I'm here.

Whenever I'm acting in a show, I take a pre-show nap. I have to. To release my mind, calm down, let go, and essentially find my mental prairie of peace and clarity. It helps. It always does. It ensures I leave behind everything I don't need for the performance and allows me to focus my all-too-often scattered energy. Sleeping through the night can serve the same purpose, but most mornings I wake up the next day still a little scattered. But today is different. I know everyday is different, but today feels different. It feels like I took a pre-show nap and today is a brand new performance for a show I have been cast in that I've failed to focus on for way too long. I'm ready. I'm rested, I'm energized, and I have a relaxed readiness that can be mistaken for calm nonchalance. But that's not for you to worry about. I'm locked in. Good morning, January 24, 2016. Good morning, world. I'm here and I'm present. Let's do this thing.

One artist's opinion on The Old Navy Artist Shirt

Let me start with this, I don't have a problem with Old Navy's shirt that has "artist" crossed out in the phrase "young aspiring artist". I don't. At all.

Full disclosure, I used to work for Old Navy for a couple years in recent past. Used to. Past tense. And I left on great terms. And no one at GAP Inc. asked me to write this or has offered to compensate me. I'm writing this because I see so many tweets and posts from proponents of the performing arts (including great arts organizations) bashing the "derogatory"...wait for it...ARTWORK on this individual piece of clothing.

That being said...why do I even have an opinion on this?

I've been a supporter of the arts for much longer than Old Navy has even been around. I've often had to defend the importance of the arts, in general, and in my life, personal and professional. I grew up playing the violin, singing in choir, acting in plays, and generally being a mascot in my everyday life, not just in high school. I love the performing arts, and I always will.

And this is what I thought when I saw the image...

"Oh, 'artist' is highlighted with paint (an artistic medium) and the young artist has chosen their vocation."

Ok, maybe I don't sound that eloquent in my head, but that's the general attitude of it. I did not see it as a bashing of the arts because I see art in every profession. Writing, teaching, building...Presidenting...

There is art in every single one of us. Yes, if we pigeonhole the term "art" in regards to visual and performing arts, then yes, through that lens I can totally understand where you can take this graphic designer's work of ART and INTERPRET it offensively.

For example...a carpenter. Master Builder (#LegoMovie), wood burner, whittler, whatever. These are artists. They have a craft in their skill set. They have a canvas: the wood. They have tools: chisels, saws, hammers. They have an audience: the consumer.

A teacher. They have their stories to tell: lessons. They have their audience: students. They have their stage: the classroom

An author or playwright. This one is more straightforward. They have a story to tell: the essay, book, or script. They have the tools: their minds, keyboards, typewriters, notepads, napkins, whatever. And they have their audience: you.

A president. The story: leading. The tools: their education and background, their eyes and ears, their staff. The audience: the citizens.

A chef. The story: presenting a course, or a meal through several courses. The tools: utensils, cookware, stove, oven. The audience: you, your mouth, your tastebuds.

You want a "less creative" profession? Well maybe that's the real issue...you aren't seeing the creativity in the profession. 

Let's take a position that is considered an administrative/management position (if the example of President didn't do it for you).

Human Resources Manager.

The story: leading a company through regulations and generally making sure the company doesn't get in trouble. Hiring and disciplining employees. Sharing information about benefits, the company, and the team.

The tools: hiring practices, training material, company history.

The audience: current and new employees.

How about another one?

Accountant.

The story: organizing, preparing, and presenting the state of the organization for better or for worse.

The tools: numbers, reports, profit & loss statements, computers, adding machines, printers.

The audience: auditors, board members, the IRS.

Or even going back to one of the professions listed on the shirt itself...

Astronaut.

The story: gathering data about a world where very few actually know about.

The tools: this list is just as expansive as the space they travel in. Oxygen tanks, computers, rockets, space suits, helmets...

The audience: The World. Literally. The home space station.

So yeah, you want to say there's no art in those professions?

Why should a graphic designer be stoned for putting forth something they felt proud of? Why should a company who generally presents positive messages on their clothing all of a sudden change their attitude?

Why can't you explain to your children, coworkers, and team members that there is art in everything and that WE are all artists. Similar to when parents write letters to celebrities and companies about their "insensitive" material...why can't we have the discussions in our own homes and why are trying to make for-profit businesses change what they're doing to make money when we can educate each other.

The issue is not the opinion of art in this one, singular piece of clothing. It's the attitude towards art and artists that has been hammered into our collective consciousness.

We are all artists. We are all musicians. We are all painters, storytellers, writers, and actors. 

Have you ever worked in retail? Food service? Customer service? You have acting experience.

Have you ever cut the grass, trimmed a hedge, or done someone's make up? You're an artist.

Do you ever communicate through spoken, written, or sign language? You're a storyteller.

I know that I may receive some backlash from my fine/performing arts colleagues, but that's ok. I'm telling my story now, as it came up, in the way that I know best...writing.

I am an artist. Not because I've lived in and around the performing arts. Not because I have a degree in Theatre. Not because I work at a theatre company. But because I choose to appreciate art in as much as I can, and THAT is why I don't have a problem with "the shirt."

p.s. What if the screenprint was messed up and the artist's intention was for "aspiring" to be crossed out so that it read "Young Artist"?

Art in Life, Life in Art

In the Fall of 2014, I was blessed with the opportunity to act in a show entitled Take Me Out, by Richard Greenberg. The director had expressed his interest in working with me, but as the roles in the show would have it, his hands were tied (thanks to the playwright and artistic integrity) and I was cast as Takeshi Kawabata, the Japanese character in the play.

The story follows a fictional baseball team called The Empires, and their star player, Darren Lemming, has just made an announcement (via press conference) that he is gay. There are plenty of racial and homophobic controversies that ensue, all on the canvas of America's past time, baseball, and my role spoke to me so much, not just during the rehearsal process, but throughout the performance run.

