The Weekend in Foolish Attention

Bit and bytes of the week

THE HEAT IS ON! Right now, at this very moment, it is 94˚ outside in Chicago. It’s a very different kind of heat than even 112˚ in Vegas because the humidity makes it feel like I’m walking around in a giant pot of slowly simmering soup (maybe a chili?). But right now, at this very moment, I’m sitting in my studio apartment being cooled off by the ‘droid air conditioning unit my mom got for me last year. Designed for a much larger space, I’m feeling pretty good. Thanks, mom!

REVISITING MY THIRD CHAPTER. Recently, Mick and Jennifer over art the Annoyance Theater went through the belongings sent to them from a long-time friend, Ken Manthey, who passed a few years ago. Ken was a mainstay supporter/performer of both the Annoyance and WNEP Theater and was also a photographer. A number of albums he had were all deep dive pics of WNEP in the early 2000’s and they sent them to me.

I tend to look at my life in chapters. The first chapter was, of course, growing up all over, my mom and sister, a few stepfathers, my grandpa, high school. Chapter two was Chicago and working as a public school middle school music teacher and the first marriage. Chapter three was the theater producer/actor/director one with WNEP and the second wife. Fourth was NPR, Wait, Wait… Don’t Tell Me!, and The Moth. Fifth began with the third wedding and concluded in horrendous fashion with Vegas and the casino. I’m currently navigating Chapter Six and I haven’t quite figured out what that one will end up being but I’m having an awful lot of fun living it.

Checking out these albums was actually lovely (with the sole exception being how unbelievably fat I was back then). The faces, the shows, the tiny Boy’s Town space we made. Some really great memories. I’m not one to live for nostalgia yet taking an afternoon reflecting on all the incredible stuff we got up to in those early days of the 21st Century was super gratifying.

I don’t miss those days—always looking forward, amiright?—but I’m incredibly proud of what we did. Scrappy, independent, and endlessly creative, those people and those shows were worthy of revisiting. Maybe I’ll write a book about them…

This was the site of so much wonderful weirdness…

THE STINK OF DESTINY. The big news of the week eclipses ICE raids, the SCOTUS supporting a state’s right to regulate gender affirming care for minors, and even the upcoming fourth season of The Bear. After decades of diplomatic gamesmanship, thwarted attempts to reason with a regressive theocracy, and presidential plans made and remade, America has finally bombed the nuclear facilities in Iran.

It was inevitable, really. Despite Trump campaigning on entering no wars (and, quite frankly, I believe him when he says he hates war because war is generally bad for bidness unless you sell weapons), he worked in secret (another aspect I find almost unbelievable that the say anything that comes into his head president managed to bluff with his “You got two weeks” rhetoric) and work in concert with Netanyahu to cripple the mullah’s ability to wave a fictional sword while financing terrorist organizations.

The fact that he launched this attack without any Congressional oversight or approval is troubling. True, but Obama’s drone strikes against Pakistan, Yemen, and Somalia circumvented Congressional authority so let’s keep it in perspective. If we want to put the presidential genie back in the lamp, we have work to do.

Later in the week Trump declares the total destruction of Iran’s nuclear capabilities and others say maybe not. This is set to get pretty ugly. I’d like to give the benefit of the doubt but I remember distinctly the preemptive invasion of Iraq based on murky and (it turned out) false intelligence. Bibi has been declaring Iran’s nuclear inevitability since 1996 (“…weeks away…”) so I’ll remain skeptical and unsurprised if this is about oil.

If there is something I want to remember throughout all of this it is that there are 83 million people living in Iran and they are not a monolithic Other. As I say, in a crowd of 3,000, there at least 30 assholes. To assume all of the 3,000 are assholes is a serious error. In the ADHD world of too much information, too fast, we’ve all taken to creating simplistic umbrella terms designed to dehumanize each other.

Are some of the immigrants in this country escaping criminal prosecution in their homelands? Absolutely but not all of them. Most of them are pretty normal folk just trying to live their lives. Are some of the Trans Community effectively bullies and shrieking asshats? Yup but certainly not all of them and most of them are just people looking to live without hate tossed their way when grocery shopping. This is the same for every group of similar humans—cops, criminals, black, white, women and men—some are shitbirds but most are not.

The only difference between enlightenment and a mental breakdown is whether or not you’re wearing pants when it happens.—Me

EMBRACE DISCOMFORT. We talk a lot about “being vulnerable” these days, like it’s a TED Talk topic instead of an emotional crucifixion. But here’s the deal: emotional discomfort is the meat grinder that shaves the cowardice off your personality.

It’s what happens when you sit across from someone and tell them the truth. Not the Instagram truth. The ugly truth. The “I think I’m fucking up my own life and I might be broken” truth. Discomfort is telling your partner you don’t know if you’re still in love. It’s telling your kid you’re scared. It’s not weakness—it’s rebellion against the curated life.

Discomfort might be letting go of the baked in idea that things really suck and that you may be wrong about how dire things are or it may be relinquishing the anxiety about things far beyond your control. It may be having conversations with those who fundamentally disagree with you and finding common ground with those you’ve deemed morally bankrupt.

If you want to be emotionally strong, put your heart on the chopping block and let it sweat a little.

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME. My mom and sister decided to do some contracting work on the house. All Wizard of Oz themed and I‘m currently joining them in Kansas for my trip to the heartland. Some belated Father’s Day stuff, good food, lots of stories and laughter. I’m a bit of a misanthrope in Chicago by choice. Swinging out to Wichita surrounds me with the people I want to be in a room with and it’s my ruby slipper trip every time.

28 YEARS LATER. I haven’t seen a zombie apocalypse movie that gave me the feels but this one is it. Dark, weird, and beautiful. Surprisingly moving. This is the one. Go see it.

RECENT DISCOVERY. The Struts. A British rock band formed in Derby, Derbyshire in 2012. The band comprises lead vocalist Luke Spiller, guitarist Adam Slack, bassist Jed Elliott, and drummer Gethin Davies. Missed ‘em the first time around—influences of Queen, The Rolling Stones, Bowie, and The Killers—but I’m digging them hard just lately.

The Struts are a time machine glam revivalist act. They’re not reinventing the wheel—they’re polishing it, putting it on a gold Cadillac, and driving it through a festival crowd in slow motion. Their music is a glam rock love letter to the idols who taught them that rock and roll is just as much about how you look and move as how you sound.

Like Holst’s Jupiter, The Struts have a song that embodies an aspect of me that anyone who knows me for five minutes can fully embrace:

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And that’s the week! Holy shit, things are getting bizarrely interesting and uncomfortable. Go take a picture of a flower or something and reflect a bit on how most of the things we consider deeply important will turn to dust in almost no time at all. Embrace and enjoy the things and people you’d like to immerse yourself in while it lasts.