Transitions

So, with all the changes and such lately, I decided I might try a new format for this blog-thingamagig. Following Tom’s reprimands that I “don’t own myself” (I’m paraphrasing, of course) I decided to switch to first person. Though, to protect the innocent I will continue to use pseudonyms for other people (hence, Tom). I know, I know, it’s a little silly considering the three people who actually read this blog already know whom I am talking about. But still, if nothing else it will hopefully keep me out of jail. Though going to jail would likely give me loads to write about.

Here I am a week left in Hawai’i.

What I forgot to include in this journal was probably the most exciting part of my entire experience here. I went snorkeling in Hanauma Bay, a nature preserve made up forests of reef and an abundance of marine life the likes of which I only dreamed about. I swam next to two huge green sea turtles (or “honu”, in Hawai’ian) and it was one of those rare experiences where, if I saw it on TV I wouldn’t think it so extraordinary. In real life…it was transcendent.

The mansion at the stop of my street is called Hale Akamai, or “Smart House.” In my fantasy world, the house is fitted with advanced A.I. and greets its owner with, “Hello, Mr. Roberts, may I adjust the temperature for you?” Of course, as my fantasies go, the house later turns on Mr. Roberts vying for cerebral supremacy (Mr. Roberts, see, built the Smart House a la Frankenstein…I know, it’s not very original but what story is). Mr. Roberts has to burn down his beloved house to save his family…though what real threat the Smart House imposed we are uncertain, but it made for a very tense fantasy.

Where was I going with this?

Oh! For a while I berated myself about having come to Hawai’i. I thought I wasn’t very smart and it was sort of funny that I was living below the “Smart House.” Even though I had done a lot of research I still wasn’t prepared for a lot of things. True.

But since then I have discovered that coming here was a very smart thing to do in many respects. I think we have to take huge risks and be prepared to make huge mistakes. That process, and it really is all about the process, is what makes us better people, better artists. By coming here I learned so much about myself, about the world, a different culture that I never would have I just come here on vacation. The vacation Hawai’i is drastically different than the real one.

I often get caught up in a result-oriented mentality. The idea that things have to produce X, Y, Z to have worth. This relationship has to do this, and that job has to provide that, etc. Life just isn’t that structured. And I truly believe that the only way to happiness is to allow more of life to happen, follow waves where they take you and ride them for as long as they last. Our moods change, our wants change, people come in and move out of our lives and NOTHING is permanent. The sooner we let go of that desire the better.

I am moving back with Tom. I will give 100% to this relationship. But if it doesn’t last or it doesn’t work out it is nobody’s fault. There will be no one to blame. He and I are coming to each other with a new, fresh approach. We love and miss each other and want the other person to be happy. Perhaps we will contribute to that, perhaps not. Only by going through the experience will we find out. But we must risk this; we must bare our hearts for this adventure.

Am I scared? You bet I am. But, like this island, it will either be a terrific success or a colossal failure and both have tremendous value.

Hawai’i was not what I hoped it might be. So be it. I don’t hate Hawai’i. No, in fact, I love this place and can’t wait to come back. I hope to one-day share it with Tom or some other loved one. It’s a magical, wondrous place.

Hm…I wonder what life will be like this time next month…

Pictures 1 and 2: Hanuama Bay...truly the pics don't do it justice.

Great Tragedy and Small Triumphs

Nik had started research and writing on a new project his friend Kyle had presented to him. It was about the tragedy and amazing stories of survival of the men of the USS Indianapolis in WWII. In a nutshell, the Indy was a heavy cruiser in a war that was seeing the tide of battle change from sea to air. Unaware of its actual mission, the Indy was assigned a top-secret voyage to carry crates to Tinian Island. The crates turned out to be parts of Little Boy, the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. After that delivery was made the ship was to report to Leyte in the Philippines. Even though the Navy knew that there were Japanese subs in the waters between Guam and Leyte, they sent the Indy without a Destroyer escort, which was never done. Furthermore, the Navy didn’t tell Captain McVay that another ship had been sunk along this very path a day or two prior.

Through what amounts to be a seemingly endless number of miscommunications and bureaucratic shortcomings, the Indy was torpedoed by a Japanese sub and sank. Some 900 men made it off the ship (of approximately 1200 onboard). Even though distress calls had been made and they were late getting into port, no one made the connection that this enormous ship was suddenly nowhere to be found.

The survivors clung to whatever they could find, life vests, crates, anything to stay afloat. The water was a thick stew of oil and fuel. The men were badly burned and some could not even swim. After the first night, the sharks began attacking. Hundreds of ravenous predators circled the men, first they picked of the injured and dying, then they made their way through to the more healthy.

The sailors floated in that water for five days without help. Starving and dehydrated men drank seawater, they became distraught and suffered hallucinations. To end their torment many committed suicide by just swimming away from their life vests and sinking or deliberately swimming into the schools of sharks.

When a plane finally and accidentally found them nearly a week later only 317 men were still alive.

To make matters worse, in order to cover up this egregious mistake, the Navy made Captain McVay a scapegoat for the tragedy saying that he failed to make a maneuver that even the Japanese Sub Commander said wouldn’t have made a difference. Nevertheless, McVay was court-martialed and after years of being attacked by parents of the deceased, he committed suicide. President Clinton finally posthumously exonerated the Captain of any wrongdoing.

So, there’s a lot going on, for sure. There are several comprehensive books written on the subject and numerous screenplays already in development. The challenge becomes multi-tiered.

How does one tie what are certainly extraordinary circumstance, but nevertheless coincidences, into a rich story with a binding through-line?

How did he make the screenplay/play/whatever unique from the other projects out there? This was admittedly a game of anticipation and guesswork.

