i’ve been feeling down the last couple days, so it was nice to wake to your letter, murph. i read it in bed and got to commenting straight away. if only tracking the distance between that payphone in vegas and my apartment in bushwick were as easy as counting the miles, i thought, and like my friends waiting outside the rio, i too wanted to skip breakfast.
i took a walk and gave you a call, hoke. talking on the phone has become my preferred activity of late, especially late at night when the streets are empty and i can remove my mask. sometimes i’ll take the dog, sometimes not. i’ll dial up a friend, pick a direction, and get to talking. hoke and i mused on andy and his creative projects, as well as <quote-01>your pragmatism, murph<quote-01>. i returned to the computer to work on my letter before making dinner--a task i happily fulfill most nights--and now i’m back, reading over what i’ve written, writing some more, wondering what--if anything--i’ve got to give you.
casey texted me yesterday afternoon: can you talk? this happens occasionally, usually because of something that happened with a girlfriend. casey has dated more than one bonafide <quote-02>sociopath<quote-02>, and i’ve spent many an hour helping to straighten him out as a result. lucky for us both, i wouldn’t lump grace in with the rest. i like her for him. the dog needed to go out, so i told casey i’d hit him up in a sec.
earlier in the week i had a surprisingly candid conversation with my mother during the dog’s afternoon walk. her doctor had recommended a tai chi dvd set as an alternative to her gym routine now that the gym is closed. she described the merits of tai chi as a physical practice aside from its--for her--frightening ties to eastern spirituality. for years i’d championed the benefits of yoga, but my parents weren’t interested. enter covid, and my mother and i are examining the similarities between mindfulness and prayer. how ‘bout that?
how’s it going? i asked casey. oh, fine, just finished therapy, he sighed. oh, i see, an hour with a paid professional wasn’t enough, i joked. ha, right, he said.
i was right; he needed to talk about grace. she’d been thinking about taking an rv across the country with her sister’s family to be with their folks in san francisco for a while. they’d load up with food for the trip, stop in rest areas, and quarantine to the best of their abilities for a couple weeks once they got there. needless to say, casey was dreading the thought of losing the company of his partner during a time like this. i think traveling at all right now seems unwise, i told casey. stay put, be safe, wait to learn more. <quote-03>he agreed with me<quote-03>. grace, however, is a bit... <quote-04>untethered<quote-04> was the word he found. he and grace have been together for four years. he’s opposed to marriage and doesn’t want kids, so i suppose this is the type of problem that is bound to come up. i told him if she splits we’ll have to take some masked walks together, maintaining the prescribed distance, of course. perhaps we’ll hit play on petty’s long after dark at the same time, like you and i did with south park’s bailout episode from opposite sides of the country, murph. <quote-05>‘member?<quote-05>
you know you can screen share video with this zoom app now? i knew it was only a matter of time until someone figured out the compression rates to make something like this feasible, but i wasn’t aware we were there yet. tisdale and i recently watched the new louis ck special, sincerely. stand-up is the perfect media to share on zoom, by the way--the comedian in the center of the screen and your friend off to the side in a box, ready to laugh along with you. this is how we hang out now, i guess. louis put the special out himself. he had some good material, some as good as his material has ever been; still, i couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t equipped to address his cancelation in the way i wanted to hear him address it. but what did i expect? a great special? because i got that. i guess i wanted more. there was something sad about it for me, about the whole thing, my expectations included.
i wonder about my expectations of myself. like, what is it exactly i find so repulsive about self promotion? to continue the comparisons between andy and myself you and i drew over the phone, hoke, we can make the stuff, but we can’t sell it. perhaps we are limited here by the breadth of our interests; perhaps there are other factors at play. all i know is that andy seems less troubled by all of this than i. i’ll give you that as of late his responsibilities lay elsewhere--what with ashley’s role as the main breadwinner and andy’s as the stay-at-home parent--but <quote-06>the freedom with which he approaches his creative endeavors<quote-06>, whatever they may be, has always fascinated me.
