If Wil is right, then this is a good sign:
04/24/2008
08/31/2007
04/02/2006
Mystery Hotel (*updated)
Several years ago, I found this picture at a flea market and for some reason, it captivated me. I bought the matted black & white photograph for $1.25, without any information about it. It was simply an old photo in a bin of old photos, unlabeled. I was transfixed by the scene captured by the photographer: Two men stand in the lobby of what appears to be a hotel; they are posed as if they are waiting for guests to check in; the detail in the shot is remarkable, even under a magnifying glass. Here's what I can tell you about the photo, thanks to the help of a small, 8x magnifying photographer's lupe:
-There is no signage (that I can decipher) clearly stating the name of the place, however one of the calendars on the wall is from "THE IOWA STATE TRAVELING MEN'S ASS'N." I couldn't tell you what that means, or even if that necessarily puts this hotel in Iowa.
-Based on the other calendars, the photo was taken on August 2, 1920 at 10:16 in (what I'm assuming was) the morning.
-There are four visible spitoons on the floor.
-"7-20-4" Brand Cigars are for sale in the display case at the front desk. These were Union Made cigars produced in Manchester, NH. They were .10 cents each.
-The two men might be related, but it's hard to tell if the younger man is the son of the older man. Both appear to be employees of the hotel.
-Based on the wear on the floor and the overall look of the accumulated clutter on the front desk, I don't think this picture was celebrating the opening of a new hotel. It looks to be at least twenty or thirty years old by the time this photo was taken.
-There are more clues. Click the thumbnail below to see the notes I added to the scanned photo.
I know some of you are mystery solvers out there. I've been working on this one off and on for about five years. Every time I look at the photo, I scan it for more clues. Anyone think they can solve it?
Any other observations?
Click here for the larger version.
*MEME ALERT
-Wil Wheaton e-mailed me and suggested I also turn this into a creative writing meme. I like that idea. Take another look at the largest version of the picture and if you're feeling inspired, write a <300 word entry about it, and then trackback. If we can't crack the mystery, we can invent one.
1. Otis' Story
I'll post developments after the cut....
03/30/2006
a snapshot or two
In the summer of 1991, I walked into a photobooth kiosk in a quiet little indoor mall area at Canobie Lake Park in Salem, New Hampshire. I was dressed in a white oxford and bad tie, because I was working on that overcast, mid-summer day. The park was desolate, thanks to severe thunder and a fast approaching rain storm, so I took advantage of some downtime by sneaking into the photobooth by the food stand known back then as "Stand #1." Park employees were strictly forbidden from doing such things, although most employees were high school or college students trying to make a little extra cash in the summer, and none were likely to rat out a photobooth infraction. I knew where the people that mattered were, and none of them were around. I remember very specifically having the sudden urge to document a piece of my timeline. I wanted a picture of me, in the middle of a work day at the place where I wound up spending four and a half summers. I've been thinking a lot about "the road" in life lately, and to put it in those terms, I wanted to remember, good or bad, a period of my life that I knew I would one day look back on as a piece of that road. Perhaps these pictures are proof that some chunks of the road should remain UNdocumented:
Notice the swoop of the hair. And the golden brown fryolator tan. And the horrible built-in Polaroid picture quality suck level. And of course, the bad tie. What the picture doesn't show, is the Bass Bucks and the Z. Cavaricci's and the Motorola radio hanging off my belt.
"Stand 9 to Shane? We're out of Fried Dough."
I scrambled out of the photobooth, checking around quickly to make sure that no one was paying any special attention to the employee taking pictures of himself for a buck a piece. I can't imagine what I was thinking with that hair style. It almost looks like there was a blow dryer involved, but I'd deny that if pressed.
Just to give you an idea of the visual timeline, the polaroids were taken a few years after this:
Senior Picture, 1989
A few years before this:
My first headshot, 1993
And probably the summer the same year as this:
Funneling Keystone Light, 1991(?)
Whoa, how'd that get in there?
There's something official and timeless about a photobooth picture. Next time you see one, sneak in and document a piece of your path. One day you will look back, for better or worse, and wish you could return to the moppy hair, and the itchy sweater, and the naivete, and the resilience, and the worries that would be no sweat if you had to face them with what you know now.
Or maybe that's just me.
I guess I could live without the sweater. And the tie. And maybe the Shaun Cassidy hair.
Anyway, you get what I mean. Since we spend our lives constantly looking out, sometimes it's nice to capture a look back in and hang onto it.
