Portrait of an Artist as a Recession-Survivor

There’s a rumor around Washington that the higher ups of the Clinton Administration were so afraid and upset by the word “Recession” that they gave it codename: BAGEL.

So here we are. Right smack dab in the middle of a Bagel, and I, for one, am wondering what everybody’s freaking out about.

I hear ads on the radio, people on the news, and even my own friends talking about the fear. Not knowing where the next paycheck is coming from. Going on job interview after job interview and having to compete with hundreds of people for a few open positions. Even the President, in the State of the Union, said that because of this Bagel, “families across the country are tightening their belts…”

Basically, what they’re talking about, the fear, is living like an artist.

I’m currently waiting for a couple paychecks from my agents. It’s been about 45-60 days since I did the work I’m getting paid for, and I don’t know when this paycheck is coming. And after it does, I don’t know if/when I’ll get another one. I suppose what I’ll have to do is get out there and keep auditioning and auditioning with the hopes that the directors and casting agents will see something in me that they don’t see in the other hundreds of people that are auditioning. If I don’t get a job for a while, I’ll have to make sure I stop eating out and start cooking at home, find free things to do with friends, and walk to do my errands instead of driving. This is the way things have been for me for about 10 years now, and I didn’t qualify for any kind of stimulus other than the passion I feel for my work.

I concede that I chose this profession and that there are a lot of people out there who simply can’t hang. I have many friends who are great actors but just couldn’t handle the lifestyle, and I respect the fact that they’ve made the more “stable” choice. But is it more stable? In times like these, I would imagine that those of us who live this way 24-7 are better equipped to handle life in a Bagel.

My parents still mention to me that I could always go back to school and get another degree (dad says accountant, mom says nurse). Nevermind the 2 degrees I’m already not using. They’re hoping that I’ll choose a more “stable” profession. But what I’ve realized from this Bagel is that stability is one of those great myths. It gives us something to believe in and helps us keep the unknown at bay. But if this Bagel has proven anything, it’s that none of us are really stable. The sooner we embrace that fact, the sooner we can really take comfort in expecting the unexpected. And rather than lead beige, predictable lives, we can get out there and have big successes and big failures. Take a few risks because we have no choice to do otherwise. We can realize our own potential in ways that we never would have the courage to try if we were always concerned with maintaining our stability.

So everybody just stop freaking out, and let’s go live our lives.

On Being Forgettable

I just started reading The Princess Bride by William Goldman.  I got to about page 8 and found this quote.  Thought it was interesting in light of what I wrote about in my last post.  Me and Billy Goldman must be brothers from another mother.

People don’t remember me.  Really.  It’s not any paranoid thing; I just have this habit of slipping through memories.  It doesn’t bother me all that much, except I guess that’s a lie; it does.  For some reason, I test very high on forgetability.

Bring on Twenty Ten

Back in college (almost exactly 10 years ago), on the night that 2 of my best friends got engaged, they called their roommates/other good friends and celebrated at a local bar.  I found out from another friend in class the next day.

A director once interviewed me to understudy an annual production of To Kill a Mockingbird and asked if I was familiar with the show.  I was in the cast the previous year.

Last week, a friend/co-worker of mine tagged everyone who works at our company in a video.  Except me.

I was a pretty small kid when I was growing up.  Everyone is susceptible to being picked on when you’re young, but like the kid wearing the coke-bottle glasses, being the smallest kid in the class is no picnic.  Whenever I came home with some story about being teased or made fun of my parents would say, “just work hard, get good grades, and you’ll show them!”

Sorry mom and dad, but I think you were wrong about this one.  No one cares about my GPA anymore.  I’d like to think that at some point I had hopes that I’d be the executive of some business, and find myself sitting across a desk from one of my former bullies who’s asking me for a job and silently wishing that he’d been nicer to me in the first grade, but that’s not happening.

What is happening now is that I’m realizing that life would be different if I’d just punched one kid right in the mouth.  Not all of them, just one.  Maybe one of the bigger kids.  As a warning to all the other kids who even considered messing with me.  As a statement to the kids in my school to remember this face and what this little guy is capable of.  Is it more satisfying to hit the class bully square in the face with a dodgeball, or to get a better grade than him in gym class?  Because at this point (and I say this with complete non judgment), I am easily forgettable.