And, perhaps most importantly, what is one’s obligation to history? To those who survived and perished? Nik felt guilty merging and tweaking timelines, amalgamated characters.

Perhaps he should write a completely fictional story based loosely on the events of the Indianapolis. Reality was awfully confining after all.

Things to consider.

As part of his research, Nik went to The USS Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor. It was difficult not to think of 9/11 as Nik stood on the bleach white memorial hovering over the sunken tomb. The similarities were startling: the sheer astounding number of dead, the arrogant and over-confident America hit with a surprise attack that could have absolutely been avoidable. Life is such a fragile thing, why do we spend so much time fighting and killing one another? Why after eons of trying, have we been so unable to find away to meet everyone’s needs as one planet? Are our religions and governments so necessary that we find it easy to overlook other human beings in pain, in hunger?

Perhaps energy ripples outward from small pebbles. Perhaps Nik needed to take stock of his role in the state of the world.

It would certainly be easy for a person to wave it all off and say, “just do what you want and let the world figure itself out.” But if everyone did that, well, wouldn’t we find ourselves right where we are? A person may not necessarily have to become president or Mother Theresa but maybe the simplest adjustments can make staggering changes. Instead of pursuing a career for selfish gains, try pursuing work that had a positive impact.

So much of Nik’s desires came from a selfish place: ha had wanted to be rich and famous, he wanted to be loved and worshipped. But shouldn’t we love without concern for what we get in return. Give without receipt? It was hard to consider; harder still to imagine how to put it into practice.

With much on his mind and the water at low tide, Nik took a dip in the “big pool.” The ocean was teeming with life. Sure there were the usual suspects, but today there were also large turtles at play, a strange tubular cornet fish, and several very sweet brown dogs. As the turtles would pop their head above water the dogs would go mad with excitement barking to each other and then racing into the crashing waves. Disoriented, they would gasp and search the water for the submerged creature but having lost it they would return to their masters. As if the turtles knew they had the upper hand they would swim a little closer to the beach, pop up, and dunk under, teasing the thrilled pups. Everyone on the beach shared a sweet moment of laughter.

There is so much beauty in the world. Simple, pure moments of tenderness and beauty. Perhaps we just need to stop and recognize them. Perhaps by participating in and sharing this beauty we, in small ways, can help make the world a better place.

Hell, it was worth a try.

Picture #1: A Cornet Fish
Picture #2: USS Arizona Memorial
Picture #3: An Anchor from the Arizona
Picture #4: The Deck of The Submarine USS Bowfin

Hula and Other Survivors

“Come home.” Tom’s words reverberated in Nik’s ears. “Will you come home?”

Before he had left New York, Nik had set parameters under which he and Tom would get back together. Basically, it amounted to Tom doing back flips through rings of fire while juggling puddles dressed as ballerinas.

“That’s fair,” Nik assured himself.

One of Nik’s personal quirks that he was trying to free himself of was his continued reliance on absolutes. The world had to be, or at least appear to be, a particular way under Nik’s rule of law. There was a definite right way and wrong way to go about any given activity; any scenario in life came with its Nik’s-way-or-the-highway ultimatum.

Months ago he had told Tom that he would only come back if an offer of marriage was given.

“It won’t be marriage,” Tom concluded on the phone. Nik had already made the effort of letting Tom go, he had set actions into motion, and now he was being offered something he desperately wanted...but under a new scenario. Perhaps Tom’s offer was not in the manner that Nik had previously prescribed but was that just another “absolute?”

Nik was striving to live a life more like water. Water was never absolute.

That evening Nik’s friend Charles invited him to a Hula exhibition. Charles was a delightful, rotund gay man who truly embodied “Aloha.” He was continuously jolly and generous. Nik sometimes resented this as it reminded him of how often he was not jolly and generous.

The Halau Hula Ka No’eau performed the exhibition. A Halau is a Hula school and this particular one was very well respected consisting of students both young and old, haole and local. It was neo-classic Hula, which basically meant they allowed themselves to wear different, more modern clothes. It was beautiful. So fluid and strong.

When the missionaries came to Hawai’i they nearly drove Hula out with the dinosaur. It was too sexual, too pagan, and they just plain didn’t get it. They were absolutely not going to permit this activity in the place they had stolen. The Christian god had rules and, by god, Hula wasn’t in god’s plan. Though apparently usurping lands through illegal and immoral means and raping cultures was.

But life and love persevered and the Hawai’ians found a way to keep Hula alive.

Life is chaotic and uncertain and Nik was trying to wrap his mind around that concept. One has to take risks and challenge oneself and not be afraid to fail. He had come to Hawai’i as an experiment. It seemed that the experiment was failing but that was part of the journey.

It becomes harder the older one gets to make big moves. More is at risk. Nik had abandoned all of his safe holds: steady income, retirement, health insurance, friends, everything. He moved to this place “just to see.”

But, he thought, one has to be as willing to abandon an experiment with the same freedom as one picks one up. Perhaps this was reckless or erratic. Perhaps he should have more determination and stubbornness. But he was also trying to be more comfortable in his own skin. Yes, there were things that needed work but perhaps just because a person didn’t fit in the parameters of greater society didn’t necessarily mean he was “wrong.”

He had also given up surfing. It was not surfing that Nik enjoyed as much as it was the experience of the surf camp many years ago. He enjoyed learning new things in new places. He had confused that for a love of the sport itself. Yes, he loved surfing, but he loved the camp aspect, of learning, more.

He had, he realized, a certain amount of adventure A.D.D. And maybe that was OK. Maybe he didn’t have to absolutely be this or absolutely that. Maybe he could be a little this and a little that, sometimes this, and used-to-be-that.

