I don't know if I would sell

So I just finished watching "The Big Short," and I must say I really enjoyed it. I'm not here to lobby for it and toss out a bunch Oscar snub comments, or defend why it should have won this or that. And I'm not using this as a politically-charged post for or against any candidate or even any angle regarding the primary focus of financial criminality in the movie/book (which I want to read).



I'm here to share my admiration for (the portrayal of) Mark Baum's moral compass.

He wants to do what's right. But what resonated even more with me was that he wants to ask all the questions. He has an inquisitive eye, which many (including his wife) want him to tone down for his own sanity and overall quality of life.

But he wants to know, and not just to know, but because he wants to know why, he wants to expose how, and he wants to learn and potentially execute how things can be done more effectively and legally with the "right" people in mind.

SPOILER ALERT (but not really): What he does at the end of the film is what I figured he would, but I had hoped he would not. Would I do the same thing had I been in that position? Probably, but in theory, I would like to say I could stick to my guns and keep my integrity in the face of a man made catastrophe.

So, yeah...going back to Mark Baum...with another mention of the fact that I haven't read the book yet...

Even with the structure of the movie, using Gosling's Vennett as narrator, taking into consideration of Bale's Dr. Burry, Pitt's, Rickert, and Magaro and Wittrock as the duo from Brownfield, Steve Carell's Mark Baum was set up to be disliked early on. And I think that was part of the plan, full-knowing the general American public's enjoyment of Carell. But his Baum...his just edgy enough to be an asshole, while still hard-nosed to fit in (ish) with these financial types, but what really struck me is how he is the same way with everyone, including his wife played by Marisa Tomei.

(Sidenote: I was kind of hoping Emma Stone would make an appearance because #CrazyStupidLove)

I keep getting sidetracked...(actually, the more honest wording would be..."I keep sidetracking myself.")

Annnnyway.

What I'm trying to say is that I feel like Mark Baum sometimes. I don't ask questions to make people look bad. I don't do it for personal benefit. I ask questions and challenge and poke and prod and inquire because I genuinely want to know why things are happening the way they are. Are they right? Who are these methods serving? Who implemented these practices? Is it a hopeless case, or can it be reformed?

Everyone has their motivations for pushing ahead or even staying out (like Rickert), but what makes me sad is that Mark Baum's drive for revealing truth isn't more common. It isn't to prove self-righteousness, and it isn't even for personal benefit. It's for the masses. It's for the people. It's to broaden our perspectives as a society.

Truth is like poetry. And most people hate fucking poetry.-Overheard at a Washington D.C. bar

I know I don't have all the answers, and I will never claim to. What I can do, and what I choose to do on a daily basis is ask the hard questions. Of myself and of my environment, those around me included. A lot of people aren't a fan of this, and I'm fully aware of this. It has taken me a long time to be able to ask myself challenging, truly inquisitive questions on a constant basis, and I don't expect others who have chosen to not question like I have to instantaneously flip a behavioral shift and start doing this. This isn't an end all, be all practice, but I can say from experience, that being able to Mark Baum a few things and ask the tough questions can really open your world up. Even if you don't know how far down the rabbit hole goes, or whether you're falling down said rabbit hole, or if it's within yourself, it takes a hell of a risk to do it.

And whether you sell the swaps or not, just know why you're doing it, and that'll bring you a bigger payoff than anyone else can get you.

PBDC Day 8/31: In the Corner

Initial thought: REM. That's me in the corner/That's me in the spot/Light/Losing my religion

The theatre-related response: In my own little corner/In my own little chair -Cinderella

The chick-flick loving side's response: "No one puts Baby in the corner." Also see, "I carried a watermelon?"

The "How Can I Tie My Whole Day Together" response:

Our first snow was back in early November. It's now the second Saturday in March, and we were still getting new snow this morning. I got some new shoes last month (Day 21/28: Tiny) and this morning was the first time I cursed them. But it really wasn't their fault. They're great shoes, and I love em, but they aren't impervious to wintry effects on the ground. There has probably been snow on the ground on approximately 97% of the days in the last four months. Thinking today was no different, I walk outside like I do every day I go to work, and my first step outside on the snowy ground, my sweet kicks are suddenly at chest level and I'm on my ass. Ok, it's winter. I get it. So I get up, look around, and brush the fresh powder of my ass. I take my next step and I've got a panoramic view of the sunrise sky and have an impromptu trust fall exercise with the Earth, and the Earth was definitely there for me. After the first fall, I was glad no one was around, but after the second, I wished someone was there to enjoy the show. Luckily, I know how to just take a fall to avoid any injury by trying to catch myself.

I carefully made it to my car and made it to work safely, assuring myself and my bruised pride that, although I had a couple of spills to "start" my day, they were merely an opportunity to hurdle some minor adversities and not an early indication of a rough day ahead. Once at work, I discovered the printer had once again taken a day off, and I was faced with hand writing a few forms/tables that are templates which are filled in each morning for the work day. With a couple of other curve balls that I'll leave out, I'll just say that as the morning developed (and the pain started setting in from the two spills)...

I began to feel like I was painted into a corner.

But the day turned out alright, and my decision to look at each individual hurdle as just that, an individual hurdle, helped me keep my spirits up and my smile genuine throughout the day.

Back at home, still without a photo I could relate to the prompt, I kept my eyes open in the apartment for something I could artistically interpret for today's subject.

And so...today's official response.

Behind my Long Beach State jacket, against the wall on the left is a blue case. Smaller than a guitar, but small enough to wear on your back. There are actually two straps on the back to wear them on your back, but at this angle you can't see them.

