Friday Free-for-all #26

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

If you went into a coma and woke up in the year 2120, what would be the first thing you would want to know?

Well, we’ll dispense with the obvious question first because it probably isn’t going to come up later: How the hell did you keep me a live in a coma for a century, and well past what was the maximum human life span at the time I went into it?

The real first thing I’d want to know would be… everything, although I’d probably start by asking — assuming the coma started before it happened — “Who won the presidential election of 2020, and what happened after that?”

It wouldn’t really influence my opinion of the present world, since a lot can change in a hundred years — in 1920, after all, the second term of an extremely racist U.S. President was coming to an end, and women were only just getting the right to vote on the federal level. Meanwhile, lynching and other acts of racial violence were far too common…

Okay, maybe shit doesn’t change in a century. Well, some things don’t. But on the other hand, comparing the state of technology in 1920 and 2020 is to compare two completely different worlds.

They barely had perfected the ability to fly, and the radio and telegraph were the state-of-the-art in long-distance communication. Meanwhile, we’ve sent people to the Moon and space, probes to other planets and outside of our solar system, while television has been a major medium since at least the 1950s and the internet and our phones have put each one of us, personally, in contact with the entire world almost instantaneously.

Seriously, I think if I explained to somebody in 1920 that I could use a keyboard and screen (or just the version of the screen that fits in my pocket) to chat with friends in cities across the U.S., or countries like Peru or the UK in real-time, their head would explode.

So I can only imagine the state of technology, and maybe that’s the first thing I’d ask. What was the successor to all of our technology? By this point, connectivity may just be implanted and universal, and who knows how far the transhumanist movement may have gotten.

Everyone may have already shifted to a life-like robotic avatar, or just migrated to a virtual existence a la the show Upload. It would explain how they managed to bring me back after a hundred years.

But all of that technology really doesn’t matter, though, depending on the answer to my real first question: Did humankind ever get its shit together and deal with things like inequality, injustice, and poverty; taking care of the environment and providing healthcare, education, housing, and a basic income for all? And everything else?

Solve those problems or make substantial gains in those areas, then okay, I might stick around. Otherwise, put me back in the coma and get back to me in a century.

Honestly, though, I think that humanity will only be around in a century if we do deal with all of these issues, and do so in a profoundly progressive manner. All of our technological advances are meaningless if we stay mired in greed, prejudice, fear, and intolerance.

This planet is not an Us vs Them proposition. There is only an Us, and it’s only in working together — and realizing that there is enough for everyone as long as too much doesn’t go to anyone — that we will actually see the year 2120.

Hell, without changing course, humans may not see 2024.

Friday Free-for-all #23

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

What’s your favorite holiday movie?

Very appropriate that this one popped up now, since we’re almost exactly between Christmases which, face it, is what most people think of when they think “holiday movie.” Well, except for the twisted folk who think of the Halloween franchise, of course.

Groundhog Day is probably one of the better-known and more beloved non-Christmas films, But you have to think really hard to come up with others without looking. For example, which holiday is Planes, Trains, and Automobiles about? (Hint: it’s not Christmas.)

Did you even remember that Eight Crazy Nights is a thing until I mentioned it? And while at least the first Independence Day movie took place around that holiday, it only counts if you stick strictly to America, of course, which is just jingoistic and awkward when you remember that it’s the whole planet being invaded.

Easter movies tend to be about either Jesus or Bunnies, although Monty Python’s Life of Brian absolutely is an Easter film that isn’t strictly about either. New Year’s Eve fares a little better, including the strangely fascinating Strange Days, directed by Kathryn Bigelow. Released in 1995, it was set in the two days leading into the year 2000 — although it wasn’t so much about the holiday as about the existence of recordings of people’s memories as a black-market drug.

Oddly enough, 1995 was the same year that Terry Gillaim’s 12 Monkeys came out — another mid-90s science fiction film set in the very-near future, although in the case of this one, the year was 1996, which was about exactly a year after the release date of the film.

Meta.

But, for me, this question actually has two answers, and I’ve already mentioned the director of one of the films. However, I’ll start with the more obvious choice.

It’s a Wonderful Life is one of those movies I can watch over and over, and from any point I happen to stumble across a re-broadcast. In case you live under a rock, it came out in 1946, directed by Frank Capra, and it stars James Stewart as George Bailey in the story of a small-town Everyman who winds up giving up his own dreams in order to help others.

One of the most fascinating things about the film is the abrupt tone-shift as we move into the third act, more on which in a moment. Up until that point, it barrels head-long into the American Dream — and remember, the whole thing was being produced right as the U.S. defeated the Powers of Evil™ and became the predominant and benevolent World Power — never mind that whole nuking civilians in Japan thing.

George Bailey — born into white privilege in the town of Bedford Falls, around 1907. After all, his father and uncle own the local Bailey Brothers Building and Loan, so the family is well-off. Well, at least until 1928, when young George is planning to embark on a world tour which is cancelled when his father has a stroke and dies.

Oops.

George is coerced by the board into taking over the company. Meanwhile, George gives his trip money to his brother Harry (whose life he already saved once) to pay his college tuition with the agreement that Harry take over the company after he graduates so George can be free to pursue his dreams.

Needless to say, Harry reneges because of a good job offer; George marries good girl Mary, but the stock market crashes and they have to spend their honeymoon money bailing out the Building and Loan.

Eventually, George starts a housing development with nice and affordable homes while the Big Bad, Henry Potter, tries to subvert him from his mission, but George will have none of it.

And then… George’s addle-brained Uncle Billy fucks up big time, accidentally hands Potter the Building and Loan’s deposits (the modern equivalent of $110K in cash), and suddenly George lands deep in the shit.

This is where the film turns dark and George’s guardian angel Clarence turns up to present George with the proverbial Monkey’s Paw answer to his appeal: “I wish I’d never been born.”

That’s exactly what George gets, and it becomes a beautiful butterfly effect of events. He never saved his brother from drowning, which had enormous repercussions in World War II, leaving hundreds of men to die in a Kamikaze attack. George wasn’t there to stop his pharmacist boss from making a mistake, leading to a kid being poisoned and said pharmacists winding up as a homeless town pariah.

Even the women in his life suffered — his wife Mary went on to become a mousy spinster librarian, and while it’s not absolutely clear how George helped childhood friend Violet Bick, she’s pretty much a whore in the town of Potterville. And even his own sainted mother morphed into one gigantic uber-Karen bitch.

