What's New, Pussycat?

I've been meaning to type out a "general update" for a while now. But I never got around to it. I even had a half-finished (half-started?) Word document saved, which summed up 2009, and told of my fiendish plans for 2010. But that went kaput with my old laptop. So now, I start from scratch. Literally.

I mean "figuratively." Sorry. I get confused.

So. First things first (because those are the things that usually come first): money. This is arguably the most interesting thing in my life right now. Scratch that -- it's not interesting at all. It's just the "biggest change."

Anyhow, I'm working as a paralegal at Disney, in the online film & television anti-piracy group. Which means, I am the jerk who "takes down" any copyright infringing Disney content that's been posted online. If you've ever been contacted by someone at Disney regarding a video you posted online, then yeah, that could very well have been me. Sorry. It's nothing personal...I'm just trying to make a living, bro. I'm not here because I'm passionate about copyright law or anything. I just click the buttons that make the videos go away, and Disney gives me the money.


Arrrgh! Shiver me YouTube.

But, this "new job" begs the question, "Um...so...Tyler? What about acting? Are you giving up? Quitter. You make me want to punch a chicken in the beak."

Whoa, there. Easy, friend. I'm not giving up, okay? I'm just taking an indefinite leave of absence, so I can spend more time with my family.

Just kidding. I'm not doing that. I just like how it sounds.

No. I'm still acting. That's why I moved down here, so why in the hell would I give up on it?

So, to understand my take on "Tyler's Acting Career," I should first explain what happened in the last year, and what I'm planning on doing in the coming year.

So, in several blog posts (far too many, if I recall), I whined, and railed, and cried like a little baby chicken that had just been punched in the beak about how difficult it was to get my SAG eligibility. Like, here, here, here, here, here, and here. In fact, I think I may have talked about how I'm not SAG eligible more than I apologized for "not writing more." A pretty remarkable feat, actually.

But you know what's far more helpful than "complaining about something?"

Doing something to fix the problem.

So, that's what I'm doing. "But Tyler," you wheeze (because you just got back from the gym), "How is 'going to work at a day job' going to get you into SAG? Don't you have to have your days free to pursue acting?"

First of all, shut up. This is my blog. You want to ask me questions, you can get your own damn blog. You can call it "Jibes and Japes" for all I damn care.

Secondly, here's the problem: acting costs a lot of money. Seems like a no-brainer, but it's easy to forget (because, a person can act for free, at any time, right?) But if you want to make money in this business, you need to spend a couple of years losing a lot of money. I guess that's like any business...the problem is, most actors don't approach this profession as if it were a business (unless the IRS asks). Myself included.

Now, unfortunately for me, I was barely treading water in those last couple of months (before I started working for Disney). It got so bad that I had to borrow money from my cash-strapped wife to pay rent for three months in a row. And, at my ultimate low-point, I got my first-ever NSF on a rent check during that time.

Which is a long-winded way of saying: I was unable to pay rent, much less cover the costs of acting classes, headshots, gasoline to drive to auditions, website subscriptions, printer toner (for resumes), etc.

But, even more damning is the fact that I wasn't even auditioning for stuff. Auditioning is free...but somehow I couldn't afford it -- I had to leave all of my days open for background work (which was terribly inconsistent as well...but that's another story for another time). Basically, I was floundering. Foundering? Hmm...let me Dictionary.com that. Huh. Interesting. I'm not sure which one to use here. Was I flapping about uselessly, or sinking? Maybe it was a little bit of both. I was floundering while I was foundering.

Back to the topic at hand: for 2010, I have a plan.

It might not be a good plan. It might be a miserable failure. It might be stupid. It might be really uninteresting, but I'm going to tell it to you anyway. Because I like you, and you smell nice.

First step (huh...lots of numbered lists this blog post): take classes. These include the dreaded "casting director workshops," which are, essentially, classes that involve you paying money to "be seen" by a casting director. It's lame. It's corrupt. It has a very low success rate. It seems like a waste of time and money. And it can be somewhat degrading. But for a schlub like myself, with no acting credits, and no union affiliation, it's one of the only ways to actually get my "foot in the door" at a casting office. I couldn't afford to go to these workshops in 2009, because I needed to pay rent and "eat food." Now, with my new job, I can go...and give myself a chance to, maybe, sneak my way onto a commercial, movie, or TV show.

Second step: write. I need to finish editing my script. I need to finish writing my second script. I need to blog more. I need to read other peoples' screenplays to see how it's done. I need to show my work to other people, so they can tell me if I suck or not. Finally, once I have a product I'm satisfied with, I need to show my writing to agents, producers, and executives. This is a long process, and I'm horribly inexperienced, naive, and (frankly) overwhelmed by the thought of it...but what have I got to lose, right? My life? Sure, I could be killed over this...but it's very unlikely. So, I think I'm going to risk it.

Third step: act. This can be done in a couple of ways -- the easiest being in "online videos that I write and produce." Either that, or I can act in projects that other people are producing. Or act in "theater," like I did last year. I also need to assemble an acting "reel," because it's pretty inexcusable that I don't have one after two years in Los Angeles pretending to be an "actor." But, any way I can, I need to do it. No more excuses...because excuses are like assholes: everyone has one (except for the people who don't), and they're also called "anal sphincters." Did I say that right?

Fourth step: audition. I don't submit for auditions any more. I haven't, maybe, for the last five months or so. I absolutely must start doing this again. I have no excuses, because excuses are like parrots: they're covered in feathers, and they killed my uncle.

Anyhow, that's the plan. Maybe this is just the expected "pump up" that every human being gives themselves on the arbitrary beginning of the Gregorian calendar (and, by the way, can anyone understand this history of the month of February? I've read it four times now...and I still have no idea why Februaray has 28 days, and why it's the month that gets a "leap year") (oh, I get it now. No one knows. Thanks, Slate!).