If nothing else, it's good for a laugh and a shake of the head as you think to yourself, "Did I really look like that?"
The proof is in the pictures.
01/30/2006
12/30/2005
11/22/2005
10/24/2005
pink is the new shoes
Thanks to Aunt Corey, Lucy has a brand new pair of pink Chuck's. At two years old, this kid is already way cooler than I ever was.
08/10/2005
07/29/2005
07/20/2005
the alliance
Few things shatter the concentration like the wailing cries of a fussy 21 month old mixed with the dissonant yarks of a recently adopted dog (puppy). It's impossible to ignore, really. That's not to say that I sit here ignoring the cries of my practically helpless daughter, but as anyone with children knows, sometimes babies simply cry because they're in the mood to cry. And yell. And shriek like wild tree monkeys.
The best way to get my daughter to scream, it seems, is for me to start writing. The dog and Lucy apparently have an arrangement where if one of them isn't up to the task of breaking my train of thought, the other fills in. Currently, it's the dog's turn. He's barking at some other dog three houses down in an elaborate language of annoying loudness. It's a neat system the baby and the dog have, and very efficient in its simplicity; the basic goal is to keep daddy from writing things. If it gets to the point where I can block out the dog, the baby chimes in with a scream for "Cookies!" or "Elmo!" or "Doggie!" As part of their agreement, Max responds to her calls by knocking her over in his exuberance, sending her into further fits of horrific, dramatic wails of mock disbelief. I salute them for making it work. Babies and dogs are brilliant allies.
Still, there are tricks. Dora the Explorer might as well be called Dora the Pacifier. It's like putting on a half an hour of peace and quiet. The dog, although not a fan of computer generated animation, seems to understand that the dog/baby pact is off when Dora is on, so he resigns himself to the couch, waiting for the half hour of peace to expire. For the whole show, he looks at me with a glint his eye that says:
"Enjoy this. Baby and I will reunite to destroy whatever roll you get on, sucker."
He always calls me sucker, and if I'm being honest, I resent him for it . I mean, where does he get off? He's living on borrowed time, the way I see it. I want to tell him that the only reason he's even alive is because we fell for his little act on adoption day, but he doesn't listen. He doesn't even understand one word sentences like, "No," and "OFF!" so I doubt he'd be able to get a firm grasp on, "I'll ship your ass right back to the kennel where dogs disappear if you don't stop your incessant barking in that back yard!" Plus, that might upset Lucy, and that would mean that they would get revenge on me as part of some new plan that's even more powerful than the arrangement they have now.
He just walked in. I know he knows I'm writing about him and he and the baby just exchanged knowing looks. She nodded at him as if to say, "Yes doggie, I see him too. I am biding my time." It's becoming clear to me now. She is the mastermind in their relationship and he is no more that a hired goon doing her bidding. Touché Lucy. Touché indeed.
Oh shit. Dora the Explorer Senora is within minutes of ending, and thus my funtime is almost at an end. Even as I write this, she is kicking my shoulder as a reminder that in just minutes, I will be pulling crayons out of the dogs mouth or changing a diaper that's holding more piss than a fat trucker. It's coming. My roll is coming to an end for now.
I will try to post again in between fetching cookies (for both of them), shouting about the barking and removing dog food from Lucy's hair.
Max actually fits into this family perfectly.
07/15/2005
the pretty street
Yesterday, I spent a few hours a couple of blocks from my old hood near Sierra Bonita and Sunset. I hadn't planned to spend a few hours there, but I arrived late to an audition for Target (which, I can confidently assure you, I will not book) just as the camera operator was going to lunch, and was therefore forced to stick around until he returned. Luckily, I ran into an old friend from The Groundlings and we grabbed some lunch at Toi on Sunset.
He and two other friends just sold a pilot to Comedy Central. It's always nice to hear about friends succeeding, but it's impossible not to feel that twinge of panic as peers rise up around you. It's irrational, I know, but it's there. I'm certainly not one of those people that likes to see others fail, but I get all stressed out when my friends start to take off. Even though people will tell you over and over again that this town is not a race, it sure does feel like it lots of the time.
These guys are actually very deserving of the good news of course, so I can keep my irrational panic about my own career at bay and simply revel in their good news. After about an hour of lunch, we returned to the casting office at 7700 Sunset and waited another half hour. You'd think that waiting all that time would have given me time to kick ass in the room.