Oh — it’s not Bedford Falls anymore, either, so there’s that.

There is one really brilliant but easy to miss moment in this act, too, and that’s the instant when Clarence starts the process of saving George. See, Bailey is about to dive off of the bridge to kill himself, hoping that his life insurance will take care of all of his financial problems. But Clarence knows his subject well, and in that moment he throws himself into the water first and begins shouting out that magic phrase.

“I can’t swim. Help, help. I can’t swim. Help!”

And what has been George’s life-long pattern? Helping everyone else without thinking about himself. So he dives in and drags Clarence out, and the rest happens.

Now, I don’t care how jaded or cynical you are, but once we get to the climax of the film — when George’s original reality is restored and he races home — if you don’t cry at least once if not for at least the last fifteen minutes of the movie, then you have no fucking heart.

Shit, if the waterworks don’t go off in just the first ten seconds of that clip out of context, make an appointment with your cardiologist now.

Here’s the funny thing about It’s a Wonderful Life, though — on initial release, it bombed. Big time. Critics loved it, but audiences didn’t, and it lost half a million dollars. It probably would have just vanished, except for one incredible fuck-up.

At some point, somebody forgot to renew the copyright, and so the film fell for a time into the public domain, which meant that it could be shown freely forever. And who picked up on that? Television stations, which led to the movie being run over and over around Christmas every year and, ta-da, instant classic.

Okay, slight simplification — the film itself was free. The short story it was based on was not. Still, beginning in 1974, the movie was on the express train to beloved Christmas classic and, honestly, I think that it deserves it.

As for my other choice, which I love even more than It’s a Wonderful Life, that would be Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, which is every inch a Christmas movie while not being about Christmas per se, but still being about the hopes of a dreamer pitted against society at large.

Sure, Brazil’s Sam Lowry loses his battle, sort of, but he’s kind of an anti-George Bailey: a man who starts out working for the side of evil only to be liberated by his (most likely never-requited) love for a woman he may or may not have actually met, but rather only saw one time on the way to work.

That’s the best-case scenario. In the worst case, he actually wound up getting her arrested and, probably, summarily executed as a suspected terrorist. Oops.

Eventually, he winds up finding refuge in his own fantasia of a world where yes, he did actually matter as he is tortured by people he had thought to be his friends and allies.

All of this is played out against some of the most amazing film design ever, in a world that takes place during the entire 20th century at once, on a Tuesday. In fact, a lot of the aesthetic would have felt totally at home to George Bailey, especially the costumes and technology.

Here’s a really good example of the design and tech of the film:

Anyway, Gilliam’s Brazil is the best version of 1984 ever filmed, period. The movie is also infamous for some useless asshole producer at Universal trying eviscerate it, leading to Gilliam taking out ads in the trades demanding that the studio give his film back.

Luckily, Gilliam won that battle, although we still got to see the version that the hack Sid Sheinberg wanted to release on various Criterion Collections and, yes… it was absolute shite.

Anyway… it’s a nearly perfect film. Go seek it out and watch it, whether it’s Christmas or not.

PS: I’m so sorry that trailers in the 80s sucked ass…

Friday Free-for-all #22

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

If you had a personal mascot, what would your mascot be?

This is actually a rather easy question to answer, because if I were ever to get a tattoo, it would be this animal. People who know me might think I’d say dog or wolf, but that’s not it. My choice is both more fabulous and less real.

My personal mascot would be a phoenix, not to be confused with the mythical Russian firebird (Жар-птица) or the Native American thunderbird — although the latter is considered a relative.

All three also happen to be models of cars, although to be honest the only one that’s visually appealing to me at all would be the Pontiac Firebird, especially later models — although the emblematic bird decal on the hood is a must, even though it seems to have only been a thing during the second generation in the 1970s.

But that isn’t my firebird because mine isn’t a car anyone really remembers, plus it uses fire in a different way. The Russian firebird launched its flames outward. The phoenix self-directs them.

You’ve probably heard the legend. The phoenix is a very ancient bird to begin with, but every so often, it will return to its nest, spontaneously burst into flames, and die in the fire — except that it doesn’t, and the bird is resurrected anew and young again from its own ashes.

That’s something I’ve done in my own life, metaphorically, over and over again. The phoenix regularly faces catastrophe, but survives. I hate to give any attention to a transphobic TERF idiot, but here’s a bit from the Franchise that Shall not Be Named in which a phoenix does its thing.

Certainly, the entire 2020 experience is setting me on this course again, since it managed to take away so much of what I knew and loved and did. I am finally about to sort of get back to work, most of it remotely from home, but at the same time I have, for the moment, lost live theatre, as audience and performer, as a part of my life until who knows when.

I also miss seeing friends in person, the comfort of a hug, and the warmth of a voice that comes through air instead of wires.

I have a feeling that 2020 is going to turn a lot of us into phoenixes, or at least cast us into the fire. Whether we come out of the ashes or not is entirely up to each of us, but it is always better to decide to persevere and win than it is to give up.

And if you’re having trouble dealing with the flames, reach out. Even if we can’t (well, really shouldn’t) touch physically right now, we can do it emotionally across the distance. Think now about what you’re going to be once the flames subside and you poke your head out of the ashes, comfortable in the familiar and nurturing home of your own nest, born anew to take flight on your next adventure.

Yeah. I’ll take that mascot, please.

Friday Free-for-all #20

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

When was the last time you climbed a tree?

I don’t remember any times distinctly as an adult, although there must have been a few times in my 20s, but I do remember the last time I climbed the tree in the backyard of my parents’ house. Well, not the specific date or anything, but the general details.

I was fifteen, in high school, and had been climbing this tree since I’d been tall enough to jump up and grab the lowest strong branch. The trick was to grab this one, swing my legs up to grab it as well, then turn myself around until I was sitting on it.

From there, a couple more branches formed easy steps, and then it was a matter of finding the footholds up toward the top, which was a nice crow’s nest surrounded by foliage, about forty feet up.

The funny thing, too, was that all of the good climby parts were on the southwest part of the tree. On the north, the branches were too thin, and on the east the good ones didn’t start until too high because that was the side that grew against the wall that separated our house from the neighbors the next street over.

Part of the reason I loved to climb that tree, which was the biggest one in the yard, was the challenge of it, and I remember that it took a few years to progressively figure out and/or be brave enough to go up another level. Physical size and strength also had something to do with it.

