The empty space

I have a strong affinity for a dark, empty theatre. Perhaps it's the feeling of potential. Or that I'm weird.

Today I miss the man I never met.

My Grandpa didn't die in combat when he served in World War II or Korea. He was killed by cancer. But when I think of him waiting outside the recruiter's office on December 8th, 1941 I think of the many men standing with him who did. Then, as now, those who can often least afford it pay the highest price for our right to take the day off and grill some burgers. Better not burn one today.

The death of EVERYTHING good...

From a great review: "It is 146 minutes long. . . This is an entirely inappropriate length for what is essentially a home video of gay men playing with giant Barbie dolls." --Lindy West

When going to work feels dumb.

That's 2, count 'em, 2 cars in the parking lot. Stupid theatre.

This is why my life is better than yours.

. . . but in our selves.

There's a bulletin board in the hallway of the school where my kids go. Each month they put a different class of kids up there as "Our Stars." There's a little "interview sheet" underneath each picture. A set-up if I ever saw one, there is a spot that says: "My Hero" and leaves a blank for them to fill in who their hero is. When we went in for conferences the other night, my son pointed out the board as we ran past it and said that he was on the board. After I read "My Daddy" I looked at him and I could see that he pointed out the board so I would see that. I said "I'm your hero??" and we went on to see his teacher as I asked what heroic things I had done, expecting no answer and getting none. But, even though it is plain to see that that question is asked because that is often the answer it will illicit, it got to me.

I am reminded of when I was walking at the ball field by Lake Nokomis with my dad and told him that the baby was gonna be a boy and I wanted to name him Charles. My dad's name. My dad was a drunk when I was young and wasn't there much as I got older, but he's my dad. He looked at me with concern and asked if I was sure I wanted to do that. Trying to say that he wasn't sure he wanted that boy to be much like him or that he didn't deserve the honor. Maybe both. But I said I was sure.

I'm hard on my kids because I don't know how to be calm. I yell at them an awful lot and I swear at them too. Yes I tell them I love them every single day and I hug them and kiss their little heads, but I'm no hero. So even though when I saw that bulletin board I got awfully close to weepy and it makes me unspeakably proud that my boy sees me as a man to respect, I hope that Charlie grows up and thinks of me as a dad who kept trying to get better at it, but not as a hero. Because if I'm a hero then he has no reason to improve on the model.

What you need to do. Right now.

I really have no idea who or how many people read my blog, but this post is for all of you. I have some friends. These friends are the best kind of friends who have dreams. And their dream (and consequently, mine) is for them to open a home, a theatre dedicated to the art of Improvisational theatre.

As you may know, I have made my life and now my living in traditional theatre. That being said, I have long felt that Improv has that vitality and life that traditional theatre sometimes lacks. It speaks to all of us and, as art, it is as important as the work of Picasso, Mozart, Broadway and yes, even reality television. To have a theatre solely dedicated to that art in Minneapolis is not merely a desire or a dream. It is an absolute necessity.

The theatre has a name. It is Huge. And they have a way for you to help. If you are afraid of the outside world, you can make a tax deductible contribution through your friend, the computer. If you would like to go outside and feel the sun and the warmth of an amazing performance, go to the fundraiser show this friday at Intermedia Arts in Minneapolis. I'll be there, and I hope to see you.