Serve Your Queen. Spoil Your Princess.

This one's for the boys.

Wanna be happy? Take my advice. Serve your Queen. Spoil your Princess.

I'm not saying every girl you'll ever meet falls into only two categories. They don't. They shouldn't. My advice applies across the board. Assess. Monitor and adjust. Play in the moment. Know when to serve and when to spoil. Use some fucking common sense.

But, above all, know this: she comes first. Got it? If not, go fuck yourself. Because she does.

And you're not gonna be perfect. I sure as hell ain't. My needs come first way too often. Sure, I could blame my wife. She aims to please. She sets the trap. I should know better by now. She plays the "Serve your King; Spoil your Prince" game every day. I can't let her.

Remember, she comes first. Got it? If not, go fuck yourself. Because she does.

But I really want to tell you how to do these things, not yell at you. So pick and choose what you need. Take what you want. Figure out when you need to serve and when you need to spoil. But do both. Often. And you'll have plenty of fun along the way.

How to serve?
This one's easy. Do the little things.

For example, I know my wife hates doing the laundry, so I try and pitch in every chance I get. Even if it's carrying the dirty clothes to the laundry room. I'll make the bed before she gets a chance. Do the dishes. Run the vacuum. Write the grocery list. Put up coffee. Cook dinner. I'm not much for taking care of her dog, but I'll walk and feed him if it means my wife can sleep in on the weekends.

I realize this is 2016 and couples are meant to share domestic duties. I get it. And I hope every couple does. But it's hard to shake antiquated notions, especially when your wife is a stay-at-home mom (or whatever it's called these days) and feels guilty if she's not doing every single household chore.

Here are some other ideas: go get her car washed, serviced, or fill the fucking tank for her without being asked. Hire a housecleaning service for the month. Mow the lawn. (This one's especially tough for me because I hate being outside. The flying insects target me. They do. And they bite.) Run errands for her. Go to the bank, the post office, the drug store. Pick up the kids, for a change.

You get it? Serve! It means doing the little things for her. Making her life easy. Your Queen wants that. And so should you.

How to spoil?
This one's harder. You have to know how to romance and shower with affection.

Rule #1: tell your Princess she's beautiful every day. In my opinion, this means more than saying, "I love you." Your Princess needs to know that you see her beauty. She's like sunshine.

If you want to go the flowers and chocolate route, don't offer those only on special occasions. Your Princess should throw those at you if you wait till Valentine's Day. There doesn't need to be a reason, if you're spoiling right.

Book a massage, splurge at the salon, take her shopping, wine and dine, let her pick the Saturday night movie for a change. Take a walk with her. Go to the gym together. Break out her favorite board game so you're not parked in front of the TV all night. Let her wake up to a Victoria's Secret gift card sitting in her inbox. Make sure your Princess knows she comes first!

And here's a big one: let your Princess have girls night when she wants. I struggle with this, ain't gonna lie. I get lonely. I like attention and proximity. But distance can work to your advantage. Let your hearts grow fonder. Missing a person says a lot about how you feel. About how you're connected. You can't be up each other's ass all the time. That isn't healthy.

This last part's tough, boys. Don't be selfish in the bedroom. You can't spoil your Princess if all you care about are your needs. Take your time. Rub her feet, massage her back and shoulders, kiss her tenderly on the lips. I have students who read this blog, so I'll stop there. But you get the picture, right? Go slow. Your Princess won't enjoy herself otherwise. It's all about being relaxed. If you want it over fast, just go to the bathroom and jerk off.

But your Princess won't have any fun, and nobody wants that.

I Want to Teach or Retire

This follows up an entry I wrote in September and a promise to my family and my students to remain positive this school year. I've kept up my end of the bargain. I'm having a solid year. In fact, this is probably the best schedule I've ever had, certainly since I started working in my current school district eleven years ago.

But we got dumped on again yesterday, and it fucking pisses me off. The state issued new requirements and imposed new regulations for hiring independent contractors to work in our schools. The application is about four or five pages long and requires multiple levels of red tape for approval once completed.

Look, I understand the need to make sure our students are safe. I have two teenagers. I know. But, this is not at all about the students. It's about protecting the districts so they aren't held liable or accountable should anything go wrong.

But that's just the start. We're also required to initiate contracts now when we rent equipment. That fucking document is about ten pages long and requires an attorney to translate.

