nice, if sometime during this perennial day of gluttony and familial stress, we look at a loved one - right in the eyes - and say, "Hey, thank you." "Thank you for being you." "Thank you for your spirit." "Thank you for your talent." "Thank you for your art." "Thank you for being here." "Thank you for that time you helped me fix my sink." "Thank you for being a great (<u>insert relationship here</u>)."<br />
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In the spirit of this idea, and with apologies to Mr. Dickens, <span class="st">I will honor Thanksgiving in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.</span> Simple.<br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-45465502570968089402017-09-14T15:24:00.004-07:002017-09-14T16:46:59.399-07:00Actor Shaming in Hollywood<span style="font-family: inherit;">I do not get angry often. Not really. I do get a little perturbed, occasionally. Sometimes. Rarely, though. Actually, it's more like exasperation than actual anger. One thing that DOES piss me the f**k off is what I'm going to refer to as "actor shaming." (You may officially file this under: Rant.) In an industry that relies so heavily on actors for everything from $250 million studio blockbusters to $250 local car dealer ads on cable TV, actors are treated like village idiots or temperamental children by the myriad of people who make money from their talent or personality.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Historically, actors have often been treated like second class citizens -- or even lepers. None of this is new. I get it. It is the level of utter disrespect in recent years that is so irritating. I have worked in the entertainment industry (I like the old term, "show business") for most my my adult life, but the last five years or so has seen a rise in this regard. Every single day I work with a wide variety of people in film and TV (and, yes, even the theatre) whose very livelihoods, their paychecks and fancy cars and expense accounts, are a result of the work that actors do.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqPCF-M461GRsYqnYSjXorBWGxQbUMcnhbOsPd6tXnx2709A61cEJsbvWMTzg00y58cu9UcPGdfalQ-ltY1gRGLOd09lel5BD8ySpKPMk0hOzA0Q7THzQ74MJmMfE2HjOH0sIf6qjt80/s1600/Talent-Agent.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="755" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqPCF-M461GRsYqnYSjXorBWGxQbUMcnhbOsPd6tXnx2709A61cEJsbvWMTzg00y58cu9UcPGdfalQ-ltY1gRGLOd09lel5BD8ySpKPMk0hOzA0Q7THzQ74MJmMfE2HjOH0sIf6qjt80/s320/Talent-Agent.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Without actors, from whom would agents and managers collect their commission? Without actors, who would publicists complain about or lawyers manipulate? Without actors, screenplays would be literature. Without actors, directors would play chess. Without actors, producers would create other things to entertain us. It is the actor that is the constant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know that this little rant may piss some people off. Rest assured not ALL people that have actors as clients are bad people. Not all agents are leeches and not all acting teachers are in it to screw actors out of their hard earned residuals for a little ego massage. I get it. I have friends who are casting directors and agents and publicists. Good ones, too. Many of these people started as actors, so they have a unique perspective on what it takes and who the people they work for are. You lot I am not complaining about.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgq_N5JeIfD2WU-646fGhRhuTXvyodNzRXczy5QaPKouH82imZi9yWp2Asz2bDduv_rOiwJWnz6vnZ9T0JHAg2Bfk4EOrThtUE5QwAArmehyphenhyphenMFdzsgObdqtqcNo7zUb8D_oOHOFPCHuQ/s1600/Director-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="849" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgq_N5JeIfD2WU-646fGhRhuTXvyodNzRXczy5QaPKouH82imZi9yWp2Asz2bDduv_rOiwJWnz6vnZ9T0JHAg2Bfk4EOrThtUE5QwAArmehyphenhyphenMFdzsgObdqtqcNo7zUb8D_oOHOFPCHuQ/s320/Director-1.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">But there seems to be this growing disrespect - it has a gossip mill quality - about actors who are "difficult" or have "attitude" or who are "demanding." It may shock many out there, but when you meet these people, you often find out that they are pretty nice and not weird at all. In fact, I'll bet 9-out-of-10 times an actor get pegged as being "a problem," it is their reps that are putting up the barriers and causing all the heartburn, not the actual talent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Add to this the apparent disregard even those in the media have for some of the working-est actors in Hollywood. </span> How many "entertainment journalists" mispronounce names (poor Saoirse Ronan and Chiwetel Ejiofor) or <span style="font-family: inherit;">get actors confused with other actors.</span><a href="https://youtu.be/OdxMkQhq58g" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank"> (I'm looking at you Sam Rubin)</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Look, I know that not everyone is as involved in the Hollywood entertainment machine as I am, but those of us actually in the business, should, at the very least, have a basic respect for the people that make that industry work, that pay our salaries in some direct or </span>indirect<span style="font-family: inherit;"> way -- and that means actors. Period.</span><br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-91385481709632992912017-08-31T11:12:00.000-07:002017-08-31T11:31:13.820-07:00On Being an Actor. In the beginning...This page of this post has been empty for a long time. The title has been there. Nothing else. <br />
Every time I get inspired by a great quote, whenever I think of a pithy and important idea, on the occasion of some fundamental misconception of the craft, I get all excited and begin to write a brilliant missive on the topic when...I freeze. Fingers hovering precariously above the keys. Still. Fearful. Motionless.<br />
<br />
Nothing you will read in the next thousand words or so will be remotely new if you are an actor of a certain age. You have heard it all before. Every actor has, at some point in his or her creative life (some would call it "career") has
thought, pondered, complained, fretted, dissected, and screamed at the
things I am about to rant about. So, for the sake of simplicity, I'm just going to bullet point some thoughts, opinions, and advice. This is meant primarily for my younger or less experienced students, but it is also for my older, more mature actors who are returning to the game after a long break. If you study with me, I'm sure are are tired of hearing this stuff by now. Too bad.<br />
<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgRJiApvB9KfXiUg37Aad580QfDfcVaWIlwAT1Xke6-XYWlQSb190liI87p3j2cI7Pqfdq2dQ9MDW9nNB-ygMKISP4Y3VV8c1kbg58NCThToCV_oWCbtHk2rnpxWLPHNbT14CH-By3wo/s1600/Geilgud.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgRJiApvB9KfXiUg37Aad580QfDfcVaWIlwAT1Xke6-XYWlQSb190liI87p3j2cI7Pqfdq2dQ9MDW9nNB-ygMKISP4Y3VV8c1kbg58NCThToCV_oWCbtHk2rnpxWLPHNbT14CH-By3wo/s320/Geilgud.jpeg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnjyvOufYXGlheiYgwR1y564brJ1RKoMES2mareRquckgaOTs0Wp6sWZw-S2YA_f5JGY2Ui-15coF6S0nZglm_pVQnK6ZyX1ndEPF2XLGHS5orRHqFGyJvgTZrQWz3m_Fb0r_wENOtx8/s1600/Jessica_Karl_Streetcar.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>
<li>Your acting coach is your acting coach, not your agent. Your acting coach is not your publicist, either. Or your manager. You pay them to be your acting coach. Let them do that and take everything else they offer with a grain of salt.</li>
<li>For my young actors, if you don't have head shots yet, go get them now. Now. Everyone else, get new ones every couple of years. More often if you have changed your hair, altered your look, started a regimen of Botox, or finally tossed the denim jeggings that were so popular last year. I know they're expensive (the head shots not the jeggings). I know it's a hassle. Every craftsman, needs their tools. These are yours. Find a photographer you like and keep going to them. </li>
<li>Oh, I'm not done on pictures, yet: Make sure your pictures look like YOU. When you walk into the room for an audition or an interview you better look like your picture. It's that easy and it's that hard. Photographer <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/peterkonerkovideo/featured" target="_blank">Peter Konerko has an excellent set of videos</a> that will be very helpful finding your way through headshot hell. Check them out, they are great. (Okay, I'm done. I get worked up about this one.)</li>
<li>Learn your craft before you learn your business. You don't open a law office then go to law school. You don't get hired at a hospital as a doctor before you've gone to med school. Become an actor before accepting the secret golden key to "cold reading" mastery. Before spending $150 to be seen by the "greatest casting director" in Hollywood, learn to fucking act.</li>
<li>Stop worrying about how many Twitter followers you have or how many Instagram likes you are racking up. When you finally get the audition, none of that will mean a hill of beans if you can't deliver when it matters. I do not care how ripped you are or how hot you look in that new designer bikini or how sweet your kitten looks swatting your Fruit Loops around the kitchen. </li>
<li>Kiss no ass. Once you get an agent, a manager, a publicist (one or all three) remember they work for you. THEY work for YOU. They are not omnipotent, they are not irreplaceable, they do not know everything regardless of what they tell you.</li>
<li>Work on your voice. Learn how to breathe, how to project, how to enunciate. I recently saw a play at a very reputable theatre and some of the younger actors simply could not be heard even 10 rows back.</li>
<li>Stop defining yourself as a TV actor or a stage actor or a film actor. Yes, you do that. Admit it. You are an actor. Each medium requires different techniques, true, but you are still an actor. Remind yourself of that out loud a few times everyday. </li>
<li>Don't wait for the phone to ring. You have friends. You know people. Assemble your tribe and do stuff. Read plays. Seek out new screenplays. Write something for yourself. Take your iPhone and record scene-work. Do something. Audition. Audition. Audition. (Did I mention that you should audition?) Submit for any project you are right for or interested in. Volunteer at a local intimate theatre.</li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnjyvOufYXGlheiYgwR1y564brJ1RKoMES2mareRquckgaOTs0Wp6sWZw-S2YA_f5JGY2Ui-15coF6S0nZglm_pVQnK6ZyX1ndEPF2XLGHS5orRHqFGyJvgTZrQWz3m_Fb0r_wENOtx8/s1600/Jessica_Karl_Streetcar.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnjyvOufYXGlheiYgwR1y564brJ1RKoMES2mareRquckgaOTs0Wp6sWZw-S2YA_f5JGY2Ui-15coF6S0nZglm_pVQnK6ZyX1ndEPF2XLGHS5orRHqFGyJvgTZrQWz3m_Fb0r_wENOtx8/s320/Jessica_Karl_Streetcar.jpeg" width="320" /></a>Here's the bottom line: We only get one life. Do something with yours. Stay busy. Being an actor is not like any other job. If fact, it is not a job. It is a lifestyle. As an actor, you will get "acting jobs" over the course of your career, but you will always be an actor even when you are not actually getting paid to do it. It is not regular. It is not normal. You will get frustrated and crazy sometimes. You will have moments when you will doubt yourself. Then, you'll get cast in a play or get a role in a small film. You'll be in rehearsal and the little voice in the back of your heart will remind you why you going through all this. Then it will all come rushing back to you. </div>
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I mean, if it was all about making money, you would have taken your mom's advice and become a [insert profession here] instead of moving in with the person you did "Our Town" with in acting school. </div>
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-68785207453751121602017-06-01T17:52:00.002-07:002017-06-19T10:19:27.798-07:00In Defense of "Hollywood"<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="js_o5o">
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Just
a little rant for a sec. Don't worry, it's not political. Sometimes the littlest things do set me off, though.<br />
<br />
In the wake of the whole Kathy Griffin BS and
to all of you Hollywood Haters that pile on whenever someone like Kathy
Griffin does something distasteful or a famous actor takes a stand at
an awards show, this is for you. For those of you who complain about
the "Hollywood swamp" or the "Hollywood elite" or how shallow we all are
in Los Angeles, this is for you, too. To everyone who might talk smack or throw shade at "Hollywood" then go home and spend three hours in front of the television watching "Big Bang Theory" (filmed in Burbank) or "Scandal" (filmed in Los Angeles and Hollywood) - STFU. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAah6_lVtjYYK4D_v5oTXTQgXWplhL95XjbQZ7UjtR9i6kNrCXNgbUKxR0xKaJrTb6zGV9guwpNJOgQrSSWDk9eEmFqfopPsoO8l6Vw2To9RXlZma9kQe-6UMN2bs1i5CDUxUiDRaE80/s1600/hollywood-studios-E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="686" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAah6_lVtjYYK4D_v5oTXTQgXWplhL95XjbQZ7UjtR9i6kNrCXNgbUKxR0xKaJrTb6zGV9guwpNJOgQrSSWDk9eEmFqfopPsoO8l6Vw2To9RXlZma9kQe-6UMN2bs1i5CDUxUiDRaE80/s320/hollywood-studios-E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
If you don't live her<span class="text_exposed_show">e
or have never visited friends here, you know nothing about my city or
my industry. I'm sure I speak for my fellow Angelenos when I invite you to </span><span class="text_exposed_show">come and visit for longer than a trip to Disneyland or a
TMZ Tour of Stars Homes, Is "Hollywood" generally liberal? Yes.
