2012 is finished.  It was an extremely tumultuous year the world over but as I recently told a friend of mine…I’ve only ever known the world to be in chaos…so what’s new?  I was born in 1961…and I could easily create a list of the most horrific things that have happened in the world from the moment I saw light to the present.  But I choose to focus on the positive.  Works for me!

I agree with Lena Dunham that our hearts are too valuable to be treated like monkey meat!!!!!  So let’s protect ‘em!

Speaking of monkey meat…of course what I share next has nothing to do with monkey meat but shoot it’s a great segue…

There are only 15 days left for us to reach our goal to raise financing funds for my one woman play that premiers March 6th in Paris so if you can please donate to the cause it will be greatly appreciated!  Go to -

http://www.kisskissbankbank.com/notre-dame-de-perpetuels-donuts?ref=search

Any amount will help.  Really!

All the absolute best to absolutely everybody everywhere!!!!!

The Lexington Youth Theatre production of “Tom Sawyer” closed Sunday after three wildly successful performances.  Perfect performances?  No.  Perfect production?  No.  But you’d never know it listening to the enthusiastic shrieks emitted from the near capacity crowds in attendance.  Standing, cheering ovations nightly.  And given that the cast was comprised of 47 kids ranging in age from 8 to 18…they deserved every bit of all that praise.  It was one hell of an accomplishment.  These are not professional kids.  Okay…one is…he’s performed on Broadway and may very well be heading back again very soon…and believe me, he’s great…but the rest…just young folks who dream, and work tirelessly, and the results…well…they were truly inspiring.

Watching those kids, my oldest son among them, up there doing their theatrical thing took me back.  Not to similar experiences of my own because I didn’t have similar experiences.  At their ages I had yet to plant my feet in other worlds on theatre stages…what it took me back to were those early, innocent days of dreaming.  Of all my theatrical aspirations.  Planning my course of action.  Learning.  Observing.  And taking a plethora of mental, emotional, and physical notes.  Studying.  In my fashion.  I’ve been exceptionally lucky.  Acting, my passion from the age of six, did become what supports me.  Financially and otherwise.

So watching those young people…each and every one of them up there – hearts, minds, and bodies full…the critic in me silenced…and I leaped to my feet and cheered and applauded with all the rest.  This world benefits from its young dreamers.  We should do everything in our power to support and assist them in any and every way we’re humanly capable to not only continue to dream but to follow their dreams.  Encourage them to let their hearts lead the way.

To all of you extraordinary young folks who shared your exquisitely beautiful magic with us this past weekend…I thank you.  Bravo!

To say that I’m thrilled is a grotesque understatement.  Thrilled that my President won a second term, affording him the opportunity to do the additional work necessary to fulfill as many of his previous promises as he’s humanly capable.  People criticized him for not having changed his message.  I say, why change it if it’s a great one?  The message remained the same…we can only hope that  this time around he gets full cooperation from our Congress to work with him and each other to return our United States to glory.  Because it is such a glorious country.  So much promise.

I love traveling the world.  Love experiencing the different places, meeting all the different people, experiencing the different cultures, really getting a true sense of wherever I find myself.  I adore my different homes.  Because I’ve spent so much time during the past decade or so dividing my time between here and Europe, that I genuinely consider Europe my second home.  But no matter where I go, or how much I love it, admire, respect, appreciate my other homes…this one remains my favorite.  And not for sentimental reasons.  Okay, yes, I’m a sentimental person.  And not.  A moment like this…Jesus God…did I just use a line from Kelly Clarkson’s first single after winning the first ever American Idol?  Fuck it!  A moment like this gives me pause.  I have always been fully conscious of the country I’ve grown up in.  I pledged allegiance, I prayed to God to preserve us, and I watched, and listened, and felt, the country zig zag, deal with a zillion conflicts, experience the pendulum swing wildly, then less so, then wildly, then less so, then wildly again.  This way and that.  But throughout the years…even as I felt, believed wholeheartedly, many, many times, that there was no place for me in my country, that if I chose to remain here that I must accept and be grateful for my place on the sidelines, as an outsider, a second or third class citizen, that I had no choice but to embrace an ideology that excluded me, my friends, and assorted family…I was, am, and will always be a proud citizen of the United States of America.  Because yes, although at times I felt alone here, I wasn’t.