Where was I? Okay...sorry...I get distracted easily. The point is: I do dumb crap like this every year (see this blog post, for a ridiculously similar optimistic treacle...good God, I'm so predictable). At the end of the calendar year, or the beginning of the new year, I'm all like, "Man, I'm going to make some big ol' fat changes in my life. I'm going to get off of my butt and do something." Then I never end up following through. I guess that's the story of human existence, right? Except, my story is way, way, waaaay more interesting, because it involves me. And I'm totally different from everyone else.

I'm getting distracted again. Anyhow, that's the jist of my plan. It might pan out. It probably won't. But either way, it's a start. And I'm an imperfect being, just spitting out the same encouraging platitudes that better people have spit out since the dawn of man.

Except my platitudes are different. Because I'm saying them. Right, guys? Right?

So, Tyler, How'd You Get Into Acting? (Part 2: The Later Years)

Where did I leave off?

Ah. Okay.

Megan Hunt, and Village Theatre. That whole thing. Okay. Let me go back a year or two, then I'll pick it up where I left off.

So, my mother, God bless her, has always been my biggest fan. I know that's a cliche, and I know everyone loves their mother, and blah blah blah. But my mom is the only person who's seen every stinking acting job I've ever done, from the lowliest student-written one-act when I was in colelge, to the fanciest professional theater gigs.

Honestly, I would never have actually pursued my dreams of "acting professionally" if it hadn't been for the selfless commitment from my mother. Now, she didn't "push me into it," and she was never behaved like those irritating "stage moms" that I got to know and love in my adult life. But at the same time, whenever my motivation flagged (which happens far too often for me), she'd sign me up for classes or auditions, and drive me all over the east end of Lake Washington to make sure I was able to keep doing what I loved. All the while she was working two (sometimes three or four) jobs as a single mother of four. I know, I know, it's a cliche...and I'm sorry for the excessive "mother love" in this opener...but it needs to be said. This whole "acting thing" that I love to do was made possible because of her.

And that brings me to my connection with Village Theatre. My mother concluded that, since I was showing a lot of interest in "the acting," I should take some "acting classes." Another contributing factor was that I, very briefly, had a "talent agent" in the 5th Grade. This agency, "Kid Stars," was located at a big office in downtown Bellevue. The office had lots of glass, shiny desks, big bulletin boards, and professional-looking headshots plastered all over the walls. After reading a monologue for one of the agents, they decided to sign me onto their roster. Over the course of the next year they booked me on a grand total of two auditions -- a "cattle call" for a Sears commercial, and an "Unsolved Mysteries" audition. I absolutely bombed both of those...especially the second one, which involved a lot of awkward laughter, confusion, and flop sweat (I was asked to "improv" a scene, and since I'd never "improv'd" before, I made a complete and utter ass of myself). Anyhow, after these two fails, it was apparent to everyone involved that, in spite of my storied "community theater" career...I was not quite ready to take the "next step."

So, to remedy my severe "lack of training," my mother decided to enroll me in some acting classes. I never asked her to enroll me....and I may have even openly resisted it...but I'm glad as hell that she made me go (it was one of those great "ignoring your kids" moments that parents ought to do more often). One of the first classes that I attended was taught by a woman named Megan Hunt, who was teaching a class offered through Village Theatre's "KidStage" program.

The class itself wasn't all that memorable, honestly. We'd read scenes. We'd do improv games. And, for our "parent showcase," we'd rehearse a few sketches from the movie Free To Be...You & Me. I enjoyed the class, and I thought I was doing pretty well in it.


This is one of the sketches we performed; I played a tiger.

I guess I was doing well, because after the showcase was concluded, Megan approached me and asked me if I'd like to audition for the upcoming Village Theatre production of "Narnia." This would be a far cry from the community theater productions I'd done up to that point, and, were I to get cast in the show, I'd be working at a bona fide professional theater. Megan was, incidentally, the daughter of the executive producer (and founder) of the theater, Robb Hunt, so I had a pretty good "in."

So I auditioned...and holding with tradition, I absolutely blew it. I was awful. I sang "A Whole New World" from Aladdin, but forgot the words about halfway through. That, and my knees were trembling horribly throughout the audition...and I'm fairly certain that my voice cracked (which is a safe bet for any 12 year old boy).

Needless to say, I was not cast. Or called back. Or probably even "thought about" by the casting people once I'd walked out of the room.

Luckily for me, I got a second chance to redeem myself with Village Theatre. Seems that Megan was slated to direct "Bye Bye Birdie" the following summer, for the KidStage summer show. Apparently, the KidStage program also sponsored a separate, full-length show...which was produced, designed, and performed by "kids" aged 4-20. All done under the watchful eyes of Village Theatre.

Well, I don't remember anything about my Bye Bye Birdie audition (honestly...I can't remember a dang thing...and I really tried), but it must have gone well, because I was cast as "Charles F. Maude, the Bartender," among other smaller roles.

I had a blast that summer, and I was hooked. I went back to do the KidStage show in Issaquah every summer for the next five years. There, I met some truly talented and dedicated people, who inspired me, and stoked my love for acting. I still keep in touch with many of them, who (like myself) have gone on to work professionally in the business.

However, there were two definitive moments that convinced me (beyond a shadow of a doubt) that "acting" would always be in my future.

he first happened during the school year, months before I was cast in Bye Bye Birdie. When I was in the 7th grade, I found out that there was a "play" being produced by the choir director (a former beauty queen). This was great news for me, because Kenmore Jr. High did not have theater classes of any kind...so it was a chance for me to be around some like-minded individuals, and show off my fancy acting talents.

The turn-out for the audition was huge...with over 100 people auditioning. I was one of those hopefuls, and I managed to get cast in one of the lead roles -- a jester who opened the show with a monologue (that I still remember to this day, for some reason), and conducted the show-within-a-show. It was called "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Heir," and was intended to be performed as dinner theater.

I'll never forget, though...that first rehearsal. I was a painfully awkward, greasy, acne-scarred, badly-dressed stick of a puberty-riddled 13-year-old. The script called for the Jester character (me) to be "flirted with" by a random female character. The actress slated to do the flirting was named Heidi Schiller...and she was, to me, maybe the prettiest girl at Kenmore Jr. High. And she was supposed to flirt. With me. Whoa.

