II. Opening Sequence: The Revelation
I encourage you to give it a read. Granted, we all know reality has a sad ending, but I’m sure Mr. Lathrop is at peace, hanging out and having a beer with Lou Gehrig.
A few years ago, while I was working at the nursing home, our boss would incorporate weekly team building activities into our weekly meetings. The activities did not include walking over hot coals, falling backwards into a crowd of your peers, etc. Sometimes the activities were worksheets, team games, or a presentation. There was one presentation, and it was the last one. Each of us in the finance department had to write a two to three-minute presentation about what they mean to Loretto, how their role is valued by Loretto. We could write, do a PowerPoint, sing, rap, draw a picture… the sky was the limit.
Like Piven’s character did for Cusack’s in Serendipity, writing him an obituary, I took it upon myself to write not an obituary, but a eulogy. Go big or go home, kids. I took my guitar in and played lightly in the background as I read my own eulogy. The presentation was give-or-take nine minutes long.
I was one of the 13 grand kids to speak at my grandmother’s funeral, where I seemed to stay/speak longer than I expected. Not to toot my own horn, but a lot of people came up to me, telling me I did a great job.
Passion. Do what you have to do, or want to do, knowing that it’s appropriate and justifying.
This is not going to give me the opening to continue on, asking the cliched rhetorical questions: What are we all doing here? What is this life for? I am not going to preach: We must live life to the fullest. Just be yourself. Live each day like it is your last.
I’m just looking for personal passion. Passion leads to confidence. The more one is constantly passionate, the more confident one becomes. You would think…
Even if you are most miserable person on earth, be passionate about it, because your desire for misery will only make you happy. Irony? Who knew all that self loathing would do any good?
Confidence, the word and aspect, has been a recurring word lately. Last year, it really came into play when I was unemployed. I went in for an interview, and it was the least intimidating interview I had been on. In my opinion, it was a significantly important and interesting job when you compare it to the insurance companies. The question that really struck a chord was: What do you imagine yourself doing?
I answered the question with a “practical” answer, alluding to marketing and public relations.
The interviewer looked at me, hands folded and pointer fingers erect elevating up to his lips, and he stated, “Really.” It wasn’t a question, but just that one stated word.
The interviewer continued, telling me he would have answered that question by admitting to the interviewer that he’d be traveling the world, teaching. In a sense: go big or go home. The interviewer and I had that in common, traveling and wanting to teach. He had done so, and he had looked through my resume (as pitiful as it seemed). After talking to me, getting to know me, the interviewer utilized what I had given him to invent a great idea, a great answer, a great realization, and a great dream.
Who wouldn’t want to do so? The following interviews, I used the big, bold response when it fit in. It generated conversation, not interview questions…
III. The Original Opening Sequence
Hi, I’m so-and-so. I’m a first-semester freshman, and I live on campus. I would really like to take you out sometime. No one owns a car, so I’ll meet you in front of your building at a specific time. I will call you from the call box that is right outside the main door, and you’ll have your roommate come and let me in, because you’ll be busy getting ready. I’ll have to wait in the hallway, right outside your door for a few minutes while you show-and-tell outfits and discuss what-not-to-wears. Then, you’ll go down the hall to the bathroom to do who-knows-what, and I’ll have to sit in semi-awkward silence as your roommate comes and goes out of the room a dizzying amount of times. Your roommate settles in, and the conversation is generated. You’ll finally be ready, and we’ll take the bus from campus to Downtown Oneonta where there will be plenty of Italian/pizza places to choose from. We’ll sit and talk, conversation driven by residual high-school-mindset cloudiness.
IV. Continuing On…
That was a terrible opener, and I have no idea where I was going with that. I knew where I wanted to be, but I was looping around, going east to hop on the main road to take me west, just because that on ramp is closer when it really does not save time, backtracking when the route isn’t as convenient as–
I love using the Monty Python interruptions.
Needless to say, I was going to totally scrap it.
