It's been almost a month since my last post, and I have a flurry of good excuses. It turns out that writing regularly develops a productivity habit (go figure!), and that led me back to some neglected scripts. That momentum led to designing our Paper Moon Repertory webpage and getting the ball rolling on building our new company...meeting with a mentor, discussing non-profits. And that momentum led me to...
Wait a minute. Where did my work go? Shit. Switch gears. Find more work.
Sign up for a course in Real Estate. Add new part-time job at a broker's office. Plan wedding (which is in 2 months). I am at a computer/desk for about 17 hours a day.
Wait a minute. How in the hell did this happen? Where did my creative momentum go? Where did my money go? And when can I have that and all of my time back, please?
Few things are more frustrating than when you've begun creating something, you're motivated, and it seems like work stands in the way of any opportunity you have to continue something that you're passionate about. In essence, I want my freelance life back. Back in that life, I was able to manage my own schedule without needing to juggle the demands of 2 bosses, a theater director, and my agent who wants me to drop all 3 of the aforementioned at a moment's notice for a 1 in 135 chance at being in a commercial. Having so many people that I'm accountable to is doubly frustrating on the heels of being a freelancer. I enjoyed my freelance work so much that it never seemed like work, I knew what my clients wanted, and I didn't worry about paying the bills. All of that has completely changed.
What I miss most of all is that I could pursue theatre constantly. Have an audition on Thursday? I'll be there. Need me at rehearsals for 20 hours this week? I'll be there. And I'll still have time to write a script and build a company. And sleep.
Sigh.
Just feeling incredibly tired and like I'm farther away from my goals than I've been in years. And I don't have enough hours in the day to change that. I know that once the wedding is over and my real estate classes have been completed that time will be freed up. I'm heading in the right direction--I just don't have a whole lot of steam left.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
McMansions in McGinnis Land
I'd like to find a box of money. Not because it would make me happy or would change my day-to-day routine or because it would change my broken tile floors to wood, but because it calms some inner turmoil that we all experience. Car sounds funny? Got a scary mole? Work's a little sluggish? No worries. I have a box of money. Who else would like one?
We know the answer. And I'll keep it our little secret.
When it comes to boxes of money, Extreme Home Makeover provides it in crane-lift-required quantities. I watched an episode of the show last night, which was filmed in Miami County--my homeland. Two factory worker parents, 4 kids--one of the children has an immune system deficiency that keeps her in and out of the hospital. The house had a serious amount of mold, and it was clear they couldn't live there. Enter deus ex machina. Complete with crane. They bulldozed and replaced with an enormous home (see photo), arguably the largest and most spectacular in my entire county. It was kind. It was generous. It was way too much.
Now, Rachel. Are you just jealous that they didn't give a box of money to you?
Jealous? Um, a little. Cue the violins... No, wait. Bad idea.
All families have their own struggles. And it's not that life should be free of challenges--sometimes life, in the grander scheme, improves because of those challenges. But it is to say that our society has a strange way of determining who gets what, why, and how much. Granted, "Extreme" is in the title of the show, so they're not going to spruce up the house with gingham curtains, hang a Tidy Bowl tablet in the john and call it done. The house is bound to be amazing. But is amazing what we need when there are so many families that struggle with harsh circumstances? If we're going to be generous, why not do it in moderation and affect so many more lives? The obvious answer? It's a TV show. TV's not supposed to show moderation. And, unfortunately, that lack of moderation that has become a nationwide virus (probably brought on from watching too much TV) is driving some "Extreme" recipients into worse financial crisis. A lot of the "Extreme" families are still paying mortgages for the homes that got bulldozed, and they can't afford it. Add a gigantic tax bill for the "improvements" on the land, and how are these people going to make it? Maybe we should talk about rentals or paying off the balance of what's owed before we go building mansions. Just a thought. Check this out (after you finish reading this blog).
In response to this, Rachel has decided to create her theoretical show ("Rachel's Recession Rescue"). Let's say that instead of a brand new, sparkling Ford pick-up, the family gets a reliable, used mini van from a local dealership that's been struggling. We pay a local mechanic to tune it up & detail it for them. Instead of building a 3 story home, we buy a house that's been on the market in town for months and help out a second family that's in dire need of unloading the house. Pay a handyman or out-of-work construction pro to fix up the place. While we're at it, make sure it's a home that's a reasonable size to avoid huge utiltity costs, and pay someone to install energy-saving appliances/insulation/windows. Buy said items locally. And instead of $50,000 cash, how about we get the family decades of high-quality health insurance? Too reasonable for TV, I know. But maybe we need to just throw in some small town gossip over a well-positioned cup of Starbucks and call it a show. Whaddya think, ABC?
