Postcard

Just got a postcard in the mail from Joey. It's from New Mexico, a state I've always wanted to visit. You may or may not know this about me, but there was a brief but passionate year and a half of college (or uni as the brits would say) where I loved to study anything and everything native American. This largely included the Pueblo cultures, and Chaco Canyon, a totally fascinating ghost-indian-town in New Mexico...my closest thing to leaving town at the time was a potential internship working on a site in the Chaco Canyon area (archaeological site) but I ended up doing too many freakin pantomime shows and lost focus on my anthropology degree.

What's funny is I use the same knowledge every day here in LA - I mean, we basically live in a world of booming Chaco Canyons, aka cities that are alive as CC once was, fully-functioning, evolving, people-driven metropolises that will inevitably morph or vanish in our distant future.

The problem with America is we think we're OLD. We think this country has been around and owned by Americans forever, but honestly we're a bunch of toddlers! quite literally. We're fat, skinny, black, white, mexican, asian toddlers running around playing and getting real serious and pretending we know what we're doing all the time. We come from a country that has barely any history besides a little birthing and some womens' voting rights. Truth is, there were people here millennia before we showed up with our guns ablaze, and they were living extremely complex and fruitful, and much more epic, existences. They had gods and harvests, peace and war, gold and turquoise and complete societies. Roads, homes, pueblos, and Land. They loved the land, they were the true cowboys, roaming the mesas and mountains and canyons, worshipping the mysteries of the Earth like they were intended. Our science barely scratches the surface of the power of their beliefs.. I'm talking in generalities here which is probably not ok since there were so many dozens of native American societies, but you get my point.

In other words, when we say we lay claim to New Mexico and call it our own, it is as much a figment of our imagination as thinking that a kid playing with GI Joes in his parent's house is actually fighting battles with tiny figurines. It's great imaginative play, but obviously none of it is real. It works for us in the moment (believe me Los Angeles is a future archaeologist's dreamland) but I like to remember where we came from when looking out at where we might go. Like a tree growing from roots to tip of branch, we're still stretching but we can't think we're a sycamore when we're just a fledgling bush.

Slow down America. Remember who we are. And what we're doing here. Let your imagination wander, but don't forget that we own nothing, we come from nothing, and we're likely creating nothing with longevity. How far will the work of a real estate broker take him? Far enough to find a few dollars. But he who builds a road and follows with no regards for money, carves a path for the people to follow into tomorrow. I hope that in 1000 years from now the roads we build and words we write will last.

Mikie

David Goldstein

I need to get back into writing on here, and I will.

Partly because David Goldstein is an amazing man, and partly for myself.
Tonight I had a fantastic night at Dillons, my favorite restaurant/pub in Los Angeles. To be honest, I was taken by a lass who's brunette sideways glances pulled at my every heartstring.

Of course, I get overexcited over these things. But it's about time I'm in like for a girl.. if you know me then you know I love the challenge, and I certainly don't need any help. I'm a 'do-it-on-your-own-or-it-doesn't-get-done' kind of guy.

That isn't to say I'm giving this particular lady too much credit. She's lovely, but she might be some figmentation; a couple hours spent with someone only tells you whether or not you wouldn't mind spending a couple more with them.

This reminds me of some epic dreams I've been having lately, of infiltrating cities and saving the world in the face of apocalyptic threat.

In other words, it was a good night. One lovely girl, one rememberance of David Goldstein, and plenty of possibility ahead. A decent play despite my cracking voice, and the morning off. Not too bad.

Goodnight world. Look for more blogs, coming soon!

Love

Mikie

poem

Something's coming and going, dancing between the days.
It's the wind.. on a morning when the sky is grey and there's this wind that can't quite decide where to turn.
Outside the leaves rustle in little bunches, pushed against the edges of the sidewalks, drifting across the street like schizophrenic sailboats.

Iambics, let us verse it up

I'll call this: the stone hut

within a deep ravine between the hills
down, past a steep of rocks and choppy road
beyond the windy twist of curly trees
and under thicker mist and salty leaves
a little hut of stone and mortar built
by dead men's fingers digging to the bone
patted to perfect slabs of shale and stone
laid horizontal, vertical and flat
just wide enough to hold a single girl
rests up against the river rushing past.

