Inspiration: A backstory

Reach for the stars... 





Sometimes, when I catch a glimpse of true genius, it makes me feel inadequate as an artist. But, as always, I regroup and carry on. It takes a while, but I always get back on my bike and begin pedaling again. Like the resurrection of my improv "career," a decade in the making.

So I was both happy and sad to see my favorite aspect of Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was right where it was the last time I visited the place a few years ago.

Happy, because it's an amazing glimpse into the impetus of one of the greatest works in the history of rock and roll. Sad, because it reminds me that I may never reach that level. Put another way on one of my down days, it reminds me that I suck.

 



 Intimate stadiums?

Back in the Hall of Fame once again, I headed up the elevators to take another look at the exhibit for Pink Floyd's The Wall.

Turns out, Roger Waters was pissed off at himself. But he's so brilliant, he used his childhood education as a metaphor.

 

 Uh oh, it's magic

 

Leave them kids alone, indeed

 

It's kind of shocking to learn the backstory: He was talking to himself as well as a system that beat him down. Not only was he angry at an educational institution that walled him off, he had internalized that and later built his own wall between himself and his fans.

 

It's hard to blame him. Unless you're one of those egotistical showbiz freaks - I'm looking at you, Bill Cosby - I'm sure it's a very, very strange thing to find yourself adored by millions of people.  

 

People who don't know you, despite the fact that your work makes them feel like they do.

 

 The burden of insight

 

A long, long time ago, a guy named Mike Starcevich told me that the true greatness of improvisation was in "turning your fuckups into triumphs."

 

I think that's the lesson I learned here. The only problem is that I've learned this lesson about 20 or 30 times. So apparently, I'm not a genus jeanius genius. I guess I may never make it into the Writer Hall of Fame, strategically located in Woodfield Mall, Schaumburg, Ill.

 

But this time, instead of getting angry and spitting at myself - like usual - I'm writing this blog post to drive the point home. Let's see if I make the right choice this time.

 

How about you?





There's a peanut on your roof

Peanut Wallenda

I love yard work. I hang outside in the sunshine, work weird muscles that only come into play when shoveling mulch around 33-degree corners, and try not to step in dog poo.

You know, living the dream. The only thing I miss is improvising with funny people. The last part of that sentence is the tricky one. I'll figure it out, but I'd better do so soon before I lose all my marbles. (I only have a few left. One is glittery pink, which I can't stand.)

Anyway, there's been a lot going down in the backyard at 54 Madeline lately, but before I catch you up on everything, I had to stop my diligent work to show you what happened as I was shoveling mulch yesterday.

Just like Batman, kind of

Every now and again, as if it was a ghost floating in the wind, I heard Peanut's meow. I looked around, but he was nowhere to be found. As soon as I would pick my shovel back up, I would hear it again.

"Meow."

Then I looked up. There he was, that idiot.

"How did you get up there?" I asked. "More importantly, how the f*ck are you going to get down?"

So cuddly, so dangerous, so destructive

We figured out how to get him down, but a minute later, he was right back up there.

"Suit yourself, idiot," someone might have said.

Awesome yard art

I... am... Iron... Man!

It's been a while since I've posted pictures of the wonderful yard art around Asheville. That ends right here, right now.

Here's a unicycler located a few hills away from our house. 

Is he alive or his he dead? You tell me.