Blurring the Line of Reality

I used to play my video games on a TV that was at best, a little bigger than the monitors on the stand up arcade games. I was constantly aware of my outside surroundings and thus my grip on reality was secure.

Then came 42 inches of mind bending technology.

I am not a video game junkie. I have maybe three or four games I dig; Red Faction II, God of War and the Medal of Honor series. I don't drive, solve puzzles or search for hidden treasures. I like to shoot things and traverse fantasy realms with a very big sword. (there's that over compensation thing again)

So yesterday I spent a few hours with my new TV and a few games. At first I didn't notice anything different. There was the strange feeling of having to look left to right to take in all the scenery and the bizarre notion that the scale here is now 1:1. Soon I was immersed, lost, sucked in and falling fast. I was trapsing through war-torn Europe with nothing but a Carbine and my wits keeping me alive. I was diving and rolling and shooting crazy Nazis hell bent on taking me down and with it all the freedom and apple pie that was America circa 1943. I could feel the heat and taste the smoke. After a piss break I found myself hoding this really big heavy sword and rampaging through a temple casting spells and killing zombies. I was sweating, tired and hungry but there was no bed or kitchen in these games. What gives? I was facing down an opponent, raising my blood soaaked sword high overhead ready to separate the giant's head from his body...when it all went black...

I came to on the couch in a pool of my own sweat white knuckling the controller. Trace was standing over me with the remote in one hand and a rolling pin in the other, "That's enough out of you for one day, Thor. The enemies of peace and virtue will be there tomorrow for you to conquer". I had spent the whole afternoon about a foot from the screen so now I was struck with dizziness and after images. When we went to dinner that night for her mother's birthday I nearly tackled the derndel clad waitress mistaking her for a Nazi spy.

I love my TV.

The Adventure Continues in 1080 resolution...

Can You Say "Overcompensation"?

My TV was 17 years old. It served me well in those years. I watched many a Star Trek on that little (ish) 19 inch screen. After 17 years, you don't really notice it, except when you play 4-player video games and the viewing area is quartered per player. Then it looks like you're watching a moving postage stamp.

This year we decided on an upgrade, one of those bigger flat lcd models that looks like you're looking through a window. We found a bargain in a 46" LCD 1080 resolution thingy and so we had it delivered this morning.

WARNING: They always look smaller and more in scale within things in the store.

Hooboy is this thing huge. The picture is crazy. But it's huge not only compared to to the other TV but to the entire apartment as well. I think I need to knock out a wall just to see the whole screen.

Here's a shot of me all dressed up for Christmas next to the tv to give you a sense of scale (I'm on the lower right):



Here's another of me enjoying the Yule Log. Can you feel the heat?:



Now I need a bigger popcorn maker.

Tha Adventure Will Be Televised!

So...how'd yous all do?

Why I love Brooklyn Part XII

You know when you call someone and while you're waiting for the person to pick up, you're still carrying on your current conversation? You know when you're on the receiving end of that? You usually pick up and hear someone reciting a grocery list or something.

I was waiting on a call for a delivery from an appliance store. I'm driving up the avenue running some last minute errands when the phone rings. I pick up, "'Lo?" I hear in a very gravely gruff old time Brooklyn voice:

"...yeah, I'd sell your underwears if you took 'em off."

"What??"

"Hello? Oh, Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. I was just talking to some one else."

"Is their underwears for sale?"

"Hahaha, hey Sal, I got a buyer fer yer underwears! Ahhhahahaha!!"

Not only did he show up early with my delivery, he also threw in a load of accessories at no extra charge "for bein' a good sport".

Get that experience at BestCircuitMart, America. Ahh, my Brooklyn; how sweet it is.

Have a Cool Yule everybody!!

PS: it's traditional vernacular to pluralize underwear. Just so you know I'm not nuts.

What?

I received an email from the director who wants me to be a part of his group. See below a few posts about finally being validated. It was a long tome on the nature of the project, the extent of the actor's involvement and the themes.

In typical crazy artist fashion, I have no idea what he's talking about. But I'm so jazzed to be a part of it...

And so the Adventure continues to build up steam...

