The waning hours of 2023 find me in an uncharacteristic state of mind, that being relatively unreflective. I'm usually able to wax nostalgic over the simplest of things from the past, marking the date of the last time I chewed gum or some other inconsequential nonsense that don't mean a thing, wing notwithstanding. Maybe, at this late stage of my life, I've finally realized that the changing of the calendar in a little over six hours from now, doesn't amount to a hill of beans in this world (gender purposely omitted for no reason at all). It's like finally accepting the fact that there is no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny or nutritional value in iceberg lettuce. Time marches on. So does life. Lather, rinse, repeat.
If I have to cherry pick reasons for my lack of enthusiasm for the ball dropping at midnight, it could be my age, something I've been living in denial about since I was a toddler. ("I am NOT a baby!") As I've entered this third act, which I am grateful to have since many don't even get two, I seem to be getting the signal to wrap it up already. Ruminating about the past twelve months at this point doesn't just give me pause, it makes me downright stagnant. I don't make resolutions, but I don't deny I have plans to make, goals to fulfill, dreams to still realize because my head is either in the clouds or firmly up my ass.
The instantaneous magic that supposedly occurs after 23:59 tonight is all an illusion and slight of hand. So what? There's nothing wrong with hope. It worked out well enough for Crosby and it should for you too. As for me, I'll figure it out when the time comes. And it will, whether I'm ready or not. Until then:
This year, a show called Reboot premiered on Hulu. It's quite good actually, all about a revival of a supposedly beloved TV sit-com and I highly recommend it. However, the concept pretty much sums up the year 2022 for me. It all felt like a reboot. Look what happened. Inflation, the overturning of Roe v. Wade, another uselessly overblown mid-term elections which don't mean thing since neither side got much swing, the Russians taking a u-turn for the worst as our favorite villains of the modern age and bringing with them the threat of nuclear war and so one and so frigging forth. Yep, a reboot...and like most of them, not as good as the original.
I suppose it's what we should have expected as we struggle to find our way out of the Neverending Story known as the bloody Pandemic. We lost so much ground and haven't gained much back in return. Two steps forward, one step back. (Thank you, Paula Abdul) More often than not, the numbers are reversed. When are we ever going get back up where we belong? (When am I going to stop referencing pop songs to make a point?) The world is wound so tightly that it's a only a matter of time when it breaks down altogether. Again.
So what to do, kids? Well, it is that time of year (you know, the end?) when we think that a change of the calendar will wipe the slate clean and we can start fresh once more. And after a few weeks, sometimes merely days, we come to the realization that we're just fooling ourselves. Why else do we make resolutions that we don't keep? Sunday ain't gonna be much different than last Sunday, let alone the day before. It hurts to be futile about the future.
Is it hope? Is this all we have left to hang everything upon? Faith? Are we so obstinate that we won't give in no matter what? Or, plain and simply, are we all clueless?
All of the above. And I'm right there beside you because I'm guilty of the same. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me every single time...aw, leave me alone...
But right when I'm ready to surrender to the onslaught of negativity and find myself searching for a permanent home amongst the downtrodden, I slam on the brakes, dropping all pretense and recall the words my four year old granddaughter Athena bestowed upon me on our last visit to Denver.
"Whenever I have a bad time, I tell myself to get over it and I move on."
Four years old.
Yesterday on my drive home, I listened to a song from someone I am proud to call my friend, the brilliant singer/songwriter Grant-Lee Phillips That tune, "Walking in the Green Corn", the title track from the album of the same name, sums it all up for how I am entering 2023. Yep, another song reference, but this time with a purpose.
I'm going in, ready to combat whatever comes my way with every bit of optimism and hope that I can muster up. After all, in order to thrive, you first have to survive and I'm in it for the long haul.
Oh goody. It's the end of the year and another decade, so that means it's time for some reflection and to
pontificate on the passage of time to see where we've been, what we've learned and speculate on the future.