You'd think. Luckily, I amused myself by recording Spec Audition #2 on the way home. As is probably obvious, it doesn't take much to amuse me.
Finally, I need the help of the Trekkers and/or Trekkies for this last question. As I believe I've mentioned here, in addition to my most recent obsession with the new Battlestar Galactica on SciFi, I've has an even longer recent obsession with TNG on Spike. In TWO recent episodes, they went to a cutaway of the same extra listening to an announcement made throughout the ship...an extra who looks suspiciously like Brian from the Sprint ads. Judge for yourself:
I did a quick search of the web and could find no reference to it, and since Trek fans tend to be...well, thorough is the word that comes to mind, I thought for sure somebody on some fan site would bring it up. Nothing. But I think it's him. And weirdly, they used the first half of the shot for one show and then like 4 episodes later, the second half for another. I know it's not uncommon to recycle cutaways, but it seemed strage to see it again since I actually took the time to do a quick digicam screengrab the first time.
Oh my god I'm one of them.
07/13/2005
07/11/2005
07/10/2005
doddie
It's been almost eight months since we lost our first dog, Ali. She gave us ten great years, and it took us a long time to adjust to life without a dog.
I must admit, there are some terrific advantages to a dogless life:
1. No shedding.
2. No shitting.
3. No barking at noises.
4. No chewing books.
5. No kennelling every time we want to take a trip.
6. No dog hair covered cars, furniture, clothes, life.
7. No need to rush home to "let the dog out" or "feed the mutt."
8. No whining (from the dog, at least).
9. No need to buy dog food or dog treats or dog toys or dog bones, etc.
10. No chance of ever having to go through putting down another dog.
But those things are minor inconveniences compared to the love and energy that dogs bring into life. Our daughter is absolutely obsessed with dogs. The sight of any dog, even a picture of one, elicits from her excited screams of, "Doddie! Doddie! Oooooh! Doddddddie!"
So my wife and I decided that it's time again to be dog owners. Today, we made a trip down the road to one of the largest pet adoption events in California: The Best Friends Pet Adoption Festival. Both of us knew that at an event like this, with hundreds of homeless dogs looking for homes, there was a good chance that we would walk out of there with a new family member.
We were right. May I present....
"Max."
Max is the name he was given by his foster owner. Apparently, he was discovered in South Central Los Angeles in pretty rough shape. She told me that he had oil stains all over him, suggesting that he was living under cars. He's had all of his shots, he's neutered, chipped and just under eleven months old. I think the fact that he's a whippet mix (just like Ali was) made it easy for us. (That, and the fact that he licked Lucy's face when he saw her.)
After taking him for a little walk around the place, my wife and I discussed it.
"What do you think of him?" I asked her.
"He's so cute," she said with a look in her eye that answered my real question.
"I think we should take him," I told her.
"Me too," she agreed, "let's do it."
The place was crowded, and I as I looked around at the other dogs on display in tents and cages, being ogled by hopeful owners in the bright sun of Los Angeles, I was suddenly aware of the trajectory this dog's life was about to take. From the oily cement under cars to a happy life in the suburbs.
We walked back towards the volunteer.
"We really like this dog," I told the woman. "What's the next step?"
The festival is made up of shelters and individuals from around Los Angeles County that save dogs from being destroyed. The woman who brought this dog is not affiliated with a shelter. She rescued him herself and brought him to try to find him a home. I expected her to ask us to fill out an application and then schedule a home inspection. Unfortunately, many times at these events, people get impulsive and decide to take a dog without giving it much thought. For that reason, organizations that are working hard to place these dogs in good homes want to make sure that the placement is a good fit. Not only do they want to make sure the dog is going to a supportive, loving home, they don't want to get the dog back in a couple of weeks and have to start all over.
The woman began, "Well, you can fill out an application..."
She started to look for the applications and then stopped.
"You know what? If you want him, you can take him."
My wife and I looked at each other. "Really?" I asked her. She smiled and told us, "You guys have already been dog owners. I'm not worried about you."
If it felt right before this, at this point it felt like fate had been with us all along.
"How much do you charge for adoption?" I asked her. I remembered that Ali was $65 ten years ago, so I was prepared to pay anywhere from $50-$150. In my mind, it's more than a fair price for the people that give so much of their time and effort to save these dogs...not to mention the cost involved in spaying/neutering, feeding, shots, etc. These people are heroes.
She shook her head. "Nothing."
