Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

friends (what We good for?)

*This began as a response to Muse's insight on my previous post, but I just kept going on and on so...

For the first 18 years of my life, I never lived anywhere for more than 3 years. I never had the opportunity to make lasting friendships. By the age of 10, I could readily recognize the stages of loss where best friends first promised to visit, then vowed to write until, finally, they disappeared altogether. I don't begrudge them- they had lives and friends and... well, we were all just kids. Eventually, I came to accept that friendships were short-term and I found other things to motivate and entertain me. I loved to read comic books and play computer games- particularly roleplaying games. I created dynamic characters, then helped them to develop and grow as they undertook these great adventures. Movies were critical. They took me far away and, although our relationship was a bit one-sided, they filled some big, emotional holes in my life.

I don't think it's mushy or corny to want friends around you. After retiring from the military, my dad has spent years trying to find small town diners or church communities where he might find meaningful friendships. People were friendly, yet they already had their good friends and weren't interested (or needed) to call on him whenever they felt like having friends for dinner or see a movie. The only people that my parents can do things with are sisters and brothers so, after years of resisting, they're moving closer to family.

It's a fundamental need. I've deeply craved it all my life- in my work and personal life. I didn't want to repeat the same stories over and over and re-introduce myself to strangers with the fervent hope that I won't blow it and they'll like me and think to call me when they need to talk to somebody. I'm not afraid to meet new people. Kat and I have tried for years to make new friends in the City. It grows tiring to go to parties and re-explaining yourself to others. I can't tell you the number of times that poor Kat has had to endure my "Theory of Porn" speech or hear another defense of why I think Michael Bay is an assmonkey who should never be allowed to direct another film.

I love having friends who know me well enough that they know my passions so we can have a conversation that comes from the end of my last thought rather than an explanation from the start. I love being able to sit in a room and just enjoy being there with a person instead of filling the empty moment. I love it when a friend introduces me to something new and interesting because they are excited about seeing my excitement. I even love a good tweak to my ego when a friend pokes a hole in an attitude that I've got all figured out. I love my fiancé and there are tons of moments that we share, but it's ennobling to also have friends with different rhythms and ideas who want to hang you with you just because you're You.

It's the same thing in my professional life. When I discuss movies, I want to be able to talk about how Woody Allen's new movie "Match Point" is an interesting return to his directing style in "Crimes and Misdemeanors" instead of explaining to someone who Woody Allen is. I want to work with contemporaries who challenge me as much as I challenge them. I want competition that makes me want to be better rather than frustrate me. I want to hear about other people's choices and discoveries, and root for them to succeed.

I read a story one time about how, back in the 1960's, Francis Ford Coppola and George Lucas talked about buying a big Victorian house outside of San Francisco. They wanted to start a production company, buy some 16mm cameras and create a communal space where artists could mingle and make movies. I don't know whether the story was true but I always loved that idea of having a space where artists could hang out, exchange ideas and work near each other. Painters could inspire filmmakers who inspire musicians and everyone would believe in creating great things.

All great movements got their start in places where various people from various disciplines ate, drank, and partied together. I still hold onto dreams like that and I don't believe they're sappy or unrealistic. It's a quick and slippery beast to catch, though. I've spent years chasing it- moving to one city, then another, hoping to find an open, vibrant community. People don't know their power and can easily get fixated on the idea that they should do it alone. I've found myself in spaces and times where I have glanced the tremendous power of a group of people believing in one another.

My friends are scattered all over the world, now. They all have such vibrant, creative fires but I worry that they are in danger of going out or drifting out of my life altogether. I often get this intense, Catcher-in-the-Rye feeling and I think of that quote-

Anyway, I keep picturing these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean- except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. I know it's crazy.

I want to gather my friends before we all completely lose sight of our dreams- before we fall off the cliff.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

getting my Fix (on tour)

After 4 days of eating, spending and touring the city, one of my best friends and his wonderful wife have returned to the Land of Nebraska. Despite the fact that I have seen Eliot 3 times since graduating from college 12 years ago, he is my best friend and one of 3 people I would have to stuff in my suitcase if I was heading to a deserted island along with the books, movies and all those other "Top 3 Things" I'd have to take with me (I might be mixing my clichéd metaphors here). I could have easily spent the entire time hanging out in the cave, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes and talking.

On the other hand, Kat and I were excited about showing Eliot and Anna our Wonderful City in what might have been a defensive attempt to justify why we continue to live here despite the exorbitant rent and neurosis-breeding loneliness we regularly endure. It's also True that walking friends around New York City has always been a Botox injection of the Soul- it all looks fresh and New! I get to return to places I love but no longer visit, like the Brooklyn Bridge, the West Village, the Lower East Side, etc.. I also get to see a Vibrant, energetic city through the eyes of a newbie- I see it in that wide-eyed way when I first arrived. Like Botox, however, the feeling eventually fades (which is good because our lips don't look that good when they're poofy).

