Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, Tumbleweed Dreams

The summer of 1988 was brutal. Much of the country was struggling with a lengthy and devastating drought. Crops were dying, the elderly and children were told to avoid prolonged exposure to the heat and four travelers from Florida were racing down the interstate, heading full speed toward the desert.

The Mississippi River at normal height.

The effect of this unique lack of rain was most evident as we passed over the Mississippi River. This once grand waterway was nothing but a trickle. Boats leaned sideways on large sandbars that were previously river bottoms. The normal shipping lanes had literally evaporated and national commerce was feeling the heat.

The Mississippi River during

the Summer of '88.

I had dreamed of seeing the Mississippi in all of its grandeur ever since elementary school, but as we passed over this river turned creek, I was disappointed and saddened… like seeing your favorite actor or actress twenty years passed their prime.

As we crossed Louisiana into Texas I had an insanely naïve idea that, somehow, all of Texas was a desert. I guess it was from growing up watching shows like The Rifleman and Bonanza. All of my references of Texas was formed and reinforced through those shows. So, for some reason, I thought the minute you crossed into Texas, you would find yourself surrounded by hot sands, blowing tumbleweed and, if you’re lucky, you’d cross paths with other cow-poke on their way to Tombstone.

To my surprise, the land between Louisiana and Dallas was, despite the drought, beautiful and green. The hills rolled peacefully and I found myself happily content for the first time in two states.

The sun set just prior to our arrival in Dallas, where Beth had secured us another free bed to stay for the night. However, somewhere between packing Sunday’s luggage and daydreaming about the wild west, our donor had a change of heart or plans, so we checked ourselves into the Red Roof Inn.

As we unpacked, Tim and I noticed that the Boston Red Sox were playing the Texas Rangers on television. Both being Massachusetts natives and having watched a professional baseball game in person only once before, we were excited about hopping over to field to see the game. Our hopes were dashed upon seeing on the television the towering left field fence known as The Green Monster of Fenway Park… in Boston.

The Green Monster at Fenway.

Oh well. We’d have another chance in Los Angeles.

We finished up our night at the Hard Rock Café in beautiful downtown Dallas. The restaurant looked like a cathedral with rock idols as their gods. A large stained glass window of Elvis Presley, titled in Gothic writing, “The King” was oddly uncomfortable to me. We spied a museum’s worth of collectibles and numerous signed guitars from the likes of Eddie Van Halen as we made our way to our table.

A little later, as we waited for our food, we spotted the guitarist from a then up and coming band called White Lion, who was to open for AC/DC in Dallas the next evening. It was a very brief, very small celebrity sighting, but made the evening more fun.

The Hard Rock would end up becoming our home away from home during our trip. For now, the atmosphere, food and company made for a satisfying conclusion to our second day on our trip to Cally.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Mexico Legalizes Drug Possession for Personal Use

Looks like our friends south of the border are planning to legalize drug possession for personal use such as cocaine, pot, heroin and ecstasy.

You can read the story HERE.

Good, maybe then they'll be too stoned to cross into the US illegally.

Passing Wind

My son is nine years old and finds things most nine year olds find funny, burp and fart jokes.

In honor of that age where the sound of passing wind is funnier than any other punchline, I present a whole webpage of fart noises:

http://www.soundboards.com

With such time honored favorites as "Skid Marks," "Colon Powell," and "Heiny Hiccup," you get an idea of just what you'll be hearing. So, if you find wind passing funny, stop by the soundboards website and listen to your hearts content.

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 11, Wet, Rinse, Repeat

A monologue, in acting speak, is a solo performance piece most commonly used by actors for auditions. Monologues are usually pulled directly out of plays, however they can also be original works or compiled from other sources.

The most successful monologue I ever used was one I pieced together from a fictional article Howie Mandel wrote for Inside Sports magazine about a child's annual trek to a shuffleboard camp. I titled it When The Lemonade Tastes Funny and used that monologue to get into the fine arts college, to place in the southeast regional Irene Ryan theater competition, as one of my exit monologues from the college prior to graduation and to get numerous professional gigs. When you've struck monologue gold, you mine that baby as many times as possible!

