A Thought. . . .

One recent morning, just after I rose from sleep and made my usual way to the bathroom, I listened carefully to my body. I heard the usual cracks and pops of joints I hear almost every morning -- knees, elbows, back, neck -- but this time I heard all the liquid sounds.

I’m sure I’d heard some of these before, but I had never noticed how many of them there are. I listened to all of them happen, all together, one by one over the course of several minutes. They were small, discrete gurgles and blips, distinct and brief, as various liquids and semi-solids shifted inside.

Most of them came from my gut and lower abdomen, of course: various materials shifting in my intestines now that I had altered position from supine to erect, urine gurgling out of my bladder or shifting from the kidneys as the bladder emptied, I imagine. But occasionally I heard something elsewhere: in my stomach, even (I believe) my throat.

I flashed on a sudden mental image of an elaborate chemistry set, with liquids dripping and flowing into and out of beakers, flasks, Erlenmeyer bulbs, condensers, funnels, and retorts . . . which, in a way, is exactly what we are.

A Giant and Happy Step Forward

Well, we finally did it. Same-sex marriage is legal in Oregon, and probably for good.

On Monday, a federal judge in Eugene ruled that a ban on gay marriage enshrined in the state constitution by Oregon voters ten years ago would not likely stand in the face of the U.S. Supreme Court’s decisions last June that struck down much of the federal “Defense of Marriage” act.

Multnomah County, where I live, legalized same-sex marriage in early 2004, and granted more than 3,000 licenses to gay and lesbian couples before court activity halted the process and a November initiative killed it altogether. The statewide vote that year was 57 percent for Ballot Measure 36, which defined marriage as “between one man and one woman,” versus 43 percent against.

It was disheartening for gays, lesbians, and those of us who support their civil rights. We knew the future was with us; we knew ever-increasing numbers of younger Americans see nothing wrong with same-sex marriage; but we figured the U.S. would have to wait another generation to make that leap.

The wonder of it is that it suddenly happened so fast. Twenty-six years ago I published op-ed pieces in the Roseburg News-Review in support of gay rights, and enjoyed a shower of enraged and abusive letters to the editor in response. Two years ago, it felt like we were no closer to change than we’d been in 1988.

Poking the Press

There’s nothing like seeing your name in print . . . unless it’s seeing the media respond to something you wrote, as well.

Last Saturday, one of the editorial writers of the Portland Oregonian published a lead editorial objecting to a proposed ban on smoking in public parks. He framed his argument in terms of freedom and the rights of smokers to do as they please versus the “minor” health threat posed by secondary smoke.

I responded with an emailed letter to the editor stating that he had missed the point -- partly because the Portland Bureau of Parks and Recreation is doing the same by promoting the ban as a health issue.

It’s also a much bigger environmental issue, I suggested. Plus, smokers have pretty much brought the ban down on themselves: If they had policed their own behavior, and properly disposed of their butts, they might not have attracted the ire of nonsmokers.

But increasingly, I see not only hundreds of cigarette butts on the ground in the parks, but it’s also all too easy to witness pedestrians and drivers at the wheel dropping lit cigarettes on the sidewalks and streets when they’ve finished with them.

The Coming Wars Over Water … and a Local Skirmish

A pretty good social, political, cultural, and scientific blog could be written simply on issues related to water.

To start with, roughly 60 percent of our body consists of water, though that varies a lot with our different body parts and how we take care of ourselves. Adipose tissue -- fats that store energy and provide cushioning and insulation -- is only 10 percent water, while muscles contain 75 percent (although you might have been tempted to think it’s the other way around).

Another fact that goes against common sense is that men tend to have a higher percentage of water in their bodies (average of more than 58 percent) than women (less than 49 percent), despite the complaints of the latter. Other factors that can make our internal water levels diminish include disease and age.

Although we tend not to feel thirsty until our inner water content is down by 2 to 3 percent, researchers have shown that mental and physical performance can begin to suffer after as little as 1 percent water depletion. (Forgetting to bring my own water to auditions, rehearsals, and performances has probably been my biggest consistent weakness as an actor.)

Another Year of Great Reading

Though I’ve never broken the top 10 in the reading contest, I always like to think I’d score near the top of the heap for variety. Every reader has genres that he or she favors and steers away from. Perhaps some of my fellow contestants read a lot of graphic novels; others favor mysteries, thrillers, and police procedurals. Still others gravitate toward history and biography, science, or Westerns.

Year after year, every year, I read at least a little of nearly type. And not because the three different book discussion groups to which I belong force me to. If anything, my personal taste is more catholic than all three book groups put together.