Now my wife and I looked at each other in disbelief. Not only had we dodged paperwork and a home inspection, we were getting a free eleven month old beautiful dog with all of his shots.
"No way. We're paying for the dog. How about if we make a donation?" I asked her.
"A donation would be great," she told me. She then asked the booth next door what the name of their organization was so that we could make the check out to them. This woman donated our donation to another shelter. I was shocked and amazed at her generosity.
We wrote a check, thanked the woman as she said a hasty goodbye to her foster dog, and then we walked the newest member of our family towards the car. Lucy, who by now had seen enough dogs to render her disinterested, barely noticed the white dog walking with us.
When we got to the car, we loaded Lucy and the stroller and then opened the back door for "Max." As soon as she realized that Max was coming with us, a huge smile appeared on her face:
"HI, Doddie!" she said as she reached out to him. He licked her hand and she said with a laugh, "Hi!"
I guess we'll always be dog people. The good in dog ownership definitely outweighs the forgettable bad.
07/03/2005
06/19/2005
06/15/2005
holy free wireless batman
I decided to follow the advice left on the back of a construction sign by creating a blog entry from a bench outside of the Apple Store in the Century City Shopping Center (recently renamed a Westfield Mall). Apple has a WiFi signal in their store, and I'm assuming since I'm a loyal Mac guy, they won't mind if I take advantage of their password free wireless.
Before we moved to Manhattan Beach, we lived around the corner from this mall, so it always provides me with a sense of familiarity and comfort. We adopted a dog at a rescue event here, almost ten years ago. I missed the opening of the Apple Store here by about 4 months, but thankfully they seem to be opening one in a mall nearby in Manhattan Beach as well.
I had an early audition today, which gives me a rare afternoon off. I'm going to go see Batman Begins. I've wanted to see it ever since I saw this image projected on a building in NYC:
So far, my worries about dying in bad underwear seem unfounded.
04/28/2005
Danzig the Gathering
Last night, I went to see Danzig Barefoot at the Acme Comedy Theatre in Hollywood. Glen Danzig came out and danced, barefoot. It kicked ass.
Oh wait, no. I meant to say that Wil Wheaton read selections from his book, DanCING Barefoot. It was really fun. I had forgotten how well-written that Sponge Bob Vegaspants story is. Wil was a hit. If you've never seen him read one of his stories, you really should. It gives the writing a whole new level.
I met up with my friend, Matt Corboy...
After the show, I met Kathleen from blogging.la and also met everyone's favorite Ninja, Jessica Mae Stover. As I snapped the above picture of Matt, Jessica asked me:
"What are you doing?"
I snapped about four pictures as I adjusted the settings on my camera and told her, "I'm blogging this."
Jessica Ninja joked that we'd never make the cut on her blog. (Wait, maybe that wasn't a joke.) Then I complimented her on the design of her weblog and lamented that mine was yellow and bockety. She gave me shit for having a calendar on my sidebar.
Matt and Jessica and I parted ways outside of the theatre after hanging out with everyone else for a few hours.
I warned them...
"Tonight when I get home, I'm gonna blog the shit out of you guys."
And now I have.
04/19/2005
reverse the curse
This picture is better suited for the Mirror Project website, but I liked it enough to keep it for myself. I especially like my chin sticking into the top right of the frame. I took this in the elevator of the building I'm working in.
Click it for a bigger version.
04/18/2005
limitless future
It's been almost a week since I've seen Lucy. Every second I'm not with her reminds me of how lucky I am for the time I do have with her. I'm one of those dads that shows pictures to people who don't ask. I never thought I'd be that guy, but I guess having a beautiful kid turned me into one. I mean look at this...
Come on. How can I not share that?
04/15/2005
the tao of foosball
My wife is back east this week spending some time with her family, sharing the baby with everyone and getting her fill of New England in the Spring. She's a high school teacher and this week happens to be Spring Break. Of course I'd rather that she and Lucy be around here, but since they're not, I've been enjoying living on my own schedule. Last night for example, at around 10pm I met some friends at a local bar in Santa Monica named, "The Daily Pint." They have a foosball table. I love foosball.
If you've never played the game, you might be inclined to think it silly. After all, it looks pretty boring; four players manning moveable rods lined with little plastic men trying to score a goal. However, there is an art to exceptional foosball play. I've seen people make shots that seem absolutely impossible. It's one of those games that you watch and wonder, "How can anyone get that good at something like THIS?"