So we were blocking the scene, and I was fully prepared for (nay, completely expecting) her to either half-ass it, or outright ignore the blocking notes. But no, she jumped right in, and started rubbing up against me, and running her hands all over me. It was, in a word: "totally freaking amazing."

Funny, because four years later, Heidi died in a car crash driving home from a high school football game. I never really got to thank her for giving me some confidence when I really needed it. Too bad.

Okay, sorry, I'm kidding. She's still alive, and we actually became fairly good friends after we ended up going to the same college. But man, the car crash thing would make a much better story, wouldn't it?

I digress.

Anyhow, rehearsals were going great, but unfortunately, the show never ended up happening. One Friday, about two weeks into the rehearsal process, the beauty-queen-turned-choir-director called the cast (of about 70) into a meeting in the choir room. There, in a super-classy move, she blamed the students for not being dedicated enough, and canceled the performances (when, in fact, she'd really just got in over her head with a project that she had been half-assing the entire time).

So, no more flirting with Heidi for me. In fact, for the rest of my junior high career, my extra-curricular activities where limited to sports (and I really hated the jocks at our school), and band (where I liked the people, didn't earn any "popularity points"). The lack of school-run theater pretty much ruined my chances at social interaction from grades 7-9...but that's another story for another blog.

Anyhow, that set me down the path to a career in acting. Moment #2 sealed my fate. This moment occured during the run of "Bye Bye Birdie." At a certain point during the show, I was supposed to cross backstage after one of the musical numbers (let's just say "Ed Sullivan" for the sake of picking a number from the show). It was a pretty small space, so you learned pretty fast how to walk about quickly and safely from point A to point B.

Now, when we finally started performances, I received one of the greatest surprises I'd ever had, up to that point in my life. As I was crossing behind the stage, I walked by a "quick-change" station, where some of the older girls were changing for the next scene. And I got to witness something that would change my life forever. Wonder of wonders...I saw a group of women dressed only in their undergarments, changing for the next scene.

It was...simply put...a revelation. I was hooked.

Because, sure, I love the art. I love the rush of adrenaline. I love creating something I can be proud of. And I love performing.

But most of all, I love the ladies. That's why I do what I do.

Okay, that's not true.

Well, it's partly true.

Fine, it's mostly true. I got into acting to meet women. Happy? It's the same thing that motivated Picasso, Van Gogh, Shakespeare, Carrot Top, Mozart, and countless other womanizing (but talented) freaks before me. And shoot, it worked, didn't it? I married way, way, WAAAY above my station in life...and that was only possible because I met the lady doing a show. In fact, I met all three of my serious girlfriends doing theater. Not too shabby...

So, in my fantasy future, when I'm asked, "How'd you get into acting?" I'll say: "Well, I saw a chick in her bra backstage during a show one time, and I decided that I'd like to see that more often." Might not have the poetry of a more artistically-based response...but at least it'd be honest.

A Follower!

First I was all like, "Holy crap! I have a follower on this blog that I've told no one about!"

Then I realized that it was just me...following myself. It was probably the saddest thing that has ever, ever happened to me.

So, Tyler, How'd You Get Into Acting? (Part 1: The Early Years)

At least, that's what I imagine it'd sound like next time I get booked on a talk show. After a couple of ice-breaker questions, some laughs, some platitudes, maybe a funny sketch or two, the host will lean in inquisitively and...inquire, "So Tyler, how'd did you get into acting?"

And because that'll probably never happen, I've decided to answer that fantasy question on my fantasy blog, and give the answer out to my incredibly limited readership. Enjoy, you lovely bastards.

Well, fantasy interviewer, that's a great question! Honestly, I'd tongue-kiss you if I could, but you're not real. Used to be I'd tell people, "My mom got me into acting when I was 9." And that's mostly true, because if she hadn't dragged me to a community theater audition of "The Music Man," I probably would have spent my high school years as just another faceless "band geek," as opposed to blurry-faced "band and drama geek."

But truth be told, Music Man wasn't the absolute start for me. See, I'd been interested in acting as far back as preschool. My very first "performance" was when I was cast as a leapfrog in my preschool Christmas Program, along with my best friend Eric. I was pretty stoked to be working with some very talented people, on a project that I really believed in. Also, I was glad that I'd stopped peeing my pants two years earlier, making the whole endeavor possible...

But unfortunately I never got to perform as the leapfrog. During one of the rehearsals, I "leaped" a little too enthusiastically and severely strained a ligament in my neck. I had to miss the Program, and I was couch-ridden for a week. That was the first and last time I ever suffered a serious "actor-related injury" (no small feat, since I've seen broken bones, torn ligaments, a seizure, concussions, and countless cuts and bruises since that time).

But everyone does those goofy Christmas Pageant shows...it's not like I had a choice in the matter. I didn't have any dark, sticky artistic blood pulsing through my veins...it was just the regular, boring red kind. Heck, I was far more interested in sports than any of that "creative" junk.

My first brush with actual, honest-to-God "acting" was complements of Mrs. Trull (yes...she was mean, and yes, we did call her Mrs. Troll, and yes, she's probably dead now) who was my 1st grade Music Teacher. The school was doing a production of "Hansel and Gretel" at an assembly, and two kids from each class were picked to portray the titular roles (hee hee). The rest of the class performed "dances" during the scene changes. It was some pretty heady, artistic stuff. I was cast as one of the Hansels, along with 11 other dudes from the other classes. I don't remember the audition, but it probably involved "reading the script." Obviously, I nailed it.

Anyway, since the roles were duodecuple-cast (yes, it's a word), each Hansel and Gretel was given a short scene to memorize and perform. During the actual performance, when the current H&G finished their scene, a new "Hansel and Gretel" would walk on stage, tap the current iterations of themselves on the shoulder, then take their place on stage. I have video of this. I could tell, even back then, that it was pretty hokey. "Why not come up with a reason for each actor to walk off stage?" I asked myself silently. No one heard my protests...because I didn't vocalize them. But I do remember having a problem with the direction of the piece, which I consider awfully advanced for my undersized 7 year old brain.