In 2013 read portions of various mystery series (Ed McBain, Nicolas Freeling, Ian Rankin, A.C. Baantjer, Bartholomew Gill, John Brady), sampled a little graphic fiction (Green Lantern Chronicles, Daredevil: Vision Quest), dipped into recent science fiction (William Gibson’s Spook Country and David Brin’s Existence; both okay, nothing spectacular), and zipped through the Hunger Games trilogy (actually quite enjoyable, but I skipped the movies).

I read pop culture history and bios (several Jack Nicholson biographies, Tanya Lee Stone’s The Good, The Bad, and the Barbie, Peter Carlin’s Bruce; and Mickey Dolenz’s memoir I’m a Believer and Andrew Sandoval’s day-by-day account of The Monkees because, after all, I had tickets to see the three surviving band members at the Schnitz in August).

2014 Meditation on Reading

It’s awfully tempting to state that reading makes life worth living.

But that can’t be right. I can think immediately of other activities that give greater, deeper pleasure than a book: an excellent meal, a conversation with an old friend, lovemaking, seeing a beautiful, wild place for the first time, or returning to one filled with memories from long ago.

Yet I’ve spent far more time in my life reading than engaging in -- or even pursuing -- any of those other activities.

So what’s the difference? Perhaps reading is more dependable. Those other peak experiences may be more intense, may deliver more … but they rarely last as long. You can’t keep up a great dinner, a conversation, or an intimate encounter for hours on end, the way you can enjoy a good book.

The Beatles Are Forever, Absolutely. . . .

Tonight marks a half century since The Beatles made the first of three appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show, in 1964. A record 73 million viewers saw that broadcast on Feb. 9 fifty years ago. It landed the band its U.S. recording contract with Capitol Records and launched the British Invasion.

I didn’t see the show. (Actually, I’ve never seen it.) I was not quite five years old, and we did not have a television in the house. (My parents were opposed to the technology, and I’m glad they were.) But for me, as for so many millions of others -- not only in the U.S. and UK, but around the world -- the Beatles created the soundtrack for our lives. In the form of their songs, they were an ongoing presence, a consolation and a source of pure joy, not only for the six short years thereafter, but forever after.

It couldn’t have been very long after that Sullivan broadcast that I heard my first tune by the Fab Four. It was “Do You Want to Know a Secret?”, and I heard it on the kitchen radio over the stove. Since my father was a piano teacher and had an extensive collection of vinyl LPs of classical and jazz music, as well as the Living Shakespeare spoken-word excerpts from the plays, I had a sensitive ear for organized sounds. As I remember, I was alone in the kitchen, and the song stopped me cold.

Consuming, Collecting, and Other Normal Expressions of Obsessive Compulsion

A friend and colleague of mine writes a wonderful blog. Laura Faye Smith is one of the top actresses here in Portland. Her blog is called “Finding Lagom,” but it’s not about acting. You can read her explanation of the term “lagom” on her site.

In brief, Laura’s blog is about overcoming her shopaholic tendencies (a history of assuaging anxiety and insecurity by feeding “the Want Monster”), her efforts with her husband to clear up their consumer debt over the past year, and getting rid of piles of clothing, cosmetics, candy, cleaning products, and lots of other things she saved “because I might need it someday.”

Beautifully honest and vulnerable (not to mention very funny at times, and usually illustrated with plenty of photos), the blog has featured entries with such titles as “In the Clutches of the Want Monster,” “Why I Don’t Feel Guilty for Spending $75 on Shampoo,” “All the Stuff I Didn’t Buy This Weekend,” “Why Am I Keeping This?” and “Learning to Love the Want Monster.”

If you want a summation of what “Finding Lagom: One Woman’s Attempt at a Simpler Life” is all about, just read “Pretty Much EverythingAbout This Photo Depresses Me,” an early post that encapsulates what Laura left behind to become a full-time actress … and then one of her best stories, the recent “Because I Don’t Need a Daily Reminder of What a Bitch I Can Be,” which is a fairly savage but hilarious self-indictment and a goodbye to a dream pair of woman’s heels.

I hasten to add that, as bad as she might come across in her blog, from my personal experience, Laura is unfailingly gracious and warm in person, and an utter professional on stage or film set.

"Saving Mr. Banks" - a meditation on Hollywood and historicity

Saving Mr. Banks is one of the big movie hits of the season. After barely a month in release, it earned more than $20 million domestically, and as of Friday was closing on $60 million. Most of the critics have approved, as well -- some calling it a film that’s impossible to dislike. Its U.S. box office receipts make it Disney’s most profitable movie of the past 45 years other than The Lion King and Aladdin.

It purports to tell the story of P.L. Travers, Walt Disney, and how a fictional character named Mary Poppins was created by the one and recreated in a hit 1964 movie musical by the other.

It’s also not entirely truthful.

Now, I hate to come off like a fundamentalist picketing Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ. I haven’t seen Saving Mr. Banks, and I don’t plan to -- more because it’s not the kind of movie I would spend my meager entertainment budget on than due to a stout ideological objection.