Happily. But we have differing opinions just like you. Some conservative some progressive. Not everyone agrees with each other. We are a diverse group of people in a really interesting and beautiful city - unlike any other. No, we are NOT perfect, but neither are you. Can we be full of shit and impatient. Sure. Just like people in your community.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBx_hEhxHQsbvilgGFxDAofTTOtefFkEn5ZymCb6HGEkLqTSaH-EdNUmq1s5F_CImCU9Q8klHPqTEFhxB8J-Yn1VbLFZLFsp3bV4WrpoTTO2vu5pW-AYYJfQM47p0ak5bZOxLBV1cVi64/s1600/LA_Skyline_Mountains2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBx_hEhxHQsbvilgGFxDAofTTOtefFkEn5ZymCb6HGEkLqTSaH-EdNUmq1s5F_CImCU9Q8klHPqTEFhxB8J-Yn1VbLFZLFsp3bV4WrpoTTO2vu5pW-AYYJfQM47p0ak5bZOxLBV1cVi64/s320/LA_Skyline_Mountains2.jpeg" width="320" /></a><span class="text_exposed_show">Believe it or not, we are also generous, philanthropic, creative and kind. We
work hard. We are not just actors and directors and celebrities. We are
truck drivers and teachers and make up artists and security guards and EMTs and
lawyers and janitors and mechanics and office workers and writers and
designers and food service staff. Think of any job that people you know do and there are people doing that same job in a studio or a production company. They are just like you only they live in a different place.</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRM4J_MxrsOBuTowH9pfn50EsMuKaP7XpZsrO7P4K5dgGaaIKYJz-NsiD92Qx1RZhRwxWXFCZ8WdtObbvrbeIaRh3CL4gOuA2tNoxGWHBwLUtViw7K-LdbFmF-thM4kljGF83W5D7eB5c/s1600/Capitol_Records_Building_LA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1039" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRM4J_MxrsOBuTowH9pfn50EsMuKaP7XpZsrO7P4K5dgGaaIKYJz-NsiD92Qx1RZhRwxWXFCZ8WdtObbvrbeIaRh3CL4gOuA2tNoxGWHBwLUtViw7K-LdbFmF-thM4kljGF83W5D7eB5c/s320/Capitol_Records_Building_LA.jpeg" width="207" /></a><span class="text_exposed_show"><span class="text_exposed_show">You know what? We are also mothers and fathers and friends and neighbors. We have families just like you. Our children go to schools. Our grandchildren play with dolls and ride bicycles. Sound familiar? Los Angeles, "Hollywood" to you, is full of </span>of some of the most interesting, creative and
intelligent people I have ever known. We all have nice friends who are funny and can laugh at themselves and also help a neighbor with a flat tire or broken water pipe. We volunteer for church functions and political marches. We vote. Some of us are meat eaters and some are vegans. AND we are one of the most diverse cities in the country. We are a city of many colors and every religion.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span class="text_exposed_show">Now, come for a visit. Bring a bathing suit, a hat, and some sunscreen. Prepare to have the best pastrami in the country. Get ready for some great museums, exciting theatre, high-end or vintage shopping (if you care about that sort of thing), one of the largest urban parks in North America, and a great music scene. You'll love everything but our traffic. Guaranteed.</span></span><br />
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Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-53460136100575963562017-05-10T18:24:00.000-07:002017-05-14T09:22:05.068-07:00New Musings on Mother's Day 2017<br />
Whenever my mom would get mad at me she would call me by my entire name. Wayne Caldwell Watkins. I'm sure many moms do this. My memmory of it reminds me of the episode of Star Trek. In "I, Mudd," Harry Mudd is harangued with a stern, <i><span class="st">"Harcourt Fenton Mudd, where have you been? What have you been up to? Have you been drinking again, you miserable sot! You good-for-nothing...!"</span></i><br />
<br />
<span class="st">I know that tone. I know the dread and distress that accompanies that full-name exclamation. Yet, I have only heard tell of mothers using this technique on sons. I cannot imagine a mother turning that on a girl child. I don't think it would be the same. I am not implying that mom's don't get mad at their female children, just that it must manifest itself in a much different verbal or emotional form. Let's face it, girl's names are different than boys. They are (I'm gonna catch heat for this, but) prettier. Elizabeth, Heather, Jennifer, Samantha, Dorothy...see, pretty. Wayne, Bob, John, Dave, Paul...not pretty. It would be pretty hard to retain one's anger when saying a few pretty names in a row. How would you even do that? That would be like trying to use a mean voice when saying "unicorn and mermaids," "rainbows and butterflies," "Julie Andrews." You just can't do it.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">My beautiful daughter has two beautiful daughters. Both with very pretty names. For the life of me, I cannot image her ever being angry enough to use the "three-name-shout-out" on them. Granted, I'm sure my girl can get heated, but I've never seen it, personally. (That is the dad's prerogative, by the way, to only see in his daughter that which he wishes to see. Given the circumstances of our own personal story, this is even more the case.) Of course, I see perfection: temperance, patience, kindness, support, you know - the perfect parent, the perfect daughter.</span><br />
<br />
Not surprisingly, moms are often placed on pedestals. Even through their brief moments of anger or frustration, they still rise to a level of near-sainthood. Dads, though, are never put on more than a step ladder. Dads are great, don't get me wrong. I absolutely LOVE being one and my son-in-law is a champ, but moms are...well...MOMS! Sure, sure, dads have these stereotypical traits that are, thankfully, not holding up through our societal evolution, but they still exist. Mom uses a cute little spoon to feed the toddler, Dad just shoves a piece of cheese into the teeny little pie hole. Mom reaches down and picks up the fallen banana slice, Dad kicks it under the sofa in order to retrieve it later when nobody is looking. Mom worries about her beautiful ballerina stepping on the seed pod from the sweetgum tree and Dad encourages the same hoofer to jump off the roof onto the trampoline. (No, Eric, this is not really directed at you.)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvrNTpZK2qPPMv0Cmg7xiPXzt1XTl7GDOi_8FslO8S5Kb4u4_mW0ATnVel5a1MGEZFvr_xo4kmkKJ7t7mT4kyPgPHB47Drz8RmMsEPO4Gh9irQxOqtj1Hj5h4vhORTgk0wrt9dnLFxuc/s1600/FullSizeRender%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvrNTpZK2qPPMv0Cmg7xiPXzt1XTl7GDOi_8FslO8S5Kb4u4_mW0ATnVel5a1MGEZFvr_xo4kmkKJ7t7mT4kyPgPHB47Drz8RmMsEPO4Gh9irQxOqtj1Hj5h4vhORTgk0wrt9dnLFxuc/s320/FullSizeRender%25281%2529.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>
The pedestal on which I have placed my own daughter is very high as a result of her being A) my daughter, as well as B) a fabulous mother, and C) to quote the movie <i>Mary Poppins</i>, "Practically perfect in every way." Yes, I know I am laying it on pretty thick, but if you knew my daughter you would totally get it. Certainly, it is a pedestal she shall never be able to climb down from should she even try. In addition to it's height, I have firmly glued her feet to the cornice. (Well, I think it's called the cornice. Whatever the very top part of a pedestal is called.)<br />
<br />
Please understand, I do not say any of this to put any pressure on my beautiful child. She has her hands full just being a mom. Besides, I mean, that would be a pretty shitty thing to do on Mother's Day - heap insurmountable expectations on a person who already is super busy. I say these things because I have seen what good moms do. Including my own mother, of course, I have known some pretty terrific female parents. Moms of twins who, despite the frenetic chaos that two tykes must create, have remained relatively sane even before the kids leave for college. Perfectly amazing moms that have children who are dancers and actors and singers - often all three. These are the road warriors of parenthood, shuttling their talented offspring to ballet class, rehearsal, and voice lessons. While "soccer moms" may be a term not used as often as it once was, we all know what that means -- SUVs filled to the sunroof with smelly shoes, ball bags, and juice-pouch-swilling future Olympians. Then there are the moms who stay home with their gifted science student turning the kitchen into a bubbling workshop of goo and fireworks. And finally, the single moms, who by hook or by crook, raise the most fabulous human beings under the most trying of circumstances.<br />
<br />
Moms the world over have sacrificed everything to raise their children. Their own dreams, their own passions, their own health. Moms compromise and juggle. They balance and negotiate. They put friendships on hold and forge new ones. They smile, they frown, they laugh, they cry, they play, they discipline. Sometimes all of those things in the course of a few minutes. So, it's no wonder that every once in a while they would let fly with a torrent of names in an effort to catch our eye or draw attention to the fact that we really shouldn't be pulling the dog by the tale.<br />
<br />