what andy can’t do is <quote-07>rehearse<quote-07>. here, for whatever reason, he is severely limited by his expectations. remember how difficult it was for him to perfect his tambourine part in utah? how he blew up during our rehearsal outside the gas station, catalyst for the later explosion around the fire pit? i doubt it was his lack of facility with the instrument that <quote-08>set him off<quote-08>.
i remember working with andy on boneshaker, the short casey and i made. it was a beautiful fall day, and the three of us were out on our roof. at the time casey and i lived under the elevated m train a few blocks from where sarah and i live now. you both stayed there on separate occasions. i remember you, murph, enjoying the dodger home games so late at night. anyways, wanting to highlight his multiple talents, casey and i had written a couple different characters for andy to play, and we’d set aside the entire afternoon to work on a mime sequence. unfortunately, we only got about an hour out of him. casey sensed my frustration, and we talked about it afterward. we’re probably used to rehearsing from years of doing theater. maybe andy just doesn’t know how to rehearse, casey posited, and i thought of all the actors i would rather be directing in the parts we’d written for andy.
evidently he and ashley have been going a little stir crazy with renzo in their tiny los angeles apartment and are gonna head to her brother’s place in tucson for a bit. we just need some air, he told me. i imagine grace has been feeling something similar. i’m always slightly confused when i get a video of <quote-09>you and abram exploring the great outdoors, hoke<quote-09>. is this real? where is that? how’d you get there? most new yorkers are living on a different planet from the rest of the country. with parks and restaurants closed, where is there for us to sit outside? it’s not like we have patios or porches. it must be nice having your mom around to help with grammar, murph, although she must be going <quote-10>a little stir crazy herself<quote-10>.
again i wonder how it is i got here. i feel stuck, like andy must’ve felt with that tambourine. in response to murph’s pragmatism: we’re pulled in one way by utility and in another by an ideal until at some point, whether in confidence or out of exasperation, we draw the line. that’s enough, i can take no more. here’s the line. this is where it goes, and i’m drawing it. however, this moment of resolve--andy’s, fuck this shit--is entirely contingent. tomorrow i wouldn’t draw it here, and yesterday i had yet to draw it at all. so why now? why here? what does it matter that i--who am a mystery to myself, who must always be--draw a line today when tomorrow a keener understanding of my situation will demand its erasure? i think of andy miming a bicycle on my roof in bushwick and how suddenly, he could mime it no more. when do i get to quit and go inside? is it soon?
after hearing about the situation with grace, i used up the majority of the conversation with casey yesterday enumerating these futile thoughts of mine. trying to make me feel bad for calling you after therapy, i get it, casey joked. i don’t know. i feel like i never get any closer to figuring anything out. i am constantly refining/defining, keeping temperature, trying to maintain a critical approach. i think of zizek’s challenge to progressives: don’t act! think! and hey, i get it; but would he give the same advice to hamlet? i wonder. i, for one, am growing weary of examining the nature of my frustrations, weary of wandering while on the phone.
i feel like i haven’t said anything here, like i haven’t told any stories of note. or worse: that i’ve told them poorly. maybe i’ll take a walk, call a friend, and come back and see where i’m at. hopefully i’ll be able to give you something better than what i have now.