Once I got up there, there wasn’t much of a view, since it was in the middle of a suburban housing tract made up of about four different floor plans — two single-story and two two-story — which were made to appear to be more variations by virtue of having a mirror-image of each. There were also minor differences, particularly window style and little things like that.

So the view, even from the top of the tree, was pretty much my parent’s roof, the roof of the house across the street, and the trees behind it looking west, more of the same looking east, and nothing but trees and hedges looking north and south.

But it wasn’t about the view. It was a place I could go that my parents couldn’t, somewhere I could hang out and just think and enjoy being surrounded by nature.

It was also the only climbable tree we had. The only other tree in the backyard was a plum tree my parents had planted when I was a late tween, and it was still basically a sapling even by the time I moved on to college. Likewise, the one tree in front of our house on the strip between the sidewalk and street was a plum tree and, while it had been planted when the place had been built decades earlier, plum trees just really aren’t climber friendly.

The last year that I climbed the tree in our backyard, in fact, was the same year that our next door neighbors planted their Christmas tree on the south side of their front yard, so another not-climbable thing. Twenty years later is a different story — that thing grew into a monster to rival my favorite tree in height and girth, although not in climability.

Oh, I’ve never tried, but the thing basically turned into a thick trunk and a giant primary branch that grew out of it like an arm and elbow. Maybe a good place to jump up to and sit, but otherwise like trying to climb a fat lamppost.

My favorite tree was a birch, by the way, and the last time I climbed it was one day when I was fifteen. It may have even been a while at that point since I had climbed it, but I jumped up, grabbed that faithful first branch and then swung my legs up and held on.

I made it a few more rungs up, and then hung upside-down to a higher branch I didn’t usually use to climb, but I was experimenting. This one was probably about twelve feet up, and didn’t have any branches below it.

I hung onto this one, totally trusting “my” tree and then heard a loud crack. Then I felt the fall and I swear to this day that while the trip down in reality probably took no more than two seconds, in my mind it lasted at least a minute, if not more.

I remember my distinct thoughts. “Oh fuck. I’m falling.” And then “I’m going to wind up dead under this branch and what if no one finds me?” The world really went into slow motion, and I swear that I could feel the breeze in my hair, watch the tree above me slowly recede, and then… thump.

I was lying on the ground with a large but not heavy branch on top of me, and I stayed there for a while until I realized, “Okay, I’m not dead.”

Then I went inside and left my tree-climbing days behind me. What? I had to focus on something just as risky and stupid — playing keyboards in a band, of course.

Friday Free-for-All #19

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

If you opened a business, what kind of business would it be?

This is one of those questions I’ve known the answer to for years, and yet one which has had the parameters for actually doing it change so much in the last three months that the real answer has become something quite different.

Or, maybe not, but let’s start with the pre-plague version.

If I opened a business, it wouldn’t be so much opening my own as it would be facilitating and giving a home to something my friend Che’Rae Adams started, called the Los Angeles Writers’ Center. (LAWC.) It’s a similar idea to Playwrights Horizons in New York, although on not quite as grand a scale yet, but could get there.

In its ideal, pre-plague form, it would have served as a school, developmental center, and production/performance venue, ideally funded by grants, donors, and ticket-sales as a non-profit so that the playwrights would not have to pay tuition while the performers would be paid.

As the idea developed, I realized it would also be the perfect place to fold in ComedySportz L.A. as a second tenant in a building with multiple performance venues, allowing them to have their shows and classes as well, but as a subsidized part of the LAWC.

To go full-on insanely ambitious, those venues would be in a mixed-use commercial/residential property adjacent to a Metro station, but here’s the catch: none of those residences would be luxury properties, and none would be for sale. Instead, they would be available as very low- or no-cost rentals to the artists involved with the company below.

Income that wouldn’t accrue to the non-profit but which would cover operating expenses of the residential and commercial areas of the building would come from the very carefully selected commercial tenants resident on the first one or two floors, designed to cater to our audiences, staff, students, teachers, and artists-in-residence.

Our major goal would be diversity and inclusion, with the primary intent of presenting work written, created, and performed by artists from the BIPOC and LGPTQ+ communities. And while this doesn’t mean that we would never do Shakespeare, it does mean don’t be surprised if you see a production of Richard III set in Feudal Japan with an all-Asian cast, The Tempest recast as an African folk tale, The Scottish Play set as a struggle between native Indians and the Raj, or a First Nations and Native take on Romeo & Juliet.

But no, you would not be seeing an all-white version of The Wiz, thank you. Never, never, never, never, never!

On the other hand, a lesbian version of A Streetcar Named Desire or a gay version of A Doll’s House (with Nora as a twink who’s finally over it) or a transgender, pansexual take on Guys and Dolls could be very interesting.

But all of those are new stagings, re-imaginings, and adaptations. The real purpose and fire of the LAWC would be original works by new voices (new by exposure, not by age — we’re diverse in that way, too) developed via a collaboration of the writers, actors, directors, and dramaturgs of the LAWC, along with a series of readings to get audience feedback.

The ultimate goal is to keep creating seasons to present in our own theater.

Well, it was. The question now is whether and when live theater — or any live event in a venue that holds more than a hundred people — is ever coming back. And, if it does, is the staging going to have to be something new, different, and never before explored?

Will live theaters essentially become a stack of private boxes set in a tower of circles all the way around the stage, enclosed in glass with sound piped in, and occupancy limited to up to six members of the same household who have shown proof?

And how would that effect relative costs it tickets were per box instead of per-person? I’m sure that single theatre fans would pretty quickly revolt.

Do we instead reduce all theaters to 99 seats or less but have multiple shows per day in order to get enough people in? Or would that be too abusive to the casts, as well as forcing them to risk longer exposure times?

Do we turn all theaters into elaborate versions of Pepper’s Ghost, in essence turning the cast into real-time “holograms” to protect them from the audience and vice versa, basically using a 19th century stage trick?

Does being cast in every show from now on out require fourteen days in complete quarantine before rehearsals even start, and how is that paid according to union rules?

Are Noh theatre and Commedia dell’arte about to make a comeback because of the masks?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

I’d still like to make this business happen. I just don’t know what form it would take in the near future.

Friday Free-for-All #18

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

What is the most important thing a person can do to improve themselves?

If you ever driven for more than five minutes in a big city or shopped in a crowded store, then you’ve experienced exactly what I’m going to be talking about.

A lot of people completely lack self-awareness, in ways both big and small, and this can cause problems everywhere, not just to themselves, but everyone they encounter.