My mother has been gone a couple of years now. As a result, I now use this holiday as an opportunity to give thanks for other people's moms that have graced my life. My mother-in-law whose name, appropriately, was Grace. My daughter's mom, Yvonne, who, with some help from her own mother, Violet, raised a wonder woman. Finally, that same wonder woman, Heather, who is the the mother of my two granddaughters, without whom I would no doubt have quickly put aside any celebration of Mother's Day at all.<br />
<br />
Thanks for that, Heather. Happy Mother's Day. <br />
<br />
<span class="st"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="st"><i><br /></i></span>Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-33973755871958856482017-03-02T14:14:00.003-08:002017-03-03T09:57:05.545-08:00The Lost Art of Kissing (On Screen and Stage)<br />
People kiss. I don't know why and I don't care. Sometimes it's just a little peck on the way out the door in the morning. Other times it's part of a more...uhm...how shall I say this...elaborate ritual. A kiss can be a casual greeting accompanied by friendly pleasantries. A kiss can be a gentle reminder that the other person is in your thoughts. Then again, it can also be the culmination of an emotional journey that suddenly runs out of words.<br />
<br />
It is a natural and, very often, intimate thing that happens countless times every single day the world over. Not all cultures kiss, this is true. A study that appeared in American Anthropologist in 2015 found that out of 168 cultures that were studied, only 46 percent of them kissed in a romantic sense. (And to answer your next question, no, I do not spend a lot of time
researching these kinds of things. I just figured that I needed a little
extra weight to this post, so I Googled some shit.) Thankfully, most of us weren't raised in those cultures and find kissing pretty great. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSEVM7HMctI5YwdCGAp2mr5RZ54WB8g6doO9yvdBO_666TxkykCcV9GjvEh3-RMpY2_JozEFWCsHFvfW2F6Hfo4yXr3sa5dsBOYO9Kr9mYhbCXY6cfyG3oEJfckjIaopx6FTst4L42sJA/s1600/TiffanysKiss.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSEVM7HMctI5YwdCGAp2mr5RZ54WB8g6doO9yvdBO_666TxkykCcV9GjvEh3-RMpY2_JozEFWCsHFvfW2F6Hfo4yXr3sa5dsBOYO9Kr9mYhbCXY6cfyG3oEJfckjIaopx6FTst4L42sJA/s320/TiffanysKiss.jpeg" width="320" /></a>Funny thing is, kissing is something that is much more fun to do than it is to watch. That might be a good thing. It would be kinda pervy if we all walked around watching people kiss all day and laughing under our breath. In fact, we'd probably wind up in the county slammer on some sort of public nuisance charge if we got caught doing it too much. Doubtless, I'd be the first one arrested. The director in me would want to choreograph that couple in the restaurant or the lovers at that table in the corner. "Buddy, look, put your fingers on her jaw and let them slide to the back of her neck. Slowly. Slower." "Young lady, you're spending too much time biting his lower lip. Tilt your head more. There. Perfect."<br />
<br />
In the cinema and at the theatre, however, it's okay to watch. A well-designed kiss can transport us into the very heart of the characters we watch. "Breakfast at Tiffany's," "To Have and Have Not," "Gone With the Wind," "Casablanca," "From Here to Eternity," "It's a Wonderful Life" all have kisses that define the relationship of the characters we've been following for two hours. If executed properly by the actors and staged perfectly by the director, they take our breath away as if we were on screen ourselves.<br />
<br />
Kissing takes a deft and specific approach on screen to
work. Occasionally, even our best actors fail miserably during a
celluloid snog. Angelina Jolie and Johnny Depp in "The Tourist,"
awkward. Liv Tyler and Viggo Mortensen in "Lord of the Rings: The
Return of the King" were smashing into each others noses so hard it
looked painful. Adam Sandler kissing Jennifer Aniston, Drew Barrymore,
and Jessica Biel. Eeeew. Please. They just don't work. In all of these cases, certainly the directors could have done better in helping the actors find the right moves. (Except for the Adam Sandler ones. Those poor girls.) In fact, it is the director's job to do that. Regardless, the actors are left in awkward moments and the audience is left unfulfilled and often disappointed.<br />
<br />
As in real life, not all movie kisses mean the same thing. There are romantic kisses, comedic kisses, dramatic kisses, passionate kisses. Not every kiss should necessarily be sexy, either. Actors have an old adage about how to play an intoxicated person. The secret? Don't play <i>drunk</i>. Play trying NOT to be drunk. Most people who have had too much to drink try not to appear drunk. That's key. Same for kissing. Sometimes it's is the reticence, the waiting, the anticipation of the kiss that makes it work on stage and on screen. <span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Alfred Hitchcock's "Notorious" has one of the most intimate
kissing scenes ever filmed. It's not a constant lip-lock. It's not a slobber-fest. It's not a non-committal smooch. It's not a bad-breath-avoidance-stick-and-move. It’s a masterful two-and-a-half minutes staged
in such a way as to bring us a long for a very romantic ride. Hitchcock intention was to circumvent the Hays Code of the time. The ludicrous Production
Code banned kisses longer than three seconds. So Hitch had them kiss for
three, then whisper and nuzzle and go back to another three second kiss. Stop and murmur a sweet nothing, then kiss. Sigh, breath, kiss. Then repeat. Just may be the best screen kiss of all time. If you don't believe me, take a look below. Feel free to try this at home.</span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Zu8JASfWb6A/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Zu8JASfWb6A?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
The stage kiss is very different from the movie kiss. The stage kiss isn't 40 feet high and in close up. These are normal sized actors (although many stage actors have heads quite large for their bodies, but that's another post entirely) and seen from ten or twenty rows back. There needs to be much more set up. The audience needs to see it coming a little. They need to feel the tension as the characters get closer. On stage the kiss has to be perfectly planned and executed to take advantage of angle and light as well as emotion and character. Timing must be perfect. Not too long, not to short. You can't "fix it in post" like they do in the movies. Hey, this stuff ain't easy.<br />
<br />
The best actors pay attention to each other. They feed off of each other. They are professionals doing a job. You don't kiss a
"co-worker" in a show the same way that you kiss a significant other on a date. Movie and stage kisses take work. Rehearsal. Usually that happens in front of a bunch of people doing other jobs while you're trying to look all Rico Suave or Pussy Galore. It's not as fun as it may sound and it definitely is not anything your life-partners should worry about. The finished product may look erotic or passionate, but believe me, getting there can be difficult. <br />
<br />
Sometime in the 50s or 60s (okay, I just made those dates up because it just seems about right), movies and the actors in them forgot how to kiss. Kissing in the movies was better in the very early days of Hollywood. Perhaps I should say - more effective. In real life, the kiss is either the beginning of something bigger (oh, you know what I'm talking about) or so casual and commonplace it doesn't serve in your daily narrative (that morning peck as you both drive off to work). In movies, and on stage, the kiss is usually the climax to the scene. (Yes, okay, pun intended.) <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYAvWEtlGgcb6PaJCWILGnQqOWlymSimYMHtrB_SZOVBSsY-bIlUcnMcph9tFPIhSEqhQS8c5V80IsnmP9ipTRDDwUum5Lg1mUAyqCtvam7s8XA35Hhyphenhyphen_0DuYTRa8xbjZxY8UqNKBmvKI/s1600/CaryGrantAffairtoRemember.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYAvWEtlGgcb6PaJCWILGnQqOWlymSimYMHtrB_SZOVBSsY-bIlUcnMcph9tFPIhSEqhQS8c5V80IsnmP9ipTRDDwUum5Lg1mUAyqCtvam7s8XA35Hhyphenhyphen_0DuYTRa8xbjZxY8UqNKBmvKI/s200/CaryGrantAffairtoRemember.jpg" width="129" /></a>After "Streetcar Named Desire" in 1951, with rare exception, everything went to shit. I blame Marlon Brando. And James Dean. Did Dustin Hoffman EVER kiss anyone on screen? Come to think of it, did Paul Newman? Mostly, I blame Lee Strasberg. The screen kiss lost it's fantasy. Strasberg and his "Method" sacrificed romance for realism. (Again, fodder for another post.) We started to see on screen kissing become more and more like <i>actual real life </i>kissing. But, that is not it's purpose. The reason we go to see movies and plays, any art really, is not to have real life replayed before our eyes. It is to experience heightened levels of emotions in heightened situations. To see larger than life people deal with larger than life challenges. To experience emotions on a scale beyond that of our regular life. That is the very purpose of art.<br />
<br />
So the message for all my actors and directors out there is this: Never underestimate this important bit of blocking. It can make or break a moment on stage or on screen. Well, actually, that's not right. It's not <i>just</i> for my actors and directors. I'm really telling <i>everyone, </i>pay attention to the kiss. You, too, can elevate the ordinary to an art form. And.....action!<br />
<br />