Hello, 2014 . . . and Welcome Back, Sports Fans!

Welcome back, and a Happy New Year!

Our blue-green jewel has completed another spin around El Sol, and as humans will do at this time of year, I’m reassessing. As I mentioned here two years ago, I don’t make New Year resolutions, per se; instead, for the coming year I think about things I want to accomplish in a general sort of way, and maybe a few specific professional goals. (But I also returned to the gym this week.)

One of those goals is to write more. Friends and colleagues notice my activity reports in terms of video, film, and stage work on Facebook and often remark, “it’s great that you’re living the dream.” But to be honest, acting and modeling never were my dream. They’re a job -- a pleasant, not too demanding, and often fun job -- but a job nonetheless.

Baiting the Links - an SEO Experiment

Today I’m treating you to something on the lighter side. But first, a little background.

In the middle of the summer of 2012, I answered a Craigslist ad that sought writers to compose SEO content. SEO (search engine optimization) refers to the array of strategies and tricks that websites use to rank high in Google searches when potential clients are looking for their goods, services, or information.

My new employer, Audience Bloom, was a brand-new startup based in Seattle. I went straight to work composing 400-500 word articles about reunion services, door companies in Phoenix, real estate agents and retirement centers in Seattle, and so on.

Since the only goal of his clients was to attract more traffic to their websites, the founder of Audience Bloom, Jayson DeMers, had the idea to try posting whimsical, entertaining pieces about nonexistent products that would pique readers’ interest and make them click through to the clients’ real websites. He called these fanciful pieces “link bait.”

Acting Mad

Somewhat to my surprise, I find myself in the middle of a short stage run in which I relate the story of my alien abduction, complete with seven-foot bunraku (Japanese puppetry) aliens. My cast mates and I also tell tales of childhood mishaps, physical and substance abuse, hallucinations (physical and aural), and recovery.

In one piece I talk about suffering at the hands of peers, teachers, parents, a babysitter, a rapist; in another short play, I embody a hallucination tormenting a woman as I happily swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels.

And I thought, going into this, I was just going to do some simple readings!

Several years ago, it dawned on me that I probably wouldn’t be doing much theater acting anymore. I had appeared in an average of three to five plays a year since 2005.

But in a smaller market like Portland, you can do theater pretty much only if you have a day job … because stage productions pay too little to live on. Or you can do commercial film, video, and print modeling if you have an independent and/or free-lance source of income, or perhaps that rare job that allows you complete control of your time … because you need your weekdays free to audition and work those sparse opportunities. Commercial shoots tend to keep bankers’ hours.

The Civil war (inside our hearts, as well as across society)

Several weeks ago, a group of active and well-meaning people organized a civility summit in Portland. Held in the cavernous ballroom of the Portland State University student center, it was something of a tragic farce – not because it wasn’t decently organized, and not because its aims aren’t laudable and even necessary . . . but because it was hijacked. Badly.

Carole and I went, skeptical but hopeful and supportive. A panel of nonprofit leaders, local elected officials, and law enforcement officers related stories of recent, disturbing incidents of incivility in Portland, as well as acts of assistance and kindness. The former included accounts of abusive street behavior, a vagrant begging leftovers from passersby and then disgustedly tossing the food in the gutter because he doesn’t like pasta, and drunk and disorderly young people from the suburbs whooping it up downtown or on the MAX light rail train.

One story showed that deteriorating behavior on the streets could (and probably has) cost the city huge amounts of money. A representative of Travel Oregon, the nonprofit that promotes tourism and conventions, was taking a pair of event planners from out of town around the city when a panhandler accosted them, wouldn’t take no, followed them onto a MAX train, and made them fear for their safety. The impact of a lost 2018 convention event and possibly the spread of the story to other planners could conceivably be in the millions. This and other stories were noted in an op-ed in the Portland Business Journal a week later.

A Quiet, Ambivalent "No" on Fluoridation in Portland

When I show people around the downtown as a guide for Portland Walking Tours, I joke that we Portlanders love to protest things.

Much as we love our city, I tell visitors, we also like to get worked up about stuff and make a lot of noise. Out-of-towners (and sometimes recent arrivals or even longtime residents) who join my tour get to see statues that provoked controversy, as well as the blocks where the Occupy Portland camp settled for more than five weeks in 2011. I was there, as regular readers of this blog well know.

This week’s vote on fluoridation of Portland’s water has provoked a public furor that has been no laughing matter, however. Over the past few months it’s been surprisingly loud, fierce, and unrelenting. Each side has accused the other of stealing campaign signs, and arguments among my Facebook friends have been spirited, to say the least.