Hansel and Gretel also involved my first on-stage romantic interest: Elizabeth Chittick. I didn't like her, but I think she liked me (ah...the story of my life). She was notable for living up the street from me, owning a Teddy Ruxpin doll, and for the one time I kicked her fingers through a chain-link fence...which got me sent to the Principal's office. I tell you...I'm good with the ladies. Always have been, always will be.


Elizabeth and I...can't you just taste the chemistry?

But I think my most important "pre-Music Man" introduction to acting was thanks to one Sue Jackson, 2nd grade teacher. Sue Jackson was a recent divorcee, in her early 40s, with two grown children. She was a first-year teacher at the school, and I remember that we did not get along very well at first...mostly because I was a bit of an impudent know-it-all (some things never change).

Ms. Jackson was the first teacher I had who focused heavily on "the arts." We'd write stories in her class. We'd put on plays (that we performed for the 3rd graders in the next room over). We'd paint. We'd write poetry. All of that ninny froo-froo stuff that, for some reason, I was actually pretty good at.

It was in this class that I found my love for acting and writing. Funny...but sometimes you get a teacher early-on that sparks an interest in something you do for the rest of your life...and Sue Jackson really got me interested in acting. But sometimes you get a teacher who tries to enlist your services as a hit man. Or tries to sleep with you. Luck of the draw, I guess.

But Ms. Jackson put us in charge of rehearsing and producing the shows (with props, costumes, sets, etc.). We did several productions, including a short play about The Easter Bunny (I portrayed the Easter Bunny)...and another play about a family at Christmas (I played "Grandpa"). And a play about a princess who was upset about a broken heart (the twist at the end: the "broken heart" was actually a heart-shaped cake that had broken in two...not a metaphorical "broken heart". Who writes this stuff!!!!???!?!?).

It was in that last show that I had my first brush with acting like a "super-diva." I had three roles in the show: The Duke, The Messenger, and The Cook. The first two were fairly big parts, but the last one was a walk-on at the very end, with no lines (where the cook silently brings the "broken" cake out for the big punchline).

A week before we were going to perform the show, Ms. Jackson informed me that she wanted one of the other students (Erin, a shy girl that I had a major crush on) to play the cook. And I....was....devastated. Furious. I cried like an 8 year old. I threw a fit. It was unfair. How DARE she give my role away! Gaaaah!!! (once again, affirming my status as "God's gift to the ladies")

But I got over it, after Ms. Jackson and my mom talked some sense into me. So I gave up the role, and felt some well-deserved diva-shame.

Apparently Ms. Jackson still teaches at Arrowhead. Huh. Guess I didn't scare her away after all...

After my time in Ms. Jackson's class was finished, my lovely mother started me on the "community theater" circuit. In the 3rd grade I was cast as Winthrop Paroo in The Music Man at Shoreline Community Theatre. In the 4th grade I was cast as Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol at The Driftwood Players. In the 5th grade I was cast as The Page in Amahl and the Night Visitors at King'sPlayers Theater. And in the 6th grade I didn't do any acting...because I was "artistically exhausted." That, and I wanted more time to play video games, because I'd just got a Nintendo...and playing it was a fairly high priority at the time.


My heart-felt rendition of "Wells Fargo Wagon," years before
they invented the bank.

But in the summer between 6th and 7th grade my mother signed me up for a class run by a theatre in Issaquah called "Village Theatre." The class was taught by a woman named Megan Hunt, who was the daughter of the executive producer of the theater, Robb Hunt. It was that class that transformed my love of acting from something of an "idle curiosity to pass the time" to a "possible future career." And I'll tell you all about it...in my next blog post. Consider yourself "teased."

Four Bullies (Part 4)

I’ll be honest...I wasn’t totally satisfied with the conclusion of this series. The whole thing just really ended too neatly – the meat head jock befriends the pasty, pimpled nerd, brought together through the magic of theater. It’s too much of a cliché – hell, I’m pretty sure that’s the plot of the new hit television show Glee.

But it’s not real life...I mean, it is, of course, but it wraps things up too neatly. And I realize that I was forgetting one of the biggest bastards that I came across...

Bully #5 struck when I was in the second grade – I’d forgotten about him mainly because, well, I was not the target of his abuse. James was. James McKee.

We were all in a 1st / 2nd grad split class, where the smartest kids from the 1st grade class were placed with the smartest kids from the 2nd grade...at least, that’s how I think it worked. Maybe it was just random. Who knows? Point is, James was one of the "exceptional" first graders...and I was exceptionally second-grade-ish.

Now, James was a really nice kid. A smart kid. Terribly ordinary-looking, really, if a little bit pale (he looked kind of like a cross between Jim Jay Bullock and John Michael Higgins).

James’ only real problem is that he was a bit weird. Okay, he was a lot weird...in one of those “Really Outspoken Nerd” kind of ways. He was also a bit of a crybaby, and easily victimized. Something about this combination drove Bully #5 crazy, and he loved laying into James. Externalizing pent up aggression? Problems at home? Fell in with the wrong crowd? Just a dick? Either way, he tormented James throughout the year, with no real inciting cause that I could decipher.

For instance, after recess, we’d all line up in front of the door until the teacher opened the class to let us in (so she could finish drinking, probably). For no good reason, Bully #5 would kick James in the leg...just to hear him cry out in pain. When the teacher wasn’t paying attention he’d pelt James with balled up pieces of paper, chunks of eraser, broken pencil lead. He was relentless, and merciless.

At one point James and the bully were placed next to each other in class, and that little asshole slowly and methodically inched his desk away from James...just a little bit at a time...until there was a good foot of separation between their two desks. It was the only time he got in trouble, but I’m pretty sure it was just a verbal reprimand.

Because, unfortunately, the teacher was not experienced enough to handle this issue. In fact, she may have inflamed it, unintentionally. One day during class she sent James down to the principal’s office with a note that just said, “Please keep James in the office for a while.” After James left, she talked to the class about how we needed to treat James a little nicer. Of course, it had the opposite effect... only serving to further alienate him from the general population.