During our extended drive to Dallas, Sunday began rehearsing a monologue for an important audition scheduled upon her return from our road trip. It's really hard to practice a monologue silently. After all, a monologue is spoken and you're not only training your mind to remember the lines and create a logical thought process in your head, but you’re also training your mouth to speak all of those words correctly. During this process it’s not uncommon for an actor to uncover, within a monologue, a localized brain fart… that place where the logic of the author is not readily apparent to the actor and in the same place, every time, the logic in your head fails and the next few words evaporate into thin air. For the actor, this is a trial and error process that will continue until you’re able to build a thought process bridge over the jagged rocks of indecision.

For the rest of us in the car, it meant having to hear Sunday stop at the same line of her monologue over and over and over and over again. Sunday worked through the sixty-second monologue repeatedly, "...What makes you so certain! What gives you the right? I've lived my whole life under your roof, dampened by the weight of your broken dreams! You look at my life and see your... your-" and she'd pause, flip her head slightly, messing her hair, study the script, then continue on, "...your missed opportunities, your failures." And the monologue would continue until the end, then she’d start again, always pausing at "You look at my life and see your..." pause, flip, hair, script, "missed opportunities, your failures."

As we neared the Mississippi River, Sunday’s work on her monologue had reached the level of the absurd for the rest of us. "You look at my life and see your..." and without a beat, Tim and Beth, who had never studied acting, chimed in with lifeless tones "missed opportunities, your failures,” because by this time we all knew the monologue better than she did. Unfortunately, no amount of sheer force of will on our part could build that mental bridge for her. So the rehearsing and pausing and hair flipping proceeded with unceasing consistency until our skulls were ready to implode.

I felt her pain, though. I had been there, unable to make that connection between one word and another. I just never realized how excruciating that process could be for everyone else around me. Being forced to use the interior of a car as her rehearsal space was difficult on us all, for when you’re stuck in a car for hours with the same people everyday, it tends to amplify any character flaws and mute resistance, patience and sanity.

To our delight, the monological monotony was effectively broken by a sight few people had ever seen.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 10, Divine Misdirection

In the time before cell phones, wireless broadband, instant messaging, text messaging and email, communication between two cars was naturally problematic. When traveling together their needed to be an almost symbiotic relationship between drivers in order for the experience to be completely effective. I remember, when taking trips with fellow church youth group members, we would travel in multiple cars and seamlessly move between lanes and traffic without any issues, as if the three cars were indeed one.

Our path toward the interstate in Mississippi was the opposite of seamless and symbiotic and having to rely on someone to guide us through unknown streets for almost an hour was wearing on all of our nerves. We were anxiously looking for a moment when we could speed up next to Aunt Patsy and ask her to pull over, so we could regain our bearings and understand how much longer this path would take, when Aunt Patsy abruptly pulled into an empty church parking lot.

We followed her and watched as she exited her car and, with a little hop to her step, approached ours. Tim rolled down the window and peered his head out.

"Are we lost?" Tim asked.

"No!" Aunt Patsy responded as if he were being excessively silly. "This is my church!"

Confused, Tim could only mutter "Uh-huh."

She pulled open his door, "I wanted to show you my church before you left!"

Did I hear that right? We've been on an unguided tour through the deeper recesses of Mississippian suburbia for an hour so we could see her church?

As my brain tried to wrap itself around that logic, the only thing I could possibly conclude was that this church must be something special, grand, opulent or unexpected in some way. As Sunday and I pried ourselves out of the back seats I found myself staring at a standard looking Protestant church, with a small parking lot, a small steeple and nothing... well, interesting. The magic or mystery or driving force behind our journey must have been inside this plain looking building. As irritated as I was, a part of me was curious to see just what made this journey worth it.

Tim, Beth, Sunday and I followed Aunt Patsy up to the church doors and with a quick motion Aunt Patsy grasped the handles and pulled. Nothing happened. She pulled again. Nothing happened.

She turned, still smiling and quickly dismissed the event, stating "Oh, well, it's locked."