I realized yesterday what it is I love so much about the game. Obviously, the skill involved makes succeeding at scoring a goal rewarding, but the best part of foosball is that it keeps you focused on what's happening in the game and in the moment and nothing else matters. It's a game about being in the present. That little foosball is the only thing that matters. There is no planning or strategy. Foosball is about "right now" and it is a wonderful escape; a mindless obsession with trying to either shoot or block a goal with a little orange ball using a bunch of plastic guys.
No spinning, no scoring with fiveman, goal's gotta be clean, no scoring on your own net.
Take a pull off of your beer and let's play. 0-0.
04/13/2005
plane talk
I wrote an entry on the plane coming back from New York called, "I'm sitting in Seat 20C on United flight #17," but most of it is total horseshit. One bad thing about trying to write entries from a remote location and promising yourself that you will publish them later is that you always want to edit. In this case, it's probably something that should go in a private journal rather than a public weblog (Perhaps a few of my recent entries are in that very same category). Anyway, here is an excerpt from my musings at 30.000 feet (with the LCD screen dimmed low so that my economy class neighbor would have trouble reading my thoughts):
I really, really miss being an actor. It took me a long time and a lot of sacrifices to get to a point in my life when I could finally tell people, "I’m an actor," without being ashamed or embarrassed by it and this job I have now is forcing me to rethink my entire career. I’m beginning to wonder if there is room for both careers in my life. Other than one audition for Bernie Mac, I’ve read for nothing for almost 9 months(by choice). Each day that goes by makes it harder and more daunting to go back. Do I want that? I’m so looking forward to putting up sketches for the next ACME show so that I can get onstage again. Watching my friends on SNL perform at the highest level made me incredibly envious. These are people I used to perform with at The Groundlings. Why does it seem so long ago? I’ve been telling myself all this time that my "temporary" career switch has simply been a diversion; that I’m gaining experience and credits as a Producer so that I can one day create my own shows for myself; another way in. After smashing into the brick wall of casting offices and pre-reads and botched auditions, I figured there must be a back door somewhere that I could sneak into. I’ve been trying to convince myself that this path I’m on now is an alleyway towards that back door, but what if it’s really an alleyway to the front door of another building? What if I’ve given up my place in line at the “Actor’s Building?” More importantly, who cares? Why is it that I’m doing all of this anyway? Am I so starved for validation that I need to get onstage and have people clap to tell me they like me? Isn’t that the whole point of blogging too, by the way? Maybe it’s just another stage to flex and gloat and seek validation when it comes right down to it, and deep inside maybe I know that and I don’t care.
Hmm. As I re-read it now, I can provide an important answer to at least a couple of my questions:
I enjoy acting. I enjoy blogging. Everything else aside, if I didn't enjoy both of those things, I'd move on to the next career or the next hobby. Is there a validation I'm seeking in it all? Sure there is. Hell yes, there is. I won't bullshit you and say that I maintain a weblog purely because I love writing, because that's not entirely true. I perform onstage to get a laugh or applause from an audience and sometimes I write here to get the online version of the same thing. That's a fact.
But I do love the writing. I love self-discovery and I love pushing myself a little bit more each day. I love having regular readers and I love having a dynamic forum to have something of a conversation with a nebulous (and modest) 200-250 or so readers each day. It fulfills something in me; maybe my ego or maybe just my desire to connect with other people. Or maybe it just satisfies the writer in me.
I don't know exactly where I'm headed in my career, but hopefully I can manage to keep doing all of the things that make me happy because in the end, no one should put off their own happiness for very long, no matter what the reason.
04/11/2005
live, from NY
We showed up at NBC Studios at Rockefeller Center at about 10:30. Last time we attended a taping, Elisa and I sat in the studio audience. This time, because the studio audience was packed, we watched from backstage in Will's dressing room. It was much more exciting than sitting in the audience. One of the unique things about SNL is that it actually is a live show. For that reason, backstage feels more like that of a theatre than it does a TV show. Actors race around changing and running through lines, props and costumes are readied as commercial breaks approach, and the energy is exactly the same as it is in the backstage area of every play I've ever been in. It's alive and thrilling. Of course, the stakes are a bit higher when your stagetime is being broadcast live on National Television.
Green Day fucking ROCKED. Each time they played, Elisa and I ducked into the studio to hear them live. Sometimes you just need to hear a band live to know how good they are. I have to get their newest CD.