But then there was Tom’s request and proposal.

“The thing is, we have a lot to work on: individually and collectively.” In a case of perfect contradictions, Nik and Tom found each other. Tom was both everything that Nik was looking for in a man and everything that drove him completely bananas. Tom was stubborn and prone to an over-masculinized emotional aloofness. He was always just out of reach keeping Nik in pursuit. Here, even now, Tom was calling shots and changing the game. And this drove Nik up a wall, but was also so much a part of what he loved about Tom. Some eight years later, the two were still trying to figure each other out. And that was, Nik felt, kinda cool.

But it was also frustrating for Nik. Part of him was habitually trained to set life goals and become frustrated and disenfranchised when those goals seemed unattainable. He had so allowed the goal-oriented ideology of America to dictate his life experience. He wanted “things” and those things spoke of status and worth. It had not been enough for Nik to enjoy figuring it all out along the way, but this was changing.

He had thought that a future with Tom was out of the question and here he was reversing his earlier decision. Moving back to the mainland to take a next step with Tom was certainly risky. But everything about Nik’s life these days was risky.

“It’s not marriage but we can work at this.” Nik had wanted marriage. He wanted promises and contracts and things a person could hold up and show the world. But that wasn’t the reality of life, he was discovering. Nothing is certain. Tomorrow could never come to pass. And that was OK. But in the time one is given, shouldn’t a person pursue love with reckless abandon? And if it didn’t work out, fine, at least a person tried.

Life was like water. To stay rigid and rooted too aggressively, to be too absolute, was the source of all unhappiness. One had to train oneself to change shape and direction as life’s tides ebbed and flowed. It was, after all, a journey, not a destination.

Nik had to give Tom an answer.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll come home.”

Where the Mongooses Play

Running one evening Nik found himself rather overwhelmed by his utter inability to secure a job. This was an island full of pot smoking hippie surfers, for god’s sake, and he was a 30-something resourceful man with a Masters. How was this happening?

Yes, it was true his heart was elsewhere and that was it’s own problem. But come on he just wanted a decent job to pay some bills. It really shouldn’t be that hard.

Nik stopped at his favorite meditative spot overlooking the Pacific. There playing amongst the amazing plant life was a family of mongoose. He watched how one clearly wanted to be left alone as two others leapt and wrestled him to the ground.

The Mongoose had been brought to Hawai’i to help rid the island of its rat crisis. The problem that no one seemed to address was that mongooses are day feeders and rats, nocturnal. So, before anyone knew it the island was overrun with rats and mongooses. Oops.

How carefree they were. Somehow they managed to wile away the hours cavorting and canoodling and yet were able to manage to still eat and sleep. And these bastards didn’t have a job.

Nik met Jessica at the office of Aloha Medical. The office looked like the company had been found out by the Fraud Division of the FBI and they were trying to make a run for it. Boxes and boxes were randomly strewn besides unplugged and half-cannibalized Xerox machines. There seemed to be tremendous confusion about the office juxtaposed with an eerie sense of ease with its workers. That is, except Jackie.

Jackie was nervous.

“You know,” she stammered, “I only briefly looked over your resume when I told the agency to send you in. But yesterday I looked it over more carefully.” Jackie examined Nik closely. He made the point of dressing up in order to make a good first impression.

“You’re wearing a tie.”

“Yes.”

“We’re more casual than that.” Nik had recently attended a job fair that was supposed to be “casual” as was told he was underdressed and not welcome. Now he was overdressed. Perhaps Roommate Rick was on to something with the whole nudist thing. If we were all naked all the time we could never be criticized for our clothing choice.

“So,” she continued, “You were an Executive Assistant? In New York City? For six years?”

“Thereabouts. Yes.” Smile #15.

“Uh huh. It’s just…well, you know this is just an admin support job. Um, filing and such. I’m just worried…I don’t know how challenging this will be for you.” Was she actually talking him out of the job? And was it working?

Nik needed a job. He needed money, any money, to coming in instead of hemorrhaging as it had been. So, he took the position.

“He was an Executive Assistant and now he’s doing admin support?” boomed an employee from around the corner. Apparently, Jackie had sent out a floor-wide email announcing Nik’s arrival.

“Shhh,” echoed another, “he’s right around the corner.”

“I’m just saying, why would he want to do this?”

Why indeed? Already Nik was having doubts and making discoveries about himself. He had told himself that it didn’t matter what he did for money. A job was a job. He knew if he moved to Hawai’i that he would have to make sacrifices, take a job that he didn’t necessarily enjoy for a lot less money than he was used to.

But Nik was a scientist, a journalist, and a fool.

As a small child, Nik’s mother told him that the stove was hot. Hm, he wondered, what does that mean? Hot?

‘Ah?!” he shivered in pain as he laid his bare hand on the red irons, “yeah, that’s, uh, that’s hot.”

“Everyone told you that’s what you’d find in Hawai’i,” Tom reminded him. “Why didn’t you listen?”

Furthermore, the job Nik had been offered would be even less that the low rate he had been quoted. He was now sacrificing the sacrifice. Hawai’i would have to prove itself self-sustaining or it would have to be sacrificed.

The other problem was that Nik realized that there were definitive parameters to what he would accept, yes, life was a compromise but one had to draw a line in the sand. It was clearly not enough to live in paradise and just “do something.” And yes, he wished he could have foreseen this. But that just wasn’t who Nik was.

Would his friends think him a fool if he left? If he stayed? Maybe they thought he was a fool already.

Let it go, he reminded himself. Just let go.