This time, however, things didn't play out the way I had expected. I never found that renewed sense of Pride in my City. Neighborhoods that I loved had changed. Punk and goth kids no longer ringed the Cube statue at St. Mark's Place. Long, glass-encased facades, featuring overpriced food and chain-stores lined a street that once choked with second-hand record shops, funky T-shirts and underground gothwear and videos. Gleaming buildings of million-dollar apartments towered over tenement buildings. I was pointing along streets that bared no resemblance to the artistic havens they once held. I felt as if I were an old man who pointed at where things 'used to be' and reminisced about ghosts of the past that no one could possibly recognize among the people who frequented those streets today.

I realized that I was living in this city, waiting for times long-lost to return. The revolutions of Abstract Expressionism, folk rock, street poetry, punk, glam, vaudeville, the White Way are long, long gone. And here I am, standing at the bus stop, adamant that one of those buses would realize that it had forgotten a passenger and come back to get me. As I get older, I don't want to be a part of a Movement or find immortality through my art. I just want my best friend to be able to drop in, watch a movie, and hang out... and that'd probably be all the inspiration I'd need.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Deckard's Windows of Good(and Bad!)

Well, I've been solicited twice to fill one of these out for others and I saw UrbanMuse had one up and I haven't written a blog this week so...

http://kevan.org/johari?name=Deckard

Give it a shot, if you're interested. It'd help if you've read my blog or know me. I'll post the results as they come in.

Here's another one, but it's not as 'friendly'. I'd actually be more interested in seeing the results of this one...

http://kevan.org/nohari?name=Deckard


Arena

(known to self and others)

intelligent, kind, self-conscious

Blind Spot

(known only to others)

clever, complex, energetic, friendly, loving, observant, searching, trustworthy, witty

Façade

(known only to self)

accepting, reflective, tense

Unknown

(known to nobody)

able, adaptable, bold, brave, calm, caring, cheerful, confident, dependable, dignified, extroverted, giving, happy, helpful, idealistic, independent, ingenious, introverted, knowledgeable, logical, mature, modest, nervous, organised, patient, powerful, proud, quiet, relaxed, religious, responsive, self-assertive, sensible, sentimental, shy, silly, spontaneous, sympathetic, warm, wise

Dominant Traits

66% of people think that Deckard is complex
66% of people agree that Deckard is intelligent
66% of people think that Deckard is observant
66% of people think that Deckard is searching
66% of people think that Deckard is witty

All Percentages

able (0%) accepting (0%) adaptable (0%) bold (0%) brave (0%) calm (0%) caring (0%) cheerful (0%) clever (33%) complex (66%) confident (0%) dependable (0%) dignified (0%) energetic (33%) extroverted (0%) friendly (33%) giving (0%) happy (0%) helpful (0%) idealistic (0%) independent (0%) ingenious (0%) intelligent (66%) introverted (0%) kind (33%) knowledgeable (0%) logical (0%) loving (33%) mature (0%) modest (0%) nervous (0%) observant (66%) organised (0%) patient (0%) powerful (0%) proud (0%) quiet (0%) reflective (0%) relaxed (0%) religious (0%) responsive (0%) searching (66%) self-assertive (0%) self-conscious (33%) sensible (0%) sentimental (0%) shy (0%) silly (0%) spontaneous (0%) sympathetic (0%) tense (0%) trustworthy (33%) warm (0%) wise (0%) witty (66%)

Created by the Interactive Johari Window on 21.2.2006, using data from 3 respondents.
You can make your own Johari Window, or view Deckard's full data.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

reaping just What we sow

Why do people willingly suffer so much compromise in their lives, then Demand that their wedding day be Perfect? Can any soul recall a moment, planned months in advance, that went Just the Way they wanted it and was Perfect? If so, please e-mail me immediately. I went to a wedding last Friday that was Easily the most entertaining, free event that I've ever witnessed. For the bride and groom, it was considered a disaster. Human fallibility, once again, Conspired to bring the best-laid plans to ruin.

A year ago, poor Kat was roped into being a bridesmaid when a close friend and co-worker eagerly announced her engagement with her boyfriend. Kat hadn't been a bridesmaid and knew nothing of wedding culture so she eagerly accepted the invitation. Soon after, Kat's friend got another job and left, then came the familiar progression:

MONTH 1: 'We'll be best friends forever!'
MONTH 3: Oh, we need to do this-and-this-and-this together.'
MONTH 5: 'Ohhh... I'd love to but I've got this thing - but I'll call you!'
MONTH 8: 'Sorry I didn't get back to you in time, but I Miss You!'
MONTH 10: 'Things are crazy. Will send you an update SOON...'
MONTH 13: 'I never got that e-mail.'

Kat had a hard time watching the relationship dissolve away, as all such things do when only one person is available. As her friend became increasingly-invested in buying the Perfect Day, the process only exacerbated the situation. I am an Army brat and have endured these progressions all my life, but you never get used to it - you get clearer at spotting the stages. Kat's situation worsened as bridesmaid duties (expenses) began to mount - the dress she will never wear again, the dowdy shoes that go with nothing else she owns. Kat earnestly tried to keep positive, but when it was announced that the bachelorette party was taking place in Florida, she hesitated. When she was told that it was for only one night and the maid-of-honor tried to solicit her for group-gift money, she pulled out (working part-time and painting doesn't pay the big bucks like it used to).