It's my violin case. Same one I've had since high school. Yes, high school, that thing I graduated from last millennium back in 1999. If you didn't know, I can play the violin, but honestly, I've barely played in the last few years.  I played in a couple shows I was in in college, but other than that, it would just come with me from apartment to apartment without seeing the sun that much.

To put things in perspective, my wife has never heard me play. Well, she's heard me fiddle around once when we were working on a community production together in 2011, but she hasn't heard me really buckle down and play. I mean really play. Like close my eyes and read the music that's burned into my mind while I walk around and sway like a hula girl on a dashboard of a dusty El Camino across gravelly roads of New Mexico.

I keep it for the same reason I keep the plays I mentioned in this month's Day 1: Yellow.

I do intend to start playing again, but part of me wants to keep this very violin in case a sweet child o' mine wants to play the violin. I like envisioning sentimental future situations like that.

Maybe writing about it is the just what I needed for myself to brush the dust off the case and let the old girl get some fresh air. I actually think about that a lot. Not playing my violin, but about how me writing this blog is just as much for all of you as it is for me. That I've now typed it all out and shared a thought for all to see where I can look back to it, or you could hold me to it in the future. I've seen some folks share blogs like that. Sharing their bucket lists and 30B430 lists so that we can enjoy the journey together, and really just to say it aloud to the world to make it more real instead of just having it float around in your head, hidden from everyone.

That's really the main reason I did NaNoWriMo last year. Because I needed something, someone to get me to tell the story that's been in my head for years. And since then I've been able to just let it flow and write it out.

I'm anything but painted into a corner, my friends. I'm just getting started.

PBDC Day 1/31: Yellow

Why stop at the end of February, right? The Photo and Blog a Day Challenge continues...

Into the fifth consecutive month of snow-covered Michiana, spring colors like yellow are rarely spotted.  However, looking for something yellow today revealed several moving subjects that some were too fast to capture in a photograph. But the following stationary subject caught my eye among its friends.

Behind a stack of Shakespeare plays, in the company of John Patrick Shanley, Neil LaBute, and several others lies the text for a novel, Matthew Quick's The Silver Linings Playbook. Truth be told, this book, like a few others that were adapted for the big screen, I did not purchase until after I saw the movie. Sure, there are plenty of buffs and purists that swear on reading the books before seeing the film version, but I haven't lost any enjoyment either way. I just really, really connected with the story, so I bought the book on a whim on day at Target and read it shortly after. It was the first time a book moved me to tears like reading a play script could.

Spotting the yellow spine among the plays, with the box the Nook came in peering in from the corner of the photo, I had to reflect for a moment of why I still have so many books in print. Approximately 90% of the books I have on the shelf are theatre-related. Mostly plays, but there are also a few monologue books, and several texts on voice work, directing, and writing. But the question remains, "Why do I still have so many scripts?"

It isn't (primarily) because I'm sentimental, because I definitely am. And I know it isn't just me being a hoarder, because I can walk through my apartment without tripping over boxes or fearing piles collapsing on top of me. As many times as I've moved in the last few years, it has been quite a feat that so much has traveled with me. Moving is the best way to really decide what you want or need to take with you. So what really keeps me from donating them?

Because I'm not counting theatre out from my future.

I have a full-time job that I love at Old Navy. I've read handful of novels in the last year. I've seen one play in the last thirteen months, and read even fewer. But that doesn't mean I'm done with acting, directing, or reviewing.

The time just isn't right.

I went into some detail about my (relatively) long history with the theatre in the post from February's Day 27: In Love With, and although my moving out of southern California took me away from every single company and artist (save my wife) I had worked/networked with over a three-year period, I refuse to believe that my time with theatre has passed.

Writing a 50,000+ word foundation for my first novel last November for NaNoWriMo 2013 was a huge victory for me, but as many great successes do, it opens up a few more goals. "Winning" is defined as hitting the goal of 50,000 words before midnight on the evening of November 30th, and several other sparks were lit with that NaNo win.

• Writing a companion novel from another perspective.
• Take a subplot and develop that into a novel.
• Finish the novel, edit it, and pitch it for publishing.

And the one that carries the point I started a few lines up:

• Writing the story of of Juliet's Window as a play.

Reading novels has been a great experience in the last year, especially after spending so much time enveloped in theaters, reading scripts, developing prompt books, essentially all things theatrical. But to take this story I want to tell and mold it into a structure that I've spent years dreaming about, thinking in, and breathing seems like a beautiful next step.

In my Dramatic Theory class with Dr. Maria Viera at CSULB (California State University, Long Beach for those unfamiliar, or The Beach, or LBSU, or LB State) we had an assignment to take any book on an approved reading list and write a chapter (or chapters) as a scene for the stage. I took a portion of Chuck Palahniuk's Choke and had a blast bringing Victor to a live audience in my mind.

Having spent so many hours reading play scripts, breathing in dialogue, and picking apart stage directions, writing a book as a play would be a wonderful challenge to synthesize my newest love (writing) with a life-long passion (theatre) to create a piece of art for the world.

In this same class, Dr. Viera shared with us a view of Antonin Artaud from his text The Theatre and its Double, "No more masterpieces".

It's easy to understand through observing our films and musicals of today. So many films are now based on books, musicals are based on movies, television shows are based on books, movies, or musicals. The stories aren't new, they're just being told in new formats. There are simple structures that stories can be categorized in: star-crossed lovers, hero avenges death of loved one, coming of age, you know them. If you need a few examples check this article out about undercover Shakespeare in modern films.

That being said, the challenge in writing something "new" has been identified: everyone knows the story, I just have to make the journey interesting enough for the audience to follow along and empathize with the central character.

If/when I succeed, perhaps I'll request that jacket art incorporates a yellow spine so that it can stick out among the other books on the shelf.