Supporting the move to fluoridate the city’s water are most health and science authorities, from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, to the American Dental Association. All of the city’s newspapers, from the Oregonian to the bi-weekly Portland Tribune and the alternative weeklies Willamette Week and the Portland Mercury, have urged voters to say yes.

Can You Believe the Nerve of Some People?

Tonight I experienced the most miserable evening at a symphony concert I’ve had in a long time.

Not because of the orchestra itself, or the programming. In fact, the evening had promised to be both exciting and lovely.

The first half consisted of pieces by Stravinsky -- my favorite composer, if I may be said to have one; and the headliner was the L.A. Guitar Quartet performing Rodrigo’s “Concierto Andaluz.” Plus, the concert would finish with the seldom-performed “Suite from The Incredible Flutist” by American composer Walter Piston, to be recorded live for the Oregon Symphony’s next CD.

What made the evening an ordeal was the young woman sitting in the next row in front of me, and her obsession with her smartphone.

About 15 minutes before showtime I settled in my seat and studied the program notes. In the row ahead and one seat to my right I noticed a striking young woman -- sharp-featured, well-coiffed, and showily dressed. Based on her appearance, I guessed she might be an Eastern European or Russian/Ukrainian “import bride,” especially since her companion, further to the right, was a much older white gentleman, heavy-set, white-haired, and balding.

She was busily taking photographs of herself with her smartphone, trying to get the concert stage in the photo behind her. Is being at the symphony such a big deal for her, I wondered, or is she just vain? Stage announcements included the usual admonishments to shut off one’s electronic devices, and then Oregon Symphony Music Director Carlos Kalmar spoke for several minutes about the evening’s program.

See David Loftus in "Story Time for Grownups" on March 18

Click the image for details!

URGENT: HELP FIND DAVID LOFTUS

From David's wife, Carole:

 3/2/2013
David and his brother Toby set out from Portland, Oregon for Sun River, Oregon at 5pm on Friday  March 1st and never arrived. If anyone hears from either of them or learns of a crash between Portland and the Bend area, please call me immediately: 

 The car they were driving is a silver SAAB station wagon, Oregon license plate number 063-CSE. The route taken may have been OR 22 east of Salem to OR 20 to Bend. 

 IF YOU ARE IN THE AREA AND HAVE ANY INFORMATION REGARDING DAVID AND TOBY, PLEASE CONTACT CAROLE LOFTUS IMMEDIATELY.

U P D A T E :

From Carole:

Just got a call. They have been found. I do not know many details. They evidently got stuck in the snow and hiked through the woods all night to Breitenbush. 

Another Year of Wonderful Reading

This is going to be an extra-long blog post because it wasn’t written for this blog. It was my submitted essay for Steve Duin’s annual reading contest. Duin is a columnist for the Oregonian who started hosting an informal “reading contest” some years back, mostly to encourage people to read more and to talk about what they’ve been reading. I’ve entered the contest a number of times, usually place respectably but never near the top. He reported this year’s results at the beginning of this week, and as often happens, I got mentioned in his column.

Here’s the essay I wrote for this past year of reading. . . . 

*   *   *   *   *

When people congratulate me on “doing what you love,” they’re usually talking about the acting and modeling career that has reared its unlikely head over the past several years. But I’d rather be reading. You might say I’ve arranged my professional and private life largely to accommodate my pleasure reading.

I would imagine a majority of the folks who post big numbers in the reading contest are either in school or retired. At 53, I’m a long way from either end of that spectrum, making less income than I have in years, yet happy in my reading habits. I started stage acting in Portland in earnest in 2005, and went free-lance as an actor and wordsmith (writing, editing, proofreading) in the summer of 2009. But I still probably spend more time reading. Everything else is little more than an excuse for that.

TGI(not)F - The Irrelevance of Weekends

Every time my local bank gets a new teller, I have to train her (or him).

Most retail service workers have a verbal routine or “tic” that comes (or at least develops) with the job. Clothing store clerks wander over and say, “May I help you find something?” Waiters coo “Is everything all right?” anywhere from one to fifteen minutes after serving you … although it appears to be a point of pride to do it as quickly as possible; I’ve had the question posed before I’d taken a bite of the entrée.

(My family traveled in the former Yugoslavia in 1970, and I remember my parents being struck by how refreshing it was that shop owners actually seemed taken aback or pleasantly surprised to be asked what something cost. They just stood by, silently beaming, while we wandered through their place, as if proud just to be a business owner or to have a visitor looking over their offerings.)

At least the clothing store and restaurant queries have some semblance of a rational connection to the business relationship between yourself and the employee. As potential customer or diner, you might indeed have a response that relates to your needs.

But at my bank, the conversational gambit invariably involves a reference to the weekend. On a Monday or Tuesday, the teller might ask: “Did you have a good weekend?” On a Thursday or Friday, it’s “Got any plans for the weekend?”

