When was the last time you played?

As I douse myself with antibacterial hand sanitizer, I can’t help but smile at all the cute kids at the Halloween costume contest at the Mall.  Ok, so escorting the big shrimp isn’t the most glamorous job in the world, but every once in a while you get to remember what it was like to be a kid.  Today was one of those days.

There was a woman, who I later found out was Grandma, standing in line to register for the costume contest with her toddler.  I’d guess 2-3 years old.  Pacifier in mouth (the kid, not the grandma).  I walked up holding a sticker out for him and said, “Hey Spiderman, do you want a sticker?”  And Grandma promptly answered, “He doesn’t talk yet.”  Thanks, Grandma, The pacifier was a big hint.  I bet your grandson isn’t, in fact, Spiderman either.

I’ve always wanted to have a kid, and I didn’t really know why until today.  Yeah, kids are disarmingly cute and they have unbelievable imaginations and you can mold and shape them into little versions of yourself.  Perhaps even cooler versions of yourself, if that’s possible.  But that’s not why I want to have a kid someday.  I want to have a kid because they give you a whole different perspective on life.

As a dude in his 30s (yeesh), I know I have responsibilities.  There are rules to follow, and a lot of that boils down to one word: Fear.  Fear of what people will think, fear of losing everything I’ve built up, fear of failure, fear of looking foolish.  You probably won’t be surprised at how many adults turn down the stickers I hand out, while this one sticker seems to make their kid’s day.  The stakes are high for us grownups.  But when was the last time you played?  I mean, yes, we all have responsibilities to attend to, but why can’t we do both?  Why does being an adult mean that we have to abandon the joy of life that being a kid brings?

Kids remind us that we all have the capacity to believe, to love unconditionally, and to live for each moment.  They’re not trying to win some prize or tell themselves “I’ll be happy when…”  Their mere presence in a room changes the energy of that room completely.  Something innocent and pure; they wear their emotions on their sleeves, along with the requisite amount of mucus.  Their joys and their sadnesses are fully expressed, they don’t get self conscious or try to hide their feelings for anyone else’s benefit.  They just are who they are.

I think I have a lot to learn from kids.  There’s a part of me that’s yearning to remember what it was like, and one of the few ways to do that is to be around them every day.  To be invited to play and be silly.  To give myself the permission to smile and laugh as boldly and completely as I feel.  And to let my life be affected, changed by someone else.  Maybe even someone cooler than me.

Speaking of playing:

Mmm… Breakfast.

After my roommate set off the fire alarms in our apartment building, which is an entirely different story, our apartment smelled a bit like grease fire.  So I put my trusty snow boots on the other night and trekked down to “the wal” for a perusal of their scented candles section.

I ended up buying three.

One for the dining room/family room area, and two for my room.  Here’s where the evening took a drastic turn.  I’ve tried both of them out, I like them both for different reasons, and I think they both have the potential to end my love life for a considerable amount of time.  That’s where you come in, trusty readers of Wily Filipino.  I need your help.

The two candles I bought belonged to a line of scented candles whose theme was cupcakes.  They’re all supposed to smell like different cupcake flavors.  After several minutes of deliberation, I settled on these two:  Cherry Chip and Cinnamon French Toast.

So here’s the scenario:  You’re on a 6th, 7th… possibly 8th date with a guy.  You’ve done the offbeat, yet endearingly thoughtful activity you’ve come to know and love, and you awkwardly hint at heading to his place for a nightcap, because he’s too much of a wimp to make a real move (read: a gentleman), and upon entering the place “where the magic happens” as they say, it smells like:

a) Cherry

2) Breakfast

Discuss.

Gay is the new Black

Originally, I wasn’t going to throw my hat in the ring over the Gay Marriage issue.  But then I saw this online reaction to a review of my current show and it pushed me over the edge.  Remember, I’m doing a show called Altar Boyz, about a Christian boy band, which explores such egregious themes as acceptance, tolerance, and (god forbid!) faith.

Posted by a guy named Andy from Minneapolis:

Coming from a group of theater people that want gay marriage acknowledged by the church, not to mention the entire world, as a legal union…does this at all surprise you?

This is the garbage the Clean Arts Bills will continue to spew out.