The show was funny. I laughed at the monologue. I knew she was going to mention the show, so that was cool to hear. I LOVED Robert Smigel's Michael Jackson animated short. The elephant man bones puking was sheer genius. I also laughed pretty hard at the Gibb Talk Show sketch.
After the taping, we joined the caravan of limos over to the after-party and the subsequent "after-after party."
"I had fun" would be a massive understatement.
I got back to the hotel at 7am.
I love New York.
04/09/2005
NYC
There's something about New York.
Part of it is that you drive around in the back of a cab and you can feel the history around you. There's a certain security in the knowledge that the city has been here long enough so that everything is pretty well figured out. It may not be the most efficent city in the world, but I think it's the most stubborn. New York is set in its ways and I love it. If it weren't for the Yankees, I'd *really* love it.
Our flight was unbelievably fast. We flew directly into JFK from LAX and it took about 4 1/2 hours. Lucy slept for most of it, which made the travel quite a bit easier. You may (or may not) have noticed a lack of pictures here since about February. I lost the charger for my Canon S110 Digital Elph 2.1 megapixel camera, and I've been telling myself that it's time to upgrade to a 5 megapixel. I loved that little Elph, but I've now, as of today, moved on to a Sony Cybershot DSC T-33. So far, I LOVE it. I snapped the above photo from the window of our hotel room in Columbus Circle on the 50th floor. There's a bit of a glare from the hotel window, but it'll give you a rough idea of what we're looking out at. I'm excited to start posting pictures again. I think it livens up any weblog. The weather is perfect; high 50s with a nice breeze. It's just enough to feel like early spring in the Northeast and not enough to warrant wool of any kind.
As great as New York is during the day, it's even more enchanting at night. The lights and the energy and smells; bars open until the early morning; steam trailing out of holes in the ground; it's all like being on a giant, perfectly dressed movie set. I wonder how long it takes to lose that feeling once you actually live here? There are parts of Los Angeles that have never lost that feeling for me. Sometimes I look around in LA and I still can't believe that a place like it exists.
The hotel we are at has shoddy free wireless internet and perfect $15/day ethernet. I opted for the solid connection. As I get older, paying money to avoid frustration is becoming more and more of a habit for me. Time is definitely money, and given the choice, I'd almost always rather part with the money than the time. It's a nice little room. Here's a look at the desk I'm using to type this:
Tonight at 10:30, Elisa and I are going over to the NBC building at Rockefeller Center to see the taping of SNL. Will called today to assure me that we'd get in, so we're all set! I'm really looking forward to tonight. Something tells me we'll be out late.
I'll try to get some good pix of NYC.
03/28/2005
extra, extra!
Rifling through a box of old pictures, I found these. Early in my career in Hollywood, I worked for about 8 days as WFS' Stand-In on a CD-ROM game called "Starfleet Academy."
My original account is here.
If you look closely, you'll see my good friend (because of that job), Matt Corboy in the bottom picture. Matt had a regular role on "The Shield," and is currently a host of "The Professional Poker Tour."
Does anyone know anything about the uniforms they put us in? What era are they from?
All of them were authentic...in fact they had last names of the actors who originally wore them written inside. Of course, knowing nothing about ST at the time, I didn't bother to pay attention to the name written in mine.
Anyway, I had to post these. I looked for them when I originally wrote the 1997 blog entry and had no luck finding them. So, now here they are.
Proof that extras and stand-ins often move on to bigger and better.
the voice travels ten years...
"27 March 1995
5:31pm Monday
Dear Shane,
Here I am at the Middlebury Inn (obviously) in Spring 1995. I hope that the past ten years have been kind to you and Elisa. Maybe your dreams have come true, or maybe they remain in the future. I'm sitting on a bed in the hotel watching TV as the sun sets in Vermont through the window. Tonight we are going to watch the Academy Awards hosted by David Letterman. Elisa would like to say hello to you --> My dearest Shane- I hope that when you open this I am right there with you & we're happily married with a baby or two. :-) I love you & I love being here in VT--but look forward to everyplace we go together!
Now, I haven't read that, so I don't know what it says. I'm worried about losing my hair, but I guess you know whether or not my fear is grounded. Both of us plan to move to Los Angeles by June 21 and we'll see where that leads. Watch out Hollywood. We're nervous about the move. Well, time to wrap things up. Wish I had more time, but I guess, in a way, if you're reading this, I do (did). We're on our way to eat somewhere and spend more $. Oh, to be rich...
