Misadventure #1 -- Artistic Expression

Throughout history artists have changed the world.  I won't be one of them.  My wife is an accomplished vocalist and guitar player.  My son is a gifted and passionate actor, singer and musician.   I've tried my hand at a few things – I can stumble through 6 or 8 guitar chords, sometimes without embarrassing myself (maybe Clapton won't be calling?) and have done a pencil sketch or two which I've immediately shredded.  I admire my son's talent and courage as an actor, but I never understood the passion until recently.  Here's the story.

Acting Part 1 – The Waiting

I subscribe to an email list from a local casting agency, mostly to look for acting opportunities for my son.  Last week I received an announcement requesting "adults in formalwear" for a shoot in Boston.  Hmmm, I thought.  I can stand around in a tuxedo as well as anyone.  I sent in a photo assuming they were looking for young, cool types not old fat guys.  To my amazement I got a call confirming my availability and tux ownership.  I was in!  The salary would be $64 for the day.   That night at the dinner table I notified the family that we would soon be moving to Hollywood.  They did not scramble to pack.

The shoot was for a TV pilot called Hatfields and McCoys, a modern take on the legendary family feud.  The show would be produced by Charlize Theron and starring Rebecca De Mornay (c'mon guys, you remember Rebecca from the subway scene in Risky Business – I know that's what you're thinking).  I packed up my tux, drove to the appointed parking lot and boarded the shuttle to the set (Boston's Institute of Contemporary Art).  On the seven minute bus ride I composed my acceptance speech for the Emmys, forgetting, of course, to thank my wife.  Then something happened that altered my fantasy dramatically – I arrived.  Sometime during the quarter-mile walk from the shuttle stop to the set through a bone chilling, face numbing wind I concluded that I might not be near the top of the food chain here.  Do Charlize and Rebecca make this walk every day?  I’m guessing they don’t. 

I was directed to a large tent in the parking lot where I checked in and was told to take a seat until I received further instructions.  I got lucky here because I sat next to a guy named Mike who does this for a living.  He was extremely helpful as were the others at my table, all of whom had experience.  I spent the next five hours or so waiting, occasionally being sent to wardrobe or makeup.  Just as I passed my final inspection by the wardrobe people supper arrived.  There was an extensive buffet of juicy foods like corn on the cob and pasta with red sauce – perfect for eating in formalwear.  I ate very little and very carefully, sure that I would spill something on myself and be sent home.  Fortunately that didn’t happen and I finished the meal stain free.  During the meal Charlize Theron made her first appearance.  I was waiting in line and turned to find her standing about three feet away talking to a crew member.  We had been instructed not to approach the actors under any circumstances and I assume that a restraining order would be bad for my acting career so I managed to control myself.  I could tell by the way she ignored me that she was very impressed.  I went back to practicing my Emmy acceptance speech in my head.

After dinner a rumor started going around that the room used for filming was so small that they wouldn’t be able to use everyone.  My new friend and mentor Mike took the lead on this and moved our little group to a table nearer the entrance to the tent.  Not long after, an Assistant Director (AD) came in and started collecting people to take to the set.  Mike had positioned us perfectly, we jumped into line and were led to the ICA lobby to wait yet again.

Next time:  Acting Part II -- The Acting

Welcome to Crisis Management!

Self Delusion (Noun):  the act or state of deceiving oneself

Welcome to my blog.  I'm 52 years old, which means that, unless I live to be 104, I'm actually north of midlife but let's refer to the previously cited definition on that issue.  I live near Boston, Massachusetts with my wife and teenage son.  Sounds pretty ordinary, right?  Exactly.  I work as a self-employed consultant helping companies protect their employees from workplace injuries.  A noble pursuit to be sure, but rarely exciting.  I've never heard champagne corks pop when I helped a company reduce its compound annual growth rate on workers' comp costs (I hear the corks in my head of course -- see previously cited definition).

Recently, after consuming several pints of Guinness and sipping on a second (or perhaps third) glass of Irish whiskey at our neighborhood bar I reflected on the various ailments and even the passing of friends close to my age.  How much time do I have left to accomplish all those epic things I vowed to do 25 years ago?   This is human nature, of course.  Rage against the ticking clock.  Will I ever trade guitar solos with Eric Clapton at the Royal Albert Hall?  Will I ever forget to thank my wife while accepting an Oscar?  Will I ever go on that safari?  Climb the worlds’ highest mountains?  Of course not, these are foolish goals made by the young and stupid, at least in my case (I’m still holding out hope for the Clapton thing but I'm beginning to think it might not happen).  So I decided to start doing some new and different things just for fun to satisfy those nagging voices in my head. 

With all this in mind I decided to launch Crisis Management.  Over some period of time in the not too distant future I'll be trying some new and interesting things in an attempt to slow the clock.  I know it won't work but it will be fun anyway.  (See the definition above)

Why Terrorism Doesn't Work

Because they played Sweet Caroline at Yankee Stadium

It's just a song sung by every Red Sox fan who's ever been to a game. A ritual -- hands waving, voices following the lyrics on the jumbotron. A silly, fun song. Except on April 16, the day after the Boston Marathon bombings. When the Fenway anthem was played at Yankee Stadium it wasn't just a song it was a statement. The divisional antagonists stepping up in support of their longtime rivals. A powerful gesture from the opposing camp. Nothing needed to be said. Every Red Sox fan knew what it meant: "we're with you."

 

This is why terrorists inevitably fail. They galvanize the most bitter of opponents behind a single cause -- to find and punish them. In the days following the Boston attack there were countless expressions of support and we're grateful for every one. But the one from the Bronx, the one that brought tears to my eyes, the silly song, was the best of all.