Category Archives: blog

thank you for your kindness

I’ve been reading all the comments so many of you left on my last post, and I wanted to take a moment to thank you for your kindness. It really does mean a lot to me, and it really does make a big difference, to know that I’m not the only creative person who is struggling right now, and has been struggling this entire year. It means so much to me that so many of you who are reading this took a moment to let me know that you’re there, and that you care about what I make.

The Internet in 2017 (at least in my personal experience, which is absolutely affected by my depression) is so flooded by casual cruelty, it is overwhelming and suffocating and exhausting. Thank you for showing and reminding me that good and kind people are in this world. Thank you for taking the time and making the effort to reach out to me. You didn’t have to do that, and I’m very grateful that you did.

I went to my brain doctor a few days ago, and talked with him about how much I’ve been struggling. I told him how bad I’ve been feeling, and how hard it’s been for me to do any of the creative things that I’ve always loved to do. He told me that a lot of his patients are having the most challenging year they’ve had in a long time, so it’s not just me. We talked about some different things we could do, and decided to change up my meds a little bit. The adjustment has been tough for the last few days, but I woke up this morning feeling hopeful and … well, not joyful or even happy, but at least I didn’t feel bad. I know that doesn’t sound like much of an improvement, but it really is. It’s going to take another ten to fourteen days for my brain to fully adjust, but I’m hopeful and optimistic that this is going to help me get back to feeling like a person, instead of a bag of failure and sadness.

 

this is stupid

Every day, I open up this editor.

Every day, I sit here at my desk, and stare at the empty space.

Every day I struggle to find something to put into the empty space.

And every day, after hours of frustration and false starts that lead nowhere, I close it.

I hate this. I hate this so much. I used to get stuff done every day, even if it was only a few hundred words, but this whole fucking year I keep feeling like none of this matters and none of this is worth the effort and nobody cares and there’s just no reason to do any of it.

I really really really hate this.

point of clarification

I see that the right wing noise machine has spun up and worked its adherents into quite a furor about me.
 
Fox News and its allies are working really hard to deflect attention and anger away from the role that unfettered access to weapons of mass murder played in the latest incidence of mass murder in America. Fox News and its allies want you to be angry at something they misled you into believing I said, so you will take the anger and sorrow and desire for action you feel after a mass shooting, and aim it at me, instead of holding the people in power who could prevent this to account. Fox News, Paul Ryan, and their allies are counting on their ability to fool you into believing their lies, so they can continue to do nothing until the next mass shooting, when they’ll offer thoughts and prayers but no action.
 
For a certain demographic of Fox News viewer, what I’m writing here won’t be enough. They just want to express righteous indignation and pat themselves on the back because it serves their narrative, so I’m not writing this for them. I’m writing this for reasonable people who are as sick and angry as I am about the endless cycle of preventable gun violence in America.
 
This is what I wrote yesterday, when I first saw that I was being misunderstood:
 
“I am so sick and angry that this keeps happening. America is the only first world country where we do nothing while our fellow humans are slaughtered by entirely preventable gun violence every day.
 
“People like Paul Ryan can write and pass laws that can address this epidemic of gun violence, which should be considered a public health crisis, but instead, Paul Ryan and people like him offer “thoughts and prayers” as a shield for their inaction.
 
“I heard privately from some close friends who are people of sincere Faith, and they were concerned that my anger at Paul Ryan would be misread as an attack on people of Faith. I want and need to apologize to anyone who felt like I was attacking them, or their faith (unless that person is Paul Ryan). I respect your Faith, even if I do not share it. I respect that prayer brings comfort and strength and guidance for a lot of people, and if you are one of those people, praying for God to bring comfort and strength to the families and friends of the victims and survivors is a deeply meaningful act.
 
“I am not attacking you or your Faith, and I see that in my anger, I didn’t write my thoughts as clearly as I could have. For that I sincerely apologize to anyone who I offended or hurt. I can’t take it back, but I can tell you that it was never my intention, nor is it my belief.
 
“I am angry at people like Paul Ryan who are quick to offer their thoughts and prayers after mass murder, but who refuse to do anything to even attempt to slow or stop the epidemic of gun violence that plagues America. He and people like him are hoping that you will give him a pass and let him exploit your Faith so he can continue to shrug his shoulders, take money from the NRA, and do absolutely nothing else.
 
“So just to be crystal clear: I apologize to those of you who are sincere people of Faith, who felt attacked by me. That was not my intention.”
 
==
 
To the professional atheists out there who are endlessly cruel, condescending, and dismissive toward people of Faith: I am not your ally and I’m not on your team. Don’t claim me as one of your own, because the right wing noise machine misinterpreted what I said (and I will do better in the future, to prevent my words from being misunderstood and misconstrued so easily).
 
