You axed for it

When I was a kid, I loved reading a magazine called Famous Monsters. This was a monthly magazine celebrating horror movies- the actors, creatures and movie makers of the genre. There was a two or three page spread called You Axed For It in which subscribers who sent in their photo could see themselves being attributed as a fan of a particular actor or creature. Usually there was a really corny caption to accompany it. Great fun it was. You "axed" for it - get it? Ha ha hah.

But the word "axe" has crept into every day language as a substitute for the word "ask." I don't know when it started, all I know is that the first time I heard someone say to me "Can I axe you something?" I really didn't understand what had just been said to me.

The question was asked again "Can I axe you something?"

"Ah, well, no. If I want something killed I can do it myself." It was an odd reply, yes, but I really didn't get what the person was saying to me. The light bulb did finally go off and I wound up doing an Edith Bunker-Oh-get-it-now response.

"That's not how to pronounce 'ask'," I said lamely. I wondered if the lady was using English as a second language or something. Where the hell do you get "axe" for "ask"?

It turns out that the usage of this mispronounced word has invaded the English language to an alarming and annoying degree. Every time I hear someone say "axe" for "ask" I do an involuntary shiver, much in the same way I react when I hear someone say "You did good."

Yeah, I done good and I'm gonna axe you to leave now.

Lucky in many ways

I do consider myself to be a fairly lucky person. One of the luckiest things to happen to me starting in my young adult life was that I had the capability of making and keeping good friends. I'm not pretending that every friendship stayed in tact, no. Sometimes people outgrow each other or simply have other needs and move on. Sometimes you just get pissed off and move away from someone too.

But I have attracted the most loyal and giving friends anyone could hope for. I don't know how I managed to do that, but I did. I know sometimes I have a tendency to be overprotective of friends (as if they can't take care of themselves) but I believe there are worse traits to have.

Ever since I was a kid, I had friends who were significanly older than myself. The reason for this is that I enjoyed talking about politics and world things (even if I didn't know what I was talking about) and that appealed to adults more so than to my peers. I have a vivid memory of watching the 1968 Republican convention, being so sad that Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed and all the political turmoil during the late 1960s that I can recall.

I ran home from school to watch the Watergate hearings as a teenager. Yeah, I was definitely in some other place than my peers.

Which is why I have had friends twice my age all of my life. Since I am interested in just about everything that goes on I also have friends half my age. The age range of my friends goes from 25 to 81. I enjoy their company and through some tough times they have been there for me as I have tried to be there for them.

I'm lucky to have had such good friends for all of my adult life thus far. I pray the trend continues!

Ageless Stupidity - Going for BROKE

BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN

It's so hysterical - the reaction to this movie.

Usually by people who admit they have not seen it.

Some of the more conservative areas of the country refuse to show it but I know they damn well do show movies where couples who are not married have sex, cheat on their spouses and murder is committed and glorified.

But there seems to be a thing about homosexuals that gives these people a mental hard-on.

I saw BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN with my brother. Even if my brother was not gay, I would have gone to see it with or without him. I was very curious about it because it was touted as being an exceptional film. My brother thought the movie was too long and a bit of a snoozer in spots (and I agree) though otherwise a well-made flick. The editors fell asleep on this one. A half hour could have been trimmed out of it.

Anyone going to see this film (or refusing to see it) because they think there is lots of same-sex sex in it are flat out wrong in their expectation. There are strong hints of sexual activity taking place I think three times in the film but nothing overly explicit. There's a hell of a lot less sex in it than the James Bond movies or other films I've seen that don't create such a hoopla. The knee-jerk reaction to homosexuality in our culture is a sad commentary on just how ingracious stupidity is.

Ignorance is simply not understanding the difference. Stupidity is willful ignorance.

And there is an epidemic of stupidity afoot.