<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-43699638300812133572016-12-23T12:49:00.000-08:002016-12-23T12:50:01.353-08:00Holiday Words<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBZ2ffigNn5rpAv6ED4vgH9-hx7QDjEKf6RZ9yThnRQKo58pBSZ4G4xDqHL-LePhX9YFbjFUrQLeVmXTdC64PnabZJ22FGOvgxQacPv48ba4ab1CbwgIYkL3YFGC6W3_YEdyifipfHvU/s1600/holiday_words_card-r19754cf1d6654656909a0e00656bde98_xvuat_8byvr_324.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBZ2ffigNn5rpAv6ED4vgH9-hx7QDjEKf6RZ9yThnRQKo58pBSZ4G4xDqHL-LePhX9YFbjFUrQLeVmXTdC64PnabZJ22FGOvgxQacPv48ba4ab1CbwgIYkL3YFGC6W3_YEdyifipfHvU/s320/holiday_words_card-r19754cf1d6654656909a0e00656bde98_xvuat_8byvr_324.jpeg" width="320" /></a>I have no problem with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy Holidays</i> instead of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Merry
Christmas</i>. In fact, I think
it is a very polite and appropriate greeting during this time of year. I also
think it rather hypocritical for people who claim to be Christians, to get all
worked up over how people wish you well during a particular time of year. Be
grateful, thank them, and return the greeting. It’s akin to men putting the
toilet seat down. Just do it. It really isn’t a big deal. It takes you 5
seconds, no effort, and your wife will brag about you to all her friends. (Sorry, this is a rant for another day.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Season’s Greetings</i>
is another holiday term some people use. Usually in greeting cards. Rarely in
speech. Have you ever heard someone leave the office party with a hearty
“Season’s Greetings, ya'll!” No. You have not.</div>
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The one thing I do like about the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Merry Christmas</i> greeting, however, is the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">merry</i>. I like that word. Every other holiday is preceded by the
word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">happy</i>. Happy New Year, Happy
Valentine’s Day, Happy Thanksgiving, Happy Hogmanay. Happy, happy, happy. But
then there is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Merry</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Christmas</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Merry</i> is just so nice and smiley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a cheerful and light-hearted feeling behind the
word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">merry</i> that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">happy</i> just doesn’t have. You can be happy anytime of the year, but
you can only be merry around the winter months. It even looks like a very
convivial sort of word the way the letters all follow each other and finish
off with that devil-may-care “y” at the end.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jolly</i> is another really
good holiday word. Usually used in describing Santa, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">jolly</i> is what I would deem an autological word -- a word that is
what it describes. Outside of Christmas (and maybe a few times in Shakespeare)
you never hear the word “jolly,” do you? Too bad. It’s fun. It’s one of those
words, though, that if you try to use during any other time of the year, you
will always sound a little pretentious. Or British. </div>
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Other holidays are equally resplendent with fabulous
vocabularies. Hanukkah has some fun words that are only heard during that
holiday, too. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dreidel</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Latkes</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shamash</i>. Even if you don’t know what those words mean, just the
saying of them makes you want to find out. Each of the seven principles of
Kwanzaa are great to say out loud. Especially, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Umoja</i> (Unity) and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kuumba</i>
(Creativity). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Islam and
Hinduism have holidays with fantastic vocabularies (Eid al-Adha and Diwali,
respectively). But since those dates move from year to year, they aren’t always
strictly winter holidays. </div>
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I think my New Year’s resolution (or one of them anyway) for
2017 is to use more merry and jolly words in my daily life. Even at the risk of sounding like I went to Eton
or Harrow, I’m going to make it my mission in 2017 to be creative and daring in how I
speak. I’ll try to honor the intention of good words by enunciating them
properly. (Mr. Cooke and Dr. White will look down approvingly on me for this.) I’m
going to use fun and unusual words for more than just the holidays. I think
I’ll even make a concerted effort to put the “g” back on words ending in “ing.”
I’m not a Cockney, after all. The down side to this resolution for all my
Millennial friends and students will be that if I hear you saying words like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bitten</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kitten</i>, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">written</i>
without pronouncing the ‘t” sound, I will correct you. You’re not a Cockney,
either. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkREwvXpHLHdAFIpFzHYCRmdhsQnQsfFQ2o5PvGyUFg63pxg1Sab8D-vGhfUT4tnF13DiKUC65EM0QKKAWHbMDFTZgcIcO0T9TBdcpzTVfiAfuRjLU6ijSeumaKFEVv_UkJKXvlfw5sJU/s1600/holidaykids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkREwvXpHLHdAFIpFzHYCRmdhsQnQsfFQ2o5PvGyUFg63pxg1Sab8D-vGhfUT4tnF13DiKUC65EM0QKKAWHbMDFTZgcIcO0T9TBdcpzTVfiAfuRjLU6ijSeumaKFEVv_UkJKXvlfw5sJU/s200/holidaykids.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
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Not that we needed the lesson, but 2016 has reminded all of
us of the power that words can have when used improperly or carelessly. Words wielded
by the wrong mouths can topple governments and influence elections. They can
cause pain and fear. They can threaten and intimidate. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully, words can also inspire and
heal. They can motivate and enlighten. Lined up in the right way, they can make
children laugh, can serve as a tonic for a lover’s tears, or can trigger an
apology in the face of an argument. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Using words, a person can also wish a total stranger a Happy Holiday –
and mean it -- no matter what religion either of them practice or belief system they hold
dear. </div>
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I wish you all a Merry Holiday and a very Jolly New Year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Here's to using your words - old ones, new ones, right ones.</span></div>
Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-8486261894724140752016-12-12T16:28:00.003-08:002016-12-13T17:24:40.487-08:00Rules of the Road Trip<br />
You are doing it wrong.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKfOH3ntf_Ngu0e27V74b3O-yGky4NWJ34xgwsFZJceuFPcInpyfIlv25wXmB6SMGdLoPdYgVaeI_M3HA8brcblGkB9vqHym8OVIofryzIKClSQdB_KTg7Wai0B62V6DHF1Eq-z-Pz-M/s1600/roadtripMGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKfOH3ntf_Ngu0e27V74b3O-yGky4NWJ34xgwsFZJceuFPcInpyfIlv25wXmB6SMGdLoPdYgVaeI_M3HA8brcblGkB9vqHym8OVIofryzIKClSQdB_KTg7Wai0B62V6DHF1Eq-z-Pz-M/s1600/roadtripMGB.jpg" /></a>Rules and regulations are everywhere. Some people may think that, as a society, we are over-regulated. However, there are reasons for rules. The road trip is no exception. Oh, sure, it seems harmless enough. There's the family outing to another state, you have your couple jaunting up the coast for a couple days, and the classic four friends gassing up for an epic journey across country. To the uninitiated, these are simple excursions in a vehicle to travel to a destination. To the serious road tripper, these are highly planned and completely immersive experiences. They require military level logistics and detailed organization.<br />
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As we look forward to some potential road trips over the winter holidays, here are some helpful tips to make sure you enjoy your road trip in the manner it was intended.<br />
<ol>
</ol>
A. Dress Code<br />
<ol>
<ol>
<li>Jeans and shorts only. No khakis. Please. Don't make me explain. Also, this is the ONLY time in your entire life you are EVER permitted to wear cargo shorts.</li>
<li>No swimsuits or bikinis. A seat belt on bare skin can leave a mark. Plus it gets kinda sweaty. Also, when you get out of the car the back of your legs are red and have the imprint of your seats on them. </li>
<li>Wear shoes. Do not drive barefoot. What if you have to dash into a gas station bathroom? Gross. Do not wear flip flops (or thongs and some people call them) either. You are on a road trip in a car. Take the driving part seriously.</li>
<li>Wear a hat. For men, a ball cap, flat cap, beanie or stocking cap, trilby, pork pie -- all acceptable road trip wear. No berets, cowboy hats, boaters, derbys, or bucket hats. You are on vacation not auditioning for a TV period drama or cop show. For women, anything you look cute in. Face it, girls are cute in hats. Maybe try a scarf. Go ahead and rock your inner Audrey Hepburn.