Huh? What? Who's that? How did I fall asleep on my laptop? My face has keyboard marks all over it. Holy crap, I just backspaced the last decade! Sigh. If only...
Aw, bullshit. Life. That's what happened in ten years' time. A lot of ups. A lot of downs. Still managing the balancing act, though I wish it would stop tipping so much. I'm getting motion sickness and my arms are tired.
However, I'm choosing to focus on the highlights here. The bad times can take care of themselves and, frankly have done so already. They've had their way with me and everybody else out there, so instead of dwelling on them, I prefer to sweep them away like so many dust bunnies, at least for the time being.
The time being. Or should I say the time remaining? The mortality question or statement, for that matter, has been rearing its inevitable head as the clock continues to click away. As such, I prefer to to celebrate the good because it still exists in this increasingly angry, complicated and overly-caffeinated world. I'm just a sap at heart and therefore, an easy mark, but gosh darn to heck, I still maintain hope over cynicism because that's the kinda guy I am.
And I have several reasons to back this up. I'm crazy about my family, filled with loving, caring, intelligent human beings who make this world better by their very presence. Two new additions have doubled my grandpa ante, a one-two shot of granddaughters born on both sides of the decade. This all culminated in a brilliant family reunion this past August on the Oregon Coast.
In 2011, a summer vacation straight out of an MGM musical caused to fall in love with New York City, particularly my beloved borough of Brooklyn. (See the New York posts on my page: CHERNEY JOURNEYS) As a result, it seemed to set things in motion for me about how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. I needed to get back to writing. I felt this was my last option as (please don't gag) an artist. I was wrong. I've been wrong for most of my life. It should have been my first option and stuck with it. But I dove back in, especially when good fortune came my way when I finally put myself out there. Once I was lost, but then I was found.
Great American Melodrama cast and me courtesy of Ed Thorpe
I'm sure I've bored you to horrors already with the success I've had with my melodrama and murder mysteryplays in the last few years, so I'll beg off...for now. But I would like to acknowledge and once again thank the following theater companies who have produced my work since 2014:
I did manage to write a new book, an adaptation of my melodrama SONG OF THE CANYON KID, which was read by less people than saw the CATS movie. But it managed to gear me up for a personal triumph, the completion of the first draft of a novel I began 22 years ago, now in a major re-write stage. More information coming soon. Promise!
I'm going to close with this photograph of a couple of my grandchildren, Aefa and Sebastian, frolicking at the beach in Lincoln City, Oregon this past summer. I don't take many good photographs. In fact, not at all. When I get something like this, it's a happy accident. Now there's a good metaphor for the past ten years, a series of happy accidents amidst all the strife that threatens to overwhelm us all on an on-going basis. Look at those two in that shot. That's pure joy captured in that moment of time and it's out there not just for the asking, but for the taking. They're the future and they give me...here's that word again...hope. The latest addition to our Brady Bunch, Athena, fought like the little warrior princess to be here in this world. Why shouldn't we do the same to stay here? The love I have for my grandkids surely enters in this assessment and if it does, so what? They've helped me through the minefield this far. I'm ready for the long haul. Or I should say, the rest of the journey.
The Cherney Journey, ready to take on The Roaring Twenties.
In Twenty Seventeen The world turned really mean And it seemed to me It was way beyond repair Oh I'll never look back and wonder Cuz I really just don't care
Okay. I'm not a lyricist. Sue me. No, don't. In this day and age, you probably will. Plus I do care. Probably too much.
Without a full year-end review because you can find that anywhere else, I will only say that, at its worst, 2017 seemed like a sneak preview of the post-Apocalypse. Can anyone say Dystopia Now? At its best, we're still here. Get used to it. We human beings are a pretty resilient bunch, that's for sure. And we'll persevere. Because, as Ma Joad once said, "We're the people."
Instead of moaning and groaning about the past, present and future, I choose to celebrate 2017 because, guess what, it wasn't all bad. Here are some of the better things-17 in fact- that happened to me this year-personally, professionally and culturally.