This always catches me up short. I don’t have weekends, really. In the three and a half years since I lost my last day job and went free-lance as a wordsmith and actor/model, anything can happen, on any day.

Guns Do NOT Make Us Safer - the LAPD Shows Us Why

The erroneous shootings of innocent civilians by the Los Angeles Police Department this week were a perfect example of why more firearms are precisely the wrong solution to the problem of thousands of annual gun fatalities in this country.

The NRA asserts that in order to avoid future mass killings such as the Sandy Hook massacre in Newtown, Connecticut last December, we need more armed guards and teachers carrying firearms in elementary schools -- and more armed civilians in general.

The LAPD showed us this week why that’s NOT the answer.

On Tuesday morning at about 5:30 a.m., during a manhunt for a former Navy Reservist and Los Angeles police officer named Christopher Dorner, LAPD officers shot two Hispanic women who were delivering newspapers in a Torrance housing tract. Dorner is an African-American male.

Four days before, Dorner had shot two people in Irvine as part of what he termed a campaign of “unconventional and asymmetrical warfare” on the Los Angeles Police Department for wrongfully terminating him. Very early on Tuesday morning, he had been spotted in Riverside and shot two officers in their marked patrol car; one died, the other was critically wounded but survived.

Eluding the Germs; plus, Mohamud verdict and Tully's sale

Is the ’flu season over when Punxsutawney Phil pokes his head out of the ground?

It’s been a nerve-wracking winter so far. In years past, when stories ran in the media about the progress of the latest version(s) of influenza, I could feel reasonably safe, because I spend most of my working day at home. I don’t go to an office anymore where I’m trapped with other people who have come in to work still sick, and I don’t have to ride germ-ridden buses and trains every day.

Regular readers of this blog may remember a commentary I posted two years ago about wee beasties in our modern, tech-laden world.

For the past four to six weeks, though, many of my local Facebook friends have been bitching and moaning about a really rough bout of the ’flu this year -- and in a few cases, some appear to have suffered more than one round!

Wednesday night I went to the final rehearsal for a staged reading of three new short plays scheduled for this Saturday, and at least three of the five other people in the room were recovering from bad colds. One had experienced laryngitis as part of her sickness, and was only just coming out of that.

When it’s both that widespread and that close, I get to feeling paranoid and surrounded on all sides.

Business as (un)Usual

More than two years ago — two years and two months, actually — I wrote on this blog about the breaking news story of a 19-year-old “Islamic terrorist” who had tried to detonate what he thought was a bomb in downtown Portland a few blocks from my apartment.

Mohamed Osman Mohamud attempted to explode a bomb in Pioneer Square during a Christmas tree lighting ceremony for which thousands of people from the Portland metro area had gathered. But the bomb was a harmless fake, supplied to Mohamud by the FBI, which had been assisting him for the preceding four months in the person of an undercover agent posing as an Islamic terrorist.

In custody ever since, Mohamud finally went on trial this week in federal court for the alleged attempt at a terrorist bombing. The court is also just a few blocks from the site of the alleged bombing attempt, and maybe ten blocks from my apartment. (In fact it overlooks the two parks where Occupy Portland made its encampment a little over a year ago, between Oct. 6 and Nov. 12, 2011.) As I write, the undercover FBI agent who made contact with the teenager in July 2010 is testifying about their activities between that July and his November 26 arrest.

Coffee . . . Black, White, and Green

Friday morning’s news that the bankrupt Seattle coffee chain Tully’s had been purchased by an investment group that includes Patrick Dempsey, the star of “Grey’s Anatomy” (often referred to as “Dr. McDreamy”) brought up a lot of coffee-related thoughts and memories.

Coffee is ubiquitous in our jacked-in, high-tech world. Local stores and national chains are routinely mobbed every weekday morning before people settle down to their PCs and cubicles; then again at mid-morning breaks, at noon, and even after quitting time. Apparently, many teens and even pre-teens get a daily caffeine fix.

I did not grow up drinking coffee. I have no idea whether my parents ever drank it. I know we had tea from my mother’s Japanese upbringing. I vaguely remember my father liked a roasted-grain substitute for coffee called Postum.

When I was a kid, I associated coffee with the Folgers ads that had “Mrs. Olson” purring “it’s the richest kind” about the “mountain grown, for better flavor” brand. Coffee was just a thing that grownups drank; a bit stodgy and a lot less cool than cigarettes (which didn’t interest me, either). You pictured commercial coffee bulbs and squat white mugs in greasy spoon restaurants and church kitchens.

Fight Tactics for the Online Crusader

As I mentioned the other day, in the weeks since the Clackamas Town Center shooting and the mass killing at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, I’ve engaged in many debates with people on Facebook about gun control.