So that means when I need props, costumes, scenery, or anything else for my theatre program (and I rent one thing or another for every show I produce), I have to complete multiple applications, and then fax, email, or snail mail them for signatures before submitting to the school and district for approval. Those procedures will take weeks at the least! School districts take several days just to put toilet paper in the bathrooms so we can wipe our asses. Tell me how the fuck all that serves the best interests of our students? Not to mention art and artists don't work that way. We need what we need when we fucking need it.

Since when did public schools become corporations? We're micro-managed every step of the way. I'm almost 50 years old and have been in the business nearly 25 years. That's half my life. Why can't I be trusted as a professional? Why do I need to ask for permission to make decisions that I feel are in the best interests of my students and my program?

Despite all this (and this doesn't take into consideration any of the dozen initiatives launched in our schools each year), we're expected to wake up each morning and give our students our best.

Maybe it's easy when you're young. You know, to look at the smiling faces and think, this is why I do this; I don't care about all the bullshit. I got news for young teachers - those feelings go away. And it's a shame. They want us to be bookkeeping, data-crunching valets, but we're not. I didn't go to school for accounting. I'm no one's doorman. I want to teach or retire.

But here's another kick in the ass. The pension I earned in the state where I worked previously is locked in their retirement system. There's no reciprocity. I can't transfer those years. Not unless I want to pay about $100K per year. Oh, I'll still collect my pension, of course. But what good will it do when I can't combine it with the years in my current state? I don't even think it'll be enough to pay my monthly electricity bill.

There are things I'm good at. I read, write, edit, sing, play guitar, photograph, film, cook, make people laugh. I'm an artist. I won't be able to make a living that way, even while collecting both pensions, but I'll drive a fucking forklift at Costco if I have to. I hear they're an amazing company. And at least there I'll know what I am.

I've only got four years of teaching to go after this one. I'm thankful for my wife. Not only does she listen to these complaints every night, but she supports every thing I do. Helps me fulfill every dream. She never thinks she's enough. But she's everything. I look forward to the day when I close the lights in my classroom for the last time and go home to hold her.

Best Reads of 2015

I spent a lot of time writing this year. I finished Queensboro last winter, wrapped Winter in early August, and cranked out a couple of short stories this fall (my "Cat's Eye" won a contest!). The entire Crow Creek series will be released through Samhain Publishing over the next 13 months (a little shameless self-promotion shall not perish from the Earth).

I also read as much as possible, balancing the classics (I have Elmore Leonard, Jack Ketchum, and Neil Gaiman sitting on the shelf beside me) with contemporary works so I can stay current in my practice. Picking the best books (or the best of anything) is never easy, but I love lists, so I thought I'd throw my two cents into the year-end pot. Here's what I read and what I liked. Thank you to these wonderful authors for sharing their passion. My reviews are general so as not to give away any spoilers. I've cropped some of what I previously posted on Goodreads.

10. Those Who Are Left by Josh Stricklin
I found this through an Amazon recommendation, actually. When you order enough horror novels, they have an algorithm that suits your interests. Clever. This one is fast-paced and intense. Better than the ones Stephen King put his brand name on this year. Maybe this hasn't passed his desk yet. Could be too low-budget for him. It's apocalyptic but funny. The protagonist is endearing. The violence and horror are appropriately surreal. I hope the rest of the series is as much of a thrill ride.

9. Dust of the Dead by John Palisano
I met this fellow Samhain author at the World Horror Conference in Atlanta last spring. He's original and inspiring. I read this twist on the zombie apocalypse in a day. He does a believable job creating a post-apocalyptic Los Angeles without being mundane or cliche. He effectively blends suspense, horror, and dark comedy and leaves you gasping for more. This harrowing odyssey is a must read for all fans of the zombie genre.

8. Shutter by Courtney Alameda
I also met Alameda at the World Horror Conference. She's creative, dedicated to her craft, and brooding. Everything a horror writer should be. This young-adult ghost story is very engaging. It has the perfect blend of fantasy and reality. The descriptions are balanced evenly with the acton. The lead characters are strong and believable. Her ear for dialogue is spot on. It's creepy, cool, and funny at times. My teenage daughter read it in two days.

7. Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits by David Wong
Not so much horror/comedy as satirical science fiction, David Wong continues to impress. His vision of the future is thoroughly frightening, especially his commentary on social media and our culture of dehumanization. An exciting and hilarious adventure, Futuristic Violence is stylistically superb. One can only wonder how soon his nightmare world will become all-too real.