As Aunt Patsy moved passed us and toward her car, we were struck motionless, desperately trying to fathom with confused expressions as to what had just unfolded before us. One by one we slowly turned and moved back toward the Acura, as if stuck in some demented Rod Serling Twilight Zone episode. Aunt Patsy, now sitting in her car, rolled down her window and motioned for Beth to approach her. As the rest of us re-entered the tight confines of the blue Acura, we watched as Beth received verbal instructions on directions to the interstate, replete with a lot of pointing and arm motions by our beloved guide.

Beth returned to the car and entered. We were all frustrated. We were all mad. And this made us all preemptively tired. Knowing that venting any of our displeasure would only exacerbate the issue, the four travelers remained steadfastly quiet. Tim put the car in first gear and started toward the parking lot exit. Silently, Beth pointed Tim in the right direction and we watched as Aunt Patsy gleefully waved her good-byes. As the car sped down the street, Sunday and I watched as our first host, the unforgettable Aunt Patsy, disappeared into the distance.

Now a solid four hours behind schedule, we eventually hopped on the interstate and started the long drive to Dallas, Texas.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 9, Getting Nowhere Fast

As we pulled out of Aunt Patsy’s driveway we were all back into our usual seating positions in the car. Sunday and I sat in the back, pillows at the ready, our feet propped up on small carry-on cases of toiletries. Beth sat in the front passenger seat, her feet squeezed tightly between more luggage on the floor. And Tim sat fat, dumb and happy behind the wheel.

As we followed Aunt Patsy through her quaint neighborhood I could already begin to sense some tension between Sunday and Beth. They were polar opposites. Sunday was exotic, Beth was wholesome. Sunday smoked, Beth didn’t. Sunday was a vegetarian, Beth wasn’t. Sunday was flirtatious, Beth was conservative.

I’m also sure Beth’s fiancé-protection radar was in full swing as well. After all, she had only known Sunday for approximately 24 hours. Sunday was invited on the trip by me and I was someone with whom Beth had only known threw Tim, so her cautiousness was understandable and predictable. Funny, though, that I didn’t see it coming. Actors pride themselves on being excellent observers of human nature, yet I never anticipated the frictioned environment between these two females on the trip.

It just goes to show how much more I had to learn and how much farther I had to mature.

As our daily drives continued, our morning seating assignments would rotate throughout the day. Tim and I handled most of the driving duties. When I drove, Sunday would move to the front passenger seat next to me while Tim and Beth cuddled and napped in the back. On rare occasions did Beth drive and, for the immediate future, Sunday was not allowed to steer our course... at least, not yet.

As I watched another batch of cookie-cutter style homes pass by, I started to grow restless. You know that internal clock that’s forever clicking in your brain? The clock that tells you that you’ll never make it to work on time with the amount of traffic on the road, or that your home team doesn’t have enough time to stage a dramatic comeback… or that you should have reached your destination by now?

Well, for all four of us, that clock began sounding an alarm.

We had spent almost an hour weaving in and out of neighborhoods and side roads and intersections and more subdivisions. Granted, I wasn’t paying close attention when we pulled off the interstate the night before, but surely it didn’t take this long to get to Aunt Patsy’s house. That clock in my brain was adamant in its objection!

I leaned forward and asked Tim, “How much longer to the highway?” Tim offered a bewildered shrug and continued tail-gating Aunt Patsy through one neighborhood, then another. I could tell Beth felt somewhat responsible. After all, she was the one who injected Aunt Patsy into the equation. Beth didn't know that she could be so eccentric, but she still felt responsible and we all began directing our frustration toward Beth. It wasn't fair, really, but we had to release our pent up irritation somewhere and in a car with 300 cubic feet of space, Beth was the unfortunate target.

Days later I would come to understand how uncomfortable it is being on the sharp end of pointing fingers and would come to fully empathize with her current position.

As my eyes began to glaze over while watching Aunt Patsy’s brake lights flash intermittently as we slowed and turned and sped up and slowed and turned, I couldn’t help but think “She can’t be lost, can she? Are we following a blind guide? Our short cut didn’t just turn into a bad Loony Tune episode did it? Should we have taken that left at Albuquerque?”

I sat back into my seat, sighing my frustration just loud enough so everyone was aware of my discontent. Our guide couldn’t possibly be this bad? Surely she understood our current schedule issues and comprehended our sense of urgency, didn’t she?