I’m not going to repeat those arguments . . . yet. What I wanted to examine today was the meta-issue of how to talk with people you violently disagree with, and probably more important, why. As a veteran of several decades of online firefights -- back in the days of Usenet, some of the most heated arguments I got into occurred on the Camille Paglia discussion list -- I’ve had a lot of experience with Internet battles.

I have a couple of Facebook friends -- people I probably linked up with as friends of friends, rather than people I know personally -- who are staunch gun rights advocates. I don’t go out of my way to antagonize these folks; I just calmly dispute some of their assertions to one another on an irregular basis. We go back and forth a while, and then I wander off.

A few days ago, one of that crowd typed in a comment whose like I’ve seen many times in the course of Internet debates on any number of subjects. “Give it up,” he told the ally who was arguing with me; “Not going to change a liberal mindset … Can’t be won.”

Back Again

Wow, where does the time go?

If I were to guess the last time I posted to this blog, I would have said two months ago . But it's been three.

That's going to change. I'll make this one short and sweet -- with the promise that there will be plenty to come. Soon.

2012 was a difficult but interesting year, not only for the nation and the world but for me. 2013 no doubt offers more of the same, though I'm not inclined to play the predictions game.

As I stated here a year ago, I also don't make New Year's resolutions, because they strike me as an exercise in setting oneself up to fail. Too often, we resolve to fix or stop doing something, and one simple misstep becomes an automatic black mark . . . and an inducement to give up.

I prefer to be more general and vague; I set some goals for the year. Not so much specific, tangible goals, because again, too many things are out of our control and it's easy for bad luck to look like personal failure. Rather, I resolve at the back of my head to do more of this or that . . . to push my life and activities in a direction that brings me closer to the kind of person I want to be.

That includes writing. With regard to this blog, I can predict a substantial increase in activity. I've certainly not lacked ideas for topics to write about.

As you might guess, in recent weeks I've had a number of debates with various folks on Facebook about gun control, a subject on which I've had occasion to write before. Recent news headlines and online firefights have provided fodder for multiple future commentaries. There are new developments in news events I wrote about a year or two ago, such as the supposed 2010 Pioneer Square "terrorist bomber," Mohamed Mohamud.

There's also recent news about how the government suppressed the Occupy movement last year, terming it a "terrorist threat" while at the same time admitting that Occupy was a peaceful movement. I participated in a small way in Occupy Portland, and wrote a lot on this blog about what I observed. The latest news outpaces what my paranoid imagination can devise about how "they're out to get us."

2012 was also a good year for pleasure reading. I read a total of 160 books and more than 50,000 pages, so I imagine there might be a thing or two to say about that, the way I wrote about reading Proust more than a year ago. And there's always plenty to say about the latest electronic gadgets, Americans' lemming-like race to own and be owned by them, and their effects of our voracious demand on the lives (and deaths) of people on the other side of the globe.

Stay tuned.

Rain, Rain, Come Our Way. . . .

It may have rained last night; the ground looks damp, and the neighboring roof is shining in the morning sun.

I sure hope it rained. It has been more than 70 days since we’ve had anything like what you’d call rainfall in Portland, Oregon.

Official reports recorded only a “trace” in the entire month of August. In September, a couple of fat drops hit me on the evening of Friday the 14th while I was on my way to see a friend’s production of Yasmina Reza’s “Art”; and a week later I awoke to a damp and shiny neighborhood somewhat like what I can see this morning. Two nights ago, a local news station said we’d had a total of four-hundredths of an inch for the entire month.

Most of the rest of the state of Oregon, and indeed, the Pacific Northwest, has been just as dry. Seattle went 48 days without any rain until mid September.

Normal rainfall in our city at this time of year is a little over an inch in August, a little less than two in September. I can’t say it’s been unpleasant; we’ve had a week or more of 90-plus temperatures and a couple days that exceeded 100, which is not that uncommon for us.

I lead walking tours of downtown Portland for visitors to the city, and tourists from Palm Springs, Phoenix, Texas, and Naples, Florida happily told me they had escaped relentless three-digit temperatures—plus the high humidity that is even more rare than 100 degrees here.

But as a native Oregonian and a resident of Portland the past 21 years, week after week of sunshine and no precipitation (we haven’t even had that many overcast days!) feels very, very strange.

Semi-Happy Birthday, Occupy Wall Street

One year ago today, Occupy Wall Street made its move. Activists hoping to make a statement about corporate greed and multinational economic control took a stand at Zuccotti Park in lower Manhattan, and a nationwide movement was born.

What a year it has been! On the plus side, phrases like “the 1 percent” and “the 99 percent” have entered common parlance, even among candidates for President of the United States. In the wake of Occupy, smaller pro-union protests and citizen reclamation of homes left empty by bank foreclosures have followed.