Kawabata is one of the closers on the Empires roster. He is from Japan and speaks no English. He was signed by the Empires after dominating at home, and needed no translator, only a coach to put him in as needed and take him out when his time was done. He was disowned by his family for following a hobby as a career path, but came to America to play. And play, he did. Shoving off the circus that happened around him, he focused on the one thing that granted him purpose and peace: baseball. And he doesn't succeed at that, he takes it personally. And when he does, it's about the team. 

I had no idea that being Filipino and moving to the Midwest (intentionally) would be such a springboard for my growth in theatre as well as teach me so much about who I am as a man.

I am the middle child of two Filipino immigrants. Yes, I proudly claim my middle-child complex, and my status as a first-generation American. I more often identify myself as American than Filipino, and to be quite honest, I'm still struggling (spoken: growing) with that too.

Some Asian (and Filipino) stereotypes have been fulfilled. I was raised on a lot of meals that included rice. I love basketball. I was great at math through grade school, I learned to play the violin at a fairly young age. I enlisted in the Navy.

But this isn't about being Asian or Filipino. This is about me bringing Kawabata to life.

My desire to go into the arts was often frowned upon at home. It was beat into me that I should choose a career in math or science if I want to succeed. Or something "noble" like being a doctor, lawyer, or accountant. Nothing against those professions, they just weren't what I was interested in.

And so I went into the arts, but not without sailing away and coming home. Literally and figuratively. Because of my home life through high school (#LongStoryShort), I enlisted in the US Navy, and since I scored high enough on the ASVAB (95, baby!) I qualified to take the Nuke test. This test would determine if I could enter the Nuclear Training Program, and out of 80, I scored a 62, which was higher than my classmates who took the Nuke test earned  (and they earned 99's on the ASVAB). And I took it with pieces of scratch paper and no calculator. But it's not about that.

So I go into the Navy and train to be an Electrician's Mate. Put simply...engineering department on a submarine. As far away from the arts I could imagine, and right in line with what I "should be doing" as a my elders decreed. But I separated for a service-connected disability, and was honorably discharged.

And so, in my early twenties, with a much better work ethic than I had gone into the Navy with, I was faced with a huge question: What now?

So I resumed the path I wanted before I graduated high school - I went into the arts. I moved back to California and started at a community college in Northern California, DVC. And I couldn't be happier to be back in the theatre. Acting was great, learning to direct was even better. I directed my first full-length show, Stephen Adly Guirgis' Jesus Hopped the 'A' Train, and it put DVC on the map, and gave those of us involved a huge gold star in our lives.

I finished up my undergraduate education at Long Beach State (#GoBeach) and earned myself a Bachelor's of Arts in Theatre with an emphasis in Directing. As love and life would have it, I got married and moved out to the Midwest (away from all those I had networked and worked with in California) to start a new chapter in my life. Eventually I had returned to the theatre (spoken: after my divorce) and now enter, Take Me Out auditions.

So here I was, in a state I've never lived in, isolated by my own doing (my ex had moved back to California) and I was here to do what I've loved all along: contribute my art in a theatre. Through Take Me Out, I found more of myself in Kawabata than I had initially realized. Not because I am Filipino, but because of my life's path. I chose to focus on theatre, much to the dismay of many around me. I left an area that I did not feel was supportive of me in the ways that I needed and went to a place that felt welcoming. There I begin to thrive. There I find solace in many things I could not find else. 

Here in Indiana, I've signed with the Empires.

And now, in almost exactly a year's time from performing in Take Me Out, I'm getting ready to open a show that I've been given the opportunity to direct Water by the Spoonful (by Quiara Alegria Hudes) at the theatre company that I was blessed with a full-time job at as well. In the world of Take Me Out, Kawabata misses the mark and (#SPOILERALERT) the fastball doesn't end up in the catcher's mitt.

But that's a play, a scripted play, and I'm not Kawabata. I'm Deleon. And this isn't scripted. So I take the mound every game I'm called up for, and I throw the best game that I can.

For information on Water by the Spoonful, click HERE for the Facebook event or visit the South Bend Civic Theatre site HERE

PBDC Day 26/31: I Am Here

I'm playing the "artistic license" card on this one by not taking a photo to encapsulate the day. That, and I couldn't find the right composition to convey what I want to say. However, if you want the literal depiction...

Thanks to my wife for indulging me, because yes, when she took that photo I could honestly say, "I am here." And I also enjoy the illusion of my own beheading as my hooded head blends into the black night, despite seeing my full form in my shadow.

Thinking about it, I guess I did take a photo of where I was earlier this morning.

Shocker, I was at work, at the ON where we had an awesome one day sale for tee hoodies for the whole fam. (If you're reading this, the Old Navy nearest you is probably closed and the sale pictured above is no longer valid. Just saying.) If you missed out, sorry you missed out. But if you snagged a tee hoodie, or six, or for your entire family...high five!

But back to my stance on not denoting one photo as my Photo a Day submission for today...

I am here.

In no way am I attempting to say I'm an omnipotent being (nor is this a coded confession that I'm impotent). What I'm saying is that I am here at all times.

"I am here," is more than a declaration of my location.

"I am here," is a reminder to pay attention to your life, your environment, and to respect the time of those you have requested their time (or those that have requested yours).

In short... BE PRESENT IN EVERYTHING YOU DO.

In acting classes I've taken, and many rehearsals and performances, there are reminders among the cast members to be present in each performance. In each scene, and in every moment. Don't just recite lines by rote. Don't walk to certain parts of the stage to "hit your mark." Understand your character, your world, and your story and fuse them all together to connect with your scene partners and be present together to create a piece of art.

If you aren't, the audience can tell. They can always tell. And when they know, you'll know. And it isn't pretty. The glow of smartphone screens illuminate their faces from their cupped hands. Their elbows leave their knees and they lean back in their chairs to count the lamps hanging from the overhead. You hear the rustle of programs and purses as they fumble for something to keep their attention.