Now, there are various kinds of self-awareness, and not everybody is lacking in all (or any) of them, although some people may be lacking in several. Some kinds of self-awareness are:

Spatial: This is awareness of yourself in relation to your surroundings, which includes the physical space, objects in it and, of course, other people. It comes in both static (non-moving) and kinetic (moving) varieties.

Personal: This is the meta-version of self-awareness, and indicates how aware you are of, well, how aware you are of yourself.

Intellectual: This is awareness of what you know, what you don’t know, and what you’re capable of learning. The major effect of lack of self-awareness here comes in two varieties. One is the Dunning-Kruger Effect, in which people with a low ability at something greatly over-estimate their ability. (Classic example: Florence Foster Jenkins.) The other is a variation of learned helplessness, in which case people convince themselves that they could never learn a particular subject.

Cultural: Lack of awareness here leads to cultural-blindness. That is, you are only capable of seeing your own culture and traditions as reasonable and valid, while putting down or despising others.

Emotional: This is awareness of the emotions you are expressing through body language, tone, word choice, and facial expression, as well as those that others are expressing through similar means, and the effects that each person has on the others and vice versa.

Put them all together and you get SPICE, although the order has nothing to do with the particular importance of any single element. I arranged them to create an easy mnemonic.

So why is self-awareness important?

The very simple version is that the more self-aware you are, the more aware of other people you’ll be, so you will start treating them with more courtesy and giving them more attention. This will have a positive effect on them, make them more inclined to hang around with and be pleasant to you, and might even help them further develop their self-awareness.

It becomes a positive feedback loop for all involved.

Increasing your self-awareness will also help you spot people who lack it and have the empathy to figure out how to gently steer them toward it.

I’ve got some tips on increasing your self-awareness, but first I should give some examples of what happens when people lack it.

Spatial

The most obvious example of this one is the “human blood clot” that tends to form in doorways, particularly at any kind of party that involves people standing and wandering around indoors. We’ve all experienced it. There’s a huge living room, maybe a front porch or a backyard or, if it’s an apartment, maybe a balcony.

And yet… people wind up jammed in the doorways so that nobody can easily move through them. In other places, like stores or on sidewalks, this becomes the “liquid human” phenomenon. What does that one mean? Well, any liquid will expand to fill the container it’s put into, which is why the surface of, say, that tea in your glass will always be level. (The ice, not so much, but that’s a different thing.)

In cases of store aisles or sidewalks, the expanding happens so that a single person (or a group) will manage to take up the entire width of whatever they’re walking down. In grocery stores, this happens when somebody decides to walk and stand next to their cart instead of in front of or behind. On the sidewalk, it happens when a group of friends decides to walk side to side and, inevitably, more slowly than anything else on that now blocked sidewalk.

Add a vehicle of any kind, and it just gets worse.

Personal

Again, being the meta-version, when you are not personally self-aware, you are not aware at all of any of the ways you aren’t in the others. This is the heart of the knot that will get pulled apart shortly.

Intellectual

Have you ever had a discussion (or argument) with someone who was so absolutely convinced that they were right that nothing you said could persuade them otherwise — even if they were arguing in your area of expertise and from a place of complete ignorance? If you haven’t, just go check out a science discussion group and wait for a flat-earther or anti-vaxxer to show up.

This is an example of someone who doesn’t know what they don’t know. They assume that they have insight to knowledge that the experts don’t, and so no matter how many facts or how much data you throw at them, they “know” the truth because (fill in utter gobbledygook here.)

Now, have you ever tried to teach someone something, no matter how simple, only to watch their eyes glaze over, their palpable confusion, and their finally quitting in frustration? This is the opposite end of the same lack of self-awareness: the inability to realize what you can learn because you’re convinced you can’t. A lot of people have this block over things like math or foreign languages, but they don’t need to.

Cultural

This is probably the most dangerous kind of lack of self-awareness, and if you’ve ever heard someone berate a stranger, telling them “Speak English!” then you’ve run across one manifestation of it. This is the belief that the culture someone grew up in is the only one that exists, or that should exist, and that every other culture needs to blend in and vanish.

And note that these people are not exclusively U.S. citizens. I’m just using them as the example I know the best, but the same thing definitely happens in Europe, Asia, Oceania, Africa, and all of the Americas.

Needless to say, these people have never tried to move into another culture or, if they did, will hypocritically insist that they be accommodated — and there’s a nice circle for you. At home: “How dare you not speak my language and respect my religion!” Abroad: “Why don’t you all speak my language and respect my religion?”

See that disconnect? And, while far rarer it still happens, the flip side of this one is inappropriate cultural appropriation — dressing white kids up as “Indians” (cough… Native Americans) for Thanksgiving programs, white kids trying to speak in Ebonics, white nerds going all mecha-weeaboo, etc.

I personally saw this in one of my favorite college professors, who was as liberal as hell and didn’t have a racist bone in her body. However, she had spent her graduate year abroad in India to study theatre history — that part was quite valid — but came back dressed like a Rani, or at least like a Bollywood star — sarongs for days, hair dyed black, kohl and bindi. She was also fond of often tossing the aside, “I’ve been to India, you know.”

By the way, I dropped by campus about ten years after graduation to learn two things: One, she was actually a lot younger than I’d thought at 18. Two, she was actually blonde, and had by this point reverted to white culture, although more of a late Edwardian mode, like she’s watched way too many Merchant Ivory films.

Emotional

Emotionally unaware people will often behave aggressively without realizing it, either by raising their voices, gesturing, or using particular words. They also often react inappropriately to the emotional responses of others, and misinterpret those responses. Now, emotional self-awareness is the area that autistic people naturally have difficulty with, and I am by no means including them in the “Hey, you need to get self-aware” crowd. Theirs is a different issue, and one that they probably can’t magically fix themselves. But otherwise, people can. It’s just that this one probably only follows when the others are dealt with first.

So… how do I become more self-aware? I’m glad you asked.

Developing Spatial Awareness

Performing artists develop this skill in the course of learning their craft, whether it’s acting, dancing, singing, or playing an instrument. So, obviously, those are great ways to develop spatial awareness but, of course, not everyone is inclined to be a performer.

You can still develop the skills, though. The reason that performing artists have to be so aware is because they are generally working with other people or, if they’re doing a solo bit, they’re still working with the space they’re in. That’s because they have to interact with that space and the objects and people in it, and often with very precise timing.

If they didn’t, you’d see a lot of dropped ballerinas, or actors colliding when they weren’t supposed to, or props flying all over the place.

