A Midget In My Soul

We were talking about midgets. I don't know why. I think it was one of those games where father and daughter throw friendly insults back and forth. You know the ones:

"You've got a big head papa."
"Oh really, well, you've got a bigger head."
"And you've got a big butt."
"Oh really, well, you've got a bigger butt."
"No you."
"No you."

And so on. But this particular exchange went a too far. And my 9 year old daughter got all existential on my ass.

Like I said, we got on the subject of midgets. Not little people. We are not PC. Midgets. To be honest, I can't even remember why midgets were being discussed. Why in the world we would even be talking about midgets in the first place. But we where. Then, out of nowhere, my daughter lets loose with this comment:

"Papa, you've got a midget in your soul."

What?! How is a father to take this news? I was dumfounded. It sounded like something you might read in one of Nietzsche's books: The id. The super id. Man and superman. God is dead and you have a midget in the soul.

I didn't know how to respond. Honestly. This was my daughter. Who is in 3rd grade. Did I say that already?
One of my friends told me that I have nothing to worry about. She sounds fine, he says. No need to show concern unless she had finished the statement. Maybe said something like:
"There's a midget in your soul and he wants to get out."

Or worse:
"There's a midget in your soul and I can hear him crying."

Or worse yet:
"There's a midget in your soul and he's dying a slow agonizing death in the black mare of your being."

I guess this is a bright side, if there is such a thing in this whole bizarre scenario. But it doesn't stop me from worrying, slightly, about just what she meant by such an esoteric comment.

So, I know you are asking yourself, "why didn't you just ask her what she meant." Well, I did. Brilliant. All she said was "I don't know." Then we went on. Talking about homework or relations at her mother's house or That's So Raven. That's my daughter. Totally drops these things out there in the open air and just leaves them there.

Meanwhile, I am plagued with thoughts that my daughter believes me to a lesser man. An ill-fit man. A small man. And not just in my outward appearance. Not just in my relationship with her. But all the way down to my very soul.

I hope I am thinking about this too hard. Maybe it was just something she thought sounded funny at the time, so she let it fly. Not thinking about it for a single second. Just being at a place where she felt like she didn't have to censor what comes out of her mouth in front of her papa. Even if it's directed at her papa.
That's great. I support that. I would rather she be that way than closed off. Not communicating with me at all. I am sure one day I will know what it means to have a midget in my soul. That day is just not today. But baby, if you are reading this:

"You have a giant in your soul!"

NO WILL OF MY OWN

If Nicole could see me now.

She would probably laugh. She would probably consider me most foolish. She would probably bear me for about a minute. Then, would I beg of her for remedy. Wishing she would dote on me once more.

Forgive me for my sudden archaic use of the English language, but I have just entered into Will's world and I feel I may be out of my league. Yes, I am a writer. And writing is what I do. People pay me to write. (At least, that is my intention) But now - today - as of May 16th - people also pay me to act.

It's not like I've never done this before. I have. I've even done Mr. Shakespeare's work. Many times. It's what I used to want to do with my life. An eternity ago. But now I think I'd rather spend my time in the corner with my computer, punching out the next great work to be produced by Steppenwolf. And not talking to anyone while I am doing it. Not learning lines and presenting myself for the world to critique. (Well, I guess that's what I do anyway, but I don't want to be on stage too) So, why am I back with old friends in some town in Tennessee, doing A Midsummer Night's Dream? Some town without a Walmart (I am thankful for that) or a Starbucks (I am VERY thankful for that) trying to pass myself off as an actor. A professional actor. I can't act for shit anymore. That is what I found out on this, my very first day of rehearsal.