To anyone who believes that my anger at Paul Ryan’s empty words is in any way directed toward the victims of gun violence: Attacking the victims, the survivors, or the victim’s families of any mass shooting, the way Alex Jones does with his false flag lies, is despicable and inexcusable. I want to be very clear: I was not and I am not attacking anyone who was in that church, I am not mocking their Faith. I don’t believe that a reasonable person would believe that I was, but because that lie has taken hold as a narrative, it’s important to me that I restate this, once again: Paul Ryan hides behind empty words about thoughts and prayers, exploiting the real and sincere beliefs held by people of Faith. He and people like him offer words without deeds over and over again, and I’m sick and tired of it. *That* is what I am attacking, and that is what I am angry about.
 
Fox News and its allies are working really hard to deflect attention and anger away from the role that unfettered access to weapons of mass murder played in the latest incidence of mass murder in America. Fox News and its allies want you to be angry at something they mislead you into believing I said, so you will take the anger and sorrow and desire for action you feel after a mass shooting, and aim it at me, instead of holding the people in power who could prevent this to account. Fox News, Paul Ryan, and their allies are counting on their ability to fool you into believing their lies, so they can continue to do nothing until the next mass shooting, when they’ll offer thoughts and prayers but no action.
 
Once again, to people of Faith who find comfort and strength in prayer: I am not mocking or belittling or attacking you or your relationship with God, and if you felt that I was, I hope you will accept this apology.
 
I will not apologize for being angry at Paul Ryan and people like him who have words but no deeds, and I hope that people of Faith will hold him to account.

in which we are creative (and maybe you are, too)

A few months ago, our friend, Kari, had a birthday party. She encouraged all of us who attended to come in some kind of 70s or 80s tacky prom outfit. Because most of us at the party are actors, writers, directors, or some other type of creative storyteller, we didn’t just show up in costumes … we showed up in costumes with backstories. It’s important that you know that none of these stories — or the existence of the backstories at all — was coordinated or even encouraged. It’s just a thing that happened, because when you get a bunch of creative people together and give them an excuse to let their imaginations run wild, you just strap in and feel the gees.

I don’t have a picture of Anne and me together, but our characters were the high school senior (her) and the creep who graduated three years ago, will never move out of their small town, and is dating her because he’s a total loser creep (me). She’s looking for a way out of her parents’ house, and wants to get back at her father. They’re using each other, are doomed to end badly, and we just hope that they don’t drag any children into their dysfunction. He will get drunk and throw up on her dress before the night is over.

I mean, maybe we put a little too much into it but — wait what am I saying. We put exactly the right amount into it.

While we were at the party, Anne took this picture of me (that’s below the jump). In this picture, I am a totally different character. This guy is legitimately cool, and dates women who are age appropriate. He’s going places, just as soon as he saves enough money to get out of this town. He’s an honest man in a dishonest world, doing the best that he can. And he’s a hell of a good pool player…

Continue reading… →

“Memory’s fog is rising.”

I wrote this last night.

30 years ago today, John Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness was released.

That means that 30 years ago tonight, I was at the AMC 10 in Burbank.

Today, that part of Burbank is filled with businesses and chain restaurants and street performers. 30 years ago, there was the theater, a parking garage, a Fuddrucker’s (that’s still there and still terrible), and not much else. It was quiet when you went outside, especially after a movie that started late.

We went to a show that started around 10 or 1030pm. The air was cool, and it was so foggy, we couldn’t see the streetlights, just their glow. I went with three of my friends, who were all older than me and could drive. We listened to Van Halen in the car.

I remember that the movie wasn’t what I wanted it to be, and I was disappointed. It wasn’t scary, and the effects seemed cheesy. I wanted it to scare me the way The Thing scared me, and it didn’t do that. But it was foggy as hell that night, which is something that doesn’t happen in Burbank very often, and that made the post-showing silence especially eerie, and worth the drive. The walk to the car was more satisfying to me than the movie was.

On the way home, we went on streets instead of the freeway, because it would take us longer to get home that way, and that’s what being out at night with your friends is about when you’re fifteen. We listened to Some Great Reward on the way home. I lamented that the girl I had a huge crush on would never know I existed, and my friend, Ryan, told me (as he always did) to go talk to her or shut up about it forever. We drove through Glendale and Montrose, and on the way up the hill to my house, we drove out of the fog. I remember looking out toward Los Angeles when we got out of the car, and seeing that blanket of fog, broken by the Verdugo mountains, glowing orange from the streetlights beneath it. I remember wishing the movie had lived up to the atmosphere. I remember wishing that I’d asked Hailey to go with me to the movie.

Tonight, it’s hot and dry outside, and I am in the home I own, that I bought with my wife. I drove my Mini today and listened to Depeche Mode. My wife is asleep in our bed. Our son is asleep in our guest room. I feel like that teenager I was thirty years ago isn’t even a real person, just a foggy memory that’s painful to visit more often than it is not.

A lot of my teens blurs together, because I worked all the time and I was so unhappy, I spent my twenties trying to forget them. But this is one of the things that I can remember pretty clearly, because of the fog.

The fog. In literary symbolism, we use fog to represent mystery, the inability to see clearly, and uncertainty. It’s interesting to me that the fog is the only reason I can remember anything about that night, thirty years ago, and that tonight I can recall so much of it so clearly.

Time is weird. Memory is weird. Life is strange.