I have been in constant motion these past few weeks. It seems that way. Sacrificing a hour from a normal night’s sleep on top of not sleeping very well to begin with, is tormenting after a few weeks and then we are rounding the corner to over a month. I’ve been taking on more events for work, obtaining newspaper and television moments, speaking on behalf of my boss… I’ve been on a roll. Aside work, I’ve been taking an active part in re-establishing friendships, finding a new place to live, playing more guitar, writing, finding the artistic aspects of Syracuse and enjoying them, anticipating concerts, anticipating Yankee games, anticipating camping, and finally figuring out who I am and what I want. There’s more than that last sentence. The list could go on, and the items could broaden.
Similar to how everyone else feels: there arent’ enough minutes in an hour, blowing up the idea to the fact there isn’t enough time in a day. Unfortunately, I am not willing to sacrifice sleep, and I am going to reference my hitting the snooze button with God’s-wrath-like fury this morning. If you want to wake up passionately, do so. Wake up with passion, to passion. Over exaggerate sluggishness, or accentuate excitement by springing up through the covers and bouncing upon the bed. Me-rethinks that latter notion to display a Scrubs-ish segue of me bouncing upon the bed to only crack my head partially through the ceiling, falling immediately back to the bed with my hands cradling my noggin.
The only thing worse than that–there are plenty of things worse than waking up in that sequence–would be a mariachi band playing the ditty from the remake of The Heartbreak Kid. That would be torture.
Know what else is torture? That damn red-eyed bear from the Snuggle commercials. If you had to cuddle with that thing on a nightly basis. Look at Child’s Play: when Chucky’s head spins around, revealing to Andy’s mother that he is downright possessed. Scary. When that stuffed bear is sleeping with you, it spins its head around to look at you, asking you “Aren’t your sheets Snuggly soft?” I will voluntarily jump out the window. No need for a ginger demon doll to assault me with a hammer.
That friggin’ bear was on television again last week. I almost spit out my Cheerios. I thought I was rid of the creature for good. Not only did the bear–
As I was saying: not only did the bear remind me that I have been lying to myself, thinking a fear of snakes held the first spot on my list, convincing myself that the fake animal was the true number one fear, but I realized the act of my walking stealthily down the laundry aisle at the grocery store.
V. Just Like the Movies… We Play Out Our Last Scene
As I keep living…
(That’s how I was going to start this?)
The more and more I watch movies, I cannot help the fact that of my turning more into a cinephile.
(Better, but it still sucks…)
Just let me write.
(Poor guy. Carry on.)
I love stories visually playing out and characterization. I love plots and cinematography. However, before the product is displayed upon the big screen, there are ideas and scripts. There are words. I love every letter of the damn alphabet. I love the process of writing. I love writer’s block, but I love when the thoughts stream out of me.
I get choked up when a preview comes on, and my realizing what preview it is yields my getting choked up. It’s similar to the mystic experience when you watch a sunset or enjoy a lake by floating upon a raft, when you make that initial connection with a pet just by staring into the animal’s eyes, or laying in the middle of a baseball field and staring up into the stars. If you’re that charismatic of a person: it’s that damned love-at-first-sight.
When I first saw the preview for Across the Universe, I had no idea what I would be experiencing for the following couple minutes. Jim Sturgess starts the preview with his singing an a capella version of “Girl” by The Beatles (one of my favorite Beatles songs). The thought progression went: 1) I know that song! Excellent!, 2) Whaaat…, 3) Oh. Wow., 4) My holding my breath, 5) Sympathy, 6) Passion, 7) Desire, 8) Want (thou shall not want), 9) Eyes watering, and 10) Exhale (end of preview).
I have yet to see Midnight in Paris and Beginners. I am feeling the same about the coming Ruby Sparks, Paul Dano’s character, a writer suffering from writer’s block, creates a story about a girl who he would fall in love with, who would fall in love with him, and she comes to life. A muse in reverse, maybe. The movie is from the director of Little Miss Sunshine, and I try to associate with any film involving the minds behind that movie. I like movies a little absurd, but tangible at the same time.
It gives me vigor. I am excited. As I keep living…