</li>
</ol>
</ol>
B. Music.<br />
<ol>
<ol>
<li>Generally, the best road trip music is from the 70s and 80s. You may not know this, but road trips are social activities -- you and everyone else on the road are communing. If you are a millennial, older road trippers will think you are way cooler than you are. </li>
<li>Real road trippers customize their music for the trip.This is where you can sneak in some more contemporary tunes. </li>
<li>No one listens to country music on a road trip. NO, they don't. Only professional truck drivers. This is a road trip not a job. If you really WANT to listen to country music (which I do not recommend) pull over and go into a bar or country diner. Order some chicken-fried-steak and mashed potatoes, get your fix, then get back on the road. Now, don't panic. <span class="st">Lynyrd Skynyrd is not considered country. If you need a quick primer on the difference between country music and southern rock, please DM me immediately. You obviously have some learnin' to do. </span></li>
</ol>
</ol>
C. Food <br />
<ol>
<ol>
<li>Plain potato chips and regular tortilla chips are for picnics NOT road trips. The exceptions are for things that are spicy and hot flavors. Stock up on Cheetos (any flavor), Chex Mix (any but the new chocolate flavored sweet ones - WTF, General Mills!), popcorn, and anything else that crumbles easily and gets all over the place. Barcel and Tom's are the best brands for road trips. Convenience stores and gas stations carry them.</li>
<li>NO DIP. This is not a cocktail party - it's a freaking road trip. Don't get fancy, get serious.</li>
<li>No chocolate bars. Only candy like Red Vines, Gummy Bears, Circus Peanuts, etc. If you really have to have chocolate M&Ms are fine. </li>
<li>No napkins. (See exception D.1. below)</li>
<li>Ignore serving sizes. I know I didn't really have to mention this, but, there you go.</li>
<li>Only get snacks with wide-mouth bags. (Basically, just buy a big regular bag.) No small or snack-size bags as they are unsafe for the driver. Oh sure, everyone in the car can manage the stupid teeny ones you put in your kid's lunch box, but you are a grown-ass adult and need to get a handful in one smooth motion. Here's how it should flow: 1) Hands at ten and two on the wheel, 2) Release at two, 3) grab, 4) shovel, 5) wipe on pant leg, 6) back to two. (If this is your first road trip, practice this a few times before you actually pull out of your driveway for the trip.)</li>
<li>Don't bother bringing fruit. Too much trash. Bananas and apples have the skin, apples have the core, grapes have the twiggy little whatever they are. Bag it. They are a hassle. Just wait until you stop somewhere for dinner and order a salad or a side of fruit. You'll live.</li>
</ol>
</ol>
D. Misc<br />
<ol>
<ol>
<li>Don't even think about packing Kleenex. If you need to blow your nose use a napkin. Even the little travel size are terrible. Leave those in you suitcase when you go on the airplane. Grab a bunch of napkins from a fast food restaurant or steal a handful from Starbucks. Do not use these for wiping your hands. (See C.4. above) These are official road trip snot rags. (Yes, that's the real name). </li>
<li>Road side rest areas are there for a purpose. Use them often. You need to get out and stretch your legs. Even if you are only driving for a couple hours, stop at a rest area. Chat to the couple from Wisconsin. That's their RV parked over by the pet poop area. Make small talk with the tattooed girl from Albuquerque and her skinny boyfriend in the sagging jeans. They are very nice people. You should probably stay away from the the really mean looking guy with the Chihuahua. He's probably on parole and not use to people yet. The Chihuahua might be his therapy dog. Use caution in the bathrooms. The floors are gross and slippery and there will never be anything to dry your hands are. Use the napkins from D.1. when you get back to the car. Don't get grossed out, but you WILL have to flush the toilet prior to using it. Just do it. It's part of the fun.</li>
<li>When filling up at the gas station, always wash your windshield. It's tradition and should not be ignored. </li>
<li>Over pack. That's right, I said it. You are in your car. Pack some extra of everything just in case you need it. Take twice as much underwear and socks, a couple extra pair of shoes, some dress pants, a nice shirt or blouse, a swim suit. You know -- extra stuff. Even though you are on a road trip, you don't lose your humanity. Be ready for a spur of the moment adventure. </li>
</ol>
</ol>
This is far from a complete list. You are welcome to customize it a little (the food part, certainly has some wiggle room) so long as you don't stray from the main tenets.<br />
<br />
Have fun! Don't drink and drive. NO TEXTING. Enjoy the trip, ya'll.*<br />
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*Road trips are the ONLY time you are allowed to say "ya'll" if you are not from the South. This will be D.4. on the revised edition.<br />
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Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-68904323479753076222016-11-23T16:33:00.001-08:002016-11-24T09:10:08.174-08:00Thanksgiving. Have a Happy One.Thanksgiving is always about family, right? Well, usually, anyway. Family and food. And football.<br />
<br />
Early in my creative career (read: when I couldn't afford to go home because I was a struggling actor without two nickles to rub together), Thanksgiving was about what we now often refer to as "tribe." Community. My peeps. A circle of friends, lovers, cast-mates, and theatre orphans that had one thing in common -- each other. Well, that and we were stuck in LA together on a big holiday. If we pooled our money we could buy a turkey and some Almaden Savignon Blanc (or Carlo Rossi Burgundy if none of us had worked in a while.) Of course, my roommate and I would always have a bottle of Jameson in the house for special occasions and an orphan's Thanksgiving was always one such event.<br />
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For the last 20 years or so, Thanksgiving has been about driving 1000
miles (one way) to visit my mother and her long-time significant other. My younger brother in Las Vegas would also make the trek (500 miles one way). Our older brother lived very close to
Mom, as did a couple of cousins, so we got a lot of obligatory
"visiting family" points on Turkey Day. As the years passed,
Thanksgiving morphed into an inconvenient few days off each year that
took more and more planning to execute successfully. The holiday needed to be stage managed like some exotic expedition.<br />
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Logistical issues aside, a three or four day visit to Mom's was always just a little bit too long for me. Her computer was slow, she cooked with too much salt, and if I had to hear one more time about how my lawyer brother was a better actor than I was because he was lawyer... Ack! Enough already. Then again, this was my mother, my brothers, my family. So familial guilt made me believe that a couple days was never quite enough. I love my family, but (and let's be honest, here) there is a reason we live 1000 miles away (one way).<br />
<br />
But we suffer through. We bitch and moan. We eat. We laugh. We drink a little too much knowing we can sleep it off during the Detroit Lions game. We bring up old memories and ancient feuds that continue through the years with no resolutions in sight. All of these things are part of what family means. <br />
<br />
The great thing about Thanksgiving has always been the lack of any real pressure. Oh sure, there is the complexity of shopping. Try to find a 16 ounce can of anything. Can't do it. Don't make 'em anymore. All the recipes still call for that size, though, so you have to figure out how to adjust recipes. I should have paid more attention in math class. Prepping and cooking can be stressful, but by the time you are an adult, you pretty much have your mojo working on the traditional family stuff. Try anything new and adventurous and you are on your own. You should know better anyway. Stick to the basics. Cleaning up is usually where the party breaks down. Once the food and drink is gone so are most of the helping hands you were counting on to scrape the bones into the trash and make sure the wine glasses are dry. Generally speaking, if you play your cards right you can drop a few hints that will let people know they are expected to, at the very least, carry their place setting into the kitchen without dropping a turkey leg for the dog to get. If someone does happen to fling some stuffing into the fish tank, just know that they are going to blame it on the youngest person there. Or the oldest, if there is a nasty aunt that no one likes.<br />
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Compared to the other holidays, expectations for Thanksgiving are relatively mild. Navigating a mall to buying Christmas presents is like being in a real Lara Croft video game - shimmying past the slow moving wall that is the family with corn dogs and pretzels; tripping over the old biddy with the fake "service dog" as she jerks it away from the fresh puddle by the perfume kiosk; digging through piles of unsorted ladies lingerie at Victoria's Secret looking for something in a red or black lace that is sexy but not slu...uhm, wait, oversharing. I digress. Shopping online is not much easier. So many choices. Is shipping included? Calculating delivery online can be like one of those sixth grade story problems that I sucked at. "A hoodie being shipped from Stamford, CT at UPS Ground will save you $5 if your total order is greater than or equal to X. Solve for X."<br />
<br />
Then there is Valentine's Day. A whole day only for people in relationships. That is just sad. Sorry single people, you have to wait for New's Year Eve. Oh, and guys, don't get lazy on this one. Pay attention and you'll do alright. Fourth of July? Those parades are terrible, but the neighbor kids are gonna be on the Boy Scout's Statue of Liberty float, so you are obliged to go. And, by the way, admit it, you never get the best seat to watch the fireworks at the local park. Your kids always have to run around the family with the pop-up tent and the portable Weber kettle or you have to distract them from staring at the couple making out two blankets over. Memorial Day? Veteran's Day? Stock up on flags, because if you don't people will think you are not a patriot. You can make up for it a little with some red, white and blue cocktail napkins, but nothing says patriotic holiday observance more than a faded flag that you only trot out a couple times a year.<br />
<br />
Thanksgiving is the one. Camaraderie and canapes. Wine and wisecracks. Human beings sitting around a backyard fire-pit or a well appointed dinner table just enjoying one another. Somebody spilled something on the new sofa? No problem. A toddler reaching for some whip cream just broke a wine glass? You probably had that glass long enough anyway. <br />
<br />
My Mom is gone now and I miss those ridiculous trips to Colorado. Yet, I am so thankful for them. My family has grown in a very special way the past few years, so this Thursday in November lets me ponder that. I have gotten closer to some family members and more distant from others. My tribe is changing. Sure, there are the founding members of my tribe/my family that have remained constant. There are the close friends and the friends that are close. Friends that were and are again. Friends that all but disappeared for decades but by some magic force of the universe become practically neighbors. Family members get married, divorced, married again. Some move away, others move in. Tribe is the right word. Thanksgiving, by it's very nature, is meant to be tribal. Whether it's the tribe
you were born into or the tribe you choose for yourself - maybe both - you come
together for the most basic of human reasons. To eat. To tell stories. To enjoy each other while you can. <br />
<br />
Don't worry, as sure as you will have left over turkey, the Detroit Lions will probably lose and things will go back to normal on Monday. But for a few days, enjoy the characters that make up your tribe. Give thanks for each and every one of them. Oh, and pass the sage and sausage dressing. It's my favorite. Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-88600823032507425202016-03-15T17:04:00.001-07:002016-03-15T17:13:30.260-07:00On Losing Things. On Finding Things.Sometimes you lose stuff. You just do. Nobody's fault. Shit happens. A cuff link rolls off your dresser and gets sucked up by the vacuum. A ten dollar bill sails into the wind as you're pulling out your car keys. The world is cruel sometimes. Your Star Trek <span class="st">NCC-1701 Enterprise </span>Pizza Cutter gets accidentally thrown away with the last pizza box. Good thing it was a gift or you'd be pissed off. It was pretty cool, though. (Stop laughing. Have you ever SEEN one of those? They are COOL.)<br />
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Sometimes other people lose stuff and you find it. That's exciting.