So, after two days of mind-numbing work, he told Jackie that he would be quitting. The look of utter despair that washed over her face nearly broke Nik’s heart. It was part “why can’t I keep anyone around” and part “dear god, take me with you.”

If there was a hell Nik was sure that it was the administrative end of the healthcare industry. Redundancy and bureaucracy had turned ordinary, decent human beings into mindless automatons. And those machines were cracking under the pressure of having no real pressure. It wasn’t ease that Nik had noticed that first day. It was soullessness. He was somewhat disturbed by the similarities between the two.

Boxes and files were mislabeled or just plain lost. And what could be found was buried under a mountain of “compliance.”

The employees of Aloha Medical stared blankly at their computer screens hoping the surge of electricity would arc forth and end their misery. The dark office had the stench of death all around it. Nik was certain he had actually met Death in the break room having a cup of decaf.

“Someone die,’ Nik asked.

“Nope.”

“…Just…hangin’ out then?

“Yup.”

“Is someone sick?”

“Oh, it’s not their bodies. They’re fine. It’s a healthcare office, after all. No, it’s their souls, their will to live. D’you see Bill in Ops? Ooh ah, that bastard’s gonna kick it before lunch.”

True enough, Bill was the saddest creature Nik had ever seen. Profoundly overweight and so pale he was nearly grey, Bill spoke in the fragile tones of someone at the funeral of a person they barely knew.

But then there was Jeremy. Jeremy was a floppy-haired surfer boy in his late 20s. He worked IT for the office. Cocky without really knowing it, Jeremy was likely to pull office pranks on Death just for a laugh.

“PPPPLewgh!”

“Ah, come off it, Jeremy,” Death would say as he sat on the woopy cushion, “Grow up.”

Nik had dubbed Jeremy his official office crush. These were bys that Nik wasn’t necessarily interested in having sex with (besides they were most often straight), but rather a point of focus to pass the endless hours.

Jeremy was adorable and smelled like a mix between musk and citrus, like oranges in a locker room. He found reasons to linger around Nik for longer than Nik was comfortable with. Cut boys frequently made Nik anxious. Either Jeremy knew this and enjoyed it or was blissfully unaware of his own physical proximity. In either case, it made Nik Shiver like a nervous poodle. Jeremy would lean in close to set up Nik’s second workstation (why Nik needed two workstations was unclear but Nik wasn’t complaining).

“So, here’s your [techno-babble],” Jeremy said.

Nik could feel the heat coming off Jeremy and it made his voice crack. “Uh huh, “ squeaked Nik perfectly unaware about what had just been explained to him.

“And, of course, your shortcut to [techno-babble].”

Nik giggled in agreement.

“So, you’re all set. Again.” Jeremy said and laid his hand on Nik’s shoulder.

The harder Nik tried in life to be cool the more ridiculous he appeared. He tried to spin his chair around to face and thank Jeremy but slammed his knee into the desk. Trying to play it off he stood up promptly but having hit a funny bone he trembled and stumbled into Patricia, the dotty Accounts Payable maven.

But thank god for office crushes. They’re perfectly silly, meaningless things and yet as essential as oxygen.

But then there was Bill, who clearly was not getting enough oxygen, figuratively or literally.

“Yeah,” Bill sighed, “Gotta go to Maui tomorrow.” Sigh. “Uh, so I need those…” Something distracted Bill. A thought. He looked longingly out the window. If he jumped would anyone care? “…Uh, those, uh, accreditations. From Julie. Did you get those? The accreditations? From Julie.”

“I’m sorry, Bill, this is only my second day. I don’t know who Julie is or what an accreditation is.” And I really don’t care, Nike thought.

“I can never get Julie’s attention. I just need those damn accreditations, um, before tomorrow, you know?”

If ever there was a case for euthanasia, Bill was it. Nik wanted to say something reassuring like, “Gee, dude, it’s going to be OK.” But Nik wasn’t sure that this was true for Bill.

So the next day, Nik quit. He did, after all, have his coaching job.

Angela raised her hand.

“Yes, Angela?” Nik asked the four-year old.

“Which is better for flying? Um, the green one or the red one?” Given that he had just been trying to explain Essential Actions to children, a conspicuously challenging endeavor, he expected an amount of confusion. But not on his part.

“Um…what?” He asked trying to be supportive.

“If, if, if, um, Mom says that, um, I’ll get lickens if we color on the walls.” Nik thought they had just been talking about flying. Angela was like a tiny nuclear reactor. Particles were smashing and popping inside her tiny core. She could barely control the tremulous energy.

“…Yes, well, perhaps we shouldn’t color on the walls then.” Nik tried to get the conversation back on track. “So, if we want our friends to play with us, but they don’t seem like they want to play, what might we try to do to get them to…” No’uana raised her hand. “Yes, No’uana?”

“Are we doing something after school?”

“Well, I think you’re going with your Mom.”

”Will you help Mommy?”

“Um.”

“What are we gonna do at the store?”

“I don’t…I don’t know, um…” Nik stared back at the group of four little girls. Nik realized that his authority was slowly slipping. For god’s sake, man, these girls could barely feed themselves and they’ve completely usurped your control of this class!

He had to think fast. Suddenly Nik had a flash. Regardless of a person’s age, sex, place on the earth, whether you were fat Bill or a mongoose, we all just want to feel like our needs are being addressed. That we have identified a goal and are active in our lives to achieve it.

“OK, Nu’uana why don’t you ask Angela to, um, go with you to the store with Mom. Now, it’s very important that she go with you. And Angela, you don’t want to go because you’ll get, um…”

“Lickins?”

“Yes, lickins, you’ll get lickins.” Something in Angela’s hyperactive eyes had lit up and her focused narrowed.