The torment continued throughout the school year. James became a social pariah, and the next year he did not return to Arrowhead Elementary School. I’m assuming he was home schooled, or shuttled to another school in the district, or moved away, or something. Either way, I didn’t see him again until high school.

I was now in the 11th grade, and James was in the 10th...and we had an acting class together. By that time I’d been through my own round of bullying, while James had grown into a super-pleasant, nice, funny, soft-spoken young man...who looked even more like a "J. Bullock / Michael Higgins Love Child." James was a Star Trek fanatic (he made an exceptionally accurate Starfleet uniform, and wore it to school on Halloween). He was the kind of kid who’d wear a nice suit to school one day...not to stand out or be different, but just because he felt like wearing a suit.

So we were talking one day, and I said to him, “Hey, James. Listen, I’m really sorry that I was such an asshole to you in the second grade."

Because, see, I was Bully #5. In fact, I'm pretty sure I more of a dick to James than the potent cocktail of Tyson, Jeremy, Ronnie, and Marshall combined. And I'm supposed to be the good guy. Right...?

So after I mumbled out my apology, James paused thoughtfully and shrugged. “I don’t really remember that. I thought we got along really well back then.”

Unexpected. It made me want to kick him again, that pleasant bastard. Not sure what happened to him after I graduated (we weren’t that close), but I’m sure he’s making hundreds of thousands of dollars working with computers...or some-such. Because that's what nerds do when they grow up.

Why did I pick on James? I wish I knew. I know I can be terribly cruel sometimes...I try to avoid it, but I've got too much pissed off German blood running through my veins, or something. Of course, I’d always considered myself a defender of the downtrodden; a guy who skirted the line between “popular” and “nerd.” But, in the 2nd grade, there’s no doubt I was just “popular.” I was a cool kid...and it was at the apex of my popularity that I decided to victimize a nice (albeit strange), defenseless kid. And it wasn't like it was a group of us, or anything. There was no conspiracy to tease James -- I acted mostly alone, for purely dickish reasons. Wish I hadn't. Hope I never do again.

So in conclusion (because how else are you supposed to know that this is the concluding paragraph) what have we all learned? Not a damn thing, except for that, maybe, I’m just a big ol’ raging hypocrite...to write a blog series, leaving out the biggest, meanest, assholiest bully of the bunch. Until now, at least. Well, that’s life, right? Sorry, I hate ending on some kind of hacky, semi-poignant idiom...so instead I leave you with a random verb, followed by a seldom-used punctuation mark: bask`

Poor Defenseless Video Games

Tell me if you feel me on this one, folks. Or remain respectfully silent while class is in session. Either way, dig on this:

Example #1: . b d left-click home shift-0 g s , left-click right-click shift-right-click left-click shift-9 b . b w left-click shift-right-click , left-click shift-left-click 9 h left-click shift-1 . . b l left-click double-left-click shift-2

And so on.

Or

Example #2: left-click down-arrow ctrl-c alt-tab left-click ctrl-v enter left-click print-scrn alt-tab left-click alt-tab left-click ctrl-c alt-tab left-click ctrl-v double-left-click 1 3 left-click

These commands are all issued in the space of, oh, probably 30 seconds, give or take for computer processing time. I get paid well to enter one of those strings. The other I paid $39.99 to do. Can you tell which is which?

That’s right. I’m getting on my high horse about “video games” again. Feel free to disagree, and navigate away if you find the subject boresome.

But video games, in my opinion, got a really bad rap. Whenever “video games” and “children” are brought up in conversation, there’s the “Well, I’m sure they benefit hand-eye coordination. But why don’t they go outside? They just stare at the television like zombies? Not to mention all of the violence that they see on the screen. Plus, the number of hours they spend playing video games could be better spent doing something constructive with their lives.”

No one seems to miss one crucial thing: video games teach people how to solve problems. Not everyone can solve problems -- I've known people who just seem to completely shut down when things don't go their way. When you play a video game, things don't go your way all the damn time. That's the whole point -- video games are just one challenge after another thrown at a person. The "game" part comes in how the person reacts to these situations.

And I think that, since people can't measure "brains" like they can "muscles," these skills get put aside. There's no objective way to quantify a person's "ability to solve problems efficiently," other than through tedious psychological testing. But I think that my years playing video games have absolutely made me a smarter, more effective member of society. It sounds counter-intuitive (how can one learn anything just by shooting pretend guns at pretend demons on a little flashing screen?), but I believe it quite fervently.

So, if you were curious, example #1 is from the real-time strategy video game “Warhammer 40k: Dawn of War.” It’s what’s called a “build order,” which is basically a sequence that you follow at the start of a game to build up your army faster than your opponent. In the example, I instructed my builder unit to start work on a new structure, told my combat unit to capture a strategic point, mapped a hotkey to my base (so I didn’t have to click on the base every time I wanted to issue an order), queued two units to be built at my base, constructed a “boss” unit…and that’s only up to the “shift-9” command.

Conversely, the second string of commands is what I do at work all day – namely, documenting pirated videos online and entering them into a database (I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s essentially entering URL information with a screen print into a database).

One is a (supposed) waste of time, the other is a skill that earns me a good living. But, I tell you what, they sure as hell look the same when I write them out like that. And it feels the same when I'm doing them.

Now I'm not saying we sequester our children in a room with an Xbox controller and a television set. That's dumb, and I'm dumb for even putting that argument out there. Naturally, I fully realize that it is very important health-wise and relationship-wise to get out of the damn house from time to time. Alls I’m saying is, stop shitting all over video games, people. They’re not brain-rotters. They’re not evil. They're mostly harmless...and (in my opinion) they're quite beneficial. Just think of video games as brain training devices – they teach people how to manipulate complex systems effectively, and use given resources to accomplish a goal. How's that for some frigging corporate double-speak for you?