6. The Cure by JG Faherty
I shared interview time on Zombiepalooza Radio with this Samhain author. He's intelligent and inspiring. The Cure is one of the scariest novels I've read in a long time. It's also one of the best. Faherty is a master at building characters. The reader can't escape the torture the protagonist endures. This powerful story of love, corruption, redemption, and loss is a mature read. I can't wait for his next.

5. Sarah of the Romani by Tom Calen
Quite different from his Pandemic Sequence, Tom Calen's found his voice in this suspenseful tale of witchcraft and murder. The two brothers crafted as contrasting protagonists are compelling. Calen creates a suspenseful tale of grisly murders while building a mythos that's sure to a launch another powerful horror series.  Part Lovecraft, part King - a novel you won't be able to put down.

4. The Scarlet Gospels by Clive Barker
One of the true masters of horror returns with the final, long-awaited tale of Pinhead and the Cenobites. This time, protagonist Harry D'Amour goes to hell to rescue his blind best friend. He's well-crafted and memorable. The powerful imagery creates a demonic world of sex and violence as only Barker can create. His writing is beautiful yet horrifying. After Peter Straub, he handles language and commands words better than anyone else in the field.

3. Finders Keepers by Stephen King
This book is vintage King. Brilliant story, amazing character development, and non-stop action. I devoured this book faster than any of his I've read in a long time. Enjoyed it so much more than Revival and Mr. Mercedes. I was happy to see King return to his roots in the final scene with the set up for the next book in the series.

2. Such a Dark Thing by Jess Peacock
An engaging, thoughtful essay about the theology of horror. Drives home the point that in a world created by God, God remains culpable for all things evil. Includes an excellent annotated bibliography that covers the best of vampires in pop culture. The writing is so brilliant and intellectual that I felt like I was captivated by a favorite college professor. Peacock takes his writing and his themes seriously. He's a committed and inspiring author.

1. Strange Animals by Chad Kultgen
I've enjoyed all five of Chad Kultgen's novels. He's my favorite author right now (and also the world's greatest squirrel photographer). This book cuts right to the heart of the pro-choice/pro-life debate by exposing the radical Christian right for what they are - corporate machines aimed at controlling women and denying freedom to all those with different ideologies. The narrative alternates seamlessly between the two main characters and builds momentum until their final confrontation. This book will haunt you. As always, Kultgen's work is aggressive and genuine.

Why We Need Star Wars

Use the Force.

I haven't seen the new Star Wars movie yet, so there won't be any spoilers here (not that there would be anyhow).  I have tickets for a Monday matinee, but I'm not sure I can wait until then.

I'm inspired by last night's episode of The Big Bang Theory.  I enjoyed their coverage of the new release, but one line gave me pause.  While three of the geeks await the show (Sheldon's in bed with his girlfriend finding another use for the force), they're joined by Will Wheaton, dressed in Star Trek grab and appropriately booed and hissed by the crowd.  Will tells our inept heroes something like, "Whether or not the movie is good won't make a difference when you wake up in the morning."  They nod and sigh in dejected acceptance.

I disagree.  We need Star Wars, and we need it to be good.  We need it to be the best fucking movie ever made.  It makes no difference whether or not you're a fan.  This is bigger than what George Lucas started in the 70s.  This is not just a cultural phenomenon.  This is how art shines.  How creativity and imagination take us to another level.  We're fed up.  We're frustrated.  We need hope.  We're desperate for light.  Star Wars gives us both.

I liken this to the arrival of The Beatles in 1964.  Kennedy's assassination, civil unrest, the brink of war in Vietnam; America torn apart at the seams.  The Fab Four descended like Gods (dare I say Jedi Knights?) from their jet airliner and swept us away.  I wasn't even born yet, and I'm hypnotized by the footage.  It doesn't matter whether or not you like their music.  (If you don't, you're fucked in the head.)  Look, I'm an Elvis fan, first and foremost, but this isn't about competition and rivalry.  Elvis opened the door for The Beatles.  That's not at question.  This is about basic human needs.  Love and belonging.  Self-transcendence.  About looking at the person sitting next to you in the theatre and knowing (without saying), we're here.  We've made it.  We're sharing this together.  It's fucking special.  It's important.  It's what makes life beautiful.  No matter what the hell is going on in the world, we have this.  Nobody can take this moment away.