At the tender age of 14 my parents did the unthinkable and allowed me to usher at a theatre showing Robert Patrick’s “Kennedy’s Children”.   If my parents had known the subject matter they NEVER would have given me permission to do it.  But they didn’t and so I did.  And it saved my 14 year old, suicidal, life.  Because in the play there were characters I identified with.  Granted they were all completely fucked up, but they existed.  And they were up there on that stage.  Their lives were considered worth the price of admission.  And they weren’t jokes, they were human beings with just as much right as anyone else to have their stories told.  It was a revelation.  It meant that I did in fact have a place…not just in this world but in my country.  It  may not have been the most secure place but it was a place nonetheless.  And so I didn’t kill myself.  I chose to live and create my own place in this crazy ass quilt of ours.  This exquisitely beautiful mosaic.  This totally insane, breathtaking, brilliant, schizophrenic, rich, revolutionary, dream of a country.  My home.

Obama’s election was historic for the innumerable reasons it was.  But his re-election is evolutionary.  Progressive.  I know that there is and will always be a sizable percentage of the population who stand steadfastly in opposition to progress.  But no matter how many stand firm, no matter how threatening they may at times feel it necessary to be, progress, like water, flows.  And over time erodes even the most seemingly solid, fervent of opponents.  It’s unstoppable.  My life, my voice, my thoughts, my opinions, my beliefs, my feelings…I…count.  Because in America, each and every one of us matters.  That may not have been the original belief or intent of all our founding fathers, but it’s the principal that they chose to declare in our constitution.  And hypocrites though some of them most certainly were…I am eternally grateful to each and every one of them.

So I arrive in Berlin mid September right on the heels of endless looping news reports of American embassies across the Middle East being stormed, our ambassador to Libya, along with four others being killed, the entire region on the rampage, death to Americans!!!!!  Because of a video…which we know wasn’t the sole reason for the explosion…that it all happened on 9/11 was a bit of a give away even if no one was commenting on it immediately…  Anyway, back to Berlin!!  I hop a bus at Tegel airport and travel to a part of town I am totally unfamiliar with, and when I get off the bus at my final destination I find myself standing directly in front of an Islamic Mosque.  Everywhere I look…Muslims.  Little American me SURROUNDED!  Now I have many Muslim friends and I’m not a paranoid person as a rule but…my heavens…I was prepared, if asked, to introduce myself as Canadian!!  First thing I did was breathe!  Deeply!  Then I checked into my hotel…one I’d never stayed in before…my beloved Art Appart in Charlottenburg wasn’t available for the additional dates of my stay…my first thought when I saw the place was…this does NOT look like the photos on their web site.  But my room was nice and the proximity of the hotel to the location of the workshop was great AND everything in Berlin was booked solid because of some exhibition going on that week!  I unpacked and decided to walk the distance between hotel and workshop space.  I like knowing where I’m going, no travelling without maps for me…I’m a great believer in peace of mind.  Lovely walk.  The area was akin to the lower East side of New York.  It needs a good scrubbing and has an artsy, bohemian feel.  The sun was shining, everywhere I looked folks were smiling, strolling, engaged in animated conversation, enjoying their Sunday with family and friends, paying absolutely no attention to me.  Tranquility.  I didn’t feel in the least bit threatened.  Didn’t fear being dragged to some basement and beheaded.  I felt welcome.  So after my walk, I bought a large plate of spätzle, returned to my recently renovated pink digs, ate, watched the news (in German), took my meds, called my kids, and caught some much needed z’s.