On Friday afternoon, I left work early, took the 4 line down to Wall Street (the least holy site in Manhattan) and scrambled up and down side streets in search of a church. Only the wedding bells and the white silhouette of an anxious bride preparing for the big walk, pointed me in the right direction. I ducked into a side door, found an empty pew and planted myself at the end furthest from the center aisle.

The details of this wedding are incriminating-enough that I feel compelled to bury them in a piece of fiction far in the future. The previous night's festivities carried over to the wedding day festivities. Let's just say that the following events might have occurred:

groom (hung over from night before) puked During an extended, Catholic ceremony
bride swore blue fire for the next 5 hours
I enjoyed an open bar, salacious gossip, a beautiful view of Brooklyn, and a fantastic meal
bride got revenge by puking at reception
home by 11:30

Ahh... sounds perfect to me!

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

the Envy of a nomad

I watched Easy Riders Raging Bulls yesterday. It's a documentary vaguely based upon a book of the same title. I'd read the book 7 years ago and it was a watershed moment for me. It gave a context to the lives and careers of my favorite filmmakers. I'd never been able to reconcile how the same man who made The Conversation and Apocalypse Now could become the hired hand for such clichéd fare as Jack and The Rainmaker. With the exception of Martin Scorsese and Paul Schrader, all my heroes of American cinema had either died or apparently lost their minds. Although the book gets mired in all the fantastical gossip, it does an exceptional job of framing an era from the mid-1960's fall of old Hollywood through the rise of the Blockbuster in the late 1970's. The book is (shocker, here) far better than the film. The book was despised by Nicholson, Hopper and Spielberg as total fiction (which I'm sure is true for some of the tales). Yet, it's easy to dodge the truth when everything has to be gleaned from one or two steps away. When somebody casts such a wide net of dismissal at a book with a many corroborated truths, it's hard to know what's fiction and what might be hitting too close to home.

Still, the film is a good watch. John Milius's waves a cigar and tries to do his best emulation of General Patton. Richard Dreyfuss delivers the most entertaining recounts of Lucas and Spielberg's directorial style. There's a fleeting glance of Marcia Lucas in the editing room and a great moment where you can watch Cybill Shepherd negotiate a minefield of disclosure as she attempts to articulate her blossoming affair with Peter Bogdanovich while filming The Last Picture Show. The bonus material on the second DVD is, in many ways, more entertaining than the film. There's a great piece on George Lucas and how his lifetime of marketing meetings has resulted in prequels that contain far too many meetings. I loved the title of the Spielberg chapter - The Innocent Savant.

The material hit me very differently this time around. I used to idolize filmmakers of that era and felt betrayed when they seemingly gave up on their art. This time around, I realized what an awkward, privileged lot they were. Like The Ramones on the East Side of NY in the mid 1970's or Bill Gates buying up the first version of DOS for $50,000 at the beginning of the 1980's, these were people who found themselves standing in a giant blind spot of an industry and were smart enough to take advantage. That didn't make them bad people (well, maybe Gates). Their successes don't point to the inadeqacies of the rest of us. They are a fortunate few who happened to have their surfboards pointing in the right direction when a tsunami wave hit... and it didn't hurt that they knew how to surf.

Still, I find myself hopelessly in envy of the community in Hollywood of the late 60's/early 70's. They had found their community - their tribe, as my playwriting teacher called it. The surest path to success, my teacher argued, was to find people who responded to your experiences and fed your creativity. If you're Lucas, Spielberg and Milius standing in a beach house in Malibu, collaborating and competing to make the B-movies of your dreams, then you've found your tribe. If you're Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda, sick of the Hollywood system you've known and ready to do something you want to see, like Easy Rider, then you've found it too. If you have a favorite bar, full of regulars that ask for your writings or can show you perspectives you'd never otherwise see, then you're probably drinking with your tribe.

This is my heroin. I am always trying to return to the euphoria of inspiration and self-discovery through the people around me. There haven't been many in my life and they've been spaced maddeningly-far apart, but I clutch to those memories with white knuckles. People whose faces lit at my appearance, then inspired, engaged and challenged me to give more than I imagined possible. These moments were not just about me, however. We all felt that we were working on something larger than ourselves. My last year of film school as 18 people worked on everyone else's films, sleeping in editing rooms, and never offering a 'no' - always a 'yes, and...'. A year as barfly to a Midwestern college bar filled with writers, actors, directors and two fantastic pinball machines. Two weeks at a screenwriting workshop in Croatia where flutists and violinists of a music school drank, sang and inspired a motley crew of aspiring filmmakers.

Communities can never last, though. By their very nature, they inspire people to action, then consequences and aftermath. Some ascend, others abandon or die. America thrives on the notion of individuality and I love that, but often it breeds a go-it-alone attitude. Portraits of artists often suggest that they exist in some Vacuum of Genius where they alone create. Time and again, I re-learn that the Piss-and-Shitters that I've placed on pedestals are the same sort of inconsistent, insecure flawed people as I.

Now, I just need to find My tribe of flawed people.