Best of Luck in the Future--
Your friend
The March 27 1995 Shane"
I got home from a night of work and then poker with friends in the wee hours of the morning of March 27th. I had actually forgotten about the letter until I arrived home and noticed it sitting on the desk. Part of me wanted to wait until morning to open it, but when I looked at the clock I realized of course, "It is morning."
I slit the top of the envelope carefully open with a knife from the dish rack. I was careful not to damage the contents of this message from myself, and as I broke the ten year old seal on the envelope I felt a rush of excitement and melancholy. I've been looking forward to opening this little time capsule for ten years, and suddenly with the flick of my wrist, a cheap kitchen knife was slicing into my past. I was careful not to damage the contents with the knife. The letter itself was folded in thirds, with a blank piece of "Middlebury Inn" stationery wrapped around the actual letter. I carefully unfolded it and removed a magazine print ad tucked inside.* I wasn't interested in that. I wanted to hear my voice from 1995...
As I read the words, it felt like time hadn't passed. The words were foreign and yet unmistakably mine. I noticed immediately that the letter was only one sheet of paper, front and back. Halfway through reading, I wished that I had written more. After reading and re-reading it several times, I let it all sink in.
Elisa's words, ironically, gave me the biggest shivers. The sentence she wrote to me was filled with so much hope and assumption at a time in our lives when everything was about to change for us. We were planning the move to California, we were going to live together for the first time, we were freshly engaged, and we had no idea how things would turn out. Somehow, we made it to where we are now and her hope for us back then has materialized. We are happily married with a baby. Her dreams for us have come true. What more can you ask for?
As for my words to myself, I think I left it vague on purpose. I've achieved many of my dreams and I'm still chasing others (some date back to at least 1995). My worries about going bald were a waste of time. I have a full head of hair. I wonder how much time I stressed out over that in '95? I do remember thinking that if I started losing my hair, I'd have no chance as an actor. I fancied myself a leading man type when I was 23. (The reality that I was actually more a "guy next door" type would hit me after a few years of auditioning in LA) Either way, back then I thought bald = no work as an actor. Of course, that's not at all true. (Actually, if I were balding I might get more work on the "character" side of the casting world.) Anyway, my balding fears from back then are now finally allayed. (But who knows what the next ten years holds?)
My wife and I agree that it would have been nice to hear more from me. I think I'll write another ten year letter and be as detailed as I can about what's going on now. I'm going to look back on this time now and wish I could revisit it. By writing a detailed, heartfelt letter to the future, I can grant that wish to myself for at least the time it takes to read the words I (write) wrote.
After all, if reading a ten year old letter can keep the version of "1995 me" alive as I read it, why wouldn't I write a good long letter from me today? I want to remember this time too.
*Included in the letter to myself was a Calvin Klein ad ripped out of a magazine. On one side is Kate Moss, and the on the other is a topless model in white jeans. (bonus points if you can identify the model) I'm not sure why I included it, although I do vaguely remember putting it there. I doubt there was any signifigance. I think "ten years ago Shane" was just giving "2005 Shane" a little gift of boobies. Much obliged younger Shane...we think alike. Although next time, I prefer my women a little more Kate Winslet and a little less Kate Moss. I'm not really into the waifs. Just an FYI.
03/21/2005
smooth down there
*Photo by Steve Wrubel
This picture is 7 or 8 years old. Some of the people in it and I got together last night at a restaurant right next door to the Acme Comedy Theatre in Hollywood called Amalfi. There is a core group of us that get together whenever Steve and Lucy come into town. (Lucy is the one holding the beer can and Steve took the photo.) Steve and Lucy used to live here in LA and then moved to Italy for a couple of years. When they returned, they settled in Lucy's hometown of Dallas. Although I'm happy that they've found a great life in Dallas, I do miss them quite a bit. Lucy and I were in the Sunday Company of "The Groundlings" back before the turn of the century. Through the years here in Los Angeles, my best friends in town remain the friends I met at that theatre. Lucy is one of the best of those friends and her husband Steve is equally cool.
It wasn't a big group last night, but the two of them have been in town all week so there've been several opportunities to catch up with old friends. Last night, we sang 80's karaoke with a live band. It was pretty fucking fun.
Sometimes it's not until you are away from people for a while as a group that you realize how far everyone has come individually. Back in the late 90s, we were all struggling actors and writers spending dozens of hours a week together putting a Sunday night sketch show up. Since then, some of us have drifted apart as we each pursue our separate goals, but each time we get together, it's like a reunion.
