Department of Redundancy Department

I feel like I'm living in the movie Groundhog Day. I suspect the repetition of any activity for 12 consecutive hours will do that to you. I just finished a long, long day of rehearsal for a play called 'The Government Inspector.' The play is insane. It's just weird, crazy, quirky Gogol (oh, those wacky Russians) and after pulling it apart and putting it back together again and again for twelve hours, you can't help but feel a bit distanced from reality. I'm so tired that my tired is tired.

Anyhoo. I did some reading on my lunch. I'm re-reading a wonderful novel called Song Beneath the Ice by a Toronto writer named Joe Fiorito. If any of you have an interest in music and art and literature - he tells a fantastic story that wraps them all up into a sort of gentle mystery. The language and the detail and the music of the novel are absolutely brilliant. He's a gifted man. And one particular passage I read resonated with me. Perhaps because art has been hard these past few months. Or rather, trying to be successful at art has been hard these past few months. I don't remember acting or writing or playing music ever being as difficult as it is now. But it is. It's hard. I'm past the point where I can fake it or just go through the motions. But this image appealed to me. Maybe because you have to be a little bit crazy to do what I do for a living.

"Music is a clipped hedge on the grounds of an asylum. It provides a refuge: It is an ordered, bordered beauty. And I am a gardener. I work according to the rhythm of my shears. As I clip, I hear the howls of the inmates.

They hear the crying of the leaves."

I'm All In

To anyone who actually reads this thing, I apologize. It was brought to my attention recently by one of my family members (well, extended family) that I was throwing off their routine with my negligence. I've been pretty wrapped up in the job I have right now, because - as all theatrical endeavours tend to be - it's quite a time consuming task. Anyway, I haven't forgotten about the five of you who look forward to my ranting, complaining, taunting and expleting in this lovely, little electronic world.

I looked at this journal for the first time in a week and laughed. I've started three or four different entries (all of which I'll finish and publish shortly) in the last month and they're still sitting unfinished in my 'draft' folder. They sum up the last month of my life. A blur of TTC travel (which means a lot of reading and lot of listening to music), alternating days of pretending I'm in 1901 New Hampshire or 1850's Russia (let me tell you, that's a brain melter), scattered band rehearsals, shows and activities, the occasional yelling and cursing at the television (which is usually broadcasting a Toronto Maple Leafs game), a few hours of sleep and some video games; mostly poker.

Video games are what I do with my 'me' time. Some people knit, some people run marathons, some people watch TV. I love video games. They probably saved my life. Had it not been for video games, I'd have spent my youth drinking, driving and getting my female classmates pregnant. I'm not exaggerating. I believe the statistic is that 1/3 of the people I started high school with graduated. The other 2/3 decided to take over a family business, settled into a comfortable local job or began their downward small-town spiral.

I'm not badmouthing my hometown. I love Port Elgin. It's just a tough place to grow up if you want a career in music or acting. There's only so many people to help you and encourage you and a whole lot more who want to dismiss you and laugh at you.

Anyway, I've gone a really long way around to say that I've been busy. TTC, work, food, video poker and sleep. If you take out the TTC that's most of my family gatherings. Seriously. Poker - or, less specifically, gambling - is a big part of our festivities. It's not uncommon to find 3/4 of the family at the casino on Christmas eve. We give those scratch and win game packages as stocking stuffers. This past holiday, we had 2 poker tournaments, a euchre tournament, a cribbage tournament and the standard (and LOUD) game of Rummoli. It's fair to say we like games.

I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I guess so that you know where to find me if you're looking. At a virtual poker table, 1901 New Hampshire, 1850's Russia, band rehearsal, on the subway or sitting at the computer and daydreaming of sleep. Mmmm....sleep.