To develop this sense in real life, take some time each day to pay very close attention to where  you are, what it feels like when you’re still and when you’re moving, and to things around you. You can start at home in a very familiar room, and walk around it with intention.

Later, try this in a less familiar or strange public place, preferably one with not a lot of people around. Pay attention to how you move, what path you wind up taking and why. Whenever you find yourself stopping, take a look at where you’ve stopped and, again, ask yourself why you stopped there. Also look around to see whether you’re blocking a path for anyone else.

Finally, go into a room at home that you’re very familiar with, look around for thirty seconds, then leave that room, go someplace you can’t see into it, then write down as many things as you can remember from that space, starting in one corner and working your way around so that everything appears pretty much in the order it’s in the room.

Take as long as you want, then go back to the room and see how many things you got, how many you missed, and how accurate you were in the relationships or locations.

Extra credit: Learning improv is an incredible tool for developing self-awareness in all areas. Now, I know that performing and actually doing improv is not for everyone, but a lot of improv companies do offer workshops for non-performers that teach techniques specifically to improve skills at listening, spatial awareness, interpersonal relationships, and so on.

Developing Personal Awareness

The best part about this one is that it comes with development of the rest, although you should be constantly checking in to take inventory of the progress you’ve made, why it worked, how it made you feel, and what you want to do next. Again, this is the meta-awareness part.

Developing Intellectual Awareness

Pick a skill and learn one new thing in that area per day. The great part is that we now live in an age where tutorials and free lesson plans and all kinds of educational opportunities are available on our computers and devices, right in the comfort of our own home.

If you want to learn a language, for example, Duolingo is a great start, and you only need to devote a few minutes a day to it. It’s also free with very non-obtrusive ads which you can eliminate for a small fee.

There’s also Khan Academy, which offers courses in all kinds of subjects, again all free. They cover STEM topics, Arts & Humanities, History, Computing, and Economics. They do seem to be lacking in social sciences and languages, but those are also available if you search.

I was terrible at math as a student but figured I’d never need it as an adult — until I did. But it was then that I realized I wasn’t bad at math. My teachers were just bad at teaching it.

That’s why Common Core is actually a good thing (sorry, nay-saying parents) — because it teaches math in more than one way. Some kids are going to understand the old school, rote, “this is how it’s done” method. Others aren’t going to get that, but are going to latch right on to alternative methods that work, even if they confuse adults.

It’s the same thing with learning on your own online: You get to find the method that works for you, and suddenly come to the awareness that it was never your inability to learn. It was that you were being taught in the wrong way.

Some people are visual learners (here are some graphs and videos!), some people are auditory learners (listen to this!), and others will only get it if they read it (turn to page 42!) Schools tend to focus on one method, usually the one preferred by the teacher, and the other kids get left behind.

You’re an adult. You don’t need to get left behind, and you can learn what you want to. So go for it!

Bonus points: Remember the “listing things in the room” exercise for developing spatial awareness? This can also help you improve your memory, because it is the basis for a technique called the Memory Palace, which has enabled people to do ridiculous things like remember the order of a deck of cards after one pass through it.

Think you can’t remember things? You can teach yourself to do so, and use that as a method to help with all the other things you’ve decided to learn on your own. The most important thing to remember: We don’t stop living until we stop learning.

Developing Cultural Awareness

This can be the most difficult one of all, because it requires listening to yourself very carefully as well as listening to others in order to uncover your own hidden biases, or just phrases you use that can be taken in the wrong way.

Some people would deride this as “being PC,” but I’d prefer to think of it as “not being an insensitive jerk.” Some of the examples might seem quite innocuous, but they can have an impact.

For example, have you or anyone you know said something like, “The wolf is my spirit animal?” It can be a pretty common expression among white people, and we don’t intend any disrespect. The idea we’re trying to express is “This is the animal I most identify with.”

Okay, fine — but you’re doing it in terms that, to Native Americans, are very explicitly tied up in their religion. Imagine someone from a non-Christian culture saying something like, “For me, curry is the Body of Christ and tea is his Blood.”

Yeah, that would piss off a lot of Christians, conservative or not.

So… don’t do it to Native Americans and First Nations people.

Luckily, you had a white woman give you a perfectly acceptable alternative that comes right out of your own modern pop culture. Try saying instead, “The wolf is my patronus.”

Boom. Same idea, not offensive.

And there are other problematic expressions. For example, saying, “Yeah, my boss is a slave-driver.” Oh, really? You mean that he or she literally owns your ass, beats you regularly, doesn’t pay you anything, and might even keep you actually chained to your desk?

Or is it that she or he sometimes asks you to work late or come in on a weekend, and gives you extra assignments when you’re already busy? But you could quit any time you wanted to and just walk away without being hunted down by dogs and/or an angry lynch mob?

Yeah. Don’t say “slave-driver.” Try “task-master.” Or you could to for the ultimate diverse word, “asshole,” since everybody has one. Or… just realize that almost every boss does exactly what your boss does, and you’re not special.

You’re certainly not suffering like someone who was forcibly taken from their home and family, put in chains and sold to the highest bidder if they survived the trip across the Atlantic.

But, again, the goal here is listening to your words and deciding for yourself whether they could be taken as culturally insensitive. And there are more of them than you might think. Hell, at least one of them is still available in your grocer’s freezer case today.

This is another way in which improv helps. At my company, ComedySportzLA (and at all CSz companies in general), we have something called the “Brown Bag Foul,” in keeping with the sports theme, and it’s called if anyone — player or audience — says anything rude, crude, offensive, R-rated, or otherwise not family friendly.

And yes, awareness of it does keep us on our toes and very conscious of not taking the low road or the cheap shot. Although there is one big irony in it all — that brown bag itself could be construed as connected to yet another racist blast from the past.

Like I said: this is the most difficult one because it requires constant listening.

Developing Emotional Awareness

The funny thing about Emotional Awareness (aka emotional intelligence) is that most lists of how to develop it include “Developing Self-Awareness” as one of the most important steps involved. The rest depend on your preferred learning method, so chose from one of the links in this paragraph, or search for your own path.

And this was never meant to be this long, but it’s a big subject. Happy Friday, and happy self-awareness!

Friday Free-for-All #17

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

What are two things you’ll never spend money on?

I do consider myself frugal, but I don’t think of myself as cheap. There is a difference. Someone who’s frugal will look for the best deal and, if that means spending a little more now to save later, I will make the trade. Someone who’s cheap will just go right for the least expensive version of whatever — which does wind up costing more in the long-run.