Here's another example of my thesis.  I love the movie A Bronx Tale, but I question the part on the school bus when an angry Robert DeNiro asks his misguided son, "What did Mickey Mantle ever do for you?"  Mickey Mantle did so much.  He did everything!  He made so many people happy (even if you hate the Yankees!).  We care about our athletes and our sports teams for the same reason we love the movies.  They give us something to cheer for.

I saw Star Wars in 1977 with my older brother and one of his friends.  There was commotion in the parking lot.  A fender-bender, someone got cut off, not enough spaces.  I can't remember anymore.  It was New York City, though.  There's always somebody screaming at something there.  All I remember is being with my big brother.  I miss those days.  I wish I could see the new release with him (and my little brother).  We're a country apart now, but the Force is still strong in us.  I'll picture their smiles and hear their shouts when I see the Millennium Falcon and miss their grumbles at this generation's Darth Vader (while secretly loving him).  I'll wish for matching light sabers under the Christmas tree like we got when we were small.

But before that, I'll cry when I see those famous words light up the movie screen.  "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...."  I'll bawl like a fucking baby.  I need to.  We all do.

Life Is Beautiful!

A sweet rose.

I'm in the middle of a great run.  All in the last week or so, I signed a contract for a novel, accepted an offer to direct a play for a community theatre, worked out a deal to revise a film script, and won a writing contest.  I realize I'm not Stephen King or Steven Spielberg, but we have to take these things in stride.  There's only one Stephen King.  Only one Steven Spielberg.  The rest of us are playing catch-up.

I'm a late entry into the game, I think.  Although I've been writing and performing for as long as I can remember, at 46 years-old, this has been a bit of a break-through year for me.  I think two choices are most responsible for my good fortune.  I attended the World Horror Conference in Atlanta in May and auditioned for a role in a local production of Urinetown last summer.  Both of these events enabled me to see the world beyond my recliner.  The real world.  The one that's not on my television or in my iPhone.  I established relationships, connected with professional artists, and learned an invaluable lesson.  Life is too short not to appreciate beauty.

You might think Drago's gone crazy.  Fallen off his fucking rocker.  Maybe I have.  There's a lot of shit going on in the world.  I know it.  But, I also think it's very easy to fall into the trap of despair.  That's why I write horror.  It's easy.  Misery loves company, after all.  Simply put, I think the media dwells so much on the negative that it makes it convenient for all of us to do so.  The same is true with social media.  I make an effort to keep my posts positive; I don't always succeed, but I get so tired of reading the rants of those upset about one political issue or another that I can't force myself to join the conversation.  It's exhausting.

I choose to embrace beauty.  For every crazy lunatic plotting to kill and maim, there are thousands of others we never hear about struggling to do good.  To be good.  To elevate humanity.  These people come in all walks of life.  You know who I'm talking about.  There are the obvious ones.  The nurses, the teachers (fuck, yes, there are amazing teachers), social workers, firefighters, soldiers, etc.  The ones we always talk about every day.  But there are others.  The ones who'll let you merge lanes in traffic or give up their seats on a crowded plane or hand over their shopping carts when you have too much to carry.  I don't believe altruism starts with charity.  It's easy to give when you have something to give.  It's tough to give when you don't.  That's selfless.  I think it's called sacrifice.  It's beautiful.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm still as intolerant as ever.  I have no patience.  I'm completely neurotic.  Paranoid.  Frustrated.  Those personality traits will never go away.  I'm grateful my wife and children tolerate them.  But, at heart, I'm a hopeless romantic.  I try to do good things.  I search for beauty within nightmares.

Remember, Remember the 5th of November, 1999

Probably time I told this story.  If for nothing else, I'm afraid I'll forget it as I get older and lose more of my mind.

My wife and I met at a rough time in our lives.  We'd both walked away from jobs that we (for the most part) enjoyed and found ourselves running an outdoor theatre at a small charter school in North Phoenix.  She managed their human resources; I taught drama.  She hired me, actually.  We fell in love over a phone call.  I wonder if that could still happen today.  I think we would've texted and smartphoned our way to love, regardless.

She was still married to her first husband at the time.  I never met him.  They were high school sweethearts, and things didn't work out.  They grew apart, I guess.  I kept my distance (as much as I could) while she went through her separation.  I remember taking her to sign her divorce papers and holding her as she trembled in my arms and told me it was the most difficult decision she'd ever made.