On top of that, I have to live this actor's life for a month. Out of my element. Drinking coffee and taking breaks and reading scripts and eating snacks and getting very little exercise and getting fat, while I struggle to examine all the wrappings the craft services people are pulling food out of to derive whether I am being tricked into consuming trans-fats. (Well, I guess when I put it that way, I have been living the actor's life for the last 7 months in Chicago - only there was no craft services)

I don't know what to say really, other than the fact that after the first day of this new life, I am very disillusioned. And I don't think I can act for shit anymore. Did I already say that? I bet you Nicole never felt this way. The sad thing is that I am stuck. I can't go anywhere. I am under contract for the next month. I mean, part of that is great, because I get to hang out with some old friends that I haven't seen in years, and stay in a nice big house on a hillside, by a lake, with cows - (the cows aren't in the lake, obviously) - but I have to pull 4 very distinct and entertaining characters out of my ass, and it doesn't look like that is going to come easy. This is a lot of pressure. HELP!

Nicole, if you are out there and you are reading, give me a call. I humble myself before you gentle queen, and beg your patience. I am but a sucky actor.

Maybe things will get better on day two, but I am not holding my breath. I might let you know what is going on with all this over the course of the next month, but it is not likely. I know it is all very boring, and I don't want to spend any more time dwelling on it than I have to. Hopefully, lots of exciting dialogue between me and the cast (not the Shakespearean kind) will kindle my pop culture flames and this experience will give me lots of other things to bitch and rant about. Like, for instance, the three girls I met in Azar's falafel palace, just last week, who shared with me, hummus dripping from their hands, the prophetic notion that all televangelists were going to hell. Not THAT is a jumping off point.

CRASH

I've been thinking more and more about the fact that we don't touch people. Not that we don't "touch" people in a physical way. I am not advocating that. I wouldn't want to bear the responsibility of all your arrests. It's more that I have been thinking about how we walk around amidst a million strangers and they simply stay that way. Strangers. Then we die. Why is that? I've already talked before about how if we were capable of getting past our own shit, we would clearly see that everyone else has shit as well. Shit that they believe to be as valid and important as our shit. You know? And they have a point. Don't they?

I want to make a proposition. Granted this is only a theory, because I'm as guilty as the rest of you, of making my situation primo in my life. And why shouldn't I? I'm the one who has to live with me. Right? But here me out for a moment…I propose that we get outside of ourselves. Once a week, say. (That's 52 times a year. Not a big leap.) And extend a little love and kindness to someone we wouldn't normally make the effort with. Maybe even a stranger. (OOOOHHHHHH, strangers!) How hard can it be? Me, a serious introvert, it's going to be hard. But I would propose that it will be worth it. Showing this little bit of yourself. Giving this little bit of yourself. To someone who might need it. More than yourself. Believe it or not.

Now, I don't know if this will work out for sure. I don't even know if I will be successful, but I will give it a fighting chance. After all, isn't that what we should be doing anyway. Showing a little love? Being a little Jesus to the bane of this hurting world? This is what I think will happen if my little experiment should prove successful - suddenly, as if by magic, not only will the pains and troubles of some unsuspecting recipient be salved, but the giver (that would be you) and their own pains and troubles will temporarily lose priority. Maybe it's a first step to learning how to live righteously (and maybe even Godly) in this present world. What do you think? All you selfish bastards out there?

So, why do I make such a sudden proposal that seems so utterly devoid of self. Instead of railing about the absence of Nicole or the evils of Starbucks and filling your minds with pop culture tidbits? I'll tell you why. Because I went to see the film Crash last night. This is the new, and first-time, film by Paul Haggis, the writer of Million Dollar Baby. (Which we are not going to get into again. Not at this time.) Anyway, everyone needs to go see Crash because it talks about this whole thing I am proposing. (Well, in a round about way) But I think it is one of the most important films of this decade. Especially this decade. Where segregation and race wars and culture classes and hatred has pushed us all into little boxes that leave us living in fear and anger, unwilling to step outside of ourselves and reach out to those around us. (Especially those who aren't like us) This film takes all this fear and rage racial stereotypes and explodes it in a way that I believe to be brilliant. This guy has captured something that makes me jealous. I want to have made this movie. He has made a film that should be required viewing by EVERYONE.

You may not believe the hype. That's your problem. I don't believe I am exaggerating. This film confirmed two things in me:

1. I want to do something important with my life. Something that matters. Something that points to the truth. Something that will shake this place up.