“I don’t want lickins,” she said, quite determined. Nik figured for this purpose wanting to avoid something was as clear as wanting to gain something.

For the next hour, the troupe of young girls had straightened up and was now active participating in the active play.

Running back to his meditation spot, Nik once again saw the mongoose family. This time he realized that they weren’t just playing but actively vying for attention or supremacy in the pack. They were working, yes, but it just so happened that their work was play.

This was part of the key, Nik thought. He would be more focused in his goal. He would work to find a way to make his play his work and his work his play.

Acting, Abracadabra, and Amanda Van Arden

“Acting is an ancient and magical craft,” incanted the woman poised with conspicuous theatricality in the studio. She had an air about her, that was true, but one could argue that the air was a tad polluted.

“You are following in the footsteps of brave men and women before you and you must not take this journey lightly.” Amanda Van Arden was the kind of chain-smoking, wizened hag that one often finds lurking in the shadows of Actors Equity. She was likely, between hacking fits, to recite for you her entire resume, including tasty tidbits about how Lee Strasberg loved her “method” — “…if you know what I mean, dear.”

“Acting is what? Action!”

Nik agreed with most of what Amanda Van Arden preached…well, at least in theory.

“You have to know what you want and relentlessly pursue it from your opponent.”

This was true, but what made Nik cock his head in uncertainty was the rather unsettling fact that Amanda Van Arden was pontificating to a group of 10-year olds.

The Actors!Plus Talent Agency was one of those thinly veiled organizations that took wads of money from wealthy mothers who sent Johnny to become a famous Hollywood celebrity — and thereby ensuring that Mom could continue to be rich. The unpopular truth that Honolulu was about as far as one could get from Hollywood rarely hushed across the lips of those who walked through the hallowed gates at Actros!Plus.

What, Nik wondered, was the “Plus?”

“Amanda Van Arden is our top acting coach here and you’ll learn a lot from her, I can tell you.” Marjorie didn’t know a damn thing about acting. She found her way into Actors!Plus as a teen model and now, 15 years later, had become something akin to an Office Manager. “We all end up somewhere,” She shrugged with a comic snort.

“Yes, Marjorie, we surely do.” Nik had been hired on as a substitute acting coach (and, it should be noted for fear and fun: “Runway Instructor”) for the studio. He felt this a dubious distinction, as he was certain the Pineapple Mafia was using the agency as a front for something dastradly. Perhaps they were smuggling leis and Guava through Cuba. Perhaps that was the "Plus."

Amanda Van Arden would stalk around the studio, presumably peering deep into the souls of her pre-teen thespians. The young actors would shiver and shake though it was yet unclear whether it was due to fright or a full, immature bladder.

“You need to know who you are, where you are, and what you are doing.” Amanda Van Arden had the students work on a scene in which a boy and a girl discuss packing for summer camp. They say that they will pack shorts, comic books, towels, candy, and Avon’s bug screen, which coincidentally both of their mothers love because of its economical value and long-lasting insect fending attributes.

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” Amanda Van Arden wailed madly at the children. “Where are you? Where ARE you?”

The baffled 3rd grader looked to his peers for guidance but none was to be given. “I’m at Actors!Plus trying to…”

“No. No no no no no no. In the scene. Dear. Where will you be doing the scene?”

“Um, wherever they’re shooting the commercial, I guess.”

At that moment, Nik realized that he loved children.

“Listen to me, you have to show me who, what, when, where, why. You have to DO something. Acting is action.” It’s funny how words can mean different things to different people. To Nik, “doing something” as an actor might mean “putting an asshole in his place.” He could do that, he thought. To Amanda Van Arden “doing something” meant:

“Well, look, it’s summer, right? You’re hot. Fan yourself. You’re talking about bug spray. Swat the bugs away. And for god’s sake, you have a list of things you are packing. PACK THEM. I can tell you, I won’t be here in your audition giving you the answers. You’re gonna have to come up with it all by your lonesome.” After 15 minutes of questionable “teaching” Amanda Van Arden’s students looked like escapees from a mental ward. They were swatting and panting and moving invisible boxes and offering imaginary candies to their scene partners who, uncertain of what they were eating, would bite into…something.

There are few books that Nik has ever been excited about. The upcoming Harry Potter finale had Nik on pins and needles. It is the Holy Grail of any writer to be able to grab the attention of the masses and enthrall them with a magical, literal or figurative, world. Oh, how he had hoped to hone his craft one day to such a place as JK Rowling’s. To write with such mastery, to know one’s audience, and contour the story as they grow. Brilliance incarnate.

He remembered how as a child the Star Wars movies had captured his attention with such reckless abandon. Should he be a 10-year old now (though many would argue he still was) he would most certainly wish for nothing else that to go to school at Hogwarts.

“But why can’t I become a wizard, Mom?”

“Because those things only happen in the movies, Nik.”

And the vicious cycle would repeat.

Perhaps it is the attempt to create magic, or rather the illusion of magic, that sets storytellers apart. Nik feared losing that part of him and wanted quite desperately to ensure its survival. And here before him were a dozen youngsters, young storytellers, with that same wish: to hold on to their imagination a little longer. How could he not want to teach?

But he would not, absolutely not, teach them Amanda Van Arden’s psychobabble rubbish.

“Well, Nik, why don’t you take them for a while.” With grand regalia Amanda Van Arden pulled her tattered swivel chair to a prominent judging position to watch Nik’s tutorial. She didn’t want to judge him harshly, but if she didn’t who would?