The hut alone is nothing but a hut
stone cold and dead inanimate and grey
the rains begin to patter on the roof
the leaves crumple to wet and dampened mulch
the river raises just below the waist
just deep enough to carry leaves away.
long winter mornings batter at the sky
The hut now silent hides no bleating babe.

Not one warm breathing creature happens by
no boat caresses soft the river's flesh
only the cold and howl of empty trees
remembers who was bones beneath her dress,
now lost amongst the silent winter snow.
Is she alive and warm back in her home,
or frail and lost bones sunk buried beneath
the brown of dead and winter's dancing leaves?

And so I had a bunch of dreams last night, most of them about flying.
More iambic pentameter to come. Cheese and peace, fools

tis the season for Pumpkin Patches

Lambardi Farms. Excellent day, finally got to visit a pumpkin patch. Me and Sophie went up to Santa Clarita and had an epic day, from the journey up through the slushing rain, to the place itself, to coming back with Dan and making exotically delicious homemade pizzas and salad at my place - I could use these days more often. Check this awesome pumpkin-ridden place out.

Michael Jackson was there. Dead of course.

Here's Sophie petting a godlike creature on the hill

I think Inglehart was trying to tell us something.

googly-woogly eyes, I believe was Sophie's technical term for this scary crow scarecrow

Another scarecrow, probably one of the cooler images I've seen in a while. Grand Prize winner, even.

Check out this red car

Zhulga the scarecrow viking was depressed by the muddy grey skies. I cheered her up with several huge wet kisses on those perky lips. (not really) (well maybe) (no, honestly not really) (well... maybe)


I ate a starchy pear. Made my teeth kind of flare up

At the end of the day, I don't understand why people don't think Los Angeles is a beautiful city. This is from Sophie's roof this afternoon.


There's plenty more photos, but I'm too tired to mess with them. So there, my first pumpkin patch adventures for this Fall. Look for more in the near future, I'm gonna make this happen again soooooon

Migs

Letting go of an old Raft

I'm desperately in love with nothing. You know that feeling when you have a burn in your chest but its for no one or no thing, it's just there and it's inexplicable? Insolvable? That's it. A burn for some imagined city of riches I once believed in. The El Dorado of everything, somewhere just over the next ridge, around the next bend. How long can I drag this raft through the dry bed..

Once upon a time I was riding on the river, smoothly on my raft, anticipating obstacles and dashing wave trains joyfully. It was a psychological gold mine having nothing to do with success or riches, but a simple and profound state of mind. Then I saw a tributary gouging some darker canyon to the north, and like a curious dog I steered right when everyone else went left, thinking it a good idea to venture the length less traveled. As the afternoon wore into dusk, the waters slowly receded and shadowy rocks became more pronounced. More than once I found myself jammed between waterways, wading through the gravel, lifting my raft overhead, still keeping on. I believed in some unknown god, some city of riches at the end of the river, like a little Cortez, I'd found the be-all, end-all of ravines that would lead me to salvation

Soon night took me. Setting down the raft all I could do was wait and look at the stars. Try to love my surroundings for what they were, knowing deep down that I'm lost and my raft is now useless. Waiting for daybreak, sleeping when I could. Then the horizon hinted rose, a sweep of cool air danced through the valley, somewhere a bird chirped, and finally the sun sparked on my eastern horizon. Daylight had returned, as had hope. As the 6am hour passed, then 7, 8, there was still no release of water in the river bed. It stayed dry, because the season was over. And I'd had my one chance to see where this went. With little gumption, I picked up my finely-carved raft and continued down the dried up rocky gully in the rising morning.
Soon I was exhausted.. old intentions and old ideals still pushing me on but body holding back, aided by a growing sense of doubt that I'd come the wrong way.. stubbornness fighting ambition. Forward pushing, backward pulling. NO! I refuse to turn back. This has to lead somewhere, some city of gold.

Eventually it was clear to me. This riverbed leads only to a dead end.

Stranded in the twigs, rocks, leaves, the early afternoon with an overgrown riverbed, thorny and thistled ahead, I have to make a choice. It's clear that even the best raft-builders can folly-up. One builds a damn fine raft, but the matter of picking it's perfect river is just as crucial.