The question hanging ominously above us all was simply "where the hell are we going?"

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 9, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 8, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 7, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 6, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 5, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 4, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 3, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 2, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 1, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Energy And Politics 101

You know, you hear a lot now about the oil companies making a lot of money and the government is yelling about the need to tax the oil company for being too successful (a windfall tax) .

That's Socialism 101... punish the capitalists when they make a lot of money. Standard stuff from the left... the government is not allowed to tell us how to live our lives, except when that lifestyle generates money, then the government is allowed to come in and take it.

That's Hypocrisy 101.

Now for Reality 101. Do you know how much money the oil companies make from every gallon of gas? About $.08. Do you know how much the government makes off of every gallon of gas from taxes? Between $.40 - $.50.

So, if the government is REALLY concerned about gas prices, they could put a hold on the taxes and we will immediately see a fifty-cent drop in gas prices. But no, lets go after the people who provide the gas instead of the people that don't, but take five times as much profit from the consumer.

The government is so full of corrupt people on both sides of the aisle. It makes me sick.

Do you know why we're more dependent on middle eastern oil now than we were ten years ago (up from 40% - 60%)? That's easy... just answer a few simple questions:
- When's the last time you heard of a new drill site for oil on American soil?
- When was the last time you heard of a new refinery being built on American soil?
- When was the last time you heard about a new nuclear powerplant being built on American soil?

The answer... never. The environmental lobby has squashed any attempt to harvest our own natural resources.

I have one question for the envronmental lobby - How the hell are we supposed to become energy independent when we can't even dig into our own soil to get the fuel that's just sitting there doin' nothing?

Politicians are pathetic. They speak and it's all just a constant hum of white noise lies.

Americans should demand more from our elected officials. But we won't.

And that's Apathy 101.

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 8, The Cock Crows Nine

The next morning we all awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed. It appeared that a comfortable bed and an abundance of food was all we needed to put the wind back into our sails.

Knowing we had a long drive ahead of us, we all quickly heeded Aunt Patsy’s wake-up call, each of us making our way into the shower and then to the breakfast table. It was there, as we devoured home cooked eggs, bacon, pancakes and omelets-to-order, that we noticed the clock on the kitchen oven. The colon splitting the hours and minutes flashed with each second and if you combined those hours and minutes the clock represented nine forty-seven a.m.

In unison we all realized we were suddenly and inexplicably three hours behind schedule.

When we pressed Aunt Patsy as to why she didn't wake us as we requested the night before, she simply smiled brightly and said, “You all looked so tired! I figured you could use the sleep.” It was a nice sentiment, but as I savored my fifth bacon strip I thought and wondered and studied Aunt Patsy closely. Was she sincere in her concern for us or, behind her disarming smile, was she exacting her own sweet revenge upon us for the overflowing leftovers still cooling in her refrigerator from the night before?

The more I studied her, the less confident I became of her evil intentions. If she was being malicious, she was a master of such a deception. In the end, her genuine affection for us and her complete hospitality permanently dislodged any such idea from my mind. She was simply being... well... Aunt Patsy!

One thing was certain, however… it was only the second day of our trip and we were very, very late. We had to get going in a hurry. After breakfast, Tim, Sunday and I repacked the Acura while Beth asked if there was a fast way back to the interstate highway.

“I have a better idea! I’ll take you there myself!” Aunt Patsy exclaimed. For better or worse, we now had an escort. As long as we were quickly greet by an on-ramp and a multi-lane thoroughfare, we didn't care how we got there.

Knowing the hours that laid before us, at this point, Dallas seemed so very far away. Each passing minute in a car traveling under 60 miles per hour was growing tortuous and putting us further behind schedule.

The sooner we reached the interstate, the better.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 8, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 7, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 6, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 5, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 4, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 3, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 2, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 1, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Goin' Out To Cally - Part 7, Is Jackass A Sign?

As Aunt Patsy finished cleaning the kitchen, Sunday continued marveling at the astrological tile work above the living room fireplace. During our senior year I had come to find out that Sunday was a believer in astrology. She felt that all of these signs and stars and whatever else had some legitimate effect on all of us. The weirdest part was that, after a couple of questions she could guess anyone’s sign correctly. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember a time when she guessed wrong. I guess that means she wasn’t guessing at all.