It reminded me of my first trip to NYC.  I had been told by friends to catch the JFK express at the airport and meet them at Jay Street/Borough Hall.  Having never been to NYC I was concerned about potentially losing my way.  From the moment I became a licensed  driver in Southern California I never ventured out without my Thomas Guide!  My friends assured me that someone at the airport would point me in the right direction.  Oh I was pointed in a direction all right, a bus to Port Authority.  And not knowing any better, I got on.  Wandering out onto 9th Avenue and 42nd Street, suit case in hand, excited but perplexed look on my face, a young African American man sporting a red beret introduced himself as a Guardian Angel and asked if I needed assistance.  “It’s that obvious, huh?”  He smiled, nodded.  “I need to get to Jay Street/Borough Hall,” “That’s in Brooklyn.”  “How do I get there?”  “The subway is the quickest and most direct route but you might as well be wearing an ‘I’m right off the bus, mug me!’ t-shirt, so I suggest a cab.”  He hailed one for me, and wishing me luck, loaded me in.  Next thing I knew I was being whisked out of NYC and over the Brooklyn bridge!  When the cab pulled to a stop, I paid and as I began exiting the vehicle the driver started yelling, “Get out, get out, get out now!!!!!!!”  I pulled my bag from the backseat and before I could close the door he screeched off!  I turned around and saw what looked like an extremely pissed off Mike Tyson running FAST towards me.  I was raised by people, in a community, who felt the great need to make me believe NYC was a virtual maximum security prison without the benefit of bars.  That anyone stupid enough to vacation there was guaranteed to be robbed, raped and murdered.  So there I am and all I could think was, “Please God don’t prove my parents right.”  Next thing I knew he was standing beside me, panting.  “Motherfucker!  What the fuck he take off like that for?”  Thank you!  “I don’t know,” I said, “Can you tell me where Jay Street/Borough Hall is?”  “Here,” he said, “subway’s there” pointing to a hole in the ground.  I thanked him and descended to find my friends who, tired of waiting, were seconds away from leaving.  How did we survive without cell phones?!

My work done in Berlin I moved on to Paris and the next workshop and one day I’m standing in the doorway of my studio when a finely dressed gentleman of Middle Eastern descent approaches me with two boxes he apparently wants to sell.  As I wasn’t interested in purchasing anything at that moment regardless of the merchandise, or the extraordinary savings guaranteed, I said, “Non, merci,” as kindly as I’m humanly capable, again and again as he persisted…I mean he was a salesman so I expected no less than as hard a sell as he was prepared to make…but I was equally determined not to spend money on something I genuinely didn’t need…not speaking French…I understand it to an extent and am able to order my morning café crème and croissant, but otherwise the best I can do is nod my head and smile in respectful ignorance…I had no idea what was in the elegant boxes he continued to pressure me into purchasing.  Finally he opened one of them and I found myself staring at five very large, very expensive, and very sharp knives.  Immediately my paranoid little American mind went into overdrive and beads of sweat began forming on my brow and upper lip.  As he removed the largest, sharpest knife from the case and held it in front of me my smile broadened and froze on my face, “Non, merci.”  He looked at me as if I was an idiot…and to be perfectly honest I felt like one afterward because he was offering me an exquisite set of cutlery worth 336 euros for the unbelievable price of 35…replaced the knife and walked away mumbling what I’m certain must have been something unflattering about me.

Ah life…so extraordinary…so terrifying…such a gift, a blessing…and a curse…I love human beings, each and every one, but being one myself I do experience a myriad of different things, some extreme, some less so, in relation to everything around me.  I don’t advise throwing caution entirely to the wind, but the thought of going through life absolutely panic stricken…I mean…what’s the point?  The world is a volatile place, both at home and abroad, terrorists of all kinds, some easily identifiable, some not so much, are hard at work to keep us from living our lives, individually, freely.  I adore life, I celebrate it, give thanks for it daily.  But to say that I don’t fear death at the hands of some crazed extremist, whether it be Al-Qaeda or an overzealous Christian fundamentalist, because believe me they’re just as scary, would be a lie.  So breathe I continue to do, trusting that each day will present a new and even more glorious opportunity to live, love, and evolve.

Oh…and the three workshops I did while abroad were…once again…HEAVEN!!!!!!!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2009/apr/25/samantha-morton-the-unloved

I cherish my family and friends.  Each and every one of them.

They occupy every conceivable side of every conceivable aisle.

They are unafraid to be who they are.  To think what they think.  Feel what they feel.  And express their truth.

We don’t always agree with one another.  But the majority of the time we are all able to agree to disagree.  Which is not easy.  It takes work.  And enormous patience.  Particularly with ourselves. But the end result is unconditional love.

When I was growing up I confused unconditional love with…well…if you love me, really love me, you’ll accept me, understand me, and agree with me. 100% It took me a good decade or more to realize that it’s the exact opposite.

Far too many of us demand to be loved without conditions only to turn around and place conditions on our love for others.  It’s like when all the people in the world who have been persecuted the most severely turn around and persecute others as severely if not more so.  I mean, what’s that about?  In my mind someone who’s been severely persecuted should be the first to realize that no one should be severely persecuted and behave accordingly.  Someone who has not been loved unconditionally should be the first to choose to love everyone else unconditionally.  The next time you find yourself expecting to be loved unconditionally ask yourself if you’re loving others unconditionally.

