Rehearsals, Shame, and Bleach

Day two of official rehearsals, and I am wildly in love with the cast. They are all fantastic, goofy people who I am honored to be in the same room with. Not only that, the director is one of the most confident, supportive directors I have ever worked with. More than willing to shake the Etch-a-Sketch and add new ingredients to the performance pot (broooo try some of this PERFORMANCE POT) he fosters an environment of fun work. We're all completely in it together and no cogs are out of place.

Which makes me feel like I can only ride my usual insecurities for so long.

I suppose being annoyed with myself for feeling that way is just extra energy in the wrong direction. I've got a lotta' guilt. Where its from, I don't know...but I know it developed a long time ago. Yeah, the Dad thing certainly was a part of it--and maybe I don't lend it enough credence. Perhaps its time to acknowledge that I've got a touch of post-traumatic somethin' somethin'. At the same time, I feel guilty even saying that. I didn't step on a landmine and lose my lower torso. I didn't get shrapnel to the brain and lose my ability to speak. I didn't get dusted with Agent Orange to inevitably lose decades of my life. I wasn't even privy to it. I guess all of that makes it difficult to hold those feelings of unworthiness up to the mirror of context. It's normal that I feel this way cuz' I lived in fear for almost a year. Adding guilt to the equation creates a powerfully insidious machine of self-sabotage. One I've kept in working order for as long as I can remember. It's the reason I all but gave up on school halfway through each year. The reason I made myself fear failure. The reason I--despite having a generally positive disposition--have the greatest difficulty with 'hope'. Coming face to face with my limits as an artist tends to lead me back to this stuff.

It's all interesting. And yet--I'm so completely done with it.

New paragraph.

I don't leap into cultural phenomenons. I'm very reluctant about them. Maybe cuz like...y'know...some of them don't turn out that well. This means I routinely show up late to the party. I seldom buy current-gen technology, and I don't start watching good TV shows until I've been told about them by no less than 97 people.

SOME stuff, however, I avoid outright.

I was late to the BLEACH party. For those of you with social lives and significant others, Bleach is a Japanese comic, one that falls under the 'Shonen' category. That basically means it's geared toward teen males--and is chock full of ridiculous battles and references to boobs. Still, it's incredibly popular. As in...they've made musical adaptations of it. Four of them.

Dude.

Bro.

Brosef.

So far it doesn't grab me. Maybe if I was seventeen again, I'd really dig it. As of now, I can't really stand the giant sword-wielding protagonist and his always-angry face. 'Fraid my notion of 'cool' includes 'being three-dimensional'.

But hey, maybe there'll be a turn-around. So far I'm not holding my breath. I can only abide so much cringe-worthy anime bullshit. On the serious...if one more character talks about the air headed love interest's hyuuuge tiiits, I might have to stop reading. Not that I don't enjoy me some SCHWEET BEWB ACTION, but I don't particularly care how enamored the author is with the characters he's created. Or rather...I don't really care to know how much the author may want to get all up ons the characters he's drawn. Maybe he does! That's cool! Does it belong in the narrative? That's up for debate. My vote is 'nay'.

Maybe it's cuz I'm an ass man.

Be well, stinky kids.

Love,
Dak

P.S. The rapture is tonight. Glad I built that underground bunker out of empty lunchables boxes.