Work papers

I spent a great deal of yesterday filling out applications for artist-in-residence programs in the tri-state area, across the country and also creating a resume as a production coordinator for corporate video producers in the area. If you have read any of this blog, you will already understand why I need to have some variety in my work. The freelance work does pay well when you get into that network. I have had to start all over again in many respects since moving out of New York City. Unlike what the myth propogates, there are many talented and skilled people who live outside of New York City who manage to create quite the wonderful niche for themselves without ever having to venture into the Big Apple.

But for someone who has been involved with some 400 stage, video and film productions there are ample opportunities. I have done teaching already since my move and thoroughly enjoyed that. I hope that my website will bring in more work as a source of an on-line resume.

I am not working a full-time job at the moment and I wouldn't have the time to pursue the above if I were. It's a lot of work, research, writing and studying to be done. It takes time.

This blog has been a surprising source of pleasure, especially since it was created for one purpose in mind: to write something every single day (or to the best I can every day).

A friend of mine asked if I was going to commit any salacious aspects of my private life to my blog. Well, even if I had anything particularly salacious to report, I wouldn't. I know it is very common in blogs to talk about one's private life and the people in it. This I won't do. I will mention friends here and there, those I know don't mind being mentioned, but using this as a tool to work out personal problems or situations isn't gonna happen.

All of the angst and issues will be worked out in my fiction - a combination of editing in other people's lives, my life and all to the point where people, other than those who know me well, will not know which is part of my life history or someone else's or made up entirely. I'm not giving all that valuable material away in a blog.

Instead, this blog will serve as part of the writing process and journey and talk about my work. The feedback has been marvelous both what has been posted here and sent to me via email.

Fortunately, the only real pressing issue I have to deal with right now is how to get a certain pussy cat off my lap so that I can work.

Light glisterning off the Bay

When I woke up Saturday morning, I simply had to go OUT. Not just to the mall (where I detest shopping) or go out for breakfast but for a drive. In my family, it is nothing to decide out of the blue to go for a two hour ride, have lunch or dinner, then turn around and go home. Wake up and go to Atlantic City (a 90 minute drive), walk around, play some slots, have lunch and go home.

But this past Saturday morning there was more to it than just wanting to go for a drive somewhere.

I find that I have many opportunities in the entertainment field even outside of NYC that pay well and I am a little overwhelmed by it. I didn't realize all of these existed until recently. I have learned to not make a rash decision. I also know that I can have a variety of work in the areas of my experience. But you don't wanna cut the candle wick too close either.

So when I got up Saturday morning, my decision was to take a drive to the Chesapeake Bay, have lunch at a favorite seafood place right on the water, and just take in the loveliness of the sunlight glistening off the water. It wasn't very cold either so I could walk along the pier and even on the cobblestone streets of Chestertown, this celebrated town near the bay. I was able to put together in my mind the various scenarios of what to pursue and how. I spent the summer teaching acting and TV Studio production and that was rewarding. But there is much more to do and pursue. Nothing makes things clearer for me than time spent being by the water. I decided to try my luck at fishing and after about 15 minutes this is what I caught.




Alas, as luck would have it, my car was too small to bring it home. Cute, isn't he? He sure liked my bait!!

Mystery of the Choo Choo

How the hell does anyone get hit by a train?

Okay, okay - I have heard of some incidents where a college student or some other individual had way too much to drink and stumbled on the nearby train tracks and stayed there until the train moved him/her. But many of the train death incidents I read or hear about on the radio do not often provide a reason as to why the person was on the train track to begin with.

Trains are loud either or not the engine whistle is sounding. You feel the approaching train when you are standing on a train track. You have the option of stepping off the track unless you have entered the track and it functions as a bridge over some canyon. Then stepping off the track isn't an option.

I still don't get how people get hit by the train. It's one of those mysteries I probably will never solve to my satisfaction.

Gadgets and geekiness - a swell combo

I love gadgets. I love computers.

These things (supposedly) simplify life and to a great extent they do. However, initially the draw in having PDAs, cell phones and wonderful computer capabilities was to be more productive so we could have more free time.

But people are still frantically busy. How many people actually ever eat at home more than once a week? If they are a family, how often do they eat togethr if both parents are professionals? It seems that the cell phone, PDA and computer trade-off isn't have more free time but the ability to do MORE. No no no.