“I want you to say something true of the other person.” Nik began his lesson on Repetition. It was as much a challenge for the students as for him. And the fact that the vulture Amanda Van Arden was perched behind him made no difference. The young actors latched onto the idea. Together they went through the practical steps of the activity, stayed focused, identified a goal and worked toward it in real, tnagible ways. Not hocuspocus. Truth. Finally! Something they could understand. A particularly precocious child, often bored throughout the class, found new confidence in himself. He stood a little taller in his chair.

At the end of class Amanda Van Arden offered up her best, most gracious clap. “That was amazing, how did you do that?”

Nik wanted to say, “Well, Amanda Van Arden, I took something that a sane human being could actually do and I told them how to do it.” But instead he said, “Oh, you know, magic” and smiled Smile #42 with a wink. After all, they were going to be colleagues.

He couldn’t piss her off.

Not just yet.

On Rain and other water

It didn’t usually rain in Kahala.

Today it rained.

Rainy days in Kahala were like sunny days in New York — so unexpected and shocking. It was as if one had been confronted by one’s mother screaming obscenities in a crowded restaurant. “Stop stop stop, what are you doing?!” a person might wince.

Merely a few miles away it could be a torrential downpour but it usually remained dry in Kahala. But not today.

Moreover it wasn’t doing anything to improve Nik’s mood. He was living in paradise; why was he so unhappy? Perhaps he needed a haircut. A trim was often the cure for the blues. Though, nine times out of ten, Nik usually received a bad haircut. It was not unlike getting slugged in the gut when trying get rid of a headache. At least the pain had been dispersed elsewhere.

“You don’t own anything.” Tom had frequently expressed his frustration with Nik’s supposedly numerous shortcomings. Not the least of which was the fact that he apparently didn’t own anything.

“Personally, emotionally, you don’t own anything. You didn’t own being an actor, you don’t own being a writer. You don’t own anything.”

But, he thought, he owned a car. That was something.

He bought Sara for $1200. It was an exceptionally reasonable price considering her condition. “Sara” was the name her previous owner had given her. Nik would have preferred to own a “Jeremy” or “Dirk” or some other pseudo-frat, male porn star name. But he got Sara. And as it turned out, Sara was just right.

She was a 1991 Toyota Camry and the first car Nik had actually owned himself. It felt good to have the title to something. Usually Nik wasn’t necessarily one to get off on ownership. He hadn’t any real desire as far as he could tell to own property, a house, or other major investment. Though he did want a dog rather desperately. Was that ownership? Or partnership?

Anyhoo.

Nik now owned a car and he felt surprisingly grown-up about the whole thing.

What he particularly enjoyed about driving in Hawai’i was that rarely did anyone drive faster than 35mph. Not only was this great for gas, but it had a wonderful impact on one’s ease and mood in traffic. He needn’t drive any faster. Where on the mainland, he wondered, had he ever needed to go in such a hurry?

His walking pace had also slowed to a crawl. In NYC he could beat a path like a speed walker. “Gotta get to Starbucks, gotta get to Starbucks.” Really? Had it all seemed that important?

“Do you surf?” Tracy was a delightful enough, shortish Asian woman who wore sunglasses at work. She was likely the kind of sassy chick to wear them at night and at church, which she probably disliked but felt obligated to go because of her overbearing mother-in-law.

Hair stylists frequently made Nik uncomfortable. Usually it was either a grotesque and unforgiving whack of cutting shears or the incomprehensible blather strangers make when forced to share air space. And Tracy was hacking away mercilessly and blathering.

And she was wearing sunglasses.

And she was opening a can of worms —

“Do you surf?

“Well, I’m trying to, learning to, I’m not really very good, you know, and I’m trying not to be self-deprecating or whatever but, you know, I move to this place...from New York. City. I came here, never been, not even on vacation, which is silly, I know — and the thing is, I don’t even know if I enjoy it, really, surfing, I mean...or this place — maybe I just feel obligated. I'm kind of unhappy. Sad. Lonely. And I need a job. And then there's surfing and it was sorta the reason I came. I think. Or maybe that's what I told people, told myself. I don't know. So, I guess, yes, the answer is yes? Maybe?” Nik didn’t think of himself as the kind of guy to titter on like a complete fool. Yet here he was. Tittering.

“Right. Well, I only ask ‘casue ya’ got sand in your hair.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Tracy peered from above her purple shades inspecting him. Then, with complete ease, smiled.

Breathe.

Smile.

Rinse and repeat.

Tracy removed her sunglass and set them, almost ceremoniously, on the counter. She continued snipping away.

Snip.

“You know…” She began.

Snip.

“My daughter, she go to school in New York. I never been. She say it kinda crazy.”

Snip.

“She call her friends all the time. She call me all the time. Wears me out.”

Snip.

“It’s expensive. She say she afraid of losing her friends back home. She afraid of being alone. Of course. But thing is, fear is part of life, ya’ know? Change is part of life. Life change, you change, friends change.”

Snip.

“You gotta let go.”

Snip.

In truth, Tracy had done an OK job. “OK” being a relative term graded on a steep curve. But even so, the haircut had not had the magical mood altering affect Nik had hoped for.

“You don’t own anything.” Tom’s words rang through his head. What was ownership about? Did Tracy’s daughter own her friends? Should she have owned her life in New York? How does one purchase those things? And, it seemed, that not unlike designer clothing, one had to own the "right" clothes or one might as well not own anything.

Nik decided to take a quick dip in the ocean to wash the hair clippings off his head. One of his new hobbies had been searching for new fish to swim with and then identify later. This day he found what he would later ID as a white-spotted surgeonfish. It was an odd little thing. It looked a bit like the remnants of several other fish that had been spliced together to make it. “Just throw those pieces together and we’ll call it a day,” god must have said.