Now, I am a fan of the 99-Cent Store, because I do know that buying the right things there does save you money. That’s because a lot of the stuff you can get is going to be single-use anyway, like party supplies or gift-wrap, or cheap tchotchkes. They’re also great for dishes, glassware, mugs, and non-mechanical kitchen tools, like measuring cups.

On the other hand, there are things to not buy there, some because they’re just crap, and others because they’re not really cheaper. I mean, that 10 oz. bottle of shampoo at the 99 really isn’t a better deal than the 10 oz. $1.99 bottle at the grocery store, you know?

I also like thrift shops, bust mainly because you can find unique things you won’t find anywhere else, and for cheap. For example, I have a room mood-light that’s actually an old X-ray light box from some medical clinic that cost me, believe it not, all of $30 once upon a time. I also have a full-size, 3×5 cloth California State Flag — $5 at a thrift shop, at least $40 to $50 new at the time, and who knows how much now.

So home décor, used clothing, books, DVDs, and random whatnots from Thrift shops are great deals.

And dog knows that in my day, I’ve certainly spent a ton on all kinds of electronics, particularly if they were related to computers, tech, or musical instruments. In fact, I’ve owned exactly as many synthesizers as I have cars — although I still have all of the synths and only one of the cars — and needless to say the number of computers and printers I’ve gone through probably outnumber both.

So what won’t I spend my money on? Well, a no-brainer is that I won’t donate it to political candidates I don’t agree with, but that’s true of everyone, so I’m not going to count it. And I really can’t say I won’t spend my money on cigarettes or other forms of tobacco because, while that’s certainly true now, at one point in my life it wasn’t, to my great detriment and shame.

But two things do stand out and, oddly enough, in the future, it may be easy enough — or even impossible — for any of us to spend a lot on one of these. I’d like to hope that it would also become at least unnecessary if not impossible for the other.

I was going to originally define the first as “sporting events,” but then realized that, for me, it’s a little bit broader than that, and there are a few parts to it.

One is that I don’t really like being at any event that takes place in a gigantic arena full of screaming and frequently drunk people. Hell, I don’t like doing that in even a small venue — a little ironic because I used to be a musician in a band, but at least we only ever played only the smallest of venues.

Second is that I’m not really that big enough fan of any group or band to want to deal with their fans to see them play live in less-than-ideal acoustic situations when I can just listen to the studio version at home.

The only exceptions are when I know someone in the band, but that’s most likely going to be in a small club anyway.

Third is that I really have less than zero interest in sports, which take place mostly in arenas, but I can extend that to non-arena places, like race tracks.

Oddly enough, the one time in my life I went to the horse races, I did enjoy it, and made a little money betting, but I didn’t pay for the trip and, given what I’ve learned about horse mortality rates in the pursuit, I never will.

This kind of brings me to the third part of my disdain, and those are events that take place in large areas that are not arenas and not concerts, but which still attract gigantic crowds of seemingly oblivious people. (Hint: county fairs.)

Again, I only went to one of these once, it was a paid-for company trip, and I hated every damn second of it. Everything was over-priced, most of the visitors would probably go on to be future MAGAts, it was mobility scooter galore, the only healthy food I could find in the whole place was a $12 smoothie, and it boggled my mind that the city of Los Angeles was even a part of this County.

So, what to call it? I won’t spend money on mass events of the “bread and circuses” variety. No sport, no arena shows, no… well, you get the idea, I hope.

The other thing I will never spend money on? Guns. Well, guns, bullets, things that shoot, arms. That kind of thing. For one thing, I don’t need them. They’re expensive, they’re only designed to kill, and when it comes to self-defense, oh, don’t worry. I’m well-stocked in that regard. I’m just not going to advertise it.

And yes, I actually have fired guns, doing target practice, and yes, it was fun and exciting to do so. The feeling of that kick in your hand, followed the “thwap” of the bullet hitting the target is powerful.

But, for me, it was really only a power I needed over some paper targets stuck up on a dirt berm on a friend’s family ranch in the middle of nowhere. Over a person? Nah. Never. There are betters methods of defense.

I have two very direct contacts with guns in my life, both of which oddly enough involve my father. In the first, I’m in my early teens, and discover, in a cardboard box on the top shelf of the linen closet at the end of the hall, two of his war-time souvenirs: a small pair of binoculars and a service revolver.

Both of them have taken on a green patina since they were decades old by this point, but I sneak them out of the box and into my room because — teenage boy, interesting shit.

The revolver is not loaded, which I confirm by figuring out how to swing open the cylinder by pulling the release at the front of the frame, then spinning it to see that all six chambers are empty. Then closing it back up, cocking the cylinder, and… click.

In my mind, my interest is more historical than anything else. Why did my dad have a gun in the war? What did he see through the binoculars? Did he ever kill anyone?

When I got bored, they went back into the box, and I thought nothing of it until later, when I went back up to grab them a year or two later and… gone. The binoculars were still there, but the gun had vanished.

I never said anything to my parents about it, and they never said anything either, but I would guess that it was my mother who told my father, “Get rid of this” once they figured out I’d found it.

My other gun story with my dad takes place near the end of his life. Mom was long dead and, to be brutally honest, my father was always a racist fuck. Fortunately, I escaped that by growing with such diverse friends that I didn’t even have any idea that race, religion, native language, gender, or whatever was even a thing.

Dad, not so much.

So… around the turn of the century and just before Alzheimer’s swooped in, he one day proudly pulled out a fancy walnut box, opened it, and showed me the gun he’d bought. It was a 9 mm, I forget what stupid amount he told me he paid, but then he told me he’d obtained it in case the (record scratch… oh, Dad, fuck no, you did not just say… Oh shit. You did.) showed up.

Yeah, my dad was fucking racist as hell, and now he was armed. And all I could think was, “Okay, how long is it going to be before I see him on the news being arrested for shooting the mailman?”

It got worse as his dementia ascended, and especially when he started accusing me  of suddenly materializing in the middle of the street with my friends and having loud parties in the middle of the night when I’d been nowhere near the house.

And then he landed in the hospital for the first of the last two extended stays, well into his 80s, and on one of my visits, he was simultaneously hallucinating the presence of an old fellow officer named Larry and sincerely telling me where in the house his gun was, then asking me to go get it, bring the box to the hospital, set it next to the bed and leave so that he could blow his brains out.