It started with a level 4 class at "The Groundlings." In level 4, the end of the class is marked by a final sketch show in front of an audience and other company members. It's a one-time performance, which is an accumulation of 12 weeks of writing and rehearsing. After that show, there is a vote to determine who moves on and who gets cut from the program. All of us were great friends by the end of the class. We decided, even before the vote came down, to take our show out and produce it at another theatre for a limited run. The photo at the top is the promo shot we did for that show. The flyer looked like this:
It was a huge success. What was originally planned as a 6 week run turned into about 13 weeks. It was a springboard which would send us all of on different trajectories. I'm pretty proud of that group. Google a few of them to see where they ended up. It's a pretty impressive leap for a bunch of then struggling newbies.
Although we have all forged our own separate paths over the years, it's such a thrill to get some of the old crew back together. Gatherings seem harder and harder to coordinate as the years go by and all of our individual roots take hold in new places, but each time we make the effort to get together, it's always as simple as picking up where we left off. I'm sure you have friends like that.
I'm sure glad I do.
03/12/2005
Hayley Pyle: part 2
I already had a weird obsession with the mail, even before I landed an Arkansas penpal. I'm not sure exactly why, although the chutes and trucks and mail slots were definitely appealing to me as a young boy. Even back then, I used to mail myself postcards from places, mostly because it was something to look forward to when I got back. When I was very young, I was convinced that I would grow up to be a mailman. That way, I'd get to work at THE POST OFFICE. I imagined a magical place where letters were sorted and separated into bins on some huge conveyor belt, and vacuum tubes and compartments held all the mysteries of "the mail."
Of course that dream faded as I got older, but my love for the mail remains, even today. There's just something about getting mail.
You can imagine the anticipation I was filled with as I awaited my first letter from Hayley. We barely knew anything about each other, and if you must know, it was her friend Aneta that I was initially interested in that day at the pool in Arizona. Only when Hayley asked me if she could write to me did I decide that Aneta was not the object of my desire; that Hayley was where it was at. We had maybe two conversations by that pool, but I became obsessed with the idea of having a long distance girlfriend. It made sense to me. After all, I NEVER had to see her! I couldn't be accused of being shy or immature or awkward. I could take the time to compose my letters and say exactly what I wanted to say. True love.
Finally, after what seemed like months, a letter came.
My heart jumped. For at least a week I had raced home from school to see if the mail had arrived. Sometimes I'd see Chet (our mailman), driving his Ford Taurus up the other side of the road, which was torture because that meant I had at least a half an hour before he made his way back down to our house. My hunch was that our letters had crossed in the mail. This was too soon for her to be responding to mine. I ripped it open, practically shaking with excitement:
WOW. Love? Who cares if she wrote "+friends" and then scratched it out? It was obvious what was going on here. I had a new girlfriend. The most perfect girlfriend I could imagine as a painfully shy 14 year old: A penpal girlfriend.
Hayley and I wrote off and on for the next three years. That first summer was the most active summer for letters, and we even started sending audio tapes to each other. That was as close to AOL Instant Messenger as we had back in 1986. There were no e-mails or IMs, which might have made communication quite a bit easier (but much less exciting.) I looked forward to her letters more than anything else that came in the mail. Arkansas seemed like a foreign place, so far removed from me in NH that it made perfect sense to have a letter writing girlfriend from there.
Obviously, we both realized as the next few years passed that our "love" for each other was slightly premature. Our tone shifted from puppy love to a genuine friendship via the mail. We never spoke on the phone. We never saw each other again. It would have ruined the illusion we both had about the other. Both of us served the other's need to belong to someone, and the fact that that person was a thousand miles away made it easier to invent details and fabricate a love that of course, didn't exist. Somewhere, even in our young minds, I'm sure we knew that. But it made sense then. It was exciting and important for both of us.
I wonder where Hayley is these days? I got one last letter from her in my Sophomore year of college. She was doing well and was planning to attend a local college and then move on to a bigger school like UCLA after that. My attempts to get in touch with her after that failed and we lost touch. She's one of those people I google every now and then to see if anything pops up. I suppose I could write a letter to her old address, but something in me would rather cling my memory of her, which I guess is mostly my own invention. It's easier to keep her as the girl on the other end of a long, intricate mail delivery system waiting for my letters in Arkansas and sending them back to me signed "Love, Hayley."