Legislative attempts to regulate banks and other financial institutions have tried to carry through at the state and federal level what protesters urged last fall. A substantial push is on to pass legislation to overturn the Supreme Court’s decision in Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission.

But for too many Americans sitting in their suburban and Midwestern homes and clicking through the local news with their remotes, the Occupy movement has become a joke … last year’s reality TV hit … a dead cult.

And that’s a pity. Semi-happy birthday, Occupy Wall Street.

This afternoon I joined a Portland, Oregon march and rally in observance of the one-year anniversary of the birth of Occupy Wall Street. We gathered at the east end of the Burnside Bridge and walked with signs and banners to the grounds outside the permanent Occupy Portland office at St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in Southeast Portland.

It probably wasn’t even a mile. There were barely a hundred of us. But what was interesting to me (along with the reactions of passing motorists) was the overkill of news coverage versus the almost negligible police presence.

The 2012 Election is Over, Folks

The 2012 election has clearly become Obama’s to lose. And I feel confident at this point that he won’t.

As ridiculously tragic as this week’s toppling dominos might have appeared -- from the the promotion of “Muhammad Movie Trailer” by a crazed fundamentalist Christian pastor in Florida, and its excerpting by irresponsible journalists on Egyptian television, to the killing of a U.S. ambassador in Libya by terrorists who coolly manipulated general Muslim outrage over the video -- they will likely solidify the lead the President was already in the process of establishing over his klutz of an opponent.

In an election year, any sort of foreign tension tends to drive voters back to the incumbent; well, they tell themselves, we’d better pull together and stick with the horse in the middle of the stream. No telling what we’d get with the new guy … especially a mere state governor like Romney who has zero international experience.

The news from Benghazi, Cairo, Yemen, and elsewhere over the past four days coincided with reports that the President already was pulling away from the challenger in key battleground states. Polls indicated that Obama has developed a comfortable lead over Romney in the critical swing states of Ohio, Florida, and Virginia. See this morning’s report in the Washington Post.

An NBC/Wall Street Journal/Marist poll found the President ahead by 50 percentage points to 43 in Ohio, 49 to 44 in Florida, and the same in Virginia. Such a lead is hardly an insurmountable one, except it was clear from the start that voter uncertainty over these candidates, and the movement of undecideds between them, was going to be smaller than usual.

Playing Dead

When I was 8 to 10 years old, I used to sneak through the neighborhood around my best friend Ron Cox’s house, tracking my buddies while they stalked me. I think Ron supplied all our toy guns. Each of us hoped to surprise and shoot the others. If someone “got the drop on you” and managed to shoot you (with oral sound effects) before you saw him, you had to play dead until your opponent had had enough time to get away. Then you were up again and hunting prey.

Currently, I’m in a stage production in which I play dead for an entire scene. The show is “City of Angels,” originally a 1989 hit on Broadway with music by Cy Coleman, lyrics by David Zippel, and book by Larry Gelbart, famous for everything from “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum” to “Tootsie,” “Oh God!” and TV’s “M*A*S*H.” One of the characters I play is a quack healer who is sponging off a disabled millionaire but gets shot in the head in the middle of the first act.

He spends the lengthy final scene of the first act as a stone-dead corpse in the morgue while other characters argue, sing, and dance around him. It’s a somewhat long scene: a fair amount of dialogue bracketed by two different musical numbers go by while I lie motionless on a gurney upstage center. It lasts about nine and a half minutes: I timed it one night.

Grimm and Bare It - Getting on to "Grimm," part 2

I was absolutely convinced I would not get this role. The character description read: “rotund but well-built man … reminiscent of the IRA … been through the wars, been in many fights, and should look like it.” But of course, I thought wryly; anybody would think of me when you read that!

As my friends and family know (as well as faithful readers of this blog, assuming there are any), I was laid off from my last day job pretty much without warning on July 17, 2009. That forced me into the long process of becoming a full-time free-lance writer and actor … a process that has been up and down, and continues to be filled with uncertainty, but has been mostly a happy one. I posted a summary of part of that process -- at least with regard to auditions, simplifying our life, and finding an ongoing free-lance writing job that has helped me make ends meet while keeping my daily schedule flexible -- last September.

There were other landmarks along the way. I did my first TV extra work, on the TNT series Leverage, on August 17, 2009, for “The Future Job”; and on August 30-31, 2009 for the final show of the second season, “The Maltese Falcon Job.” I signed with Ryan Artists, a talent agency, on August 27, 2009, although they promoted me initially as a “lifestyle model” (read: older, for Baby Boomer goodies and services). They said they could not be sure whether my stage experience would make the transition to film and video.