That was, of course, a hard “fuck no, Dad.” Ironically, in one of the last conversations I had with my half-sister who stole everything later, I told her what he told me, and she did to that gun what Mom and Dad had done to his service revolver when I’d found it, even though I’d never expressed any interest at all in shooting myself or anyone else.

But there you go. Sports/Stupid Crowd Evens and Guns will never get my money. And you?

Friday Free-for-All #15

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

What is the most important right our government allows for?

All right, random question site — normally, I don’t get political here, but you had to ask, so here we go, keeping in mind that this is the United States edition, but, really, the right I’m going to describe is one that all governments should allow. If they don’t, it’s time to topple them.

The right as I’m going to describe it is a little bit broad, because it’s going to comprise various Constitutional Amendments, laws, and court precedents, but the short version of it is this: Our most important right is the ability to freely and openly criticize our elected officials at any level, without fear of retribution no matter what we say about or to them, and our ability to get rid of them if they displease us, whether via voting them out, or recalling or impeaching them out.

So this covers the First Amendment’s right to free speech, press, and petitioning for redress of grievances for sure. It also scrapes in a few later Amendments, as well as includes the powers already enumerated in the Constitution for impeachment, trial, and removal of members of any and all of the three branches of the Federal government.

In this modern age, it means that any citizen can and should be able to tweet directly to any of their elective representatives and criticize them in the most colorful language possible (and believe me, I’ve seen plenty of that) and, whether they’re right or wrong, the one thing that should be true is that they cannot be arrested or punished for it.

Of course, the one big caveat is that those words don’t move on into threats. “Fuck you representative (name), you are a total asshole” is fine. “Somebody ought to shoot you in the face, and maybe it’ll be me” is not.

Subtle difference, but if we’re adults, I think that we can keep our guns and threats in our pants. Or not.

Now, around the world, several regimes have made it crimes to criticize their leaders — two countries whose English names start with T come to mind — and, in fact, they’ve even tried to punish citizens of other countries who’ve pissed two particular people off.

And that is just lame.

But… back to the U.S. Our most important right has always been the right to vote, but it kind of saddens me that thanks to political fuckery that’s been going on for the last thirty years, doubt has been cast upon two things: one, that voting matters, and two, that there’s any difference between the two major political parties.

Funny thing is that the people who buy into that crap are only politically involved once every four years, and only after their favorite non-starter pseudo third-party (but maybe fill in Republican or Democrat when it’s convenient) candidate doesn’t get enough votes to be nominated.

This is the major problem in the U.S. today: people who claim to be progressive, and yet will willingly toss away our single most important right and power just because their fandom didn’t make it to the finals.

So, ironically, they spend all of their First Amendment (though not really, because they do it on private platforms) rights screaming at people supposedly in the same party for being pragmatic instead of aiming their wrath at, well, you know…

Sadly, my country does not have the Right to be Protected from the Stupid, because that would require universal basic income, free education through grad school, and cheap health care for all.

This right has served us well in the past, though, and it’s been the avenue through which we have seen progressive goals achieved. Universal suffrage for women, unions and workers’ rights, civil rights, and LGBTQ protection and equal rights, among others, didn’t happen because people sat at home being polite.

They organized, they protested, and they let the government know that things had to change. In many cases, the protests and struggles took years, if not decades. And they weren’t bloodless battles. The labor movement, for example, saw many workers and organizers murdered, often at the hands of the private security forces of the companies they worked for. The civil rights movement has a long history of its organizers and supporters being lynched.

To quote Spider-Man, “…with great power there must also come — great responsibility!” No, that’s the actual quote as it first appeared in the comics. The real original comes from the   Public Safety Committee at the French National Convention in 1793: “Ils doivent envisager qu’une grande responsabilité est la suite inséparable d’un grand pouvoir.”

It means pretty much the same thing, as it did when, in 1817, British MP Willaim Lamb said, “…the possession of great power necessarily implies great responsibility.”

What I mean now is that this great power of ours to address and protest our government comes with an important responsibility: We must never use it in order to infringe the constitutional rights of others, or to endanger the health or well-being of others.

You probably see where this is going.

Protesting to ensure that unarmed, innocent black people are not gunned down by cops or over-zealous vigilantes is a proper use of the power. Protesting to make sure that legal protections are in place to keep transgender people from being fired or evicted is a proper use of the power. Protesting to make sure that corporations cannot underpay or exploit their employees is a proper use of the power.

Protesting because you can’t go out and get a haircut, or shop at Dillard’s, or sit down to eat at the Waffle House, or go to church in person when Zoom is available, or because you don’t want to wear a mask in public are not proper uses of the power.

Sorry, Karen.

When your breath can be as weaponized as you’ve made your white privilege and there are vulnerable people around, put a damn mask on and learn how far six feet is. Then deal with it.

If you want to complain and protest, then please address it to the federal government that whiffed the response in the first place and put us all into this situation, not to the state governments who have been trying to mitigate the damages ever since.

But FFS, stop harassing reporters, assaulting store clerks, or killing security guards. These are not legal acts of protest. They are domestic terrorism.

And that is one right that no American has.

Friday Free-for-All #14

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

What do you attribute the biggest successes in your life to? How about your largest failures?

Well, this one is easy, because it’s opposite sides of the same coin.

Biggest successes? When I’ve let go of fear and just gone for it, despite my instincts.

Biggest failures? When I haven’t.

Or another way to put it is this: you can’t succeed if you don’t do, but you will always fail if you don’t. You may fail if you do but, surprisingly, those kinds of failures still lead to successes in teaching you other things.

And the fears that hold us back are not necessarily phobias or actual risks. They can be mundane as well — the fear of being inconvenienced or having to figure things out or whatever.

A big case in point for me was a few years back. It was just shy of a year after the little health scare that made me create this whole site in the first place, although not the event I wrote about in the prologue.

Basically, I had an opportunity to go to a resort in Palm Springs, spend the 4th of July weekend hanging out with a bunch of guys, and just getting out of town and relaxing.

I was fortunate enough that I could afford it, but what held me back was figuring out what to do with my dog. I mean, logistically, it was simple: Arrange for her to be boarded from Thursday afternoon through Monday morning, and I really trusted her vets to do that. Actually making the call to arrange it was another thing.

But I did, and made the trip, and wound up having a great time.

The same group was going to have an adult weekend camp in the woods near Big Bear around Labor Day, and by that time, after telling a neighbor about the whole previous thing, she told me that she’d be happy to board Sheeba any time, so this was suddenly not an issue.