Two Bits Of Awesome In One Bite

For those under the age of 30 or with no musical taste whatsoever, there were, once upon a time, two bands; The Beatles (without whom life would not be worth living) and Led Zeppelin (which was what God was thinking of when he needed to define divine thunder).

The following is what you'd get if you took the best of both and put the two in a blender...even if you don't dig the genre you have to admit the juxtaposition of the two in this case is remarkably flawless.

Ladies and Gentleman...The Beatnix...



Minor bonus points for those who can name the lyrics and song fragments.

On the Glorious Misinterpretation of Texting

I had the pleasure of torturing a close friend last night via text. She went Home For Christmas and I decided to fire off a friendly volley that should have been taken as a joke. Naturally, she missed the funny so I took it upon myself to heat up the needles and shove 'em home. After about 75 texts she was good and spent so Trace took it upon herself to secretly tell her I was having my way with her.

NUGGET: I'll have you know that when I have my way with a woman in person, there is no question as to whether or not she knows it.

She took the opportunity to try to twist the needles back in my direction. It worked until Trace told me what she had done. So we went back and forth for a few hours, each trying to up the insults.

Predictable Result: It got ugly.

I came home to an email which read (edited for brevity) "I don't know what happened tonight, we were playing around and suddenly we are no longer friends."

Trace stepped in and said that the children should learn how to play nice together or she would take my phone away. This morning, after sleeping on it, I typed the following response...

If I had a choice, I'd have a sandwich on toasted bread but it would be that lightly golden brown toast, not the slightly burnt kind where the bread gets all hard. I'd have the bacon slightly crispy and not fatty. There'd be turkey and tomatoes and a few different kinds of cheeses and a bit of mayonnaise. I'd have a cup of coffee with it and I'd find a nice quiet place to commune with my sandwich. There would be on earth, peace, good will toward men.

She didn't get it.

It amazes me the things you try to find in the simple poetic lines that paint a still life of a sandwich and a cup of coffee in some fantasy place. And in those simple lines there lies the keys to the Universe...

You tell me what it means...

Validated Part III (For Joey)

As if it couldn't get any better... I got yesterday's mail and do you think I found there?

Correct, a check for $50.00 from the face film. Sweet. I am now a paid actor. I think I'll try not to spend it all at once. In the same place.

Who wants a drink?

I AM VALIDATED! Part II

The film is called Confessions of the Face where each actor does a three minute monologue pertaining to their face. Now as you know, I’m a very handsome chap. It’s a very handsome face which rivals those classic faces of old Hollywood; Cary Grant, Errol Flynn, Fred Flintstone, etc…For the audition. I thought first of simply rambling on for three minutes about how my face was a national treasure, a beacon of sunlight in a darkened world and how my mother couldn’t have asked for a better looking son. I thought best not to bring up the obvious and decided to pull something out of my brain. As I sat quietly looking for something to hit me, I got that familiar old feeling, that tingle that runs from here to there inside. Suddenly an thought took hold and the emotion of my thoughts draped themselves over me and the words I needed were there.

NUGGET: Most people think this is bull and they’re not entirely wrong. Improv works great for comedy (sometimes – see note on self indulgence above) but I wouldn’t suggest it for dramatic monologues and auditions. Most of the time the actor, who usually isn’t a writer, falls flat because there are no words that haven’t been put there by a playwright. Double negatives for everybody!! It doesn’t work for me all the time either and I do consider myself a bit of a writer. But when it does come it’s rather divine…

I sat for the camera and spoke the lines that flashed across my mind’s eye not knowing where the piece was going or how it would end; I just trusted that old black magic. When I finished, the director asked for another take. Um, there was no other take. I couldn’t do it the same way twice. Instead of tossing me out for lack of professionalism he simply said to try it again as best as I could. Ah…an artist’s artist.

At the end of take two he smiled, thanked me and dismissed me. I thought to myself, “…blew another one there, Tommy. Maybe now you’ll spring for some acting classes?”

Three days later I find I got the part! Maybe there is something to this acting on-the-fly stuff after all. So with three weeks to write, edit, rehearse, edit and memorize three pages of self-generated monologue, I did absolutely nothing. No problem, says me. I am a wild party.

On shooting day with me running late, which is really a way of saying, “ I have no concern for time whatsoever”, we head out to the space. Trace says, “Make sure you have somebody’s number there in case something goes wrong”. “What could go wrong?” I ask.