<pull-quote>sociopath<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Don't even get me started on his best friend.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i know. he's had a tough go of it.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>he agreed with me<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I think there's something to be said about being with family right now. I understand the urge. We all want to feel safe in these times, at home.<p-comment>
<p-comment> It's probably been a revelatory time for many in this way: "Where is home?"<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>untethered<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Or so he thought?<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>'member?<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I do. That was a unique night. Must have been fall 2009. Tom and Huber and I were in Las Vegas working through new songs with John on drums. We were gonna call the band INDICATOR at the time. We had enough material for an album, a fucking fantastic album. Alas, there was only one Murph among those four individuals and no Wuck. They were off drinking and gambling somewhere, and I'd stayed back at the motel to grade papers. When you called, I just blew them off. We talked for, what, over three hours?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>something like that, a good long while. i’m remembering now my surprise at your readiness to put on south park after we’d already gabbed on for however long about lord knows what.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>the freedom with which he approaches his creative endeavors<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Is waking up every morning and tying each of your limbs to a different horse "freedom"?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>you calling me stupid?<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Murph, you've just summarized many a wise monk’s explanation for living a cloistered life.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>christ, hoke. let me guess: man, you know how to live?<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I mean, even though Andy's particular balding pattern would make for an easy transition to the tonsure, I'm rather vested in his REMAINING in society. My fear, of course, is that he and Ashley will forever escape to her parents’ place in Texas now that Covid has shut down the fit-fashion industry.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Is it—I now wonder—his prolific (re: manic) dabbling that’s kept him from a reliable career, particularly one in which he could have plied just one or two of his immense talents? Wouldn’t it be ideal if his career as, say, a stand-up comedian or brand designer or children’s book author or theater teacher could keep them afloat for the time being?<p-comment>
<p-comment>At any rate, Kristen and I have invited them to quarantine with us for the foreseeable future, help them weather the storm. It’ll be good for Grammar and Renzo too, I’d imagine. We'll see, I guess.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>wouldn't it be ideal? you ask. but what i hear is: why hasn't this loser been able to? forgive me, but the question hits too close to home. would it be ideal? of course, it would. but it didn't work out that way, so fuck right the fuck off, please and thank you.<p-comment>
<p-comment>would that i could blame my lack of work on the pandemic; alas, a year of auditions after orange won't allow it.<p-comment>
<p-comment>to restate my point within your reductive equine metaphor: i'm finding it hard not to want to shoot every last one of these fucking horses in the goddamn head, the good they've done me. and then there's andy, out on a recreational lope around the serene meadows or some shit. i don't know how he does it. shit sucks.<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Dang, Wuck. Projecting much? It's, like, not all about you. That metaphor's not your metaphor.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>no? then why does it piss me off so much?<p-comment>
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<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>That I don't know. What I DO know is that you ride your horses hard and long, bud. And don't pretend you'd shoot Stella Adler (that's what you named your acting horse). Don't pretend you'd shoot Stella Adler in the head. Hell, maybe you should have by now; the damn thing's tried to buck you off enough times. Instead you've made every sacrifice imaginable for that horse. And, sure, you've ridden a couple other fillies in your time--you're as talented as Andy, after all--but not only have you spent countless hours with each of them, you've lovingly stabled them in between their appropriate seasons, visiting them often with a crisp apple and a brand new curry comb.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Stella, for instance, has never begrudged you your infrequent--but necessary---rides with, say, Goldberg (your only stallion). A horse needs a breather now and again. And she knew you'd be back in the saddle soon.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>projecting much, murph? it's all too beautiful. it betrays someone who knows how to live.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>rehearse<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I've often tried to imagine all those nights Andy spent at your house during The Diviners sophomore year. In my mind it's a non-stop rollercoaster of hellbent rehearsing and hysterical grab-ass.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>yeah. hard to imagine having the ability to rehearse a scene at that age, aside from blocking and memorization.<p-comment>
<p-comment>he used to knock on my door in the morning. i’d answer; he’d fart.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>This joy will return, Wuck, with your child. Remember to laugh and chase the kid as you would Andy, not just to scold and wipe the (probably) unclean little culo.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>set him off<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>The fact that he vowed he wouldn't fuck up when the time came yet made that exact same mistake during the performance--that sonuvabitch.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Still, what a payoff! Koontz literally blubbering at the first phrase from the melodica!<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>you and abram exploring the great outdoors, hoke<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Well, I work full time still, so Rachel is in Andy's position, home with him much more as we swap mornings for her therapy clients. And yes, I get to take him to the woods nearby, or kayak to an island. I can't imagine being trapped in a city like New York or LA right now. Actually, I can imagine. But I don't envy.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>a little stir crazy herself<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>She is. If she could go out to get her bursitis shot--she's essentially walker-bound without it--she'd be happy to stay put otherwise.<p-comment>
<p-comment>New York, I imagine, loses 99% of its charm in a time like this.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>your pragmatism, murph<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Speaking of, I have found that I am much more willing to spend upwards of an hour on the phone if you are BOTH on the other side. Two of my favorite birds with one stone? THAT I can rationalize.<p-comment>
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