Paper Thick Walls

Stretching Thin, Tying in

/ nicholasdaletaylor / Leave a comment

Once again, I’ve managed to neglect my own writing for over two months. I could easily say that I’ve been busy with multiple things but who isn’t right? No one’s interested in excuses so I’ll just write.

Pensive Me and R2D2

I give myself a hard time about not being focused. I just love so many things. Don’t I gentlemen?  Seriously, I adore my friends and their music and continually support them in anyway I can (check out www.paperthickwallls.com); film and theatre remain my absolute passions without question, and dance but that’s too much work. I still try to keep up my piano and trumpet skills on occasion; my sketch group Awesomonster still meets every week for our comedy podcast not to mention I work every day at either Robot City or the International Academy for Performing Arts as an instructor for singing, acting and, randomly, robot building. Plus, I’m a sucker for enjoying my leisure with dorky video games, oh, and I love my books; that’s enough semicolons.

This is starting to sound whiny. “Oh my life is such hard work, woe is me,” I promise that’s not it. I just want to do too many things. The footage I’ve recorded from the last year alone is enough to keep my busy for the next two. And I keep hearing, “What’s holding you back?” and “Get an agent already.” Alas, here I am blogging, entertaining the idea that someday I might pair my words together in such a way that I might achieve the beginnings of a comparison to a future Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs (my life has equally compelling stories, they’re just a little more Harry Potter in nature). So, while I fancy being a better writer I understand my volume isn’t high enough to have gained the experience points I need to reach such a level. However, what about all that I other stuff I do?

Some way, my feeling stretched thin this long is going to pay off in end. Perhaps, everything will tie in together during my next big push to revolutionize global thought. Wait… but when was my first big push? Another life I guess.

Just for sake of writing and because I miss doing it, I’m bringing back Nick’s Picks. However in the world that relates to all this other stuff I’m doing, I don’t know but people have told me they miss it and I like giving people what they want… most of the time. Maybe I should fix that and become a hedonist… but what about my favorite quote:

If there is no struggle there is no progress. -Fredrick Douglass

My life is like a robot. There’s a lot of little parts and eventually I’ll see how they all go together to make this monstrous, awesome, musical, beautifully creative thing (yes, my robot would play music).

Friends and strangers everywhere, raise a glass with me over time and space. Here’s to the struggle. Cheers to progress.

Orange Tree and the Lost Key

/ nicholasdaletaylor / Leave a comment

Almost time for reflective memories to fill our minds as abundantly as falling leaves from orange trees.

I remember one of our unforgettable moments during the shoot for We Grew Up Here. We were in a field on the border of Hartford and Upland, Indiana. We had pulled over both vehicles, unloaded our coolers into the shade and captured our first shots when a red truck pulled into the scene. Turns out it was the owner of that particular land and he simply wanted to make sure we weren’t hooligans.

Filming continues, scenes are underway and I notice Andrew and Stef talking a ways away from set. I knew something was up or in this case down, down on the ground. “I lost the key to the van,” Stef says. “What?” I ask. The key was in her front t-shirt pocket and fell out somewhere in this hay-covered field. “Don’t tell Kevin. He will lose his mind.” Kevin did need to focus on shooting. We were losing light. Caleb was recruited into our efforts and everyone began trying to save our day.

I’m standing on Caleb’s back so I can reach through the crack in the window. My arm get’s stuck. Caleb pauses. “You’re joking right?” “No,” I say in a little bitchy rush. Caleb calms me, “Just relax or you’ll make it worse.” That’s what I say to all my lovers. My arm is free, the door now open. “Great, here’s the registration. Have Andrew call his friends to see if he can get a key made for the van,” and I go back to our vast film field.

While Andrew Neel is calling god only knows I lie to some of the crew saying that I lost my house key. Now I have some helper eyes to find this key we all need. I let Kate in on the truth. She’s like, “Oh shit. What are we gonna do?” We start looking. Soon my lie is caught, the truth learned by all and Kevin flips out. “Oh great, now we’re fucked.  Why the fuck was the key in your front pocket,” he asks Stef. “O.K. calm down, let’s all play a game called needle in a haystack,” I suggest trying to counter the dark cloud forming over Kevin’s head. So here we are, searching, for a key in hay field.

“The Gods keep telling me it’s by the orange tree,” I share with Kate. We’re both searching by the orange tree and I’m literally thrashing my hands through the field like two rake heads. I whisper a childish prayer. A tuft of straw moves to reveal a sing silver circle. I place my finger through it and pluck a shiny key from the field. A scream of jubilation and all heads turn my way. Kate hugs me, “Yes!”

Stef returns with Andrew from their plan-b expedition. “You are a life-saver,” she says “I felt like I was gonna pass out and throw up everywhere.” We hug. We all hug and many smiles and a couple of smokes later we wrap with the Upland field.