Because (and I may have gone on too long here -- tl;dr), the people I know who boast about the fact that they “don’t even own a TV” or “barely know how to use a computer” are, typically, the most ill-informed, boring people I know (this doesn’t apply to you, dear sweet blog reader…I’m talking about all the other jerk-offs who boast about their lack of TV watching and internet surfing. You're cool; otherwise we wouldn't be buddies, would we?).

Now I know this isn’t solid proof. I'm no sociologist (which is an overrated, soft-science discipline populated with POV-pushing frauds, in my opinion), or psychologist (I got no beef with them). My opinion is nothing, really – just the ranting of an aging video gamer that has a chip on his shoulder. But, I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Am I wrong? A large number of you out their either work for, or will one day work in an office environment. Don’t you want to be the guy who can figure stuff out quickly, and improvise a solution if things don’t get done? Or do you want to be the guy who just has to “get out of the office and take a personal day” because the computer’s not working? Better yet, which one of those two would you want to hire?

Video gamers are problem solvers. That’s all that video games are – a never-ending cavalcade of problems that need to be diagnosed, contemplated, and then solved…as efficiently and accurately as possible. It’s brain training, and, dammit, it’s effective.

Two Sides of a Double-Headed Coin

I appreciate honesty. I do. I think it's become one of my most favorite things. I read something interesting a couple of months ago, that (for some reason) stuck with me.

I decided that I wanted to learn a little bit about the Persian Empire (specifically the Achaemenid Empire). This was mostly because the movie 300 made Persians look totally retarded, and I hate it when civilizations get pissed on for the sake of "story" (sorry Braveheart & The Patriot's England). This is partly because...lost in our weirdo Western way of thinking, this gigantic, dynastic empire with millions of citizens, and a crap-load of scientific advancements, military conquests, and cultural richness has been reduced to a cliche of the "invading alien race" for the Greeks to fight off.

So, to set the record straight, I decided to learn about them the best way I know how -- I looked them up on Wikipedia. Remember when people used to have to "read books" to learn stuff? Aw...poor fools... Anyway, what I took away from my comprehensive, 10 minute spin through almost 2000 years of ancient Persian history is that they frigging loved the honesty. Herodotus, the guy who invented the sandwich, wrote that Persian youths, from their fifth year to their twentieth year, were instructed in three things - to ride a horse, to draw a bow, and to speak the Truth. Lying was a cardinal sin, punishable by death in some cases. Pretty neat...because, I don't know about all y'all, but I hate lies, and people who put on airs.

What does that mean? To "put on airs?" Oh. I see. "Airs" is another word for "assumed manner, affected appearance." Boy, is clicking on links in MySpace annoying, or what?

But, like I was saying, I don't like braggarts and liars. And my chosen profession is chock full of them kinds of people. But, part of me understands it. I can see how it happens. In my adorably hypocritical way, I've realized that there are two versions of "my career." And I will lay them out to you now:

Yeah, things are actually going pretty well for me right now. I'm doing two shows at the Will Geer Theatre (it's an Equity house); Cymbeline and The Cherry Orchard. We've been getting really great press, including rave reviews from the Los Angeles Times, and the LA Weekly. Once I'm done here, I'll finally got enough points to join Actors Equity, and will be doing that before the end of the year. Aside from acting, I've finished the first draft of a great screenplay, and I'm planning on shopping it around town -- see if I can get any bites. I've got several film projects coming up in the next couple of months that I'm pretty stoked about, and I've had a ton of auditions for little films and commercials all over Hollywood. I'm really getting into the "short" format, which is going to be pretty huge for online distribution. In fact, this short film that I wrote is most likely going to be showing in a local film festival in the near future. All told, I've been working solidly for a year and a half as an actor, and only as an actor. In that time, I've managed to book a couple of commercials, and some short films; I even had lines on a cable TV show. I've got an agent who's sent me out for a couple of national commercials this year, I've got good headshot, and I'm making tons of connections. It feels like I'm finally making some serious headway down here.

Well, things have been better, to tell you the truth. I'm doing two plays in Topanga right now, but they're both small parts, and I'm basically working for free for the whole summer -- odds are I'll wind up losing money in the long run due to gasoline and other expenses. Don't get me wrong, it's an amazing opportunity. I'm incredibly grateful to be working there...and I'm accruing enough points to join Equity...but it's been hard to make ends meet during the rehearsal process. I've finished a screenplay, but I'm the only one who's actually seen the entire thing...and I'm deathly afraid that it's probably mediocre...at best. Hopefully I'll be acting in a couple of little "short films" for friends that will get posted to YouTube at some point, but there are no definite filming dates, and these things tend to get delayed...indefinitely. I hope not...but, it's out of my hands. I've shot two commercials -- one that was shown in Ireland, and a local spot that hasn't aired yet. I haven't even managed to get myself cast in a student film (in spite of about a dozen auditions), much less a tiny independent film with an actual casting director, and much much less a paying role with a network or movie studio. I did appear on a deep cable show, but that was really just non-union background work -- they gave me a line to say during the taping, but it's not like it was a real role, from an audition. It was just something tossed off to an extra, who just happened to be in the vicinity. Now, I do have an agent, and I'm very fond of my agent, but his office has managed to send me out on a grand total of 2 auditions in the last 6 months. It's not his fault, of course, because I'm not in SAG, and I haven't been doing nearly enough casting workshops to get my name around town...but it's still discouraging. My acting mostly consists of background work, but I've been having a hard time even finding work in that field...and when I do, it's barely enough to pay bills, much less meet any other "actor" expenses. To be totally honest, I haven't done anything really noteworthy up to this point, and I'm no closer to getting cast on a real movie or television show than I was when I first moved down here. I'll be 30 years old in a month, and kids 5 years younger than me are booking pilots, national commercials, guest star roles...all that. And here I am, struggling to be a "Non-Descript Street Background" on the TV Show "24." A lot of the time, I don't really feel like an actor, and I think...good Lord...maybe I'm just not as good as I think I am...?

