Creative Depression

It's been a while since a post. I've been in a recession of my own creative economy. With the acquiring of cable television, my abilities to think and respond have been retarded. The chatter of Victoria Stillwell training a poorly behaved Pomeranian into sublime submission is overwhelming. Jon Stewart's "smile and bear it" jokes lull me deeper into my lumbar-challenged rocking chair. And my passion for local and network news has me believing that if I talk loud enough at the TV, they will eventually shut up and take notice at all the angry people staring back at them.

And all I wanted was a little Battlestar Galactica. Instead I watch the Scott brothers' adaptation of The Andromeda Strain. Ricky Shroeder as a gay scientist who literally holds the thumb to the salvation of the Human Race? HELL YES!



Adaptation. I'm totally with it on a biological level. Creative Adaptation however is a very tricky mountain to scale requiring a lot of reality checks. Serious reality checks. I think I might be checked out for the time being. I'm having to adapt creatively a little too much and with a serious lack of belief in a canon of language that I've supposedly cheered for the last 10 years of being in classical theatre.



And then I wave at a total stranger I've known for four years. His job is to water the lawns of the Festival grounds. It's a job that I'm not sure I exactly support on an environmental level. There's a lot of lawn here to water and we're in the southern Utah desert. He asks me if I'm having a good evening. I give a pleasant white lie in a charm dipping sauce. Non-judgmental, completely acting my part of the contented company member who is so lucky to be here. Lucky enough to take it for granted and know it at the same time.