Astrological symbols were sometimes used in character development in acting class, so I was familiar with the signs and their basic personality traits. They were not used in class as any sort of validation of astrology itself, but because each sign had well defined personality characteristics. When researching during rehearsals and developing your character work it was often helpful to assign your character an astrological sign that best fit that role in the play. It was a quick and easy way to have deep character analysis in ready-made form.

Aunt Patsy eventually made her way into the living room and Sunday eagerly began asking her about the tile work, hopeful she would be able to engage in conversation with a fellow believer. Aunt Patsy, however, was 100% southern Protestant. The tile work was put in place by a previous owner and they had left it up because of the workmanship. Not dismayed, Sunday tried to explain some of the nuances of astrology, but her audience was skeptical and tired.

I felt bad for her a little bit… and a bit guilty. It reminded me of a time when Sunday was asking me some fairly basic questions about Christianity. I was stunned that she didn’t know anything about it. “How was that possible?” I thought. In my own immaturity and ignorance, I incorrectly assumed that everyone’s life experiences were equal to my own. When I shared my disbelief with a fellow classmate, Leslie, who was a close friend of Sunday, she leaned into me and said “Why would she know anything about that! She’s Jewish!”

I felt like a jackass. How arrogant and stupid of me to make such assumptions. I realized that I had a lot to learn in college, about people and other beliefs. The journey of discovery never rattled the foundation of my own beliefs, but did make me evaluate them and try to put into place where other religions fit in my limited understanding of spirituality. It was a humbling experience. It’s a journey that I continue on even today.

As the evening wore on I tried to move the conversation toward sleep and tomorrow’s journey. We all agreed that we had a long way to go the next day... our goal was to make it to Dallas, Texas. We all needed a good night sleep, that was certain. But, even more important, we all needed to get on the road early.

We asked Aunt Patsy to wake us so we could be on the road by 7:00 a.m. She agreed and we all made our way to the soft beds awaiting our aching, tired and well fed bodies.

And so ended our first day on our trip to Cally.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 7, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 6, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 5, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 4, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 3, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 2, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 1, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Finding Lost Memories

As I crossed over the bridge of "People Over 40" I thought the toll for such a trip was a permanent loss of memory. Much to my surprise, I had not lost memories, I just didn't have an effective trigger to recall them.

As you all know, I'm writing about my trip to California in 1988. When I returned from that trip I wrote a lot of the events down. I have since lost that information and have been writing about our journey from my weary memory. Last night I searched through my boxes of keepsakes, looking for my notes on the Cally trip, but instead I found items such as my baseball trophies, my one and only home run baseball and various other items, including my junior high and high school yearbooks.

As I scanned through my yearbook I was amazed at how many people I remembered and how many memories flooded back in for ready perusal. People like Jodi Smith, Laura Gonzalez (my first crush in 3rd grade), Robin Banks (my second crush from 4th - 8th grade), David Greenblat, Tracy Steubs, Larry Forbish, Steve Bishoff, Andrea Bailey, Missy Marriot and more. I looked over all of the signatures, only recognizing a few.

I found a couple of pictures of me in the yearbook from our performance of Look Homeward, Angel (including the one here where I try and catch Mike Garcia). It was that performance that made me realize the effect of star power. I played the lead and after the school saw the show people treated me differently. Girls had crushes on me... well on my character, not really on me. At one point in the play, I have a liason with a young woman and we wake up next to each other in the morning (hint, hint). A few days later, after the play, a cute girl whom would never talk to me came up to me, flustered, and told me just how much she enjoyed the play. Then she said "you can wake up next to me any time," smiled and left.

That, my friends, is the power of stardom.

Anyway, my little trip down memory lane was a fun one. I got to relive some of the fun past moments and realize that my brain still fully functioned... it just needed a good kick to get going again.

And I realized one more thing... I have my brother Charles' junior high year book from 1977. I'll have to drop that off next time I see him.

When over twenty years has passed since your high school graduation, pull out the books and enjoy the trip. You'll be surprised how much comes flooding back... I was.