So I must make a choice.

The river flows from high to low. East to west. There's a mountain to my left, an impassable gully ahead, an impossible cliff to my right and from whence I came behind. So many options, and endless amounts of freedom to choose.Which way do I take? down the bed? over the mountain? scale the cliff?
The choice is there.

Adios for now

PS - this has nothing to do with leaving Los Angeles, Jason. :)

LA, Pville, Love, Liberty

I work in like 8 hours. But I'm back in LA, in my own bed again. After another hiatus from my vacant, $800/month room.

There are three things I want to talk about on my blog, and none of the three shall be discussed. Instead I'm going to sleep. Tomorrow is just another, preferably more Fallish, day.

so goodnight.

Mikie

Wait. Somebody's snoring in the apartment above me, but in hyperspeed; like 3 times the speed of a normal snore, still just as loud. Odd.

cops and robbers

Well everyone's happy.
I'm kickin along here in Placerville, on my second day of fight-teaching to these high school kids. It's absolutely brilliant weather, warm but still fallish - the kind of weather that wrinkles the green from the trees, and fills up pumpkin patches.

But I digress. Last night I was in handcuffs surrounded by cop cars.

Joey too. But he didn't dig it as much, he rather gave those officers a not-well-received piece of his smart mind. Let me say this - I've never been in handcuffs before, nor have I had to put my hands on my head (which quick note here, if you do put them up there then decide to take them off to make gestures while you're speaking the cops will flip out. It's a riot) and they really weren't as uncomfortable as you'd expect. I mean, they aren't if you just let them rest there. In fact, on a hot night when everything else if fury and fire, the coolness of metal is almost relieving on your wrists. Cools ya down.

Ok, basically, as Joey and I were leaving Powell's (the only bar in town really, and Joey and I the ONLY people there) our old amigo Johnny Pacard leaned his head out of an upstairs window behind the belltower and called out "JOEY! MIKIE! Someone's breaking into my apartment can you guys go see what's going on?!?" Of course Joey and I being the superhero crime-fighters split and run around the building into the alleyways as fast as humanly possibly to catch the guy. We get behind, I scramble up onto the roof like a rocket ready to detain the perpetrator and I hear Joey below say (hesitantly) "Mikie the cops are coming," called, of course, by the same Johnny Pacard. Instantly I realized I was in a follyish position. What a silly goose, standing on the roof of a building looking for a criminal that would be standing on the roof of the building as the cops pull up. Of course. So I shimmy down quickly as the cops careen up, lights ablaze. They leap out yelling at us. And I'm actually smiling on the inside, putting my hands on my head, knowing how this is gonna end.

It ends exactly as I imagined. As the cop is unlocking my handcuffs and apologizing, he's telling me that he's mad at us because we weren't the criminals (Johnny of course had come out to straighten out the whole mixed-up scenario, and the cops contritely let us free), and he's very sorry for the inconvenience. I was trying to get a good look at his face to see if it was anybody I'd grown up with in high school, but the lights were either too bright or the night too dark.

Either way, 10 minutes later Joey and myself were standing outside his apartment reminiscing, mildly shook, mostly happy that the police force continues to confirm our suspicions that cops in small towns literally have nothing better to do than yell at innocent folks on a Monday night.


End of story. It's fight time kiddos

Mikie

Jobs

Going to Placerville today.. long drive ahead of me. Fast, creative week to follow. Yippee do.
Got a show to do first. And a photo shoot before that.
Wait, hold up - I need to recognize how great last night was. It was great. There, recognized it.

I realized yesterday how much I'd enjoy a regular job. Like a regular job, one that locks you in for a while. Summer is virtually done, vacations have come to a close (except for the little journey I'm taking today). I'm not in school or anything.. I want a regular, acting-related job. Yesterday a buddy offered up the potential for me to work as a stand-in on a TV show, if the show got picked up and he had any sway in the decision. Would i do it? Heck YES. Don't get me wrong, valeting is a strong gig. I get fit fast, meet incredible people and can now drive anything with at least 4 wheels, but the stand-in work sounded like a nice next step in this battle for the future of my place in this business.
Of course in the same day we got the news that our play ELEVATOR has been picked up for a 12-week run at the Elephant/Asylum theatre in Hollywood, with an extension to SF and NY to follow. Kind of blew my mind, but made me think about what I really want to do.
Obviously, acting is first priority. A paid acting gig should be what this is all about. But I also have to invest in my future as an actor in Los Angeles. Kind of a dilemma. But there's plenty of time to think, so we'll deal.

that's enough. showertime. peace out fools

Sitting in douchebagland surrounded by loud bass-bumpin jingles and shaky television screens, Barney's Beanery never felt
more vacant.