And all is lost. The magic is gone. The story is decapitated. And the art is deflated.

This also applies to any vocation which involves customer interaction. Before we go on, let's broaden the perspective on "customer." Typically, when we hear "customer" we think "paying customer" at a retail location, food service, clothing, sporting event...anywhere someone would be looking for something at a place of business at which they'll be exchanging a product for currency. Support departments also have customers. Human Resources, IT, Accounting, management, their customers are the employees, but sometimes this gets lost because there's no direct exchange of money for the services received.

Starting with the traditional sense of the word "customer," let's take the situation of being on the sales floor and interacting with a customer. (For a specific, real life example, check out Far Away from Day 10 this month.) If I'm present while working with my customer, I can pay attention to her, engage her in conversation, take in information from verbal and non-verbal cues, and provide her with an excellent shopping experience. If I'm not, I can miss what she's telling me, make ill-informed suggestions, and ultimately, frustrate her instead of helping her.

What entails not being present? Thinking about off-the-clock topics while you should be engaged with customers. Wondering if you forgot to lock your car, an argument you had with your partner the night before, a math test you think you just bombed before coming to work, anything that is not work-related that distracts you and prevents you from fully investing yourself to your work.

In college, when we showed up to rehearsals and performances, we would sign into a Call Sheet to let our stage manager know we have officially arrived. At a couple different jobs I've had, present employment included, we punch in on an electronic time clock. In a basketball game, you check into the scorer's table and wait for the next in bound to step onto the floor. All of these examples are exact moments in which you remind yourself you are stepping onto the playing field and clocking in. Literally. This is the moment you are given to mentally step through the threshold and lock in.

You're on the sales floor, you're engaging with customers, you're helping people out, and maybe you run into a challenging situation: an angry customer, an off-putting interaction, we've all had them. If a deep breath and a quick count to three doesn't do the trick, maybe you need to step off the floor for a moment and head to the break room out of sight of the customers to regain your composure. In a position of customer service, you're putting on a show for the customers whether they are buying anything that day or not. Lock it in. You're getting paid for it. It's your job.

Think about everything else on your break, on your lunch, or after work. If you can't leave it at the door when you come in, maybe you shouldn't be there, or maybe you need to try to control your mood a bit more so you can be present when it's crunch time.

For an extreme example, say an EMT arrives at a crash scene and three compressions into a CPR cycle,  she remembers her father starts chemo that day.

Flatline.

To apply it to retail, maybe you're helping someone in the fitting room and you come back with an incorrect size, and what you guessed, since you blanked when you got to the dressed on the floor and just grabbed one, was way off and she just ended up leaving because you struck a chord of body image insecurity.

In the theatre? You flashback to the fight you had last night and start spouting off what you should have said when you should be telling young Juliet how a family vendetta means nothing to you.

So yes. I am here. Try it out. Maybe saying it in your head when you clock in, step onto the sales floor, or wipe your feet on the non-skid pad before stepping onto the court at the start of the 4th quarter. A little focus goes a long way.

PBDC Day 18/31: Five Years Ago

 In February of 2009, a bunch of rowdy theatre kids from Diablo Valley College and a few faculty and staff members traveled by caravan from Pleasant Hill, California to CSU Fullerton in Fullerton, California to present their production of Stephen Adly Guirgis' Jesus Hopped the 'A' Train at KCACTF XLI.

Growing up in California, we didn't see much snow, so when we drove over the Grapevine and saw some of this mysterious ground cover, we knew it was going to be quite a weekend.

Back when Facebook Notes were still a thing, I wrote a Note after we returned. I have since then imported it to this blog for easy access. Enjoy:

The Morning After

It's...not crazy, or amazing, or weird, but it's...____________ to realize that this amazing experience was only five years ago. I still lived in northern California. I had not received my acceptance letter to Long Beach, and actually at that point when the picture was taken, I had not yet met the adjudicator who would see the play I directed, share with me that she is adjunct faculty at The Beach, or knew for certain if I would be attending a university.

Man, how time flies.

PBDC Day 4/31: On My Mind

I write many of my blogs between 11pm and 1am. I have the news on in the background, but I'm really just leaving it on for The Tonight Show, and other times when I've tried it with the TV off with the intention of turning it on at the right time, I'm usually late. I have a day off tomorrow. This prompt was on Day 17 of last month. The Romeikes get to stay. I want a dog. My stomach is a little rumbly, but I shouldn't be eating this late in the day, especially if I plan on going to sleep anytime soon. This post, yes this very one you're reading is for the fourth day of March, and combined with the 28 days in February, that will make this my 32nd daily blog in a row. My Duolingo streak is at 40 days. I like learning another language, and although I've been wanting to get back to French (which I learned in high school) I feel that learning Spanish would help me, especially if I want to move into a management position back in California. I don't know when California will be my home once again, I'm really starting to like it here now that jobs have stabilized a bit for my wife and I, but in a creepy coincidence, since we've started at our new jobs, we've been in the longest winter either of us have experienced. The first snow was around Veterans Day, and today on Fat Tuesday, the frigid weather has bled into its fifth month. I am excited for it to be warmer, but eventually it'll get ridiculously hot, and well, the same folks that complained about how cold it has been will be saying it's too damn hot. Yeah, I was raised in California, and I've lived in a handful of coastal states spending too much time at the beach, but there's something calming about the winter. And the way I've been looking at it, when it's cold you can always add another layer, but when it keeps warming up, well you still have to wear clothes to work, right? I can't be showing up to work in shorts, flip flops, and tank tops now can I? At least that's what I'm telling myself.