But after I’d booked this one, I got an email from the organizer asking if I could give a ride to somebody from WeHo, since he didn’t have transportation up to the camp.

And I almost said no, because… how weird, right? I’m not an Uber driver. I don’t know this guy, and we’re going to be stuck in my car for hours. The only thing it seemed like we had in common were our first names.

But the lure of the experience was too much, so I said yes, picked him up, and in the course of the trip and the weekend, in which we wound up being the only two bunkmates in our cabin, we bonded, and he and I are still good friends to this day.

I’d call that a success. This was also the weekend when I learned that the late, great Sheeba actually liked cats. Who knew?

Other big wins have been when I’ve put fear aside to actually talk to people, and have managed to wrangle a few nice LTRs that way — and IRL, which is much scarier than via app, believe me. And good things have also happened when I’ve talked my way into talking my way into jobs.

Now, as for failures coming from fear, it’s obviously a lot harder to gauge when you’ve failed because you don’t really know it. If you never applied for that job, then you’ll never have heard a definitive “No.” If you never asked that person out, you can’t have been rejected.

Although maybe it’s not so much a case of fear stopping things, but rather lack of initiative — which brings us back to the do or don’t mention up top.

We can pretend that it’s fear that stops us, but that isn’t always the case. Often times, it can be laziness, procrastination, annoyance, or inconvenience. Like electrical currents, humans are quite fond of seeking the path of least resistance and, in general, this will lead to the lowest possible energy state, whether we’re talking people or electrons.

We’re certainly seeing this right now with people who are itching to get out of lockdown and go back to the life they knew. If that’s not taking the path of least resistance, I don’t know what is. They are letting inconvenience dictate their actions, not realizing that this will just lead to failure, not only personally, but systemically.

I can’t say what failures I’ve face in the past when I let laziness, procrastination, annoyance, or inconvenience win — but I can list every single case in my life when ignoring all of those and actually doing something led to a success.

How about you?

Friday Free-for-All #11

In which I answer a random question generated by a website. Here’s this week’s question Feel free to give your own answers in the comments.

What would you do if had enough money to not need a job?

Make my own job, of course.

Ideally, it would be enough money to live off of after buying a house and equipping it with spaces for writing, making music, recording podcasts, and shooting and editing video. I’d probably also host a weekly writing workshop there and, given enough space, have a performance salon on site where interested artists could come and create in whatever media they wanted to.

What? It’s an open-ended question, so I’m dreaming big.

Another nice feature would be either a guest house or a couple of bedroom suites for hosting visiting artists or housing local artists who just need a break from paying rent for a while.

And all of it absolutely dog friendly.

Now, if that Lotto win (and that’s the only way this would ever happen) went beyond the mid-seven figures into anywhere with eight figures or more, then the next step would be to give the L.A. Writers Center a permanent home and endowment while making sure that ComedySportz L.A. also had a home space for, oh, I don’t know — a dollar a year?

If I had enough money to not have a job, then I would be able to do what I love — which is creating — except with the ability to give away the output for free, or at least at cost with no net profit.

Oh, hey… I’m doing that giving it away for free part right now even as you read this!

But given funds beyond my wildest dreams, I could do so much more by supporting local theatre by self-producing my stuff on their stages and then maybe even making every show pay-what-you-can among those who could, and totally free to those communities who need to be exposed to the arts.

I’ve had way too many people tell me that I should be a teacher, and while it’s a noble idea, I know that it’s not something I could actually do in person for a couple of reasons.

One is that while I have no problem speaking in front of a large group of people, my stream-of-consciousness tends to hit the rapids really quickly, at the risk of leaving everyone behind to drown when the raft overturns.

Another is that I’m a really fast talker, and I have this weird hybrid accent that makes a lot of people in Southern California ask me, “Where are you from?” Welp, I was born in Los Angeles and grew up here, but for some reason I inherited a weird combination of my mom’s nasally east coast speed-talk with a few strange vowels, then had that layered with a heavy dose of my dad’s mother’s flat Kansas twang.

Filter that through the actual SoCal accent and it turns into a weird fast nasally drawl of no particular time or place, but for some reason people try to peg me as Southern.

Well, yeah. Southern California, not Southern U.S. Big difference.

Anyway, the more into a subject I am, the faster I talk about it and the sharper the corners on the transitions. Or, in other words, I should never be allowed to stand in front of a crowd and spontaneously teach people.

This is why I’m a writer. Although I also type really fast, somewhere north of 90 wpm when I get going, so even in this format, I can sometimes shoot five hundred miles off course before I realize it and have to reel myself back in.

I have the same issue going when I work in Excel. The formulae and whatnot are planted into my brain so that I just go on autopilot, and dog forbid anyone ask me to explain what I’m doing while I do it.

But when it comes to composing music (not improvising) and editing video, I necessarily have to do it much more slowly, and if I were able to refocus on these two elements again thanks to no need to “work” for money, it might be a good thing. The thing about both is that they involve basically creating larger works in tiny increments, with lots of layers being put down over the same territory, over and over.

I’ll give a music example. Even if you’re creating digitally, you need to do it track by track, and depending on the complexity of the score, you can easily hit 8, 16, 24, 32, 64, 128 tracks or more.

Now while you might be able to math out a track for a whole song, you’re still going to need to listen to it to make sure there are no glitches. Let’s posit a song that’s three minutes long.

Okay, track one — probably percussion or bass — laid down, review, then fix.

Track two will probably be the one not chosen for track one, bass or percussion — lay down, review, then fix.

Track three and on upward will probably start with the backing instruments the supporting chord progression, and then you’ll finally get to the lead lines and solos.

And, again, at every step of the lay-down, you have to listen to the whole damn thing to spot glitches and fix them, then listen to see if the fixes worked.

So if you’re doing a three minute song with 24 tracks, expect to listen to each track at least twice, and… you’re looking forward to at least 30 hours editing time, if not more.

Video editing? Complicate that further, since you’ll be combining several layers of video, effects, and sound effects, and again reviewing every one of them multiple times.

Writing? Much simpler, I suppose, since at least you only have one track to keep reviewing and editing over and over, instead of a group of tracks that keeps growing on every pass.

So… given enough time and money, I’d love to teach people on pre-recorded video or audio, but I’d probably hire an editor to whom I could give guidance, because I just haven’t had the patience to do it, and even this late into the lockdown, I’m not sure I still do.

But… I do digress. If I no longer needed to work for a living, then I would art in order to live, and help friends do it. Ooh. There’s your TL:dr. Enjoy!