Small chances can return great joy, no matter if the light of day has almost passed. Here’s to the poetry in life, finding a single lost key underneath a makeshift orange tree.We Grew Up Here

Fitting In Two Lives

/ nicholasdaletaylor / 2 Comments

Depressing FaceLots of paper today. Paper with a mixture of happy and unsettling renderings. I just came from seeing my first live magazine, The Paper Machete podcast. Everything unfolded at The Horseshoe bar at 3:00. A very new acquaintance of mine Brian Quinn walks in, pulls up a seat and a man named Chris starts lip singing and dancing on the bar. Chris makes his way onstage to introduce the show’s first guest. As Brian could stay for literally, only a few moments he takes leave to go teach class and I’m left sitting with my best friend and the reason I came, Kate Schell of Paper Thick Walls.

We are privy to the readings of great personalities, writers entertaining on ranging subjects from politics to science to political science, from wars to sports and songs of various sorts from humble, very funny men and women, some with depressing news. One lad even sang a song about depression. The puppet (Chad the Bird) said his name was Brad, Sad Brad Smith. Yes, a talking puppet spoke about the Fox mole and later a Neo Futurist, Noelle Krimm embodied gluten. Closing with a grey, articulate reality concerning the near eleven year war was the eloquent Dr. Matthew Schmidt.

The band played their two sets and after pressing through Eric’s breaking a string, his “A” string specifically, the group breaks down gear; hands are shook throughout the lucky space, backs patted, smiles shared and we’re all on our separate ways. “I love you guys,” I say to Kate and Eric as I’m walking my way to the Irving Park bus. “Love you too,” she says. I’m walking. Where is it? I’m patting my pockets now. Duh, I have my phone, music is playing. Am I headed in the right direction? I always do this, get turned around when coming out of a new place, then just pick one direction and commit… until I realize I’ve gone the wrong way. “Love you!” Kate yells as she drives by, Eric at her side. “Love you too!” Oh, here I am. It wasn’t the wrong way. This bus will never come.

All too quickly, I’m off the bus, heading to the store to get some contact solution; I’m out. I pass by this man, crumpled over in his wheelchair right outside the bank. Grey wisps of hair float over an orangish, reddish jacket. I see him but I don’t see him. At the store, I turn through a revolving door mirrored by a former, closeted lover. I won’t say his name but let’s call him John Summers. “John Summers, how are you?” I ask. Such a long moment in less than a second. His eyes recognize, dart slightly, and lose slight color as they’re now covered by his own shame, guilt for his having a same-sex encounter. Next the guilt is masked by anger and dismissively he says, “Good. You?” Without stopping the walk I share “I’m good.” Such a second; my eyes spoke their own volumes.

Reese WitherspoonI have my contact stuff and am almost home. The man in the orangish, reddish jacket is being loaded into an ambulance. I take off my wireless headphones, a little shocked. Did I just walk by a dead man moments ago? Was he just injured or passed out? Why didn’t I stop to see if he was all right? Have I really become that far removed from being able to see when someone needs help? Here in my musical word he was only taking a nap. “People are idiots. That’s what they are, 90% of people are idiots,” the girl behind me is saying to her friend. “It’s true and don’t be sad for the idiots just be glad you’re not one of them. So I was like… blah blah blah.” Her voice trails off.  I was thinking what an idiot. What an idiot I was to have walked right by and not seen this picture in truth, an old man ignored by all of us idiots.

I try to put light back into my thoughts, hoping the best for this stranger. “Nick.” Who said my name? I turn. Oh, it’s Matthew Ellenwood and the other magical people next door. We hug. “Why so dressed up?” He tells me they had just presided over a wedding. Keith, whom I could also appropriately call Mr. Green, says “We’re on our way to the reception. The men ask me what I’m doing Monday evening. “Why?” The Brotherhood of the Phoenix is meeting at his house for a class on “defining magic.” “Well I have a lot to say about that,” and I check my calendar. “I’m in group on Mondays.” “Maybe next time.”

Yes, group, continuing therapy after my successful sixteen weeks of one on one with Aren M. Drehobl, the staff psychotherapist. Leaping off point with no segue I’m reminded of two quotes from very different characters, Vanessa Lutz (played by Reese Witherspoon) and Arthur C. Clarke:

“I do got trauma huh?”

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

It’s probably easy to see which line fits in which life but it’s not always as black and white off the paper. Now, here I could go onto define magic in my own fashion, explaining how incredible an evening podcast filled with expressions of depression lead to an encounter between an ambulance and an old man, while wrapping the whole freeway of life together with a nice magical bow and call it synchronicity. Yet, I’m nearing 1,000 words on this digital paper and so the page will pause while I go off to spend more time with the people of A Thousand Novels. During the commute I’m sure to think of where each mentioned face has walked and what they’ve seen on the way. Or maybe I’ll end up focusing on the newly married couple or perhaps Reese and Arthur and how different they remain. Different as ever, fitting in two lives.