I recently drove past a church with a marquee that read “Freedom – To do what pleases God”  And that, in my opinion, is not freedom.  Freedom is to do what pleases me.  But isn’t that what it boils down to?  If I don’t do what pleases God, He won’t love me.  How can we hope to be loved unconditionally if even God doesn’t love that way?

I choose to love everyone on this planet unconditionally.  And yes, some people make it far more challenging to love them, but I do.  I choose to.  It takes a lot of energy because it’s hard work, but it’s worth it.  You want to know when I became able to do it?  When I started loving myself unconditionally.

And believe me, if I can love myself unconditionally, I can love anybody!

If I see one more award show I…well…what’s the point?  Why bother getting worked up over the fact that people in the entertainment industry feel the need to award themselves and each other…every 2 hours!!!!!

Yep that’s right.  One award is presented every two hours!  According to Variety, there are 564 award shows a year. 1.5 award shows a day. They give out 4025 trophies.

I mean…COME ON!  So much time is spent walking red carpets, sitting on celebrated asses waiting for the opening of envelopes, anticipating with baited breath that moment when we and the rest of the world discover that…YES…people like us…really, REALLY, like us!!!!!  I’m amazed we get any work done at all!

Can you imagine if everyone in every profession on the planet awarded themselves the way we do?  Are we in entertainment more deserving of awards?  We’re just doing our job like everyone else.  Oh…I’m sorry…we aren’t?  Oh my God!  That’s right!  People in the entertainment industry are SO much more SPECIAL than everyone else on the planet.  I completely forgot!

Maybe that’s why we do it.  To make absolutely sure that no one, including ourselves, EVER forgets how special we are.

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences was established in 1927 by Louis B. Mayer of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) for one purpose and one purpose alone. And what purpose was that? Well, here’s what Mr. Mayer famously said, “I found that the best way to handle [moviemakers] was to hang medals all over them. If I got them cups and awards they’d kill themselves to produce what I wanted. That’s why the Academy Award was created”.

I remember when I was a desperately needy, deeply insecure child growing up dreaming of being in the entertainment industry.  Worshiping actors and actresses.  Watching year after year the parade of them collecting their awards.  Thrilled for them.  Fantasizing about one day being one of them.  Standing before my peers accepting the symbol of their approval, acknowledgement, respect, love.  Overjoyed, overwhelmed…to be…chosen!

Thank God I got myself a great therapist instead!

Although I absolutely agreed with everyone out there posting their frustrated comments about Ryan Gosling and Michael Fassbender and their Oscar snubs, because yes, they’re both brilliant actors and yes, their excellent work in “Drive” and “Shame” was Oscar worthy, I still thought it shameful to be making SUCH a huge fuss about it given that Gary Oldman, who in my humble opinion is the greatest actor friggin’ ever, had finally been nominated after decades of Oscar oversight.  That he didn’t win was of no surprise to anyone…because let’s face it…the man may be a genius but he ain’t a movie star.  Who won it again?  Oh right, the movie star.  Okay that’s not entirely fair…because Jean Dujardin really was great in “The Artist” but come on…GARY OLDMAN…and that in every show seriously discussing the nominees all anybody seemed to be interested in was the run off between Jean and his American counterpart George Clooney.  Now don’t get me wrong, I admire George Clooney but…GARY OLDMAN!  Please!  And for what arguably was his finest performance!!!!!  And while we’re at it…if a fuss was going to be made why wasn’t anyone royally pissed that Michael Shannon wasn’t nominated for “Take Shelter”?  If that’s not an Oscar worthy performance I don’t know what is?  And can we talk about Jessica Chastain?  My God, that woman in the course of a year reminded us all of what an actress is.  Okay we’ve always had, and will always have the genius of Meryl to remind us…and thankfully the steadily rising Viola Davis, who I’ve adored for almost two decades…and of course the absolutely luminous Michelle Williams in everything she does…but it’s Jessica who has created so many, different, distinctive, each and every one equally memorable, honest to God women in such a short span of time.  When I watch her I don’t see her.  I see the woman.  It reminds me of when Daniel Day Lewis hit the international scene a thousand years ago…introduced to the world in two brilliant films at opposite ends of the cinematic spectrum in the same year…”A Room With A View” and “My Beautiful Laundrette”.  The men he portrayed in those two films couldn’t have been more different and yet he made us believe he was both of them.  It was clear that the man was an actor.  I vividly recall driving home from work the night the top Oscar contenders were Daniel Day Lewis and Tom Cruise…and again, it’s not that I don’t admire Tom Cruise and his dedication and commitment to his work…but Daniel Day Lewis WAS Christy Brown in “My Left Foot” and Tom Cruise gave a great performance as Ron Kovic in “Born on the 4th of July”…again, again, again, just my humble…but boy was I passionate about the outcome of that Oscar race.  Driving home I took an oath, that if Daniel Day Lewis won I’d carry on in the business, if Tom Cruise won, I was out.  It was up to God and the Academy.  Well, I’m still in the business.  But…Gary Oldman.  And if there really was no way in hell they were going to give the Oscar to Gary…then excuse the fuck out of me…but…Demián Bichir!!!!!!