More peculiar still was the fact that it seemed almost annoyed by Nik following it. It would stop mid-swim, pivot, and stare as if saying, “Yeah, what? What d’ya’ want?”

“Say, little fish, I am looking for answers. About life.”

“You come to dis island looking for answers. Da island it give you answers but you too stupid to see it. You IN the answer and still don’t see it,” and the amalgamated creature paddled its fins.

“You’re an odd little fish, aren’t you?”

What was odd — other than that fact that he was conversing with a fish — was that while Nik was in decent shape, he couldn’t usually hold his breath underwater for very long. Perhaps it was a survival panic or perhaps he was not in the shape he thought. Whatever the reason, here on the island things were different. Here Nik felt submerged for hours. And he felt relaxed. Whether it was the effect of this island or his fascinating dialogue with the piggy-nosed tropical fish, he couldn’t be sure.

“You stupid, da island no dif’rent.”

“I didn’t say that last part out loud, did I?" Nik always feared speaking aloud his private thoughts.

“You no say nothin’ aloud, dum dum. You underwater.” The fat, spotty fish shrugged and swam away knowing full well that Nik would follow.

“It’s just, Tom always tells me I don’t own anything. And I’m trying very hard to figure out who I am. What I want. Where I belong. But it’s hard. And I feel pulled in so many directions. And I just want to belong, to have a home, a family, friends, a job, security, a few laughs. I want to hold on to something.” Once again, Nik found himself rambling.

“Grab hold of the water,” prodded the fish.

Nik tried, in vain, to grab the water.

“You can’t. No one can. It not yours to hold. Water is life. Sometimes it is dis, sometimes ice, sometimes it evaporate. Poof. Gone. But here you are, in da water. It is all ‘round you. Sometimes you swim, sometimes it pull you. But you cannot stay in one place. You cannot ask of da water to be something it is not,” he continued…

“Dese ideas: your career, dat rock, your friends, dat coral, your family, dat algae, your time, dat car; dese constructs don’t exist. Dey are lies. Dey are fabrications and fantasies created to give da illusion of security in a chaotic world. Do not live in da lie. Look at ya' body. It is water. Life is water, it is changing and inconsistent, but it will sustain you. But only if you let go of all of dat which you cannot hold."

“I’m just trying to figure out who I am.” Nik pleaded.

“Listen me, dum dum,” compelled the fish. “You. Already. ARE.”

“But I want to be happy.”

“Den let go.” And with that, the odd little fish swam away. Or was pulled by a current. Or both.

So...

After a while, Nik went home and showered.

He got dressed.

He called Tom.

He let go.

It didn’t usually rain in Kahala.

Today, it rained.


Picture 1: A wise or crazy white-spotted surgeonfish

At the Movies

One of the great perks about life in the beach house (aside from its proximity to the beach) was that there were two screening rooms. That main one occupied the largest room in the house, which had chairs and sofas on risers and a terrific sound system. The other was in Pete's room.

Pete, 40-something with thinning hair and a sallow complexion, was a film teacher at a local school — though which or what kind of school was indeterminate.

“I had taught at this one school,” Pete said as he and Nik sat on their beach watching the most profound sunset, “but then…” This was the third time Nik had asked about Pete's professional life. And the third clandestine response.

“But then WHAT?!” Nik wondered. A steady stream of “whats” ran through his mind. He had hoped it was something fantastic like, “…and then they found out I melt metal with my radioactive stare. And they just weren’t cool with that.” But what Nik “hoped was” and what “was was” was often very different. Then Nik's thoughts ran to the memory of a former classmate he had in graduate school, Derrick.

For years, Jack and Nik suspected something was amiss with their classmate, a classmate who used such now infamous acting warm-up exercises as Stirring the Pudding. Stirring the Pudding consisted of twisting one’s body in space while exclaiming, “I’m banana!” or “I’m Tapioca!” when asked what kind of pudding you were.

Jack and Nik were quite certain that anyone who stirred pudding couldn’t be trusted. Time would reveal that Derrick had in fact been charged with molestation while teaching at a school in New Mexico or somewhere.

Had Pete been fondling some student? Nik was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

There were several other peculiar things about Pete. For one, he didn’t talk with much detail or insight about the story or characters or craftsmanship of the films they watched. Pete, Parker, Nik, and sometimes Pali (the mysterious Pali would suddenly appear and evaporate with nary a sound) watched a movie every night and Pete was hard-pressed to say much more than, “That was good. I liked it.”

Another quirk of Pete's was that he chose to watch movies naked. Parker and Nik would cast a quick glance of reassurance to one another, like, “We’re cool with this, right?” “Sure, as long as he doesn’t —“

“You guys want to watch this in the nude?” The idea of watching Apacolypto without clothing seemed like a thematic choice — and Nik was all about a theme — but somehow they just couldn’t go there. And it wasn’t a matter of being uncomfortable, per se, it just seemed a bit odd.

“Uh…no, we’re —“

“— We’re OK.”

“— We’re OK.”

“OK,” Pete concluded as if to say, “OK, but you don’t know what you’re missing.” Did having one’s genitals exposed to the experience somehow enhance a movie? Would this catch on in multiplexes in Duluth? “Come watch Godzilla — in 3D — and in the nude! Now in phallicvision!”

The interesting thing, however, about Pete's film knowledge was that, while he couldn’t talk about how a particular shot or scene embodied the essence of a character (such as the icy, soulless resolve of the girl in The Page Turner as she is being groped by the adulterous cellist), he did know when any given movie was made, who made it, and what the juicy story surrounding the making of it was. Nik could see how a high school student might find this exciting.