Occasionally, a little uncomfortable. I found a $100 bill once. I felt
guilty for a month afterwards. The poor sod probably needed that C-note
for something important.<br />
<br />
<br />
However frustrating losing something may be, when you find it again, the joy is immeasurable. Especially if you find it on accident. The tale of loss and recovery becomes epic. A party story told over and over again to rapt throngs. The cuff link winds up in the cat's litter box. (Yeah, don't ask. It's a mystery.) The ten-spot ends up blowing against a rose bush getting stuck on a thorn for a week and returned to you by your gardener. (Who clearly could use the money more than you). The pizza cutter mysteriously appears years later on the same day the new Star Trek movie opens. (Kismet.)<br />
<br />
Sometimes, just sometimes, you will find something without having lost it at all. A relationship, a love, a friend, a memory. One of my very best friends from high school reconnected with me via a phone call out of the blue. I had forgotten how much that person meant to me and, strangely, still does. While I didn't actually lose him as a friend, I found the importance of him again. As a result, that simple little action of a phone call, we have gotten back in touch, have spoken many times and actually took the time to meet after a million years and visit for a while face-to-face. So fun and heartwarming, really.<br />
<br />
For those who read my posts or follow me on Facebook, you will know I "found" a daughter I didn't know I had. More accurately, she found me. While I didn't officially "lose" her, the change in our lives once we found each other was profound. I would daresay miraculous even.<br />
<br />
Just last year, I had the pleasure of finding some "junk boxes" my mother had kept over the years. She kept Mother's Day cards from the 90s, birthday cards from the 80s, newspaper clippings from the 70s. Letters from her children. Not junk at all. At least not to her. What I really found was what my mom had held dear throughout her entire life. Memories.<br />
<br />
It's not that I really needed that Star Trek pizza cutter. I mean, really, it's a pretty limited utensil. It was just awesome to look at, to hold, to have. It was fun. Naturally, I was able to cut pizza after it went missing. I bought a new pizza cutter at Ralph's. It worked. Cut pizza. I forgot about the lost item pretty quickly, to be honest. Until one day, you move something or clean out a drawer or rearrange a cupboard. Hum. What's...that? Hey, it's my Star Trek <span class="st">NCC-1701 Enterprise </span>Pizza Cutter! Then you cradle it like a long lost love. The memory of losing now itself a memory. So glad I got a couple DiGiornos in the freezer. Now, where'd I put that corkscrew?<br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-40613422219948923922016-03-11T16:29:00.003-08:002016-03-11T21:16:18.469-08:00I'm Not a Writer. But, I Write.<br />
Nobody writes anymore. We tap out 140 characters on Twitter. We post funny sayings and scatter birthday wishes around Facebook. We scratch out a few lines in a thank you card or a text message. We don't really write, though. <br />
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Which is kind of odd when when you think about it. I don't know about you, but when I get an actual letter in the mail, I am as "giddy as a drunken man" to quote Mr. Dickens. I reschedule whatever I may have planned in order to locate a letter opener (yes, I still have one). If I can't find it immediately, any knife, pair of scissors or fingernail file will do. Carefully I'll slice open the envelope; gently remove the precious paper cargo as if it were a page from the Books of Kells; gingerly unfold the stationery with baited breath ready to absorb the contents. The subject matter is less important that the fact that this person just took valuable time out of their day to think about me and put words on paper.<br />
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I'm not talking about business letters, here. You get that, right? I talking writing of a personal nature. To family and friends and people you care about. I'm talking big sentiments with nouns and verbs and adjectives (no abbreviations allowed) that reach into the other person's mind if not their very soul. These kinds of letters don't have to be novels or even short stories. They can be a paragraph or a few pages. They should, however, be considered and contemplated. They should take some effort. It's okay to re-write a few bits here and there. If fact, consider that prerequisite to a good letter. <br />
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A long time ago I used to write letters. Lots of them if memory serves. Then I stopped.
Don't know why. Inspiration got overshadowed by something less thrilling, perhaps. Time spent scribbling got shifted to time spent rehearsing. Not that
either of those things are acceptable excuses, but whatever the reason(s) my
letter writing became more, shall we say, sporadic. I only started
writing letters again a few years ago. I picked up the keyboard to write
letters to my daughter. [<i>My previous posts address that little miracle.</i>] My thinking was that if I could write her a letter on a special occasion here and there I would be able to subtlety sneak in some information about myself that she might find interesting. Maybe even useful. Or at least, she might get to know me better through my written words and not just my spoken ones. Honestly, I sometimes talk way to much and writing is a good filter. With any luck, I hope she has had a laugh or two while reading my little missives. She certainly has discovered that I have absolutely no regard for grammar or punctuation. <br />
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Should you choose to begin your letter writing adventure, start with letters to friends. Those are easy. Just start writing to a buddy to see how their doing. Crack a few jokes. Ask a few personal questions. Give them a couple of updates about your own life. I guarantee you will get an immediate response and, hopefully, a letter in return. Now, I am fully aware that some of you kinda do this already. At Christmastime. You know who you are. Imma let you slide even though you are cheating a Little bit.<br />
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The most elegant form of letter writing is, of course, the love letter. One needn't be a poet to write a good love letter. If the meaning is truthful and heartfelt, the person you are writing to will think it poetry. If sincere, the words will come. Just throw in a couple complements and some flower references and you are golden! (Spray a little perfume with some rose top notes on the envelope for good measure. Rose lingers. Viola!)<br />
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If you are not going to heed my advice and start writing letters, then at the very least -- start a blog. Write something. Even if no one ever reads it. Write. Not all the time, just once in a while. Give yourself the chance, even the permission, to be vulnerable, to spout off, to express yourself.<br />
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Here's the thing (pardon me while I step up on this soapbox for a minute), as I see it, our society has developed a terrible avoidance to speaking from the heart. Oh, we can rattle off an uneducated or ignorant opinion faster that you say "Donald Trump's a racist asshole." But to share a real piece of our heart is much harder. We have come to think of anything even close to sentimentality as bad, uncool, silly, unbelievable. From movies to personal relationships, we shun the sentimental in favor of "being honest." Plain, blunt, often coarse talk has smothered our ability to cry at movies, our longing to sigh at songs, or our need to whisper in our lover's ear. But in order for a love letter (any letter, really) to be truly effective, the writer must let down their own guard. They must be emotionally available. A person who writes, must openly make themselves vulnerable to the person to whom they are writing. You must risk something of yourself to make the connection. No one can do that in a tweet a post or a meme.<br />
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There is also a very personal <i><span class="st">je ne sais quoi</span></i> about signing your name to something. Especially, something other than a tax return or a credit card receipt in a restaurant. Even when I print out a letter written in Word, I will sign my name. With an actual pen. Your signature on a letter is the equivalent of a politician endorsing a commercial. It's you saying, "Yup, I wrote this and mean every word." This flies directly in the face of most social media that is hidden behind bogus screen names and false identities. There we hide our meanness behind anonymity. With letter writing we wave our heart around like a white flag hoping the person reading it will take up the order to parley.<br />
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I know a few people are real writers. I mean, pros. For reals. Gifted, creative friends who can expertly craft a movie script, weave together a story for book or magazine, invent a beautiful poem. I'm not suggesting that we all suddenly add another hyphen to our credentials and I would never insult my highly talented friends by comparing my own work to theirs. However, I do think there is value in the process of writing. You don't have to be a writer to write a letter. You just have to have something important or nice to say - to someone else. <br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-66409859788253179432016-03-09T15:42:00.001-08:002016-03-09T16:55:22.010-08:00Secret Stashes of Circus PeanutsOn July 13, 2015 my mother passed away. Now, don't worry, this isn't going to be one of those kind of posts. Yes, it was hard. Excruciating. Fortunately for me, I really had no unfinished business with my mom. We were good. But the grieving process got me thinking about a whole raft of things. Some linked to her directly and others just far away thoughts that would come rushing into the vacuum created by the loss. Some I had predicted would show up, others were little surprises. Still others -- earthquakes.<br />
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But life is like that, right? Sometimes in the middle of a perfectly perfect Southern California day there's an earthquake followed by some aftershocks. Then, all better, back to perfectly perfect.<br />
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After my mom's death, my brothers and I set about "getting her affairs in order." And while I remember little about what transpired over the course of those few days, I do remember one thing in particular -- and vividly. In what my mom referred to as her "computer room" was a desk. It had four drawers. As I opened the bottom most of those drawers I was shocked to discover...her secret candy stash. My 87 year old mom had candy hidden away. My audible laughter turned into sobbing. So much so that one of my brothers came rushing in to check on my state of being. This drawer contained two boxes of Dots, a bag of Cinnamon Bears, and two large unopened bags of possibly one of the most inexplicable candies in the world of confections -- Circus Peanuts. The fact that she squirreled them away like a teenager's porn collection just struck me as profound. <br />
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I cannot for the life of me figure these things out. They look like peanuts, but are made of some kind of strange marshmallow only not really marshmallow. And, if we are to believe Wikipedia, they are banana flavored. Right. Okay. Who thought that shit up? Who makes a banana flavored marshmallow peanut? That's craaaazeeee! I love 'em!<br />
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Forrest Gump was wrong. Life is nothing like a box of chocolates. Life is like a bag of Circus Peanuts. Looks like one thing, tastes like another and is made out of something not quite what it should be. Our stroll through this life is littered with these bizarre little candies. People and events that make no sense in any way except the one way that matters most. The heart way.<br />
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We all have certain friends that continually disappoint or drive us insane. Family that embarrasses us or angers us with their small mindedness or opinions. But if we ever really needed someone to help us fix a flat in the middle of the Mojave Desert, they'd drive half way across the country with a brand new jack and a spare tire. We may hide them from the world like my mom's candy bags, but they'll always be right there if we need them.<br />