My phone isn't ringing.
Well, I'd like to think that at some point we could actually find a way to give people their true boxes of money and make it TV-worthy. That somehow the gift could set minds at ease instead of making hearts race about some strange dream that they're always on the edge of losing. Give these people some reassurance that everything is going to stay ok, not some false sense of security that arises from the end table matching the custom cabinetry. And while I am, admittedly, a sucker for decor, I'm a complete and total sucker for everyone's right to aid and security when sick. If that kind of security was waiting for me in a box, it would be worth more than any McMansion you could build for me on farmland in Miami County.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
A Sheep Dog and No Sheep
Let me begin with a confession. Before I disappoint, it's not a dark or intriguing one that necessitates a kneeling bench or dim lighting--although I can be swayed to invent such a confession if it suits your reading pleasure. Perhaps that's sufficient bait to get you to the end of this post.
My confession, though, is simply that I was wrong about blogs. They do serve many purposes. (Travis Bedard, take joy in this victory and relish the fact that I'm admitting I'm wrong.) In fact, admission is the point of this blog. When did I need a map (where we all took wrong turns), and how have I learned to correct the wheel and choose better roads? Here's what I needed to know in the last decade. In serial form. Unless I decide to write about something else.
I've been trained to write. Somehow, Northwestern decided I'd be a poet (I take only partial blame). They trained with great fervor. It didn't quite take, as I'm more of an essayist with bad form--but the impulse to write is there. Courtesy of Northwestern and life, I've also been trained to act. And to throw pots (on a wheel, not on stage). And to paint and play the piano...perhaps simultaneously on said stage if a script calls for it. I've pursued all interests I have, resulting in a somewhat confusing resume that makes me almost right for lots of jobs that I have no interest in. Bravo, liberal arts!
I've had stints on magazines, roles on stage, and illustrations in production meetings, but these are fleeting and need constant pursuit. When I'm between projects, I truly am a sheep dog in a small backyard. Without the tasks I've been trained to do, I'll dig up the flowers.
Enter the blog.
I'm not sure if a blog will be a diversion or a re-direction, but it certainly is a forum to work on my craft and force me to look up the spellings of words. So, welcome to my page that keeps me occupied and philosophizing. Not sure why you're here instead of trying to arrange the purchase of a deeply discounted, obsolete item on Craigslist, but I hope we all learn something along the way. At a greatly reduced price.
And, as promised, here's my false confession fit for a Catholic (says the non-practicing Protestant Irish-Jewess): I never said the "Hail Marys" the priest advised. I was too busy digging up the flowers after my last show; and, honestly, does repeating a phrase make all of that mayhem ok?
My confession, though, is simply that I was wrong about blogs. They do serve many purposes. (Travis Bedard, take joy in this victory and relish the fact that I'm admitting I'm wrong.) In fact, admission is the point of this blog. When did I need a map (where we all took wrong turns), and how have I learned to correct the wheel and choose better roads? Here's what I needed to know in the last decade. In serial form. Unless I decide to write about something else.
I've been trained to write. Somehow, Northwestern decided I'd be a poet (I take only partial blame). They trained with great fervor. It didn't quite take, as I'm more of an essayist with bad form--but the impulse to write is there. Courtesy of Northwestern and life, I've also been trained to act. And to throw pots (on a wheel, not on stage). And to paint and play the piano...perhaps simultaneously on said stage if a script calls for it. I've pursued all interests I have, resulting in a somewhat confusing resume that makes me almost right for lots of jobs that I have no interest in. Bravo, liberal arts!
I've had stints on magazines, roles on stage, and illustrations in production meetings, but these are fleeting and need constant pursuit. When I'm between projects, I truly am a sheep dog in a small backyard. Without the tasks I've been trained to do, I'll dig up the flowers.
Enter the blog.
I'm not sure if a blog will be a diversion or a re-direction, but it certainly is a forum to work on my craft and force me to look up the spellings of words. So, welcome to my page that keeps me occupied and philosophizing. Not sure why you're here instead of trying to arrange the purchase of a deeply discounted, obsolete item on Craigslist, but I hope we all learn something along the way. At a greatly reduced price.
And, as promised, here's my false confession fit for a Catholic (says the non-practicing Protestant Irish-Jewess): I never said the "Hail Marys" the priest advised. I was too busy digging up the flowers after my last show; and, honestly, does repeating a phrase make all of that mayhem ok?
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