Sorry, I got carried away with that "bad Tyler" paragraph a little bit, I think. Too long, Rhoades. But the thing is, really, both of those paragraphs are what I consider to be "honest" (what would Xerxes do...?). Sometimes I feel like #1, sometimes I feel like #2. Heck...I wish I were the kind of person who lived in paragraph #1 all the time...but I'm not. I'm far too critical of any success I may achieve to be able to revel in it for too long without feeling like an egotist. But I try. I try to stay positive. I want to believe that good things will come for me, that I'm destined for acting greatness. But...man...it's tough to keep those rose-colored glasses so rosy sometimes...especially in lean times like this. But, like I say, I'll try, dammit. I'll try...

Four Bullies (Part 3)

Time to bring it home...because I'm sure there are literally thousands out there waiting, with bated breath, for the conclusion of this three-part series.

Well, here it is. Going out with a bang.

Tyson.

I actually always liked the name Tyson. For some reason I thought it would be funny to name my kid "Tyson." Get it? Son of Ty? I thought it was brilliant, and I still do, dammit.

So there were two Tyson's at my high school. One of them was a great athlete who would eventually get drafted by the Pittsburgh Pirates (though he never made it to the majors). I played football with him starting with two-hand touch in elementary school, and going on through the 9th grade. He was the starting quarterback at our high school, and generally an all-around nice guy.

The other Tyson was a douche. I have very few people that I feel this way about, but he was definitely one of them. It's quite possible that I'm not being fair to Tyson. I don't know. I'll let you decide, by way of a very, very skewed re-telling of my time around him.

I can't remember with certainty my first run-in with Tyson. But, from the get-go, I could tell we were never going to be "buddies." Tyson was the prototypical jock. He was the "alpha-male" type. The cocky football-playing meat-headed bullying punk. He was like that blond kid in Napoleon Dynamite:



Apparently the actor who played "Don" was an Air-Force reservist. Tyson was not.

Good lord, he even looked like that kid. Anyhow, Tyson was a popular kid that (from what I can recall) was barely tolerated by the other popular kids at the school. But somehow, through sheer force of meat-headry and arrogance, he was accepted as one of them.

Anyway, the first run-in that I actually do remember was 8th grade gym class, in Junior High. We already covered that I had a hell of a time in the 8th grade, for whatever reason (if I had to pick a low point in my life, that was it). Now, Tyson was not actually in my gym class; he was in another class sharing the gym during that period. So I didn't have to spend a trimester being pestered by him -- just a couple of days.

Because the two gym classes linked for a "basketball tournament." Now, if you'll remember from Part 1 of this series, I suck hard at basketball. The tournament format was "2 on 2", and the hell if I can remember the poor sucker I was paired with. But in the first round we faced off against Tyson and...some other jock-y dude.

Right off the bat things went bad. Tyson's team started with possession of the ball, and for some weird reason, instead of jumping right in and starting the game, he passed me the ball. I thought to myself, "What the hell? Why's he giving me the ball? Is this one of those 'I'll give you the first punch' kind of moments?" So, taking the bait, I turned around to take a shot.

Which made Tyson laugh his high-pitched laugh (you know, the one all bullies have?). He proceeded to (condescendingly) tell me that he was "checking" the ball. This is, apparently, something you do when you are playing a half-court basketball game. The team with possession passes the ball to a defending team member...who then passes the ball back to the team with possession. This is done instead of the in-bounds pass.


Here's an example...about 30 seconds in...

Well, I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that we got annihilated, with Tyson mocking me all the way. But, it wasn't so bad -- I didn't have to deal with the guy every day (as I say, he was in a different class), so aside from some minor embarrassment, I was able to ignore the taunts.

Football was a different story. In the 7th and 8th grade I played Pop Warner Football, and my position was "offensive line." At that age the o-line is where they put the fat kids, and the kids who were terrible athletes. I must have given off the "egghead" vibe pretty early, because that's where they stuck me too.

But the difference was, I was a damn fine offensive lineman. I was quick off of the line, and I made good blocks. I played the interior line (guard) position, and I was rarely ever beat by a defensive lineman. I learned the technique fairly well, but I just had a series of terrible coaches. They were more interested in telling the kids to go out and "bust heads" than in actually teaching the mechanics of the game. I didn't know the difference between a 4-3 and a 3-4 defense! Can you believe that? Stay with me, Erika...this will be over soon...

So, consequently, the athletic rejects on the o-line would launch off the line and bust the heads of the defensive linemen...while the linebackers would just wait until the running back hit the hole, then make the tackle. No one ever told us to block the linebackers. No one ever really told us anything, other than to go out there and hit someone. Stupid.

I've digressed. Basically, it goes like this: I was a good, smart, technical player who never got a chance to show off his ability...because my coaches were awful. Having endured that for two long years, I decided in the 9th grade to go out for the actual Jr. High Football team (no more Pop Warner for me).

I remember the "tryouts." I was put with the second-team squad, while all of the returning 9th graders (the ones who played on the 8th grade school team while I was playing Pop Warner) were on the first-team squad. The coaches put us through a couple of drills, and taught us a couple of plays. Then they had us run those plays over and over. I decided that, even though I was a little under-sized, I'd go out for offensive line again

So as we were running plays, I'd fire off with every snap. They'd tell us to reset, and I'd be the first guy back on the line, and the first guy to shoot off the line when a new play started. Unlike the Pop Warner retards, my Jr. High coaches very good, insightful, smart guys. They called out one of the guys on the first team (poor kid named Jaurdey) and told me to take his place. I did, and I never went back. I was on the varsity squad all through the 9th grade season.

And how it worked was, even though there were about 50 kids on the squad, only 12 kids played on varsity (they'd play "both ways;" on offense and defense). I was one of those 12, and for my defensive position I chose "linebacker," because I wanted to be the guy who the stupid, fat offensive linemen would forget to block.

Problem. Tyson (remember him?) was also on varsity. Tyson was also a linebacker. Tyson was the only guy on that squad who thought I didn't belong. So Tyson tried like hell to make my life miserable

Luckily for me, Tyson wasn't as good as he thought he was...and I was better than he thought I was. So, instead of being able to knock me down "where I belonged," he had to resort to more...well...stupid means.