So my resolution this year is to make sure you remember me.  If I have to push an ice cream cone into your face and yell “YOU REMEMBER ME FOREVER,” that’s what I’m gonna do.  I’m going to stop thinking that I have to be this nice, bland, middle of the road, opinion-less, beige, agreeable, keep-my-head-down, dime a dozen type that everybody kinda likes.  You’re gonna love me or hate me, but you’re gonna remember me.

Bring on 2010.

I Confuse Easily

One of my Xs from back in the day told me that one of the things she likes about me is that when I say I’m going to do something, I do it.  Now, before you go thinking that this is just gonna be one of those “look at how cool I am” kinda posts, lemme ’splain.

Dane Cook does a bit in one of his standups about someone he knew who exaggerates when she tells stories.  And his problem is that he gets caught up in the exaggeration instead of following the story.

“I got home from work today and took, like, a hundred hour nap…”  NO YOU DID NOT!  You’d be very sick if you were taking hundred hour naps.  That’s a coma.  Say you took a coma after work and I can follow the story.  “I took a coma.”  “Hundred hours, was it about a hundred hours?”  That’s a great coma, that’s a good coma.”

While I am loath to identify with Dane Cook in any way,  this is what I’m talking about.  I get caught up in details like that too.  Why?

I take people at their word.

Now I know full well that sometimes people say things they don’t mean.  Like, for instance, at the end of a conversation.  “We should get together sometime,”  “I’ll give you a call,” or my personal favorite, “Love ya!”  I know that these can be substitutions for awkward silences, but somewhere deep down in my soul, these things give me hope.  Maybe it’s naive of me to actually believe people when they say these things, but I was never taught when I should expect someone to be insincere.

The problem that I fall into with my friends is that it’s a question of managing expectations.  I invited a friend out to see a show with me a few weeks ago and she said she’d call me on Monday to tell me whether or not she’d be going out of town that weekend.  Monday came and went and I didn’t hear from her.  Immediately, I thought, “this can be very innocent.  There are plenty of reasons why someone might be too busy to call.”  But with all the technology available, I have a hard time believing that she didn’t have time to write a text saying yay or nay.  Does that really take a lot of effort?

Is it a rarity that people do what they say they’re going to do?  Shouldn’t we at least expect that from the people who are close to us?  or even ourselves?

Maybe I should expect insincerity from the people around me.  Then, when they actually follow through it’s a pleasant surprise.  That’s not exactly expecting the worst in people, it’s just staying detached.  That’s the alternative to thinking that people out there actually have integrity.  See, I want to be able to believe in the best of people while still not setting myself up for disappointment.  I want people around me to live up to their word.  Some people don’t, and those people are showing me how important their word is when our relationship is concerned.  People are constantly presenting their truest self.  That’s the only thing worth expecting from anybody.  That they’re showing you who they are with everything they do.

Thinking about that, things suddenly become less confusing.  All that, “people just don’t mean what they say” stuff is just bullshit.  Forget what people say and look at how they choose to be.  Does that mean that I hold myself and my friends to a higher standard?  Yes.  But when it comes to friendship and love, why should our standards be so low?

The War on Christmas

There’s a War on Christmas, people!  WAR!

People are taking the Christ out of Christmas and replacing it with an X, or worse, just saying Happy Holidays!  It’s WAR people!  WAR!!!  Happy Holidays is just a watered down politician’s phrase that means, “I don’t want to take the time to find out if you celebrate the Solstice, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, something else, or none of them, so instead of just asking, I’m gonna throw a meaningless blanket phrase out there so I don’t feel like an asshole.”  See what I mean?  WAR!

Seriously, I don’t understand why we don’t just say what we mean.  At some point, some very nervous people started spreading the word that saying Merry Christmas wasn’t inclusive (because it’s not), so Happy Holidays or Season’s Greetings became popular.  Usually written next to a big Christmas tree, sprig of holly, or snowflake.  So people started to say Happy Holidays when what they meant was Merry Christmas.  So my question is:  If you celebrate Christmas, and you know I celebrate Christmas, why are you using Happy Holidays in the plural?  What other holidays are you implying?

Is it, then, appropriate to say Happy Holidays between May Day and Cinco de Mayo?  or in June when Father’s Day, Flag Day and the Summer Solstice are upon us?

I even had a friend who posted on their facebook page, Merry Christmas and to all my Jewish friends, Happy Hanukkah.  Sorry dude, but Hanukkah was over last week.  They actually don’t necessarily occur on the same days, and no, they’re not the same thing.