Was that it? Did he teach high school? Or community college? One day, Nik would know the truth!

This night’s selection was Nicholas Cage’s The Weather Man, a dark comedy that snuck through the box office a few years ago. In preparation for the movie Nik went to the kitchen to retrieve a bag of popcorn.

Greeting him in the center of the kitchen sat the largest cockroach he had ever seen.

Now, Nik had encountered roaches, rats, and all sorts of unpleasantness during his tenure in New York. And it should be noted that to live in Hawai’i is to live with nature. Truly. Once can’t escape it, and, it could be argued, why would one want to escape it? It’s usually a beautiful thing.

But this was a monster.

“Darth Vermin.” Nik froze in his tracks. Darth Vermin’s cape whipped with a demonic life, blown by wind that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The beastie’s gaze was steely and unflinching.

“I shall feed on your fear, “ echoed Darth Vermin through some form of mechanical respirator. “That, and whatever crumbs you slobs leave on the counter.” Nik backed away slowly. It was entirely possible that Darth Vermin was reading his mind so Neal wanted to appear as casual as possible. Upon reaching the kitchen archway he sprinted through the screening room.

“Roach! Big! Very scary!” If the roommates had any doubt about Nik's queerhood they were dashed at this moment. Fast as a bunny he darted to his bedroom to arm himself with a slippah.

“Don’t worry. I got it.” Nik attempted to sound brave but almost certainly sounded like a weepy Sally Field character.

Like Luke walking into the cave on Dagobah, Nik cautiously crept back into the kitchen not knowing what horror lay before him.

Alas, his nemesis was gone.

Was this yet another test by the island? There were many fears, Nik knew, that he needed to face — not the least of which was a cockroach with Jedi powers.

The next day Nik had an interview with a talent management company for an acting coach position. The ad had been somewhat vague about salary or time commitment. The company featured actors ages 4-17 and, while Nik had never worked with kids that age, Nik thought this would be an excellent opportunity to make use of the past several decades of his life.

It was the strangest interview Nik had ever been to in his life. The two women sat in front of him explaining the company and curriculum but hadn’t asked him any questions.

“Do you have any questions for us?” Talia queried.

“No, I think you spelled it out.” And she had. For the past half hour she had. Through her rather detailed description Nik had the nagging fear that this was essentially Hawai’i’s version of New York’s Actors Express, a kind of fast food for the industry, flipping actors like so much meat in a fryer. This job would not be about instilling young, eager actors with an appreciation for a dazzling art form. He would not be honing the craft of pre-teen thespians. No, this was about rich parents who thought Johnny was absolutely adorable and assumed that the rest of the world would think so, too.

“Betsy is a model but wants to act and direct,” a Prada-wearing mother would say.

“Betsy is 8, Mrs. Cunningham.” Nik imagined saying. “At best, she’ll be a Producer by 10.”

Nik was jolted back to the interview.

“Do you have any questions for us?” How many times was she going to ask? “No,” Nik wanted to shout, “don’t you have any questions for me?” He feared the inquiry would come off as bitchy and so just smiled and listened.

He was ready to discourse on the virtues of Practical Aesthetics over all other techniques. He could sing the praises of Repetition work as the single greatest acting tool there was. He could ramble on and on about how his approach to movement was about freeing an actor’s confidence and comfort rather than simply “walking funny,” as other approaches might imply. Weren’t they interested in those things? Apparently not. So, using smiles #37 (of course) and 14-19, with a pinch of 82 he maneuvered his way through the remainder of the interview.

In all, he couldn’t be sure how it went. It didn’t go badly but it wasn’t a knock out.

He remembered what Becky had said the day prior. “Don’t worry, something will come up.” He just wanted a job. A full-time, salaried job with acceptable benefits. He wasn’t greedy but he wasn’t just going to take a bunch of dinky jobs for pennies. Why couldn’t he find this job?

There was a quote Nik remembered and had written on a Post-it his desktop. “The only thing that overcomes hard luck is hard work.” He did seem to be a having a string of bad luck. Or was he creating the bad luck? Was he deliberately sabotaging his own success? Had he always done so? Are we not the architects of our own destinies? Sure, he thought, in every life a little rain must fall but if you don’t go outside you’ll never see the sunshine, either.

So, Nik decided that he would start overcoming some of these obstacles in a more active way. Over the next few days he would march down to Waikiki and stick his nose into every restaurant and hotel he could find. He would nag the temp agency he was with and set up an interview with another one. He was going to turn this around. He didn’t need luck. What was luck anyway?

Nik also resolved himself to go surfing the next morning and to make the day count.

However, that next morning…

“Small Surf Forecast and Box Jellyfish Warning in Effect” read the morning’s Honolulu Advertiser. But Nik was undaunted. And who knew he would ever find himself living in a place where he needed to heed Box Jellyfish warnings? Reading about how Box Jellyfish stings could lead to almost certain death, Nik meandered into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal.

Breakfast was not merely the most important part of Nik's day, it was a near-religious experience. He would go to bed at night and dream of cereal, of its many colors and sugars. And this morning he was particularly ebullient and was not going to let negativity interrupt his morning ritual. However, blocking his path this morning was non-other than Darth Vermin.

“I've been waiting for you, Nik. We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete. When I left you, I was but the learner; now I am the master.”

This time Nik was not afraid. Moreover, nothing would keep him from his Fruity Pebbles, not even a Dark Lord of the Sith.

“You can't win, Darth. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly…oh, to Hell with it.” And in one swift motion, Nik smashed the roach with his newspaper.

A lucky strike?

In his experience, there’s no such thing as luck.

May the Force be with you!