Anyhow, a few other guys started showing interest in her, so I figured I'd better get off my ass.  I invited her to meet my family for dinner the weekend we produced our first play together (a melodrama, no less).  I'd made the mistake of not inviting her over for Thanksgiving a week earlier, much to the anger and frustration of my big brother and big sister-in-law.  This was December 1998.  Believe it or not, it snowed on our opening night.  Enough to cancel the show!  I lived in Phoenix almost 20 years and only remember one other snowfall.  

We spent the holidays together that year.  We first held hands while crossing a Costco (probably Price Club, at the time) parking lot.  We attended a Christmas party where I sang an Elvis song.  We moved in together and were expecting our first child by Easter.  We found out the week my niece was born but sat on the news for a bit so as not to steal her attention.  And, of course, we weren't married yet.  And my wife's divorce hadn't gone through.  Yeah, there was that.

By June, I proposed.  I spent $300 on a ring (poor schoolteacher wondering how in the world he'll be able to afford a family) and $9 on a suit from Goodwill (that still hangs in the back of my closet).  We planned a Labor Day wedding, figuring the divorce would be final by then.  It wasn't.  Our minister dropped out, of course.  "What?!  She's pregnant?!  And she's married to another guy?!  I'll take no part in these shenanigans!"

So we hired a fake.  Yes, the whole wedding was a sham.  An enjoyable one, at that.  If you attended and still don't know - Ha!  We fooled ya!  We're fucking theatre people, after all.  The day after her divorce finalized, we went to the local courthouse and said our vows to a video camera presided over by a judge who reminded me of the one Herman Munster played in My Cousin Vinny (minus the Southern accent).  This was late September 1999.

My wife had been gravely ill during her pregnancy.  She spent most of that summer in bed or sick in the bathroom.  I bought her a bulldog puppy to keep her company.  We named her Babe after my late grandfather.  The one I'm named after.  He was a Mack truck guy.  (If you read my shit, you know all this already.)  I get choked up just thinking about how much I loved that dog.  She saved my wife in so many ways.  I could never repay her.  I'm glad she lived almost a dozen years.

We had a few false alarms.  The baby didn't want to wait.  The hospital kept sending us home.  My wife got weaker and sicker.  On November 4th, the pain became unbearable.  We rushed to the hospital (I stopped off on Northern Avenue so she could vomit in the desert darkness) where she mustered the strength to tell her doctors and nurses that she wasn't going home without her baby.

The next morning, my mom kept my wife company while I ran last minute errands before the doctors induced labor.  My parents were going through their own divorce by then, and I think having my mom bedside during the delivery helped her at a time when she was most fragile.  Keep in mind, my mom lost a baby girl in utero during the early 80's.  I hoped to shake that awful memory (if only for a moment) by giving her a chance to witness the gift of life.

Labor lasted a while.  My son looked like a gray fish when he was born.  Like a miniature Creature from the Black Lagoon.  I wanted to cut the cord but couldn't because both my wife and son needed immediate medical attention.  The staff ran my mom and me out of the room.  I called my dad and cried hysterically.  "I want to kiss my wife!  I want to hold my son!  What the fuck do I do?"

"You wait, Tommy.  That's what we used to do."  You wait.

The wait for me wasn't nearly as bad as it was for my wife.  They kept our boy from her for a couple of days.  She later told me she thought he'd died during delivery but we were keeping the news from her until she recovered.  I'm sorry for that.

Anyway, I changed his first poop diaper!  I was so proud.  I know I'm not the best father, but fuck, I try.  We had a little girl a few years later, but that's a whole other story (with just as much excitement and equal parts miracle).  I'm nuts about her.

I catch myself wondering what the fuck this all means, what life means.  I get down on myself.  I think I have it so rough sometimes.  Fuck that.  Fuck me.  I got everything.

You waited, Tommy.  It was so worth it.

Dr. Overworked or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Stress

I'm so busy.  Too busy.  I know we all feel that way, so I'm not trying to generate any pity.  In the past week, I've seen two young teachers in tears over stress at work.  I don't know why anyone would want to go into the profession anymore.  There are no incentives.  We have no support.  We're often vilified, even when we make decisions in the best interests of our students (like alerting authorities about a possible bomb threat).