First, I object to the premise that all “theater people” think alike.  Not to mention the fact that in his usage, “theater people” sounds a bit pejorative, which makes me want to kick him in the teef.  Secondly, I don’t think the Gay Marriage issue has anything to do with any specific denominations’ or churches’ acknowledgment.  My understanding of the issue is that proponents of Gay Marriage are simply asking the government to ensure that homosexuals are legally given the same rights that are afforded to us breeders.

[Let's also keep in mind that this appears as a comment on a musical theater comedy, that makes no reference to gay marriage.  The comment also cites "the Clean Arts Bills."  I can only assume he means the Clean Water, Land and Legacy Act, which ensures that Clean Water, Wildlife habitats, Parks and Trails and yes, Cultural Heritage get funding.  The Cultural Heritage component gets 1/5 of the funding.  Funding that hasn't even been generated yet, so I'm sure once it is generated, there will be plenty more of this garbage spewed out.]

Ok… so as it stands, Marriage is not currently a right.  It is a privilege that is given to those of us who identify as heterosexuals.  The argument is that marriage is described in the bible as a union between a man and a woman, but I can’t seem to find the chapter and verse on that… any takers?

Someone explain this to me like I’m a 4 year old:

A couple years ago, Britney Spears got married around new years, and stayed married for about 50-something hours.  How does that affect the sanctity of my parent’s marriage?  My possible future marriage?

How does gay marriage jeopardize a “sacred institution” that is so obviously sacred that over half of those who enter into this institution choose to end it in divorce?

My point is, as Jesus says, why do we notice the speck in another’s eye when I can’t see the plank in our own?  Worry about yourself.  My catholicism is MY catholicism.  Matt 7 says “Do not judge so that you will not be judged.”  Luke 6:37 echoes that by saying, “Do not judge, and you will not be judged; and do not condemn, and you will not be condemned; pardon, and you will be pardoned.”

All this coming from a man who, less than 100 years go, could not legally marry a American woman simply because I am a distant descendant of the Malay race.  So yes, marriage has been “redefined” over the last 100 years.

As I’m writing this, facebook comes through once again with this little ditty from Keith Olbermann of MSNBC.  After watching this, I really have nothing else to say:

“I don’t want you to do the dishes… I want you to WANT to do the dishes.”

Ok keeds.

Let’s just say, hypothetically speaking, that you’d want your man to bring you flowers more often.  You know, try a little harder… actually woo you.  So you say, “honey, why don’t you ever bring me flowers?”  You might have a talk about it and, lo and behold, the next day what does this oh-so-thoughtful man do?  He brings you flowers.

[studio audience]: Aww.

As much as you might want to believe that this was purely an act of attentive consideration on the part of your beloved, you may be plagued by the nagging feeling that he just got you flowers because you asked him to.  Wholly unromantic.

This is the crux of the whole deal.  Most women want their men to be thoughtful enough to act on their own… and when they aren’t, they muster up the courage to mention it or have a “talk.”  Doing so, they risk giving up the element of surprise, which was the whole point of the thing in the first place, and suddenly the gesture doesn’t taste as sweet.

Ladies, we know as well as you that if you nag us enough we’ll eventually cave and do what it is that you’re nagging us to do.  But that isn’t what you really want, is it?  You want us to WANT to do things for you.  You want us to be considerate of your feelings, to be thoughtful, and put your happiness above our complacency.  Here’s how that conversation goes:

“Babe, can you help me with the dishes?”

“Sure… just let me finish this (level, quarter, inning, afterschool special)”

“Please, honey?  Let’s just do this real quick and you can get back to your thingy.”

“Ok, just give me a minute.”

“If you help me now, it won’t take as long and you’ll be back before you know it…please?”

“Yeah… why don’t you get started, and I’ll pop in when I’m done.”

“Fine. (sigh) Forget it.”

“No, I’ll be right in, ok?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really, just one minute.”

“Whatever.”

“Ok fine, I’ll do the farking dishes…”

“No. I don’t want you to do the dishes.”

“You just said you did.”

[wait for it...]

“I don’t want you to do the dishes.  I want you to WANT to do the dishes.”