I find that PDAs and certain computer functions are wonderful for me and how my brain works. I need variety in my life and I need a streamlined way to keep it all together. But I have learned to say "no" and take on more projects - not just because that would make too many but also because I would have no time for myself. During those times that I have and I need to jump start the creative juices, I have been known to play with PDAs and sort through the many consumer electronic magazines that I receive monthly to see what's new and what will streamline my current routine in being productive and organized. I love them all but I can't have them all not just because of money but because I would not know what to do with them all.

It's something like the hardware store. I love leisurely walking through one. I have no idea how to use half of the equipment in there (but my mother does) but some of the tools just look really neat and I'll even ask for a demonstration though I have no intention of buying it.

Now let me loose in a computer store or large stationary store (the best ones are in NYC) and you will not see me for two hours at least. But items in those stores I do know how to use but you can only have so many for any of it to be valuable.

I am looking for more work just so I can have more toys. Let's not even get into video games like Playstation. The first week I had the damn thing I was playing games 5 hours at a time. I stopped that, allowing myself time to play if I got something done with my writing or some other project. I award myself time for keeping to schedule. I have gone into the stores to buy the GameBoy Advance for the portable PSP and the clerk (about 17 years old) assumes I am buying it for my son. I don't have a son but I don't go into all that with the clerk. I tell him that the game and the system in question are for me. They are all mine. I share with no one.

Wanna play Doom 3? That game is graphic eater.

I have a dear friend named Cheryl D. who lives on Long Island, NY. When I go visit Cheryl, we go to gadget shops. We compare PDAs, computers and programs. We will sit online or in her living room looking at the magazines with new gadgets. We are single women who love men but would rather sit around and talk about what's new at Circle City or what is cool to work on the computer.

By the way, I am experimenting with all the gizmos that come with this blog to make it more interesting. from a visual standpoint. If you know any other sites that help bloggers (in addition to this one) that helps get them acclimated to using various visuals, please let me know.

TV makes the world go-around, the world go-around . .

Well, it makes things interesting.

I got an email today from a 12 year old who attended one of my summer camp sessions of last year at Cumberland County Community College. During the summer I taught acting techniques, TV Studio Basic Production Techniques and playwrighting to kids between 6-12. I love it. I work with kids whose parents have more money than God; I also work with kids who are concerned "At-Risk." There is satisfaction to be found teaching each group.

Back to the email from the 12 year old whose name is Cal. His mother told me that Cal was always very good at photography and would arrange the photos a certain way as if it were a frame-by-frame movie. Then his parents upgraded to Windows XP and he discovered the magic of the Microsoft Movie Maker. When he left the third class of the two week session, Cal told his mother than he had finally found what he was meant to do. He was very excited. It was the first time in a long time Cal's mother saw him excited about anything regarding his ability to do something. Cal was quite good with the cameras.

Allow me to step back from this profound experience long enough to point out that people who plan summer camp classes for 6 year old in TV Studios tend to not provide enough help for the instructor (that would be me). I had three rooms full of kids to watch - the ones in the classroom working on their props for their project, and working on scripts; then the ones in the studio itself with very expensive professional TV cameras, some hand-helds, boom mikes they enjoy screaming in (usually when the headset is on my ears in the control booth) and grabbing like they want to be rock stars and I am one person watching all this and trying to teach and stop massive destruction of equipment that is literally worth two million dollars at least. Then the kids come into the control booth were there are buttons and gadgets galore and proceed with "what does this do?" and before you can answer they touch the switch. By the end of the second week I put my foot down and demanded more assistance. I was spending too much time chasing kids around the three rooms (they can't be left alone in any of them anyway) and trying to avoid massive destruction. My class was the most popular class of the summer and for that I was pleased. But, believe me, allowing a six year old in a TV Studio and having to rig up a chair high enough for her to sit in to operate the camera is no fun. It makes me nervous.