On Thanksgiving weekend of this year, Best Buy came under fire for having “Happy Eid” on their weekly ad, referencing the Muslim holiday Eid Al-Adha.  People flipped out.  Suddenly people were threatening to stop shopping at Best Buy because they perceived Best Buy to be showing favoritism toward Islam because of one ad.  I’d encourage those people to look back at how many ads Best Buy has put out there with Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays just these last few months.  Better yet, go into the store and see how many pictures of Christmas trees or wrapped presents or bows are in their in-store ads.  I think that if you want to make a stink about representation, look at it in context.  People don’t see Merry Christmas because it’s not shocking nor noteworthy to see in a store ad during December.  An assumptive Christmas is all over those ads (whether you see the words Merry Christmas or not) and just because the higher ups at Best Buy decided to show a little awareness of other cultures, people feel slighted?

A quick sidenote:  Eid Al-Adha commemorates Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son, Isaac, after God commanded him to do so.  Sound familiar, Jews and Christians?  That’s because this story is written in Genesis 22 of the Christian Bible and in the first book in the Jewish Torah, Bereshit.

Back to the task at hand, the WAR.  Some of you may think that Happy Holidays is nice enough written next to a sprig of holly or a snowflake.  Inclusive, right?  But need I remind you that in the southern hemisphere, December is a summer month?  So the “Holidays” occur in the summertime.  How do you think that makes the thousands of Australian Americans feel when they are forced to see The “Holidays” identified with snow?

If someone said “Happy Hanukkah” to me, I, being a Catholic, wouldn’t be offended.  Rather, I’d recognize them as someone who probably celebrates Hanukkah and simply return the gesture.  Actually, I’d like to live in a society where people actually took the time to ask simple questions and found out about other cultures instead of being so afraid of people that they need to invent meaningless phrases to cover their own cowardly asses.

I celebrated Hanukkah for the first time this year.  And let me just say, Jewish people have it right.  A holiday where everything you eat is fried?  Sounds like something we should get going in the Philippines.  In any case, I think Ben Stein has the right idea:

Herewith at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart:

I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and Us constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why they have broken up? Why are they so important? I don’t know who Lindsay Lohan is, either, and I do not care at all about Tom Cruise’s wife.

Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I am a subversive? Maybe, but I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica are. Is this what it means to be no longer young. It’s not so bad.

Next confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was  Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don’t feel threatened. I don’t feel discriminated against. That’s what they are: Christmas trees. It doesn’t bother me a bit when people say, “Merry Christmas” to me. I don’t think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn’t bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, it’s just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.

I don’t like getting pushed around for being a Jew and I don’t think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can’t find it in the Constitution and I don’t like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren’t allowed to worship God as we understand Him?

I guess that’s a sign that I’m getting old, too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.

A few years ago, during gay pride weekend here in Minneapolis, I was out with some friends and had gotten so used to wishing everyone a Happy Pride, that I found myself wishing Happy Pride to a friend of a friend who happened to be straight.  He looked at me like I’d just insulted his mother.  What?  Two straight guys wishing each other a happy gay pride?  Maybe that’ll be looked at as a war on Pride.

At the end of the day only people in the majority culture of America are getting upset by this.  Because, they’re not used to having to deal with other people setting a standard or having to adjust their behavior in some way to defer to someone else’s culture.  So to those of you who actually believe that there is some is some crazy marketing-based War on Christmas, I say, “suck it up and deal with the fact that there are things in this world you don’t know.”

Maybe whatever holiday greeting you prefer is the equivalent of the age old, “does this make me look fat?” question.  Some people actually mean it, and some people are just trying to get you to say what they want to hear.

Either way, if you celebrate Christmas, have a Merry one.

It’s what’s inside that counts

For the past few years, I’ve been wrapping my Christmas presents with newspaper.  It started out a few years ago out of necessity (read: poverty), but since then I’ve realized that while wrapping paper was created to wrap gifts and therefore has a destiny of its own to fulfill, it’s ultimately a luxury.  A luxury that, upon the fulfillment of that destiny, becomes waste.

My family (nuclear and extended) have all laughed at this over the past few Christmases.  And that’s fine, but it makes me wonder why.

I’m not a total scrooge, so I get there’s something exciting about unwrapping a gift (Although there might be something equally exciting about having your unwrapped gift chucked at you fastball style from across the room, but I digress.).  And it’s our own sadistic tendencies that compel us to dangle those wrapped gifts in front of the longing stares and drooling mouths of the youngest in our own families.  It’s the anticipation that makes gift giving exciting.  It’s in the knowing that something has been designated for you, but you don’t know what it is yet.  You don’t know what it is because it’s wrapped.