Guys, at this point, just shut the hell up.  What most of us don’t realize in this situation is that it’s a Lose-Lose.  The damage is done.  You cannot possibly win this argument.  It’s true, nobody really wants to do dishes.  But what she’s asking is for bigger than dishes.  She’s asking you to care about her enough to want to make her happy.  It’s a big-picture thing that applies to the big things as well as the little things.

I find myself, yet again, in the stereotypical female position of all things romantic.  Having been recently burned by love, I’m reluctant to get into any kind of romantic relationship right now.  The woman who did the most recent singeing has thrown herself on the mercy of the court and wants me to give it another try.  After calmly yet firmly explaining my position to her, she replied:

“What do I have to do…?”

Ahhhhh…. so.  The plot thickens.  I’m not gonna say I wasn’t tempted to make her hop on one foot and bark like a dog… a really big dog… but I digress.

I could run down the laundry list of things, in an almost Survivor Challenge way, that might bring me back to the table, but basically, it boils down to: You shouldn’t have done what you did.

Bottom line:  I don’t want her to do any of those things.  I want her to want to do those things on her own.  Or maybe more accurately, I want her to do things not to win me back, but as a statement to the universe (and to herself) that that’s not who she is anymore; that she regrets what she did and that she genuinely wants to square things with the universe first, knowing that by doing that she is putting faith in a world that will eventually bring her to where she wants to be.

Or, she could build herself a time machine, go back, and talk some sense into that girl who was on the verge of fucking things up with possibly the best guy she’d ever date.

As a parting gift to both the ladies and the fellas, I offer this suggestion:

When she brings up the talk about getting her flowers, resist the urge to do it right away.  Get out your calendar/palm pilot/blackberry and write it down a week, and then a month, from the day she brought it up.  Let some time pass, let her forget (a little bit) about the conversation you had.  Better yet, don’t even make it flowers.  Make it something that shows you know something about her that no one else knows.  Most importantly, let her know that you are capable of surprising her on your own.

The joy and sadness of owning a queen sized bed

My new thing is sleeping with a pile of clean laundry in my bed.  There’s just nothing like rolling over covered in socks, or the panic of finding a pair of your own underwear against your cheek.  There just isn’t.

I’m on Day 3 of laundry night and I fear it may never end.  I am rather proud of myself, however, that the dirty laundry has not yet infiltrated the clean laundry.  And the ironing board and iron are standing prominently and willfully at the foot of my bed.  I’m considering making them a permanent fixture.

Well, time to go do something other than fold.

File this under “Not Like Other Guys”

Switch it up a little.  That’s all I’m askin’.  Seriously, ladies, if you thought guys had really played-out moves, take a quick look in a mirror.  Apparently, you have all read the same book.  Here’s a basic outline:

Step One: Tell him that his hat/shirt/jeans look good on him.  Throw the word “Cute” in there someplace.

Step Two: Touch him on the leg or forearm.  A LOT.

Step Three: If he’s wearing a necklace, use that to break the personal space bubble and the touch barrier and comment about it while moving in for “a closer look.”

The thing is, the lull in the conversation is what kills the vibe.  Whatever happened to just being able to talk to someone?  I’d be much more interested in you if you left a good impression by being a really cool chick who had something substantial to say that piqued my interest.  Your impatience, over-eagerness, and transparent attempts at letting me know you’re available does not serve your cause.  I get that you’re interested.  I get it.  Seriously, I get it.  I’m not an idiot.  AND, you shouldn’t have to work this hard to get a guy to notice you.  Trust me, we notice you.  I know that I could have probably volunteered to drive you home, probably been asked up to your place, probably done something I’d regret, etc. etc.

I’m sure that your “moves” have worked for you at some point, but this is me you’re talking to.  You’re gonna have to bring something new to the party to get this guy to notice, cuz otherwise, you just end up looking like so many girls in so many bars that I’ve already hung out with.  I didn’t show up at the bar to flirt with you anyway.  I’m here to hang with my friends and now you’re just bugging me while I try to figure out a way to gracefully leave the premises.

By the way, my necklace is from an AIDS awareness campaign that Aldo was running for, like, a year.  I can’t believe that you wouldn’t already know that being that Aldo is a shoe store and you ladies are, supposedly, all into shoes n’ shit.  For Realz, they were running it for a year.  Maybe more.