2. I want to touch more people. More people with my life. I don't ever want to be guilty of living for myself.
If a film can inspire that in me, I would call that a pretty damn effective film. So go see it. Don't wait to rent a dvd copy. This deserves your recognition. Now.

Oh yeah, the cast is great too. So many good actors. So many great performances. But the soul of movie lies in its words. Its message.

Don Cheadle, (who was also in Hotel Rwanda - the other most important movie of this decade so far (now on dvd) - this guy knows how to pick ‘em) has this thing that he says at the beginning of the film. The thing that sparked my first paragraph in this blog entry. I wanted to quote that for you now. I am paraphrasing here, but you get the picture:

(Talking about the city of Los Angeles, while sitting in a wrecked car) "We move around here, surrounded by so many people, in this city that isn't anything like a real city. Because we stay behind this glass and steel. Alone. So many people, but we are numb, because we don't touch each other. There is no human contact. Maybe that is why we crash into each other. To try and feel something."

And it's only the beginning.

http://www.crashfilm.com/

Birth, Rebirth and Afterbirth

I found out how I can get Nicole back. But Tom Cruise has to die first. But then, I am assuming that Nicole really loved Tom a great deal in the first place. And I am also assuming that she believes in reincarnation. And I am also assuming that I can take on the visage of a 10 year old boy.

Sorry, I just watched Birth for the first time this week. Directed by the same guy that did Sexy Beast, but let me tell you, it's no Sexy Beast. I hadn't watched it up till now. Primarily because it's something that Nicole had done before we started dating. But since I am on that break up binge, I had put it in my Blockbuster queue (no smart comments on my weakness for such crass commercialism - I'm growing) when it came out on dvd.

For those of you who are wondering - No, it didn't make me fall in love with her all over again. Don't be ridiculous. It was interesting though. But you have to buy the premise that her dead husband could have come back as a 10 year old boy, and that she would eventually believe it to be the truth and struggle, with difficulty, trying to figure out how she can make that one work. Of course, I don't believe in reincarnation, but that didn't stop me from finding the movie, and, of course, Nicole's performance, compelling. She's incredible, isn't she?

Now I wont give you any spoilers. I'll let you see the film for yourself. But I have to point out just one scene that really causes you to stretch yourself. Because honestly, if you don't buy this one, you might as well not even watch the thing. Nicole is taking a bath and in walks this 10 year old boy - Sean. (But remember, it's supposed to be her dead husband). He proceeds to take off his clothes and join Nicole in the bathtub. They're both naked. (But don't worry - they don't show anything) She asks, "what are you doing?" His reply? Simple. He says, "I'm looking at my wife." If that is legitimate enough for you - go ahead and make a rental. You'll thank me. Personally, I went there with her. I went there with them all. Cheering for true love to win out in the end. For Nicole to find a way to make it work with the 10 year old.

Now sure, there are a few stretches of unbelievability in this film. When you're dealing with such subject matter, there is bound to be. But even a discriminating movie viewer and writer like myself is sometimes willing to sacrifice a few outright lies for the sake of the story. Doesn't mean I am not a proponent of truth.

Okay, I just like Nicole. I am babbling. She can do no wrong. My roommate wanted to talk about how there was not even a small amount of truth in the entire movie. She's just jealous she didn't come up with the story herself.

Well, all of that to say this: I leave the windy city today to start an adventure for the next 2 to 3 months. Trying to rediscover myself and all of that junk. First to spend 10 days with my daughter (9 years old and I am sure she is not any dead person's wife) and catch up on some much needed "us" time. Maybe spend a little time with Automatic. I am sure he will have some wisdom to divulge. Then it's off to Tennessee to do some Shakespeare and other theatre type stuff. We'll see if I can still memorize lines at the ripe old age of 37.
I guess I'm still a work in progress...no worries. I just hope I learn something from all of this. When I come back to Chicago, from all my travels, I hope that I'll be completely refreshed. Ready to start again. Ready for rebirth. Ready to see what God is going to allow to happen next.

I do know that everything will be okay in the end. And if it is not okay, then it is definitely not the end.