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Long lost friends, forgotten lovers, distant relatives, former classmates. People passing through your life that you may not have heard from in years. Memories that have been effectively sunken at the bottom of our muddy brain seem to bubble up out of nowhere (how they find our cell number is still a mystery) and we laugh through the whole hour long catch-up session like we had never been apart. Opening yet another bag of familiar sweetness and pushing the silly thing into our mouth like an orca eating a seal.<br />
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Every once in awhile, on an inexplicable whim, I'll buy a bag of Circus Peanuts. (They're only a couple bucks at Target.) Not because they are delicious. Not because of the health benefits of Yellow 5 and Red 40. Certainly not because they are gluten free. (Which they are, BTW.) My motivation for supporting this ridiculous treat is purely because that first bite releases a flood of memories. All of them good. It's hard to remember sad things when you're eating a Circus Peanut.<br />
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No one should live in the past. But it's totally okay, to taste it now and again. If for no other reason than to remember how delicious things can be if you only open the bag. Thanks, Mom.<br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-1133591727121849212016-02-22T17:33:00.001-08:002016-03-09T15:47:40.609-08:00"To Kill A Mockingbird" & MeLast week, Harper Lee died. She was 89. I have been pondering her much this last week. (Maybe more so even than the passing of David Bowie and Glenn Frey though equal to my musings on my friend, Natalie Cole.) Until 2015, Lee had published only one book. One. One of the very few Great American Novels. <br />
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After my stint studying to be an actor at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, I was hungry, no, starving, to continue gobbling up every bit of great acting wherever I could find it. I sought out every important movie I could find (VHS days), every play I could afford (waiter's salary), and listened to the spoken word recordings of the likes of Richard Burton and John Gielgud (perfect for LA traffic). Many of my contemporaries were dressing like Dustin Hoffman and combing their hair like Al Pacino. They were delving deep into the psycho babble of Strasberg. Making meals of cigarettes, cheap bourbon, and Cup Noodle. I was being drawn to a different kind of actor and, ultimately for me, a different kind of career. I found myself gravitating to the class and style of William Powell and William Warren. I still love the Pre-Code films of the early '30s and the deftly acted and directed screwball comedies of the 30s and 40s. I will stop whatever I am doing to dance with Fred & Ginger, light up a smoke with Bogart & Bacall, or muscle my way through a Gene Kelly number. (So, yes, I'm a fan of TCM.) I didn't want the mumbling anti-hero of James Dean. I didn't care all that much about the frantic intensity of the constantly-New-York-accented Pacino. I was looking for quiet power. Controlled technique. Acting choices based on writer's words not just personal reactions to internal, lizard brain desires. <br />
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Then I saw Gregory Peck in "To Kill A Mockingbird."<br />
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Everything changed. My search was over.<br />
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The story itself is a roller coaster of humor and drama, innocence and racism. Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch won him an Oscar - as it certainly should have done. He is, simply put, perfect in the role. To this day, this is mandatory viewing for my acting students.<br />
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The character of Atticus is a towering figure. From height to humility, he is the very definition of a hero. But he is also a father of deep compassion and strength. A lawyer of thoughtful consideration and weighted intelligence. In 2003, AFI named Atticus Finch the greatest movie hero
of the 20th century. Not Rocky Balboa or Iron Man. Not Indiana Jones or
James Bond. Atticus Finch. A small town lawyer in Alabama. A widower with two kids.<br />
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I left the theatre that day wanting to live my life like Atticus Finch, the character. Of course, that didn't last long. Youth and Hollywood soon dashed all hopes of me ever having that kind of courage or conviction -- or morality. But what did last, was my great desire to try to be as accomplished an actor as Gregory Peck. And if not as talented or skillful as he, then certainly as utterly believable as he was in that one role at least once in my fledgling career. Gregory Peck in "To Kill A Mockingbird" was my benchmark for acting perfection. <br />
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For some reason, my teachers always picked other things to make us write term papers on, so I didn't read Harper Lee's book in school. In watching this film for the first time, I had no frame of reference. Just the movie. It wasn't until years later when I finally got around to reading the novel, that I realized how gracefully Horton Foote's screenplay captured the book and, indeed, the character of Atticus Finch. But even Foote's tremendously gentle screenplay would have been empty without Peck's Atticus. Maybe not empty, but certainly, less perfect.<br />
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As I have gotten older I have gotten noticeably more liberal about my intake of art. (I'll even enjoy me some Pacino and Brando now! (Except "Scarface." Still, no. It's the accent.) I am much more accepting of imperfection in films and plays. A musician blows a sour note - what of it? A painting may not speak to me, but I'm sure there will be someone who appreciates it. Don't get me wrong, I still point out errors and poor execution. I still cringe at poor diction during a Shakespearean monologue and I have little patience for over-gesticulation buy a fresh-faced leading man. My wife and I still make good sport about how we could have fixed a certain line reading. But "To Kill a Mocking Bird" may just be the perfect film. I honestly cannot find a single thing that I would change. Boo Radley, Dill Harris, Bob Ewell. Wouldn't alter a line or gesture. Tom Robinson, Calpurnia, Judge Taylor. Wouldn't vary an expression or camera angle.<br />
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Similarly, I can say the same thing about the book. Scout, Jem, Atticus. Wouldn't replace a single verb or tweek one little noun. Harper Lee's long life yet all-too-short career left us with so much heart and wisdom, it's no wonder that we feel that we actually knew her. We certainly knew and loved her characters. Certainly, the impact that one book and that one movie had on one young actor, changed him for the better -- and forever. Thank you, Harper Lee. Thank you, Gregory Peck. Thanks, Atticus.<br />
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<i>“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his
point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in
it.”-- </i>Atticus Finch<i><br /></i><br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-30190152336700956492016-01-20T17:02:00.001-08:002016-01-21T12:24:16.597-08:00On Ian McKellen and Acting.<br />
In an age of meaningless Kim Kardashian celebrity and Charlie Sheen media antics; in a Hollywood littered with the inexplicable behavior (intentional or other otherwise) of the Shia LaBeoufs, Mel Gibsons, and Amanda Bynes of the world; in a era fraught with fractious politics and insane ideologies; indeed, in a world of continuing violence and endless bigotry, it is nice to occasionally find refuge in...something. Something sane. Something hopeful. Something inspiring.<br />
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For me that refuge has always been the arts. Primarily the performing ones. Mostly with actors. I love being with actors. Working with them. Talking to them. Hearing them discuss their craft. War stories and backstage dalliances. Flubs and faux pas. Victories and conquests. Shakespeare, Shaw, Henley, Mamet, Simon, Wasserstein.<br />
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I get energized by the way actors analyze characters and peel back the emotional layers of humanity. I wonder with them as they dissect the world. I like the jokes many of them make at their own expense and the honesty with which most of them approach their very lives.<br />
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Recently, I was fortunate enough (along with a small crowd of others at a very exclusive little event) to find such refuge in the company of one of the world's finest (dare I say greatest) actors, Sir Ian McKellen. He is at once serious yet very approachable. He is funny and thoughtful. He is wise and witty and knowledgeable and well-read and deep of thought and emotion. To wit, he is an actor's actor. I would say the very definition.<br />
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I was first exposed to Ian McKellen when he was 44 year old. He was touring his one man show, "Acting Shakespeare." A couple actor friends and I pooled our bartender and waiter tips and cobbled together the cash to sit in the Westwood Playhouse (now the Geffen Playhouse) and watch a relatively unknown British actor (at least to Americans) perform scenes and monologues from Shakespeare. Dressed in a light blue, long sleeved shirt and what I remember to be grey trousers, he began, "All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players."<br />
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I was 25 and fresh out of the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. I had entered drama school after college in hopes of becoming a movie star or, at the very least, a regular on a TV show. That night, McKellen, alone on stage with no props or costumes, made me want to become an actor instead. Within about an hour and a half I had seen what an actor really is. What an actor really does. What an actor is capable of doing to an audience. I was changed.<br />
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There is an interesting thing that happens when you are in the company of real actors. "Real actors" as opposed to "movie stars." I make this distinction with all due respect to movie stars. They work hard in a difficult profession. I love Tom Hanks. He is a very good actor as far as movie stars go. I've never been disappointed with a Tom Hanks movie. But Hanks (and Clooney and others in the rarefied air of movie-stardom) will never play the massive variety of roles afforded to actors like Sir Ian. Sir Ian. Sir John. Sir Alec. Sir Ralph.<br />
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In listening to Sir Ian talk quite candidly about his actor life was personally reassuring and artistically comforting. There are no rules, he can give no advice, he has no process, hard work is important once you have the job, and luck ultimately gets you the job. Even for the most successful actors in the world, it is a hard career that must be tempered and nurtured daily. No, it is not fair. Yes, you are probably better than the people you see on TV and in the movies. Stick to your guns, remain committed, be fearless, work hard, study other actors, live in the world. Have a career not just a job. Love what you do. Be an Ian, not a Kim.<br />
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Here's the interview.<br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-45296116935025800972015-11-12T17:58:00.001-08:002015-11-13T11:13:51.722-08:00What You Don't Know About Actors - But Should.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Now that Halloween is over, I can safely wade back into this topic without be called a curmudgeon -- or an asshole. But right now I'm going to lay a little truth smackdown on you.<br />
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Every year for the past...well, let's say since college, I have been asked what I'm "going as" for Halloween. "You're an actor, you must LOVE Halloween!" Obviously, everyone thinks that actors must just LOVE Halloween because of the dressing up. Not so, Grasshopper. Not all actors like to play dress up for this night of spooky shenanigans. Some do, yes. I know some of these people and they are nice humans and good actors and I like them. They usually do an amazing job of building costumes, too. They have fun doing it. Great. But for some of us, the idea of putting on a costume when NOT in show of some kind makes our skin crawl. I am one of those. I have nothing against All Hallows Eve or those who like to squeeze into a Naughty Viking Girl outfit or smear bloody zombie goo all over their Walking Dead ensemble. Fine. Just not for me. I can't tell you how many parties we have passed on because they were "costume required" affairs. Please understand, this is nothing personal. We do like parties and we love to have fun with our friends. But, no thank you under these conditions.<br />