“Hello, My name is Art. I’m a family value.”

While I was enjoying a particularly delicious steak fajita burrito at the Chipotle down the street, I was inspired by the people cruising around Uptown in their spare time.

So without further ado, here’s my idea for a modern art installation to be presented throughout the Uptown/Mpls Lakes area:

Hang bags of douche from all the streetlights, stoplights, and other various signs up and down Hennepin Avenue.  The bags could have the name of a nearby suburb written on them, or absurdly large sunglasses (the kind you can find at any eyewear shop these days) attached to them, or striped button-down shirts draped over them.

Art is all around you.

Oh, sweet sweet nectar of the gods

Still haven’t had a drink since the beginning of Lent.  I’m proud of it, and I haven’t been tempted since.  No big deal.  Lemonades and Orange Juice.  I’m down.  Think about the money I’m saving.  Money I’m putting toward getting you something nice.  That’s right.  Just for you baby.

However.

There’s a facet to my personality that existed after I’d had a couple and before I was bowing to the porcelain god.  This guy was ballsy.  This was the guy that could walk up to strangers and start a conversation about grapefruit if he wanted to.  Fearless.  Possibly Shameless.

Is this something worth striving toward or is this just part of the Mr. Hyde I’m keeping at bay by not drowning my sorrows with a bottle of liquid courage?  Obviously, there are some aspects to it that are appealing.  Being confident, fearless, ballsy.  These qualities are all rolled into my personality somewhere, in a place that was easily accessible after a couple shots of Patron.  Now, that place might be harder to find, but I think it might make for an interesting quest.

Favre changes his retirement status like he changes his underwear

Aw, Brett.  Getting ansy, are we?  Can’t handle the idea of being a Monday morning quarterback for real?  Walls closing in?

I say come on back.

Who knows what kind of team the Pack would have without you?  Considering I don’t know any of their names, it’s a toss up.  But at least you’ve made me think about the idea of future plans.

This past year has been about learning to live in the present rather than the past or future.  And as I think about what the future might hold for me, I’m reminded that it’s more important to be where I am rather than reminisce about the past or worry about the future.  The important thing is that you made a choice, Brett.  I’m the kind of person who doesn’t like making choices he can’t commit to, but it’s been a struggle to remind myself that nothing is permanent.  Even if I say, “Yes, I will do this,” that doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind a couple years down the road.  Or a few months.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned Bruce Lee’s quote about goals on this blog, but it’s one of my favorites so it’s worth repeating: “A goal is not always meant to be reached, it often serves simply as something to aim at.”  I think it’s much more important to live life (cuz that’s the point, isn’t it?), than to be paralyzed by the fear about what “might happen.”  I’ll deal with the future when it’s the present.

So as much as I’d like to see the Vikes spank the Packers up and down the field next year, bring it on Brett.  We deserve a worthy adversary and a legitimate rival.  So come on back.  I triple dog dare you.  Seriously.  You didn’t think you really meant it when you said that the only way you’d feel successful would be to win a Superbowl, did you?  Mentally tired, was it?

Don’t worry, you can always re-retire after your dynamic Superbowl win in January ‘09.  Then you can come back out of retirement before the ‘09-10 season… we’ll lose interest eventually.  Then you can come and go as you please.

Just Balls

I’m not much of a gambler.  I’ve done ok at a few poker nights in my day, but all in all, not much of a gambler.  I had dinner with a friend of mine the other night whose boyfriend lives in Denmark.  She lives in Minneapolis but will be moving in a few days to teach English in Seoul, S. Korea.  From my calculations, they’ve been together for about a year, maybe more.  He in Denmark, she in Minneapolis.

As I continue on my quest to boil all the complications in my life down to their simplest forms, I’m being reminded of the simplicity of choice.  Long distance relationships are tough, and my experience tells me to steer clear (short distance relationships don’t seem to be any easier, anyway).  But then I think about these particular friends who have the balls to make a simple choice to roll the dice on each other.  Just to see what happens.  No guarantees, no promises.  Just balls.  It can be as simple as that.