I do my best - but tonight was a big one. These past couple days have been an amalgam if reaches, pulls, let-gos and bounce backs.
But you know what happened last night for the first time in a long time? My heart burned, for somebody.
Tonight, my heart smiles sadly - different reasons. It's possible i have been hiding behind a fear of commitment for the past three years... I mean I've loved my twenties. Loved them! How many adventures did I have that never felt like enough, how many risks did I blow through, accidents, hard-carved failures, decimated dreams, fulfilled philosophies and a complete mastering followed by a slow life-learning curve only starting to unravel into orderous ordeals.

Enough with the alliterations. This place smells like a fart. I wish you could hear the thicknecked doucheyells billowing behind my back. I can barely hear myself type.

In other words - I've been scared to commit. To anything. I've only chosen safe outings to scoot along down, those with predictable outcomes. I'm, as anyone, in fear of the great unknown.

It has to be with the right people. The right squires dressing your shoulders and legs.. and tonight I realized I'm not as far away from the dragon as I had imagined, much closer than a year ago. Feeling the heat of his fiery breath, singed by the promoxity, it dawned on me tonight that I need more armor than this. Because the dragon doesn't leave survivors.. There is no mercy in his wrathful attack. So I have to be ready. I started this battle, now I have to see it through. All the way until the dragon is a buried skeletal myth, and I his kingdom's king.

This fight, it's not far off.

So Smashing Pumpkins 1979 comes over the Barney's Beanery jukebox.

Lates for now foolios

well kids, something might finally be up

get back to me on how this goes..

Cheers to tonight and all the unexpected greatness that it was.

adios

migs

thoughts, comments, observations

Now's not the time to blog.
The play last night was, well, interesting. Honestly, I don't think I've ever left a performance feeling so flabbergasted. Flustered. Fluked.

I mean here's the deal - we've been working on this show for MONTHS. A long time. We rehearse the crapola out of this thing, and then on our second night of our third opening it literally falls to pieces?!? There's no explanation. None. We are all strong, hard-working, disciplined and thinking people. We know this stuff inside and out.

Maybe it's the inevitable.

But I don't believe that - look at valeting. It's not like you can just show up to work one day after months of doing the same somewhat monotonous activity and say "oops. well, crashed that Bentley. sorry" nope. There's no room for oopses. No mistakes. Every Bentley is the first Bentley you've ever driven, no matter how off you feel.

That's the thing - we weren't off.. it was just weird. And it wasn't one or two of us - maybe that's the chemistry of the thing, we spend so much time together that when one or two of us recognizes the ship sinking, we all recognize it collectively, grab our life jackets and plug our noses.

I think that's what happened. We kept afloat until the final bows, but MAN that ocean water had come up to our throats. pretty crazy.

Here's the best part though - as with any human creation- it's just a play. It's a show we've created in order to entertain an audience. And was the audience entertained? Yes. The audience didn't even care about the scratch on their Bentleys. So let's let it be. off. gone. Done.

I'll say one more thing -what I continue to love the most about all of this stuff is exactly that: every time you step on that stage or the hear "action" it's always the first time . Every time. I love that, a total escape - a total clean slate. Even if the show bails into muck, you can clean up your act, find a new project and start fresh all over again. That's the beauty of our creative engines - nothing is permanent, the good or the bad. So let's keep steamin forward

the problem with girls

is that they're impossible.
Every last one of them.
Whether they're married, single, hopelessly devoted, masochistically stubborn, all business while deeply curious, willfully playful while firmly conservative, blond, brunette, dirty blond, 5'1-4'', giving, selfish, outlandishly attractive, naturally alluring, freckled, tan, porcelained...

whatever the situation, one rule remains: Girls are impossibly difficult, and so I sleep alone.

goodnight