So, really, what does it matter what covers our gifts?  Why go out and buy something separate to use as gift wrap when most people have something right in their own recycling bins that will serve the exact same purpose:  to conceal the gift inside?

Ooooh.  Cuz you want your presents to look pretty!  I get it now.

So listen up, kids, cuz apparently this is important:  All that talk about being beautiful on the inside is crap.  Really, life is about being pretty and looking good while lying under a cut-down tree.  It’s what’s inside that counts, ultimately, but only if you have a pretty outside, with colors and bows and other superfluous embellishments.  What you gotta do then is to give yourself as a gift to someone else who will totally tear apart your pretty looking outsides to get at what is inside.  Then, and only then, will your coverings be worthless.

Is that the analogy?

OK, if you want your gifts to look pretty and colorful, here’s a compromise:  use the ads.  Target, JCPenny, Kmart and Kohl’s are usually bright red, Best Buy has a bright yellow or blue background.  Grocery store ads are pretty colorful too.  And for the kids, save up the Sunday Comic Strip sections a few months before.  You’ll have plenty.  And if you insist in putting a TON of thought into it, you can wrap gifts for your favorite sports fan in the sports page, art or music hounds get the A&E section, anyone who keeps up on politics or national/world news… you get the idea.

So breathe new life back into your recyclables.  Give your newspaper a chance to be smiled at at least once in its existence.  Then, when it’s all over, put it back in the recycling bin where it would have ended up anyway, but now can go to that beautiful recycling center in the sky knowing that it made a kid smile before it was viciously torn apart.

CHRISTMAS UPDATE:  Only a few people are still laughing at my awesome wrapping jobs now.  They’re getting used to it.  My 14 year old niece, Jessica, even said, “that’s a really good idea.”  She’s the smart one.

This Messed Up World

I overhear a lot of conversations during my job.  Such is the life in the restaurant biz.  It’s usually benign bits and pieces, but every once in a while someone says something that makes my ears perk up.  The other day I caught a chunk of someone’s “why would you want to bring a child into this messed up world?” tirade.  So I got to thinking, why would I?  And here’s what I came up with:

I know every parent dreams of their kid becoming the President, or doing something else hugely impactful.  Maybe my kid won’t reach high office, but maybe (s)he will.  Either way, (s)he is gonna make a difference.  My kid is gonna love someone.  My kid is going to have a best friend.  My kid is gonna share their toys and their lunch.  My kid is gonna brighten someone’s spirits one day, and even if they’re my spirits that need brightening, my kid is gonna make my day better just for that one moment.  And the ripple effect of something like that can be enormous.  My kid is gonna save lives.  My kid is going to break hearts and help people realize who they are.  People are gonna admire my kid, cry over my kid, and envy my kid.  Some people might even try to emulate my kid.  My kid is not only going to take up space walking around on this earth, but my kid is going to fill that space with something that feeds the souls of others.  My kid is going to change the world.  This messed up world.  And my kid is going to leave this world a better place than it was when (s)he came into it.

Yeah, we can all be cynical about the world being one itchy asshole after another, but how do we expect it to change without being a part of that change?  Or at least having the hope that the affect we have on the world is a positive one, especially if that means we bring into being the next Martin Luther King, Jr., or Mother Theresa, or Bruce Lee.

Because it’s not all about how the world will affect each of us, it’s about how each of us affects the world.  And anyone who believes that our society is so terrible should quit yapping, step up, and do something about it.

As I re-read this, it makes me think of It’s A Wonderful Life.  We get caught up thinking about how we’re not getting what we want out of life rather than how the world is made better by our mere presence in it.  And we all don’t have the luxury of Clarence the Angel on assignment to get his wings.  We just need to take a good, long, honest look in the mirror.

Having a kid shouldn’t be a vanity exercise or a way to secure a legacy.  For some people it might be, but then they’d answer the question differently.  But if you ask me, I’d bring a kid into this messed up world to be part of the solution.

Merry Christmas You Ol’ Building and Loan!

The Junk in My Trunk

The other day, as I was leaving the bank, a girl slapped the trunk of my car.