breath

Not "breathe" like the verb, but "breath" like a single breath. Today isn't really a free write, although it definitely appears to be that, but what I'm writing about is exactly what the prompt...well, prompted. This is what's on my mind. Presented in a stream-of-consciousness manner (how very theatre-kid of me) but typed out for everyone to read. I'm ready for the news to be over. I don't care too much for high school basketball, and I really like watching Jimmy Fallon and the gang on The Tonight Show. I just watched the clip of Fallon, The Roots, and Idina Menzel performing "Let It Go" in their music room. So many people have been sharing their "Travoltized" names, running with John Travolta's odd mispronunciation of Menzel's name when introducing her Oscars performance for the award-winning original song from the Oscar-winning animated feature, Frozen. If you happen to one of the few people who haven't heard about this yet, he said "Adele Dazeem," which sent social media into a mocking frenzy over his (still to this point) unexplained mishap. That has been one of the biggest social media aftershocks from this years Academy Awards, with the two others I've noticed being Ellen's Twitter-breaking group selfie and the onslaught of articles and memes about Leo losing out on another opportunity to go home with the miniature golden naked man. Fallon's on. I don't feel bad for Leo. Just like I didn't feel bad for Meryl Streep or Julia Roberts. I didn't see The Wolf of Wall Street, but hearing all the buzz about it and thinking of all other blockbusters that Leo has been in made me think that maybe it isn't Leo's performances that are falling short, it's maybe the fact that he's being dwarfed by these gigantic movies. I was glad to see the Gravity won as many awards as it did, and was also happy to see how happy the team behind 12 Years A Slave winning Best Picture. I did see Gravity in the movie theatre, and I'm glad I did. That film is the reason I still go see movies on the big screen. Swallowed by space, drenched in a darkness in a really comfortable seat, stereo sound at a volume that is only dwarfed by concerts, you get what I'm saying, right? Movies with less special effects like, The Blind Side, for example (which I did love that movie) it isn't as imperative to see it on the big screen. The first film I remember seeing at the movies is Jurassic Park, yes the first one. Another movie I've really enjoyed seeing in the theatre, Speed Racer. Yes, I do like the experience of seeing plenty of movies while they're out in movie theaters, but what I'm getting at is that there are some films that are better enjoyed on the big screen, enveloped in darkness where you can't hear yourself breathe. I don't go to the movies as often as I want, but then again, I don't really do anything as much as I want besides breathe. However, writing every single day for the last 32 days has been really great, and I find myself looking forward to writing my daily blog each morning.

Commercial break.

Not from my blog. From The Tonight Show. My legs are getting numb, and back hurts a little bit, but that's probably because these bungee chairs aren't the most supportive, although they are pretty awesome. I really wish there was a Denny's close by, or even better, a Waffle House. They're a cash only establishment. At least they were when we went all the time in South Carolina. Today was free pancake day at IHOP. Sweet for those who got to go. I'm not a huge fan of pancakes, as in I won't go out of my way for them or have cravings for them, but I'll still enjoy them if they're around. I wore my undercover Niners fan thermal today. It's dark gray with "HUNTERS POINT" in red, capital letters across the chest. A couple articles have been released in the last day or so reporting that Kaepernick has been asking for $18 million dollars a year. A social media uprising has started, mostly from Niners fans, sharing really rude and hateful comments, but with a valid point. Why should he be paid that much if he wasn't won a Super Bowl yet? I get the viewpoint, and I wholly agree, but I have about as much say in their play-calling as I do their contract negotiations, and whatever they do, whether they give it to him, boot him for being greedy, or he leaves for a team that will give him more money, I'll still be a Niners fan. #ForeverFaithful, right? Super Bowl L will be hosted in the new Levi's stadium in Santa Clara, California, and Niners fans can agree it would be so sweet to win a super bowl at home, but I'm looking for a win sooner, because the 49ers winning Super Bowl 49 would be Super awesome. And if that happened, they could then have the opportunity to defend their super awesomeness AT Super Bowl 50 at home. That would mean they could win back-to-back Super Bowls, and, well, yeah, that's just a lot of super awesomeness. This was a really great idea. Just letting the fingers fly. I should do this more often, even off the blog record and just to get stuff out since I can type more clearly than I feel like I can speak. That's it for now. Good night, Moon.

I took the first picture because writing the blog was on my mind, but the screen doesn't show anything so it's almost like I'm lying to you. The second picture is after I've written everything up until that picture, and now I'm writing about both pictures and how what I'm trying to say is that...I wrote about what I took pictures about, except I couldn't take the second picture until I wrote about what I had not when I took the first picture. I made a Matrix reference in February's Day 17: On My Mind post, but I think this one is more Inception. There's Leo again, with another sweet film that didn't land him an Oscar. Sorry, bud. But not really, because you get to act in awesome movies and work with brilliant artists all the time. But you don't get to lie in my bed next to my wife, so there. Speaking of, that's what I'm doing shortly after I publish this post. Good night, Leo. I'll see you next week's meeting for  those of us without an Oscar.

PBDC Day 3/31: My Name Is

Initial reaction: Roots. And I don't mean The Roots like on The Tonight Show. If you don't get know the reference, watch this clip.

Next up? Marshall Mathers.

(If you didn't get either reference, I applaud the degree of hermitic lifestyle, because you're still reading a blog on the internet yet you can't identify a pair of rather considerable pop culture references.)

Even after a month of taking daily photos, there are still photos that are point blank with little artistic composition (at least to myself).

Yep, that's my name as presented for public consumption every day I go to work. All of our name tags are typed in all capital letters, and that's A-OK with me because it alleviates any confusion.

Usually, when I introduce myself to people, I give them one of two taglines.

• Marlon, like Marlon Brando without the Brando.
• Marlon, like Nemo's dad from Finding Nemo.

I know that the latter is technically "Marlin" (ooh, like the sport fish!) but when it comes to pronunciation, it works just as well.

Around 2005, I was at a Starbucks in northern California, and after placing my order the young girl behind the register asked for my name.