Well maybe not a suitcase…small carry on bag actually.  I travel light.  VERY light.  I always take just what I need.  Always make sure I have access to a washer and dryer.  Do laundry every few days.  This way I can take enough clothes for 5 days and stretch them out over the course of four to six weeks depending on the length of my stay.  I’m phobic about checking bags.   Last time I checked a bag was 1989.  Makes my life in transit SO much simpler in all respects but one.  I’m always dealt with like a potential terrorist. Airline officials can’t for the life of them imagine how it’s possible for me to be abroad for that length of time and have what I need in my small bag.  It’s got to be explosives, I’ve got to be planning a suicide attack, or at the very least creating a disturbance of some sort.  So I have nice chats with the plastic gloved security officers who pat me down and rummage through my bag prior to boarding.  Even though both my bag and body have been thoroughly screened before getting anywhere near the gate.  Thankfully I’m a patient man, and genuinely grateful for any and all procedures meant to make travel safer.  And to be perfectly honest it reminds me of just how many people in this world find themselves unfairly scrutinized because of clothing, ethnicity, beliefs, persuasions, etc.  I mean, why shouldn’t I be singled out?  Why wouldn’t I be profiled?  Shoot, we’re all profiled people.  Profiling is just another way of saying “labeling” or “categorizing”.   Our favorite international pastime.  Which profiled people receive the more intensive, intrusive, aggressive forms of scrutiny depends on who is perceived as the greatest potential threat at any given moment.  But the pendulum swings.  Far too slowly for some, far too quickly for others.  But it does swing.  Yes indeedy.  When I’m being profiled, singled out, pulled out of line, dealt with like the threat I probably am to somebody somewhere in the world, it’s interesting to watch the eyes of the ones who haven’t been.  Some reflect sympathy, some relief, some fear, some scorn.  I remain calm, the picture of tranquility.  Smiling.  Respectful.  I always thank the officer who has just performed his/her duty, and am 99% of the time thanked as well.  And yet…I vividly recall an incident several years back…an old woman screaming as she and her husband were ushered to the additional security area.  Her husband in his quiet, stately manner trying unsuccessfully to soothe her.  In her behavior I sensed a woman with a history.  A history filled with check points.  Of profiled people who never made it to their desired destinations.  Remanded into a custody they’d never escape.  Her wild eyes reflected burning.  She, was burning.  A veritable fire, raging.  To her there was absolutely nothing “random” about this selection process.  The energy in the holding area was palpable.  I’m surprised someone didn’t scream, “Kill the bitch!”  Because that’s what people wanted.  Her silenced.  Silence.  In her life…in far too many of our lives…silence has in fact equaled death…so she refused.  Fuck the person just doing his job.  Fuck everybody standing around, watching, grateful not to be her.  She would NOT go gently…they would have to take her kicking and screaming.  Civil liberties.  Freedom.  Security.  Liberty and justice for all.  Sir…madam…would you please step this way?

The French version of my play, OUR LADY OF PERPETUAL DONUTS (translation by Tatiana Gousseff), will be presented at the Lucernaire theatre (http://www.lucernaire.fr) in Paris, directed by moi, starring Natasha Mashkevich!  Opening night is March 6, 2013!!!!  I’m so excited!!!  I’ll keep you posted!!!!