For example, he'd be the first one to point out any mistakes I'd make. This was not easy for him, though, since (as I mentioned) he wasn't a very smart player. So any time he'd try to do this, more often than not he'd be wrong. But...he kept trying. He'd cackle his little bully cackle and call me out, only to be met by the indifference of his teammates and coaches. However, in his mind I still did not belong...so he kept at it.

Before each game, each position coach would run little "drills" on the sidelines to keep their players fresh. The linebackers had a drill where one person would get a football, and the other person would run at them (from an angle) and make the initial hit of a tackle (without following through to actually tackle the other person). It was all about "wrapping" the ball carrier up...but since we were going to be playing a game, we weren't supposed to actually tackle the other guy, because it could injure them. And really, we needed to save ourselves for the game.

But guess what. I was designated as a "ball carrier" at a certain point, and Tyson was the "tackler." I ran. He chased me down and full-on tackled me. Not hard, mind you, because (as I mentioned) he wasn't great at football. But it was totally unnecessary. Our position coach told him "just wrap up, Tyson". And Tyson made a non-committal noise and took his turn as a ball carrier.

We cycled through again, and once again, lined up against Tyson, I was full-on tackled. The coach asked Tyson why he was tackling, and Tyson told him he was "just getting pumped for the game." But I'd seen Tyson run this drill before, and I was the only one he considered tackle-worthy. Obviously, to me, he was just being a prick.

So, as much as I could that year, I avoided Tyson. He was the inside linebacker, and I was the outside-linebacker -- so it was hard to do. But, since we were teammates, there wasn't a lot of opportunity for him to pester me. And I think he pretty much gave up anyway, because...as I say...I turned out to be a better athlete than he thought I'd be.

I made it through football with Tyson. He never really laid in to me, but he burned an awful lot of calories trying to tear me down. And for whatever reason, he seemed to enjoy picking on me. It's not like I ever did anything to make him mad, other than to "exist" in his realm of influence, hence...he was the most prototypical bully I was to come up against in school.

This made my heart sink when I took an "Acting / Improv" class in the 10th grade, and saw Tyson walk into class on the first day. Acting was something I'd always loved, and Improv is something that completely depends on a level of comfort with your fellow actors. I couldn't avoid associating with him now...he'd be there every day. Just waiting for the chance to embarrass me.

It came immediately. First day. We were "introducing" ourselves to the class. Each member of the class was to go up front and say a little bit about themselves, then the class was to ask them questions. Like an interview, except with your classmates running the show.

I got up. I happened to be wearing a simple navy blue t-shirt that said "GEORGE FOX COLLEGE" in big bold letters. So, I introduced myself. And got to the question and answer phrase. Tyson's hand shot up.

"So...have you been to George Fox College?"

"Oh." I looked at my shirt. "I've never been. My sister goes to school there. She got me this shirt."

"So...do you like George Fox College?"

I get it. He's making fun of my shirt. "Sure. It's okay, I guess."

"Do you want to go to George Fox College?"

"I don't know."

Mercifully, someone else jumped in with a question, and we moved on. I actually kind of felt embarrassed for him at the time. He did one of those stupid "snicker and look around the room" moves, but no one reacted to him. He was the sole "popular" kid in the room. There was no one to back up his mockery. He was in my world now.

So I took a few more questions and we moved on. Over the next couple of days we did some simple improv games -- freeze tag, what are you doing?, story story die...all the stuff you learn in amateur improv classes. I was one of the better actors in the class, and I noticed that Tyson pretty much laid off me. I'd have scenes with him, and it was as if we were any other improv scene partners. It was pretty remarkable. He'd laugh at my jokes, and vice versa.

After about a week of this, we did this exercise where we were supposed to blindfold one person, and have another person lead them all over the school. Each member of the class was given a partner. Naturally, I was paired with Tyson. He was blindfolded first.

I led him around, joked around with him a little bit, and he joked back. It was bizarre. This kid that I'd lived in fear of for about three years was laughing and joking around with me. After about 10 minutes of this, we switched up, and it was my turn to take the blindfold.

Alarm klaxons fired off in my head. This was the douchebag who thought it'd be funny to tackle me before a football game. The kid who hectored me relentlessly during a game of pickup basketball. The kid who made fun of my shirt in front of the entire class. Now he was going to be leading me around the school, blindfolded?

But my compliant personality took over, and off we went. There were a lot of kids around, because the first lunch period (of three) was being taken. Some of those kids were my friends, and they started messing with me. One of them grabbed at me (with Tyson laughing the whole time). I reached out to push him, and accidentally punched 6'7 center of our female basketball team in the boob.

I only found this out afterwards, because I was blindfolded. Also, after I punched her blindly, she shoved me hard into a wall...and I took my blind fold off to see who I'd hit. Tyson laughed the entire time...this time out of amusement, not derision. It was pretty funny -- getting my blind-folded ass kicked by a girl, who was 7 inches taller than me, and outweighed me by a good fifty pounds.

Of course, the trimester eventually came to an end, and we each retreated to our separate cliques. Tyson and I didn't become any closer friends, because he was still an asshole...he just wasn't an asshole to me any more. This was the first of many times where I found that, if I just found something I was passionate about and did that thing, I'd somehow get respect from people.

But after the 10th grade, I never had a problem with bullies. I still traveled in the same social circles -- I enjoyed the company of "nerds," but really found more of a home with the "smart-asses." I was comfortable around the popular kids, but I never really hung out with any of them (not that I ever really tried, or wanted to, though).

And I just started doing the things I really liked doing. I stopped playing football after the 9th grade season (the highschool coach tried to recruit me...but I wanted to play in the Marching Band far more than I wanted to be around meat-heads like Tyson). I got into drama. I was a good drummer, and an even better actor, and I think that kids that age can still appreciate talent...even if they desperately want to find something to ridicule. I know that it worked for Tyson -- if he'd have never seen me in my natural habitat, he probably still would have tried to bully me throughout my high school years. But we all grows up.









For me, that was a big part of it. Find something you like, and something you're good at, and just do that thing...and people will respect you for it. Even jag-offs like Tyson.