Cashier: And your name?
Me: Marlon.
Cashier: What?
Me: Marlon. Like Marlon Brando without the Brando.
Cashier: Who?
Me: Marlon Brando. The Godfather? Streetcar?
Cashier: *blank stare* Uh, no.
Me: So, Marlon, like Nemo's dad in Finding Nemo.
Cashier: Finding What?
Barista: Finding Nemo. P. Sherrrrman 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney. Do you live under a rock?
Me: *deep breath* Marlon. M-A-R-L-O-N.

Obviously, had I just spelled my name out in the beginning, there would be no shameful expose of her lack of both a current pop culture reference and an homage to one of the greats. But I attribute my apparent whirling dervish of trivial pursuit to my shock that I was 0 for 2 in my references that, to this day, is the only instance in which neither option helped to clarify.

Most Marlons I've met have been Hispanic or Black. I've met one other Filipino Marlon, and one white Marlan. Yes, MarlAn. And he was the only Marlan I've ever met.

Occasionally, what starts as me saying "Marlon" at the register morphs into "Marlen" or even further than the original, "Marlene," to which I receive sideways glances when someone who is not a female as they anticipated walks up to the pick up counter.

Other times, What was scribbled as "Marlon" is read as "Marion," and the same confused glances are shot out. I did meet one Marion who is a guy, but he wasn't fond of his first name because he thought it was too feminine, so he went be his middle name, Lynn. True story.

My middle name has provided an additional layer of administrative awkwardness.

Until about junior high, I understood middle names to be the place for the mother's maiden name. After all, that was the structure of my name as I learned it.

Marlon de La Cruz de Leon.

"de La Cruz" was from my mother's side and "de Leon" from my fathers. (For more on the "de Leon," see February's Day 20/28: The Written Word.) Not surprisingly, when I enlisted, and I mean literally as I was enlisting aka filling out and signing all the paperwork at MEPS, I learned the true story of my middle name.

I didn't have one.

All of my papers I had signed with the full three-segment name from a few lines up. When they asked to see my Driver's License, I admitted I didn't have one. So they asked for my Social Security card, which only listed a middle initial of "D." When turning to my birth certificate for corroboration of "D." as the middle's place holder, we were faced with blank. Literally. There is no listed middle name on my birth certificate.

At that moment, I finally learned my official, legal name.

MARLON D. DE LEON

As the aforementioned Day 20 post outlines, my last name has evolved into "Deleon," but the "D." has held fast.

A few Google searches revealed that there are plenty of "Marlon Deleons" in the world, but I'm the only one consistently listed as "Marlon D. Deleon," so I hold onto it very tightly.

And so the issue of the Dee Period rears its head. Similar to Hiram Ulysses Grant, or as you may recognize it, Ulysses S. Grant, the middle initial is a floater. In Grant's case, the "S" was ill-placed by another gentleman, but then played it off saying it stood for his mother's maiden name (that sounds familiar...). As for myself, I've considered a few options

1. Righting the traditional omission and making my middle name Delacruz.
2. Leaving it as "D."
3. Picking a brand new middle name for myself that begins with the letter "D".

The third is my favorite option, and having a theatrical background and personality, I thought of one candidate that would be a wonderful conversation starter.

Danger.

Listed at the top of my resume, Marlon Danger Deleon, to which I would honestly reply, "Yes, 'Danger' is my middle name."

In response to the well-known Shakesperean question, "What's in a name?" I give you this post. But before I sign off, I will share the story behind my being named "Marlon", of which I only learned in the last ten years.

My mother's name is Maria Elena. To many she became Marilyn. And if you say it fast enough (try it with a Filipino accent) and masculinize it, it becomes...Marlon.

For a while it was nice to think that I may have been named after the great actor Marlon Brando, and sometimes it still does put a smile on my face to find a thin connection with such an icon, but learning the truth behind those six letters together drove another stake into the metaphorical plot of land I know as my life.

It's fun to realize how much I can actually say about my name. I don't think it to be conceited or narcissistic, but just generally interesting. And to think that my name is an anagram for "normal"...

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.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 27/28: In Love With

The first school play I was ever in was in the fifth grade, and it was a class play (meaning everyone in the class was in it). It had an educational theme to it, being set in a classroom and pertaining to much of the curriculum that year--states and capitals. Despite my enthusiasm for the production, I was not given the opportunity for a lead role since my teacher did not believe I could focus enough to learn all the lines. So I had one of the smallest roles in the show, a boy named Jimmy Johnson (maybe that's really why I don't like the Lowe's 48 #NASCAR #StandWithSmoke), and my first line in the play was, "I'll say!"

When I was in high school I landed my first lead role-with the church theatre group-and I later found out that I wasn't cast based on talent, but because I was the only male that fit the lead's character description. With my high school drama program I was cast in my first musical, Little Shop of Horrors, and although I felt my nerdiness made me a lock for the lead of Seymour, I was cast to appear onstage as an unnamed supporting role ("Wino) in the opening number, but then sat in the orchestra pit to be the voice of the plant, Audrey II. At five feet, two inches tall, and about 120 pounds soaking wet, most audiences didn't believe that such a little guy supplied the booming voice for the alien plant--but I did. Well.

Through my time at Diablo Valley College I was blessed with an array of works to perform with: Shakespeare's MacBeth, Moliere's The Imaginary Invalid, an original Greek work by Nicole Hess-Diestler and Zach Diestler called Iphigenia at Aulis. There were numerous scene studies, or Brown Bags as we'd call them, where I was given great opportunities to delve into pieces by John Patrick Shanley (Frankie and Johnny), Emily Mann (The Execution of Justice), David Rabe (Hurlyburly). And there were even a couple of musicals, Bat Boy, a contemporary rock musical, and Some Enchanted Evening, a Rodgers and Hammerstein revue.