On November 25, 2009, I got cast in my first indie feature, which would shoot January-June 2010 and become known as “Coup de Cinema.” It took nearly a year for me to land my first commercial job through my agent: a Web ad for AutoDesk we shot on August 14, 2010, released online about six weeks later. Two more commercial jobs followed within less than a month. I was off and running.

Go On, Try to Wipe This Grimm Off My Face

Obviously, I’ve neglected this site for a while. Less obviously to anyone who’s not a Facebook friend of mine, I’ve been having a wonderfully busy time.

Periodically, since this site became largely mine by default in the spring of 2010, I’ve taken readers on a series of junkets. There was the experiment in collecting recycled bottles and cans for cash redemption (five essays between May 15, 2010 and September 2, 2010), my adventures as an actor in 48-Hour Film Festival projects (which ran August 14, 2010; August 16, 2010; August 20, 2010; August 24, 2010; and September 16, 2010; and never got completed), and a quick three-fer in October 2010 about the use of obscenity in protesting military actions. I also wrote two columns about reading Proust.

My longest series was of course entirely unforeseen and unplanned: a ten-part report on the Occupy Portland camp after it set up 8 blocks from my apartment, with two “pre” columns and three post-eviction commentaries. The final report, “Raking Leaves and Revolution,” on Dec. 17, 2011, has links to all the previous ones, if you want to catch up on them. (Which is not to say Occupy Portland is dead. Far from it! Check out my interview with Jake, an Occupy Portland organizer, on the Pop2Politics show that originally aired Feb. 26, 2012.)

Take Two, They're Fast . . . Why I Read More Than One Book at a Time

Some book lovers are monogamous: they read one book at a time, and finish it before picking up the next. Others are what we might call polybiblious: We like to read more than one book at the same time.

I suspect it’s a habit I developed in college, when every day I had to read different books for different classes. Some were history, some were historical novels, some were critical analyses of poetry and fiction.

Today, more than 30 years out of school, I still prefer to read two (or three, or four) books simultaneously. This morning, for instance, I read 15 or 20 pages of the third (translated) installment of a wonderfully dark series of police procedurals set in Iceland, by Arnaldur Indriðason, titled The Draining Lake. Once I’d arrived at the coffee shop where I could relax and spread out before a video shoot, I put that one in my bag and returned to about page 320 of Believing the Lie, the seventeenth and latest Inspector Lynley mystery by Elizabeth George.

Sometimes, you’re forced by external circumstances to read more than one book at a time. There’s the book you most want to read, and the book or two that you have to read … because the book group is meeting to discuss it in a few days, because it’s due at the library and someone else has placed a reserve request on it, or because (occasionally, in my case) you’ve promised to review it for someone. But I also like to read two or three books at once, most of the time. Rather than grind away at one to the finish before turning to another, my mind likes a change of pace, scene, or style after an hour or two, and most books take longer than that.

Usually, the best combination is a nonfiction book and a novel. Here’s why. Say you get engrossed in the fiction and feel compelled to finish the story. If the other one you’re reading is biography, history, or science, that’s easier to put aside and come back to after a week -- even a month or more -- and not feel the story’s gone cold. That doesn’t work so well with literature or a thriller, where you strain to recall who’s who and what was happening when you put it down.

As fascinating as it can be, nonfiction doesn’t often zing and zip as often as a good thriller, so whether the nonfiction I’m currently enjoying is a fat or thin tome, I often get through two, three, or more novels before I finish the nonfiction alternative. More than a decade ago, I steadily renewed a library copy of Norman Davies’s Europe: A History -- a rich 1,365 pages -- for almost a year, leaving it fallow for months on end before finally reaching the final page. It’s a wonderful book, but still a bit of a slog.

I must have started and finished dozens of other books before completing the Davies and returning it to the Multnomah County Library. I don’t know whether to be pleased that I got to keep it that long or saddened that apparently no one else was interested in it.

Which is not to say I never read two or three novels at once. Over the past year, my growing thirst for mysteries and police procedurals has had me simultaneously enjoying tales from different continents (Henning Mankell’s Swedish mysteries; or Colin Cotterill’s adventures of Dr. Siri, a septuagenarian coroner in Laos) and time periods (Bruce Alexander’s 17th-century London magistrate, Sir John Fielding, and Philip Kerr’s hard-boiled private eye in Nazi Berlin and post-war Argentina, Bernie Gunther). Witness this morning’s adventures of Iceland and Scotland Yard detectives.

When you’re dependent on the library for most of your reading material, there is an element of gambling to this process. Every once in a while, a request from another reader catches you in the middle of a book you’re really enjoying. Then you’re faced with a rock-versus-hard-place choice: put the others aside and finish the book, with a risk of going overdue and having to pay the fine, or return it half finished.

I think I have done the latter once or twice, and immediately entered another loan request to get the book back as soon as possible, but that’s so unpleasant that I usually choose to keep reading and pay the fine.