This post is for me.  I need to write out everything I'm doing so when my head catches fire, I'll have an explanation.  Be warned; it's going to be very long.  If you don't make it all the way through, I'll understand and still love you.

Before I start my list; did you know that my school district wants to set up a page that defines the acronyms for all the initiatives they've implemented in recent years?  Do you realize how fucking scary that is?  There are so many initiatives that we now need a glossary.  When we've reached that point, I think we call can agree that the world has gone to ice (sorry Snow Miser - I've always been your brother's biggest fan).

By the way, I don't need any initiatives.  Not a single one.  This is the start of my 25th year as an educator.  Nothing the administration has provided me at any level wherever I've worked has ever helped me in any way be a better school teacher.  All I need are students and a classroom.  Why is that so hard for folks to figure out?  It's not always about the lack of funding.

I teach eight sections of theatre at the high school (four acting; four tech theatre classes) and creative writing.  These are fun.  I love being with the kids.  Their energy still inspires me after all these years.  But I hate that I now have to write lesson plans for every class using a district-mandated template.  The state is also implementing a merit pay program.  Fuck you.  That's all I can say to that.  What makes anyone think putting teachers in competition with one another will improve standardized test scores?   Do you see the smoke rising from my ears?   You want the scores to increase?  Teach parents how to parent.  Make them go through professional development.  Then maybe their kids will learn to read and write before they start school like mine did.  And there's the newly modified evaluation instrument for art teachers.  I now need to record and upload student performances as proof that they're learning what I'm teaching.  Wonderful.  We can't even get a strong enough wi-fi signal for gmail in our building.  Not to mention we've been given no assessment tool and have no evaluation process in place.  They're making it up as they go along.  What else should we expect from politicians?

Let me stop being so fucking negative.  This isn't supposed to be a rant.  I'm just making a list of everything I do so I can prioritize.

Deep breaths, Tommy.  Ease the burn.  A slow roast will cook you just the same.  Even better, perhaps.

I teach two sections of expository writing at the college.  I love this job.  I'll do anything my department chair asks.  She's wonderful.  I taught her daughter (who is now a high school drama teacher and also wonderful).

I produce the after-school drama program at the high school.  We are running four plays in repertory over consecutive weekends starting in early November.  We will produce a spring musical.  This tires me out but engages my creative desire.

I sponsor the drama club and Improv team.  Minimal work here.  The students run things, as well they should.  Both highly entertaining.

I supervise a study hall.  Always a solid, quiet place to work for my students and me; although, I'd rather have them in my theatre classes.  But I've given up that fight.

Choose your battles, Drago.  Choose them wisely.

I'm the Arts Department Chair.  I work with an amazing department.  They make this job very easy.

I've been selected as the Theatre PLC Leader (that's Professional Learning Community Leader - your first acronym; aren't you thrilled?) for our district.  I'm trying to get out of this.  I was volunteered.

I'm organizing my drama program's participation in the North Carolina Theatre Festival this fall.  We've won awards in the past.  I think this group has the potential to give us more.

I'm organizing a New York City trip for my advanced acting classes in the spring.  What's not to like here?  New York is my hometown.  I'd live there if I could afford to.  At least, I'll squeeze in John's Pizzeria and Rocco's Pastry Shop a couple of times, both on Bleecker Street.

I'm covering for the vacant theatre manager position at our high school.  Not fun.  Lots of stress.  This deserves a post all on its own, but I won't go there.  Hopefully will be resolved soon.

I'm revising my third novel and writing two short stories for submission into a local magazine.  Keeps my brain sharp.  And as Stephen King once wrote, "Keeps the gators fed."  Fellow horror writers should get that reference.

I'm adjudicating two separate categories for a professional writing competition.  So cool.  But I won't pick titles just because everyone says they're good.  I take Poe's stance on criticism.  I'm a bitch.

I'm performing in a musical production for a local community theatre this fall.  This is a blast.  I have a small part but love the work.  My son is in the show.  He sings and dances.  His dancing is hilarious (not on purpose).  He makes me smile.

I'm the Board Pesident for (a currently inactive) local community theatre.  This makes me sad.  My wife and I worked so hard to build this program, but we're defunct now because we couldn't generate consistent support from the locals.  A shame, really.

In addition to all those jobs, I try my best to be a loving husband, responsible father, respectful son, and supportive brother.  Still no friends, though.  I keep telling myself I don't have the time.