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Do we decorate our house? Yes. Do we have the best candy in the neighborhood? Uhm, yeah. We also make sure to compliment (sometimes by acting terrified) of each and every little kiddo that comes trick or treating. I like Halloween. I'm just not dressing up. <br />
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Does this surprise you? Probably. Here are some other surprising things you may not know about us actors.<br />
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<li>Not every actor was "the class clown." No knock on class clowns out there, past or present. Many class clowns are very bright and often downright gifted verbally and socially, but that doesn't necessarily make for a good actors nor does it indicate the class clown will become an actor. There is a difference between an extrovert and a class clown. Actors have a tendency to be extroverted, but even that is a bit of a stereotype. Lots of very fine actors are contemplative, thoughtful, and quiet -- until they step on the stage where they turn it on.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>No, we cannot do impersonations. Some of us can, most of us can't. Nor do we care to. That is a very specialized skill reserved for ventriloquists, voice over artists, and celebrity impersonators. Oh, and my pal Chuck Sigars who is both a gifted actor and a very fine mimic. But this is rare. Don't push it with the rest of us.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Not all of us have been on TV. So, when you ask us, "What have I seen you in?" the answer may be, "Well, were you at the Shaw Festival last year? I played Major Petkoff in "Arms and the Man." Some of us choose (that's right, I said choose) to do theatre instead of TV or film. Not because we don't want fame and stardom, but rather because so few of us actually get hired for those jobs, the theater provides us more opportunities and creative freedom.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>We do not want to be the master of ceremonies at the PTA mixer. We do not want to volunteer to lead the company retreat. We do not want to do the recordings for the company voice mail. And we do not want to do accents just for your enjoyment whenever you think it would be fun to hear us talk like Bert from Mary Poppins.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>No, we have never met Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio. Maybe we had an "under five" on "Leverage" with Timothy Hutton or did a guest starring role on "Grey's Anatomy," but, no to Brad and Leo.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Not all high school and college actors are gay. Not all gay students are in "drama club." Not all female stage managers are lesbians and not all lesbians in the theatre are techies. This is the 21st century, please grow up about these things. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>And finally, no, we do not have closets full of costumes from all our years of making theatre. So, the the answer is, no, you cannot borrow my ears and tail from my national tour of "Cats." (Besides, I think my granddaughter is gonna want to be a ballerina kitty again next year and you never returned the drum major costume from when I was in "The Music Man.")</li>
</ul>
Stereotypes. I hate 'em.</div>
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Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5917714695385091155.post-89287992167335521732015-06-29T15:52:00.001-07:002015-06-29T15:52:18.641-07:00"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." -- Inigo MontoyaI gotta get better at creating headlines. This one seems a little long. As an entrepreneur, I've gotta get out of my comfort zone and find a mentor or a marketing pundit to help me solidify my personal brand and really get more concise.<br />
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Sometimes I get tired. Words, phrases, terms, vocabulary, jargon, slang. Sheesh. It's just too much. I used to get a little peeved. Okay, pissed. I had a high school teacher, Mr. Cooke, who was a stickler for this stuff. That's when it started. We had to stand in front of the class and conjugate verbs and do diction exercises. I've never thought about it this way before, but he had a pencil thin mustache and wore bow ties. I also have similar facial hair and often sport a dicky bow. Hum, maybe more influence on me than I had originally thought. Anyway, he was the epitome of class. Always dressed to the nines, deep baritone voice and perfect diction. I do not recall him EVER dangling a single participle or misplacing a single eensy, weensy modifier. He also knew what words meant and how to use them.<br />
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Now, I'm nowhere near the master of wordplay that was my dear Cookie, but I do, on occasion, loose my shit. Usually, it's over stuff that just kinda gets my goat. Through no fault of the words themselves, we often take perfectly good ones and make them into things they are not. Worse, we make them meaningless. Here are a few examples of humans doing bad things to perfectly good words. Well, at least these are the ones that are pissing me off at the moment.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Entrepreneur. </b></span><br />
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My Grandpa Atkin, if he were alive today, would probably call himself an entrepreneur. If you believe my mom, he'd also probably be in jail. He was a gold prospector, a cowboy, an inventor, a peddler of snake oil and sewing machines. He was either stone broke or peeling off hundies to help a neighbor fix their Buick. It was a different world in the 40s and 50s of the Greatest Generation. People had to do a lot of different jobs in their life. That didn't make them entrepreneurial, it just made them work hard.<br />
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Apparently, everyone is a freaking entrepreneur these days. If you are between jobs, looking for a new job, in business for yourself, or just a perpetually under-employed actor in Hollywood, you probably call yourself an entrepreneur. You're not. You might be a businessperson. You're probably a hustler. That's cool. By calling yourself an "entrepreneur" you are implying that you possess qualities of leadership, true innovation, and risk-oriented initiative. If you have to call yourself that, you're probably not. You also think too highly of yourself. Just get to work. Doing something.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Serial Entrepreneur.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhvvwWvLqSbV_rwQr285ZkfYf069wqNEtxarfiMsmiuGttvSsuExtj6uSzx4mBUNCohirCtL_gTyWbSXpZKJDbOa1PHu5kqFPAo9Z24TlTVGOvN_sBY2uQoOnx5m0BtFfzTI0oc_KGog/s1600/Leonardo-Da-Vinci-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhvvwWvLqSbV_rwQr285ZkfYf069wqNEtxarfiMsmiuGttvSsuExtj6uSzx4mBUNCohirCtL_gTyWbSXpZKJDbOa1PHu5kqFPAo9Z24TlTVGOvN_sBY2uQoOnx5m0BtFfzTI0oc_KGog/s200/Leonardo-Da-Vinci-5.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
No, really, that's a thing. Back in my grand-dad's day this guy would be called a "huckster." They'd be quacks, charlatans, swindlers, mountebanks. (Mountebank? Too much? Yeah, okay.) Unless your name is Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, or Richard Branson you are probably not working hard enough to be even remotely referred to as a serial entrepreneur. You'd also have so much money you would need to worry about what people called you. When you finally can pry yourself away from your own genius, read <u>Elmer Gantry</u> by Sinclair Lewis. Or, if you are too busy re-inventing the banana slicer, just watch the movie version with Burt Lancaster. Now shut up and get over yourself.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mentor. </b></span> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmU60hNm7cfZgYpbjUXOgBNK_qGvxvRGslrL9qkzZqypOSGbzBFUqlOLelLDUAP1Lt5mhsLAWSnZGx48LkV6l4v0AsKeq9uk_j6FkuuLymMVoQTHh3XP5eZnjrf00enRYA3sKYAvzESX4/s1600/Yoda_SWSB.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmU60hNm7cfZgYpbjUXOgBNK_qGvxvRGslrL9qkzZqypOSGbzBFUqlOLelLDUAP1Lt5mhsLAWSnZGx48LkV6l4v0AsKeq9uk_j6FkuuLymMVoQTHh3XP5eZnjrf00enRYA3sKYAvzESX4/s200/Yoda_SWSB.png" width="166" /></a></div>
You know the etymology of the word, right? No? Okay, it goes like this: In Greek mythology, Mentor is a friend of Odysseus and a tutor of Telemachus. On several occasions in Homer's <i>Odyssey,</i> Athena assumes Mentor's form to give advice to Telemachus or Odysseus. See that part? Athena assumes Mentor's identity. She disguises herself as Mentor. Telemachus and Odysseus don't know that the person giving them advice is really Athena and NOT their mentor Mentor. They don't know. It is hidden from them. Disguised. See where I'm going here?Athena didn't want them to know that she was the one helping them.<br />
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Please don't call yourself mentor. It's supposed to be kind of a secret. You are supposed to teach people because it will help them. Let other people decide if you are their mentor. Believe me, it'll be better for you, too. Hearing someone refer to you as their mentor is way more meaningful than just crowning yourself one. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pundit. </b></span><br />
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A pundit used to be someone who was an expert in something. It hails from the Sankrit term "pandit," meaning "knowledge owner." An actual expert. With knowledge of and mastery in a particular subject. Nowadays anyone who speaks into a microphone is called a pundit. No one is required to have any real knowledge, they just have to have an opinion. There's a big difference. No, really, there is. Limbaugh, Beck, Hannity, O'Reilly. Really want to be up there with those guys? Didn't think so.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Product.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqnAGszPYepckn7oVXEPvST9Rq_wkrSImRDrzVJ3orI-_MX5LoL8xzAufmfh3anG-4RO9oJnlsLxmXViUgV9muFlOkMOJ-M-dKrR5nfMfn9cPly0o_NEQpRlcS5RGnuut_5TlJ_TAINvs/s1600/brandIdentity21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqnAGszPYepckn7oVXEPvST9Rq_wkrSImRDrzVJ3orI-_MX5LoL8xzAufmfh3anG-4RO9oJnlsLxmXViUgV9muFlOkMOJ-M-dKrR5nfMfn9cPly0o_NEQpRlcS5RGnuut_5TlJ_TAINvs/s200/brandIdentity21.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Everything is a product. A football game is a product. A credit card is a product. A restaurant is a product. Yeah, okay, maybe marketers smarter than me can make a case for the use of the word in these contexts but it just sounds ridiculous. Maybe I'm just jealous I wasn't the first guy to think of this. Face it, though, it's kinda pretentious. No one would say the Chicago Cubs are a terrible product. But they are a shitty team. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Personal Brand. </b></span><br />
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I hate this one. I understand, the world is changing and society is more dynamic and social media has changed the way we blahdy, blahdy, blah. I am not a brand. I'm a person. You are not a brand, either. No. You're not. You may have a reputation or you may have a certain style. You may be known for a particular talent or expertise. You may even have a blog or some YouTube videos. You are a person and that is way more complicated than a brand. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Out of My Comfort Zone.</b></span><br />
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Here's the thing: Shouldn't we always try to do this? Shouldn't we always be pushing ourselves to experience, to grow, to explore, to discover? Those are big and challenging things. But for most people "being out of my comfort zone" has been reduced to trying a new vegetable or wearing sneakers with a tux. That's not right. That's not a big deal.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Transparency.</b></span><br />
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Okay, last one I promise. This one started out good and just went south fast. We all know what transparency means in a literal sense. Something transparent is something that is clear. We can see through it. What it has come to mean, thanks is large part to Wall Street, is "honesty." Whenever people start talking transparency in an office, for example, what they are really saying is "we want everyone to be honest and we are gonna make sure we are all up in your grill so we KNOW you are honest.<br />
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I'm done. Rant over. Now, to write a better headline for my next post.<br />
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<br />Wayne Watkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10708346910144075723noreply@blogger.com0