At Cal State Long Beach I played a cholo (Los Lobos de la Noche), an Indian boy (A Chance, an original piece by Chetan Sanathara), a Shakespearean father (Gentlemen Redux), and a gay man (Our Lady of 121st Street).

With the shows that I have been fortunate enough to be in, I've been challenged and stretched and corraled and set free. And even with my tattoos (which are something many of my theatre classmates considered to be taboo or too cumbersome to have to work around), I didn't have to cover them up in as nearly many shows as I was asked to show them off. Actually, for my role in Los Lobos they actually added more tattoos. And through all of this: Shakespeare, Greek, Moliere, cholo, Indian, gay, original pieces, I never had to be naked onstage. In a piece I directed, The Big Funk, by Shanley, one of my actors had to be naked, and I mean fully naked, no socks, dance belts, or nothing, but I myself had never been naked on stage.

Being naked is a scary thing for many people. Taking a shower or bath is probably the one thing that most people can be comfortable doing naked. Yes, I omitted sex, because 1. you don't have to be completely naked (#socks #shirts) and 2. being this intimate with someone doesn't necessarily mean you're absolutely comfortable with being naked.

So that leaves showertime as the singular occasion of being comfortable with nakedness.

I write quite a bit about positivity, especially in regards to loving one's self, and although it probably won't come as a surprise, I feel it to be a strong gesture to say it explicitly. I'm not always happy with my body.

In more bathrooms than not, stepping out of the shower usually places me face to face with the mirror above the sink. Nothing like starting your day with a vigorously hot shower, reviving you from your slumber, only to be slapped in the face by, well, your face...above your naked body. This is typically not the best feeling. 

But recently, I've been better about accepting my awesomeness and being happy with who I am. How much better? I took a picture of myself after I got out of the shower today.

With my hair messy and still a little bit wet, unkempt eyebrows center stage, I took a picture of myself at a time when I would normally not want anyone to see me. But today I do. Because I love who I am and I'm in love with myself. Not in a narcissistic way, but in a way that is in reply to, "If you don't love yourself, why should anyone else be?"

I'm a pretty hairless guy. Have you ever seen me with a mustache? Or a goatee with some sweet chops to frame it? Nope. And my hairless back (which I'm not complaining about) pictured above is right in line with my unmanly (by stereotypical standards) hairless chest.

This commercial was a nice reminder that every style is ok. Thanks, Genesis. #CallMe

The tattooed cat is out of the bag, and my upper back tattoos are now for everyone to see in all its bloggy glory. Kanjis for "wisdom" (Connecticut) and "loyalty" (Virginia), an anchor-inspired Sagittarius symbol (NorCal), and a modification of the Alexander Pope quotation, "To err is human, to forgive divine." (Montana).

I used to think that tattoos helped to draw attention away from parts of my body that I did not wish to show off (especially in my beach bum days when all I wore was a hat and a pair of board shorts), but I have since then refocused my appreciation for my ink as I became a curator of my own gallery. The tattoos on my skin are like patches on a cruise jacket-symbolizing deployments, missions, and battle groups.

Being on stage naked was something that many of us talked about in school, mostly in a fearful light. Just thinking about all those people and making eye contact with them afterwards knowing that they saw you in such an adulterated manner without reciprocation. But with live theatre, after the moment it's gone. With photography, that moment is frozen in time forever. 

But what good is a moment unless it's shared with others. So I wanted to share it with everyone (thanks to body positioning and framing a tasteful shot).

I am in love with myself. That's the healthiest, most fulfilling love anyone can have, and everyone should.

Photo and Blog a Day Challenge-Day 16/28: Different

Little. Yellow. Different.

Those of us above a certain age may recognize those words as a slogan from a late 80s commercial for Nuprin. (Travel back in time here.) I can't decide if I'm amazed, weirded out, or slightly brainwashed, but that is what I thought of when I read the photo prompt for today.

There is some irony in the fact that I remember a commercial for ibuprofen years before I joined the Navy, injured my shoulders, and began a ridiculous regimen that occasionally surpassed several thousand milligrams of the painkiller per day. It's like this marketing bug stuck with me almost knowing I would have a long-term relationship with the medication.

Fortunately, it has been quite a while since I've had to turn to prescription strength ibuprofen, and I'd like to think that my reconstructive surgery in 2011 has helped that, but that still doesn't drive me in a direction for the day's photography.

Thinking to myself that I need to take a picture of something different was like trying to isolate my favorite droplet of water in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Virginia Beach. So I shifted my perspective and thought that, instead of taking a picture of something different, I should take today's picture differently.

With my trusty pocket pal, the Samsung Galaxy SII, I went for the special effects.

Deciding what to snap was easy. Selfies have been a hot topic of discussion in the last year or so. With Obama getting the cold shoulder from the FLOTUS at the Mandela memorial, to the horrible trend of funeral selfies, and extreme selfies, shooting my own just felt right.

Here's one with flash.

The filter? Negative.

I don't look at myself in a negative light as often as I used to twelve, fifteen years ago, but I can say with confidence that now, even in a negative light, I like what I see. I see the highlight of light in the corners of my mouth and I think about how my braces in my sophomore and junior years of high school helped me literally mold the smile I have today. I notice the frames that frame my eyes, and think about how grateful I am to see.

(sidebar: I just searched my blog for what I thought was a post about me getting my eyeglasses in the sixth grade, but to no avail. What I thought was a blog post was a section from my unfinished NaNoWriMo book Juliet's Window.)

I see my hair and I think that, nearly ten years after separating from the military, I still prefer to keep it pretty short. If it gets long enough to touch the inside of my earlobe, it freaks me out. I see my clean shaven face, and I think of all the bartenders and servers that look at my when they card me, telling my I've got a baby face.