We arrive five minutes after my set call to find the front doors to the space locked tight.

TIP: Always bring a contact number.

God was once again trying to tell me something but was too busy laughing to speak. It took me a good 15 minutes to find the right place which happened to be a tiny room in a tiny corner in a vast sub level of the building. With no signs to guide me and a clock ticking by one late minute after another, my pressure began to rise, my mind began to clutter and any mojo I had began to slip away.

I finally sat in the chair while the crew got the lighting and the angles right. I tried to calm my mind and find whatever it was I was talking about three weeks prior but all I could think of was this interesting cauliflower recipe I saw earlier in the day. The editor asked me for a few lines of my scene for a sound check and all I could say was, “Once you take the cauliflower out of the pot, add the oil and the breadcrumbs to the pan…”

The director called for calm and breath and finally asked me to begin. “Once you take the cauliflower out of the pot, add the oil and the breadcrumbs to the pan…” This is the only thing that comes to mind as I’m to launch into an emotional piece about my relationship with my father. I pause and for once catch the words before they come out and suddenly, as the sweat beads on my forehead creating a logistical lighting nightmare for the lighting guy, that peaceful feeling settles over me and the words come.

We did four takes, each getting warmer and more to the point of the piece. The director guided me to where he needed me to be to give him what he was looking for. And according to him, I delivered. Sweet.


THIS IS WHERE THE VALIDATION COMES IN…

As I was leaving, the director pulls me aside and says he wants to show me something upstairs. I begin to wonder what kind of film I got myself involved in. On the main floor there were several types of vintage field guns. The director wants to do performance pieces related to war. He wants thinking actors, actor who write and create and perform their material. He said, “I don’t want actors who just…act”. He said he wanted actors who explore and began to talk about DaVinci and all the things he accomplished with art and science. He revealed that he had lost his father earlier in the year and he completely felt my monologue. I am a wild party. He said he wanted to create a theatre group for this space and wanted me to be a part of it. I was getting so excited by what he was saying and his interest in my effort that I was ready to show him something upstairs.

Before I left, he hugged me and said (and please feel free to read this next line several times), “You are a very talented writer, I’m looking forward to your work”.

Finally, at long last, someone gets it. Not gets that I’m so awesome but gets that I’m not just trying to be famous or funny all the time - that I really want nothing more from this life than to write and act and create. I felt for the first time that someone was interested in me for my ability and not how many people I can bring to the club or that I’ll do it for free.

Now if only I could remember to write this stuff down…

Tommy

At Long Last, I Am Validated...

...by someone other than a desperate NYU student trying to get their film done before the deadline.

As we speak, I am on set working on an art film piece for an art space here on NYC's West Side. I can't give you the details yet because 1.There is no blood in my head to think because it's feeding this huge acting-inspired erection and 2. We're still shooting.

I'll be home later and I will tell ye, those of the faithful and hopeful, how this may all have been worth it, at least in the very short term...

The Adventure Picks Up Steam...
Tommy

The Death of the Little Blue Monster Part II: A Bit Of Perspective

No Stanley? No peppy tooling up those city roads? No banging around the neighborhood spilling coffe in my lap? I have every repair bill and receipt, a sizeable stack of paper. In an Neon-induced love frenzy, I even took all the Neon promo material from the dealer such as upholstery swatches and color swatches. I have the tech manuals and every magazine ad and article on the Neon and how cool it was for it’s time. Yes, Malach, I am a Neon Dork, in big neon lights. Now all that is fodder for the shredder because my once shiny blue machine was now a pale rusting pile of metal and plastic awaiting it's new owner.

Stanley was purchased by a mechanic upstate who intends to fix him up and sell him. A better end than we could give him (which would have been to sit on the street hoping someone would solve the problem by stealing him.T’would be a tough prospect with no brakes and a blown clutch). He drove down with a tow hitch, put $300.00 in my hand and took Stan away to his new life. But not after I took a few forget-me-nots like the hood emblem. And the lighter. And the dome light. And the jack I got to hang out with on cold highways at sundown in January. I was going to take one of the seats to make a chair for my workbench but Trace slapped me back to reality. She suggested we take out the radiator we put in ourselves. Ditto the alternator. And the radio. Hey, he’s not gonna drive it up there himself. With a wave, he drove off into the distance - but not after telling me how there’s a local scrap guy who’d take him off his hands if he can’t fix it.