I can only assume that it was out of frustration since I was blocking part of the sidewalk.  But that’s just it, PART of the sidewalk.  The entrance to the parking lot of my bank is nestled between a pizzeria and a brick retaining wall, so you have to pull forward to be able to see beyond the cars parked on the street near the entrance.  That’s what I did and apparently that meant that I was in this woman’s way.

But her automotive ass-slap left me thinking about whether I’m the kind of guy who accepts things as they are, or is constantly frustrated that things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be.  My guess is that this woman is the latter.

So yeah, my trunk was sticking part of the way into the sidewalk.  There was plenty of room to go around, if you were a compassionate, understanding person walking down the street with the wherewithal to realize the plight of the average bank-goer.  But if you’re the easily frustrated, I-always-get-my-way type, who goes around saying, “technically…” or “legally…” then maybe you’d think it was a good idea to put your hands on another man’s car.

The question becomes, Am I the kind of guy who stays in the moment, accepts what is happening right in front of me, and deals with it accordingly, and remains a happier, more peaceful person because of it?  Or am I always trying to fit the world around me into this little box labeled “how things should be,” and therefore in a perpetual state of irritation with a world where I’m not the boss of everything.

The Taoists believe in Wu Wei, a concept that is usually translated as: Action/Non-action, or acting without acting.  The idea is that we’re natural beings and the way to harmonize with nature is to not want a desired outcome, but to behave in our lives as effortlessly as possible; to take the path of least resistance.  The philosophy behind many martial arts is not to meet force with force, but to accept the oncoming force and turn it around, effectively dissipating the opponents energy or using their great effort against themselves, because within their own effort is their own defeat.

Bruce Lee often talked about being like water.  Water flows naturally to the lowest point, and in a stream will often meet obstacles like rocks or trees.  The water doesn’t work to break through these obstacles, but simply goes around them, effortlessly, trusting in gravity to direct its flow.  And yet, over time, water has the power to erode, to break down, or even polish the roughness of some of those obstacles.  So even within this effortless flow there is still great power.

But at the end of the day, the sidewalk doesn’t belong to you, lady.  Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I threw the car in park, got out and confronted that woman.  It’s easy to ignore the human side of things when you are so focused on getting your way.  Unless she has some uncontrollable sexual attraction to cars and just happened to think mine has a great ass.  Yeah, that’s possible too.

Easy there, Tiger

BREAKING NEWS:  Billionaire Athlete Has Affair.

Let’s just skip past all the “They’re only human,” “Nobody’s Perfect,” and “Why’d he do it?” arguments, and get straight to the good stuff:

WHY DO WE CARE?

Are we all so collectively dense that we don’t realize that this is what we do?  We find some up and coming [athlete/pretty person/no talent hack] and build them up, then we hold them to a higher standard, call them a role model, and watch with Schadenfraudic glee as they fall from grace.  This is what we call news.

We’re acting as if Tiger Woods is the first professional athlete to allegedly have an affair.  Can’t we all just collectively roll our eyes and move forward?   Let’s move on to, say, fixing the Health Care system, Praying for the Troops deploying to Afganistan, or (god forbid) voting for your next American Idol.

The good news for Tiger Woods is that he can always chalk it up to following the advice of one of his major sponsors:

Just Do it.

And don’t worry, Tiger, Nike still endorses Kobe Bryant and he raped someone.  I think your money’s safe.

Dear L.W.W.B.I.T.M.O.T.M.O.A.,

Dear Lady Who Was Breastfeeding In The Middle Of The Mall Of America,

I saw you.  I saw you and I felt uncomfortable.  Blame it on my maleness, but I don’t understand why a bench in the middle of the Great Mall is a good place to breastfeed.  Why not a less conspicuous place? Down the hall maybe?  Off to the side?

I want to commend you for at least trying to put that blanket over your shoulder.  But, if I can make a suggestion, the blanket over the shoulder thing is supposed to cover the baby sucking on your nipple.  At least that’s what I thought it was for.  If you had used you little fleece blanket successfully, I probably would not be writing this.

You might say that my being uncomfortable with your breastfeeding in the middle of the biggest mall in the country says more about me than it does about you.  I concede that point.

All right, a kid’s gotta eat.  I hear you.   I’ve heard the argument that it’s a natural part of life.  To that I say: So is pooping, but I still go to a room with a stall and close the door before I poop.  In fact, I’d rather not have people walk by me while I poop.  I get stagefright.

And I’m pretty sure that there are more people who poop than there are people who breastfeed.

I think you get my point.

xoxo,

Wile E. Filipino