Spring semester, 2006, I dove into my first acting class at DVC, Beginning Acting with Beth McBrien. On this particular day she led us through an exercise that had everything to do with seeing yourself. Scanning. In the Arena Theatre, we all got out of our seats and partnered up with someone else in the class. Standing less than two feet from Mario, someone that became one of my closest friends while at DVC, we took turns scanning.

I went first, speaking what I saw. Truthfully, honestly, and openly. I see two eyes. I see brown hair. I see a nose, I see you smiling. I see you blinking. It goes on for several minutes. Observing and speaking about it has never been difficult for me. I'm observant and I like to speak my mind truthfully. But then it was time to switch. And as he looked at me, I stood there, on the stage of the Arena Theatre, surrounded by the other pairs in the class, and was scanned. He spoke what he saw, and I stood there silently. I tried to smile through it. I probably started laughing at one point. But as he continued to look and kept commenting and observing and telling me exactly what he saw, I couldn't take it. I ran up the stairs into the hallway and the flood gates opened. In a ball, sitting on the cement in the cool hallway, I was a complete mess. At first I couldn't understand what had caused this emotional outburst. We were just participating in a simple beginning acting class exercise. I kept my head down, but as my classmates walked out at the end of class, they all knew I had been sobbing. Not crying. Not weeping. Sobbing.

After everyone had left, Beth had came outside, and she had invited me back inside to talk. I had told her I had no idea why this exercise had such a drastic affect on me, and without prodding, she assured me that if something as "simple" as scanning could evoke such a high level of emotion, I held in my person such a powerful fuel that actors covet. Later on, I realized what this exercise reminded me of--hearing what someone saw in me in such a brutal truth. But it wasn't in a classroom, and it wasn't in the name of art. It took me a while to be ok with scanning, but once I got past being so defensive (usually with laughter, which was--well, still is--a defense mechanism) I learned that the simple act of seeing, observing, and sharing in a truthful, honest manner, is the most direct connection you can share with someone. Over time I learned that that doesn't just apply in theatre. Sure, theatrical acting was the focus, but it's also an integral piece of professional acting (because, let's face it, even though we aren't all thespians, we're all acting to some extent on the stage we call the workplace), as well as social interacting (you don't talk to grandma the way you talk to your favorite bartender...or maybe you do).

So yeah. I see myself. I see myself in a different light because I've acknowledged that I see myself. And a lot of that has to do with what other people see. Not to say that how I feel about myself is based entirely on how people view me, there's a balance in consideration or ignoring those views, but how I see myself has so much to do with awareness. And what I do with that awareness has helped me see myself in a positive light, whether or not the filter through which I'm being viewed is negative.

So thank you, Beth McBrien, my partner Mario, and beginning acting class for detonating the first blast in the years of sedimentary insecurities. Thank you, art, for allowing me to see myself in a way that will go beyond the theatre doors. And thank you, childhood experience, for rooting yourself so deep within myself that a simple harmless act of someone telling me that I have brown eyes and freckles on my skin could force me to run out a classroom that simply encouraged us to embrace art within ourselves.

If it were not for all this, I would be exactly the same as I was years ago. Heavily guarded. But I'm not. I'm much smarter, or rather, aware, of who I am. And I love that I'm different.

"update" (term used loosely)

so i've been wanting to blog for a while, but everything has ramped up to warp speed. here are some of the milestone/benchmarks/highlights/lowlights:

I now write for the Long Beach Acting Examiner

I caved and signed up for Twitter to support my Acting Examiner column

I started training to be a radio host at KBEACH radio to st

art a weekly theatre talk show

I start training to be a House Manager at Long Beach Playhouse this week

I'm an Assistant Directing Intern with Long Beach Shakespeare

I'm a temp (potentially permanent) at the CSULB Bookstore

The last surviving grandparent in my family passed away last month.

Corn, The Language Archive, and being Filipino (they link together, really)

My older brother got married.

My younger sister caught the bouquet at said marriage.

It's been eleven years since I swore

in at MEPS Oakland to fly out to Naval RTC (Recruit Training Command, aka bootcamp)-July 29.

That's all for now.

My Southern California Directorial Debut!!!

Through such catch phrases as "f**k my life" and "epic fail" adorning such minor mishaps as a pencil breaking or a dropped slice of cheese on the floor, many people have lost sight of the greater good. Society has taken a turn for the worse and has become its own worst enemy, sending the masses into a funk of wallowing misery. It isn't that bad, folks. It can always get worse, so enjoy it for what it is and just "live and let live."

The Big Funk,
by John Patrick Shanley
*edited for time

Directed by Marlon Deleon

Cast (in order of appearance):

Jill-Amelia Gonsalves
Fifi-Kristina Philipson
Omar-Steven LeFever
Austin-Corey Leis
Gregory-Mark Dunham

Start Time:	Thursday, March 18, 2010 at 11:00pm
End Time:	Friday, March 19, 2010 at 1:00pm
Location:	Room 24/26 (Showcase Room) in the basement of the Theatre Arts building at CSULB.
City/Town:	Long Beach, CA

NO ADMISSION FEE! Free theatre in LA County!! True story!

Don't suc. succeed

"What is success?" was a question that came up in my Theatre Today class last week. The same question was posed to me before I moved down here. A good friend suggested I find my own definition for it, and that's been rolling around in my head ever since. In class, the responses were very American, driven by consumerism: money, power, materialistic trophies and financial benchmarks. Meanwhile I'm sitting in my seat with my answer in my head, waiting, hoping that someone will be on the same wavelength and say that we should define "success" for ourselves. I felt that if I had offered my answer, I would want to continue the conversation in that direction, at which point we would be completely sidetracked; so for my own cowardly justification, I sat quietly and listened to my classmates' discussion contributions. 