THOUGHT: This is like being the principal of a private school telling a parent that there’s a local strip club that would take your daughter off your hands if the school thing doesn’t work out.

What I tell you next is not for the feint of heart: As they took the car away I was hysterical crying. No, really. A mess. I had to be pried from the sidewalk by Trace, also sobbing uncontrollably like two parents who just found out their daughter bailed out of school to dance on the pole.

As we stood there crying without the benefit of onions to disguise the actuality of it all I got a phone call from my mother. My aunt was discovered to have a tumor in her breast. This is serious stuff. This is perspective right here hand delivered on a plate. I’m sobbing over a car (metal and plastic) and I may be in the middle of a huge family crisis.

TIP: When confronted with news of this caliber, its best not to tell your mother you have to call them back because your former car is being towed away and you just can’t handle it.

My mother, I could hear on the other end, blinked in dismay a few times and simply hung up. Perspective.

So now over my workbench are pictures of a happy little blue sport model in it's heyday, bits and pieces of paint, a hood ornament and a dome light. The cigarette lighter sits in a power converter on my bench which makes it work even though I don't really smoke. I changed Trace's picture on my phone to one in which she's sitting on the hood and my aunt is going in for a mastectomy. Perspective.

So how's your holiday season going...?

The Death of the Little Blue Monster Part I: Lessons in Loss

You may remember I have an unnatural attachment to my 1995 Plymouth Neon Sport, dubbed The Little Blue Monster because it has caused me so much financial and physical grief lately. Still though, like an abused lover, I always return. Oh, sure, drop the starter out the bottom, I’ll get you a new one you spiteful little boy…We bought that car fresh from the factory. He had that nifty new car smell and feel. We wanted to refer to him as a she and give him a feminine identity but his name came to him rather suddenly when Trace said he looks like a Stanley. And so it was that Stanley came home with us on that bright sunny day. It was recommended that since he was brand new, not to drive over 40m.p.h. for the first few weeks just to break everything in. So there we were on our way home cruising at a cool 70. If we could walk it, we’d drive the distance. We became the butt of many a joke at school because we wouldn’t walk across the field to the clinic, we drove around the lot to the other side. I just told everybody we liked having sex in a new car and if they liked, we could do it in their driveway later that night. There was little problem after that.

That car got kissed twice causing damage to the front end – twice. It looked like he had a crooked smile for a while. Everyone told us to dump the car because it would never be the same after front end damage. But Stan was family so we held out. (Well what would you do?) (don’t answer that) He took us everywhere we needed to go and did it with pep. I especially loved pissing off cabbies and tourists by zipping through traffic on the highways and up Sixth Avenue in Manhattan between Canal and Houston. The road is a little bumpy and it widens out for that road rally feel. Zoom zoom.

We had always intended to keep the car forever because we’re strange like that. Why upgrade when you can have the same thing forever until they bury you in it? That may sound crazy to you but if you’re a car nut, you’d get it. We thought that we’d one day have a house and a garage so we could store and repair him. Oh, and there’d be money to keep him shiny and new.

Time passed and city driving took its toll on our little Stanley. The suspension softened which made driving those bumpy city streets a new medical challenge. Nothing like feeling your nuts turn to malted on the road. The body rusted despite paying a hefty extra for lifetime rust-protection. There were mechanical problems that were to big to solve with our knowledge or check book. Our mechanic eventually suggested adding a little soil and some veggie seeds to start a tomato farm. I kept him together with a little tape and a lot of love but eventually there was just too much he needed at one time. After we got the Sensible Adult Sedan, Stanley sat unused on the street for the year. We were paying insurance just to move him from side to side on alternate days. Oh, and there’s the expense of forgetting that your car is on the wrong side of the street and you have to pay the city $45 for the spot for the day.

With heavy heart I put Stanley up on ebay thinking either no one would buy him or someone would recognize the neighborhood and come steal him in the night. Even the tornado a few months ago left him undamaged. However, two days into the auction, with the click of a mouse far away from here, it was done; Stanley very suddenly belonged to someone else…