Cal had great respect for the equipment. He almost shimmered with excitment sitting in the control booth calling the shots to three other students on three cameras shooting the project he wrote and was now directing. The joy on his face was something I'll never forget and at that moment I felt that if I never accomplished another thing in my life, that would be fine with me. As much as I have my own artistic work to do, I place equal importance on brings the arts to the kids, especially those who are drifting along and don't feel they belong. I know that painful feeling all to well. I also remember that it was special teachers that literally saved my psyche.

Cal ended his note about his developing editing skills on the PC and his home movies by saying "You were the best thing that happened to me in a long time."

Oh yes, I definitely cried at that.

A friend of mine emailed me after reading my first blog entry and said he was surprised at how many very personal, painful things that I shared. I told him that I felt isolated because I didn't know anyone who shared my feelings or experiences when I was growing up and it took years for me to realize that I wasn't some loser. If anyone feels isolated and reads that entry and sees they are not alone in some aspects of their private pain, that makes me happy.

Isolation sucks big time. I don't care how big your island is . .

Kersey meets the Poisedon Adventure Legend

Prior to moving to New York City in 1986 to pursue a career in acting, I spent five years in the Delaware Valley area, including Philadelphia, making the most of my three college degrees - a B.A. in Theater (Performance), a B.A. in English with a minor in Irish literature, and a minor in Speech. I had been doing exceptionally well as an artist-in-residence in various schools teaching writing and poetry, taught high school acting classes, Irish history and literature and since I had managed to win a few acting awards in between all that, I was heading off to New York to pursue it big-time. To me at the time, the success in writing (I wrote for several Philadelphia periodicals for several years) had been an accident. But somehow what I wrote always managed to spark anger or love from people (it was never in between) and winding up on regional TV and radio talk shows and panel discussions enhanced my reputation. I was signing autographs. I had people who would drive great distances wherever I was speaking. My self-abbreviated career in journalism had already seeded in me the notion that being famous was not all that it was cracked up to be. I had a stalker. I had weird fans. I got fan mail and some hate mail from those who didn't like what I wrote in my political column. At first it was quite an ego trip but pretty quickly it got old. I stopped having my photo accompany my column in the Irish Edition and then spent a great deal of time stopping people from lifting my material and republishing it elsewhere without my permission. But still, being a famous actor was what I had always dreamed of since I was the hit of the Anna P. Mote Elementary School Fall Class Presentation. Succeeding awards in college didn't quell the dream.

But meeting real big time actors and folks in the business did change my mind over time.

I wanted to take acting classes in New York from one of the renown acting schools in the city. I studied a semester or two with acting teachers who were only famous as acting teachers. A friend talked me into thinking about taking Shelly Winters acting class. Ms. Winters passed away today hence why I thought about all this. I certainly knew of her; my favorite memory at that time was watching Ms. Winters and Orson Welles have a go at each other on an afternoon talk show. They did not like each other. So my friend pulled some strings that allowed me to audit her class twice to get a feel for it and her "style." She was charming enough to meet and briefly talk to but the acting class was all about being Shelly Winters. She was a devotee of the Acting Studio, a method of acting preparation I thought (and still think) to be largely idiotic. I audited two of the classes, did a monologue, she commented on my stage presence and went on about experiences of hers. This sort of acting teacher does appeal to many acting students but not to me. If I am up there performing for the teacher, I want feedback - good, bad or indifferent. So I did not sign up for the class. She was great to listen to but I felt I could just buy the book rather than pay a lot of money for the honor of hearing it in person and getting squat done with my own method.

She was definitely a most entertaining lady. She wrote several autobiographies that offer plenty of dish and character you could check out at amazon.com or maybe at your library. If you love showbiz, these books are not to be missed.