I've heard many times that Theatre is a selfish industry, and that can be taken in many ways. It can be in the manner that you are "competing" against actors, designers, techs, and directors for the same position, and even though you're friends with them, you want that job and/or that paycheck as much as they do. In a more personal light, the theatre can steal your life away from your family, from your ability to even have a family, and even from your friends and social life in general. Those of us that are wholly dedicated are usually split in multiple directions: classes, rehearsals, multiple part-time jobs, relationships, children, the list goes on; but how selfish should you become to progress in the direction that you wish to? I've asked myself that question multiple times in the last few years, and my answer has developed in my work ethic-I belong in the theatre. There have been numerous relationships that have suffered because of my theatrical obligations, no, not obligations, determinations. "Obligations" sounds negative, and being in the theatre is far from negative, it's my choice, and I've been determined to move forward everyday. I digress. Relationships are sacrificed for my dedication to the theatre. If I try to put more time into the relationship, something else has to suffer…the non-theatre classes. Well, that wasn't a good idea either. Over the last couple years the relationships have fallen by the wayside and the Theatre has become my main squeeze. This has come to power through choices I have made, and I don't regret what I have done, nor have I ever, but I have learned from all of them. The more I have become involved in Theatre, the more I withdrew from my social life. There should be a balance, and I'm working at it every day. 

[my brain just stopped, and my thought train was AMTRAKed. if you were watching television you would currently be seeing static, perhaps a pixelated screen if you have a new plasmafantasticLCDmonitor, if you're used to regular tube TVs you would see the black strip across the bottom and the vertical color stripes across the screen.] 

I am not defining "success" as a destination, I am treating it as a journey. I have succeeded already, I am going to succeed in the future, and I am currently succeeding-right now, at this very moment. "Success" seems to be as complicated as love, and it also feels as if it has been as commercialized just that same. Lil' Kim had a song a few years ago entitled "Money, Power, Respect" and that, for some, is as good a definition of "success" as they need. According to <http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/success> 

• Main Entry: suc·cess 
• Pronunciation: \sək-ˈses\ 
• Function: noun 
• Etymology: Latin successus, from succedere 
• Date: 1537 
1 obsolete : outcome, result 
2 a : degree or measure of succeeding b : favorable or desired outcome; also : the attainment of wealth, favor, or eminence 
3 : one that succeeds 

and it seems that Merriam-Webster agrees with my idea of success as a journey at not a destination, as you'll notice that the first definition is obsolete, and the working definitions refer to the degree or "the attainment of" 

My definition of success has two parts, a concrete aspect that can be portrayed in examples and benchmarks, and an abstract side that will be just that, abstract and conceptual. Success has never been about money, having the newest gadgets, nicest car, or having a trophy wife. When I was 19 I transferred to the USS Hyman G Rickover, SSN-709 (Hoorah!) and, only two years in the Navy at that point, senior enlisted members were already plugging reenlistment packages and bonuses. My division chief, the late EMC(SS) Sean Bednarz had educated me on all the wonderful opportunities that would be available to me if I stayed in for "only" ten years-supervisory positions at power plants, paychecks upwards of $60,000 a year, moneymoneymoneymoneymoney. After he was done with his commercial I looked at him and told I'm rather make enough money to "just" get by and support my family teaching high school drama than to make an exorbitant amount in an industry that I have no desire to stay in for the rest of my life. Quality of life is more important to me than money. And he looked at me in amazement and after asking how old I was said, "kids like you don't talk like that anymore," and he's completely right. 

America is a consumer-driven populace, and there's no one party solely to blame, but younger people just become more focused on money as the years go by. Don't get me wrong, I like to have money available as much as the next person does, but, as I've stated in earlier FB Notes, being here in Long Beach with very little money (for now) has helped me recalibrate myself in many ways. There are too many luxuries that I took for granted, and living here has shown me that I don't need them. They're still nice every once in a while, but there really is no need to eat out for every meal, go to a bar every night, and aimlessly drive around when I can eat at home, not drink all the time, and take the bus or even walk somewhere. Just like I told my Chief, if I can provide for my family, or depending on how our family situation is coordinated with working parent or parents, I simply want my family to be provided for. I don't want to scrape by, and I don't really need six cars and a house in every state (although a private jet would be welcomed). If we're healthy, with food on the table, clothes on our backs, and comfortable living conditions, things are good. 

On the abstract side of success, if I can do what I love, and I mean truly enjoy what I'm doing for a living, then I am a success. Whether I'm teaching, working on Broadway, London, Oslo, or Kansas City, if I can head to work in the morning and know I'm going to enjoy what I'm doing, I'll call myself a success. This is where the selfishness comes in. I dedicate myself to the theatre, my passion, my craft, my art, and I need to achieve a balance with my family. That second part is what's been eluding me. This past week marked what would have been the fourth anniversary of matrimony had we stayed together. Stay with me, I'm not getting emo and regretting my "practice engagement." So, obviously I'm not married, and do not live in Virginia, and because of this separation and move back to California, I was able to get back into theatre, train at DVC, work with Shotgun and DTC (then DLOC) and arrive where I am now, CSULB, getting ready to start the third week of my junior year on track to achieve a major milestone with a BA in Theatre Arts. So yes, everything happens for a reason, I get it, and those reasons weren't apparent to me four years ago when I was leaving Virginia Beach, but they are now, and I can definitely say I've succeeded since then. 

I don't know what the future will bring, and I'm not going to plan too far out. There are things I want to do, but I know life happens, and sometimes it doesn't go the way you planned. As long as keep doing what I love, and am making progress towards what I want, I'm succeeding. It's not about the money, the fame, or the prestige. It's about doing what I want and enjoying every bit of it. A college dropout who went back to school later in life said that if he ever hears you say you're bored, he'll crush you (it may have been "pummel," but I'm not sure, that's why I paraphrased, but there will be life threatening danger). He's absolutely right, there's too much cool stuff to be bored, learn something, look back, reflect, regroup, create and recreate. There are plenty of ways to succeed at something, and if you don't, or say you can't, you just "suc."