The awakening

I am one of those people who was born intuitively creative. I view things around me in terms of color, texture, whether or not it fits in the scheme of things, sound and movement or the lack of any of these things in my immediate environment. When I was in elementary school, a book called Hailstones and Halibut Bones written by Mary O'Neill articulated and stimulated how I viewed my world. What was in my head had been brought to life on the page and I set off to do the same. The book showed me how I too could put down on paper what I saw and how to express it. It was a transforming moment. Later in junior high and high school, reading Sam Beckett's Waiting for Godot and Shakespeare's Hamlet opened up new horizons about writing and performing. I loved performing. When we had to read these plays in English class, it was like pulling teeth to get anyone to play the main character. I always volunteered. I didn't care if the main character was male or female. I wanted the part. I had little in common with my peers and with my skinny body and flaming red hair, I resembled a match stick, a fact which further separated me from those of my own age. I also had more energy than six kids my own age. It drove everyone nuts.

For years I sought answers as to why I had so much trouble academically with tests, math and other subjects. Outside of my gaining some fame in school for my writing and performing puppet plays, one act plays and poetry, I was pretty isolated. The situation confused me because on the one hand, I enjoyed being different than my classmates and yet I didn't like being considered a freakshow. I do not have any happy memories of school other than what I was able to do creatively and read. If I was asked to describe my childhood in three words, it would be "lonely and miserable." What saved me was my being able to draw in and mesmerize my classmates when I read my own short story out loud or performed a puppet play or skit. We connected briefly and I was in the driver's seat. I had something they wanted. When the lights went out and the play was over, I was back to square one.

I went to doctors and therapists throughout my twenties and thirties. No one could really do anything for me. They admitted as much. Finally, I found one out of two specialists in New York City that specialized in diagnosing and treating adults with symptoms of ADHD. Finally, in October of 2001, less than a month after I watched the Twin Towers crash down to the ground and replayed the image in my brain twenty times a day at least, I found the name for my pain.
In 1989 I had been diagnosed with mild bipolar disorder and clinical depression. But there was more "not right" that I could not figure out. Finally - ADHD. It sounded like a brand of bug spray. This dual diagnosis explained many things that had plagued me including not getting more done with my artistic work. The crippling depressions, hyper behavior and learning disabilities (dyslexia) certainly provided enough material to take on the tormented artistic mantle but I refuse to do that. These issues had caused me to make some poor choices and ruin some important relationships but focusing on the past achieves nothing. I was tired of not achieving what I felt I could in my personal and professional life and too stubborn to just quit.

One doctor in reviewing my life history acknowledged the "deep psychic pain" I must have suffered, asked me "Why aren't you dead?" 1 out of 10 people with my symptoms kill themselves, I was told. Or they become drug addicts to kill the pain. I told him "Because I read Hailstones and Halibut Bones." Believe me, that got a look. I explained further. I refuse to stay in that dark basement when I fall down there. I will crawl out and see so many hues of color around me, the light of the day dancing from morning, noon and then the night with its glorious moon or darkness. I see black as a color, not a state of mind. I keep these things in front of me no matter how frustrating life can be. I can go outside on a still black night, look up into the sky and still feel a sense of wonder from that black night sky. I see rain over a cold, barren stretch of land and find beauty in it. That kid's book taught me how to do it.

I can't keep a checkbook because I mix up numbers so badly. So I can't keep a checkbook. Big deal. I can build a basic computer and do a thousand other things well. I can lose something sitting still. I laugh about it now. I went to an ADHD conference and a bunch of us got together and just laughed about things we all did - misplacing things and the rest of it and it turned into a competition who could tell the most hilarious, personal experience of losing something. It took the pain away from being thought of being clueless, careless or dumb - something all of us had experienced being told from families, friends and co-workers. I was home.

I work around my learning disabilities and embrace what makes me different instead of dreading it. There is a marvelous saying that success is finding out what you were born to do and then arranging your life around it. It's still embarrassing at times when I make mistakes others label as being careless but things could be worse. I think someone putting a spear through my eye would be more painful. There are plenty of people who have it much worse than I do. It's all how you choose to look at things. I can remind myself about it by reading a newspaper, looking at the news or do something more joyous such as picking up my old copy of Hailstones and Halibut Bones. I will always be grateful to you, Mary O'Neill.