PERSONALLY
Celebrated 20 year anniversary with my beautiful wife, Laurie
Turning grandpahood into an art-form, watching my grandson Sebastian graduate from high school with honors and enter college, then traveling to Denver to witness my spectacular granddaughter Aefa on stage for her theater camp performance of Hair Salon Disaster. Finally, wrapping up the year in the prettiest of bows when I discovered I am becoming a grandpa AGAIN. Yes!
PROFESSIONALLY
In 2017, I had five stage productions of my plays, a new personal best. MURDER: THE FINAL FRONTIER was performed with three separate theater companies. SONG OF THE CANYON KID finally made it onto the stage of the Mantorville Theatre Co. in Minnesota after four years of me bugging the hell out of them. They even filmed one of their shows, available on the YouTube. Take a look-see for yourself.
While I haven't completed anything new for 2017, I did combine two of my melodramas, LEGEND OF THE ROGUE and ROXANNE OF THE ISLANDS into one volume I oh-so cleverly call A DOUBLE SHOT OF HA-HA, a companion piece for the two murder mysteries called A DOUBLE SHOT OF MURDER. Next year, a third in the series called A DOUBLE SHOT OF NO NEW IDEAS.
CULTURALLY
My birthday movie this year was LA LA LAND that I took in at a sweet little neighborhood cinema in Portland called the Moreland. I enjoyed the film (with reservations) but it was more about the experience, a treat I gave myself. Recently I took in THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MO., another fine film with which I have some issues, although it was an afternoon well worth spending playing with the reclining seats.
Way too much good TV (it's getting to be a dangerous obsession) with my very favorite being TABOO with my fave rave Tom Hardy. I'll also include the hoot known as FEUD, BETTER THINGS with my girlfriend Pamela Adlon, THE LEFTOVERS with my other gal pal Ann Dowd, MINDHUNTERS, GODLESS w/Jeff Daniels and oh so many more that I'll have to enter them below.
The best all around season in recent memory for DOCTOR WHO was a fitting send-off for both Dr. 13 Peter Capaldi and show-runner Steven Moffat. Whiny geeks have been bitching about Moffat for eons. Now they can complain about everything else. And they will. Trust me. Moffat was my entry drug into this show and I will be eternally grateful.
Peter Morgan's writing on THE CROWN gives me a reason to live.
Another Morgan, Jeffrey Dean to be exact, is the finest villain in recent memory as THE WALKING DEAD's Negan. Whatever shortcoming the show has lately, JDM is crushing it each and every time he appears. And I tire of the death knell the former fans are ringing for this show. Shut up. Move on. Get another show. Hate watching is for morons.
After a terrible personal tragedy, Patton Oswalt rebounded with his hilarious and moving Netflix stand-up special, ANNIHILATION.
With a year that included both Paul Auster's 4321 and Michael Chabon's MOONGLOW, the finest fiction I read this year had to be Francine Prose's MISTER MONKEY, a multi-character comic tale revolving around a children's theater performance. It warmed my heart like no other.
Non-fiction wise, the hands down winner was Kliph Nesroff's superb history of stand up comedy THE COMEDIANS.
Some nice tunes this year with local favorite Portugal the Man's catchy ditty I FEEL IT STILL a good listen as well as Awol Nation's WOMAN WOMAN. If I have to be honest, I have to go with The Revivalists' WISH I KNEW YOU as my pick o' the year. It had a good beat and I could dance to it. Plus the nostalgic paigns of new love in an older life hits me in the sweet spot.
A monumental day at the Denver Art Museum for their incredible exhibition ONCE UPON A TIME...THE WESTERN: A NEW FRONTIER IN ART AND FILM. I was in hog heaven. (I just rejoined the the Portland Art Museum, so expect see some kudos going that-away next year)
Nothing compares to the restaurant experience-food, service, ambience- at the New Orleans' style bistro ACADIA in Portland. I'm still salivating over that meal.
I have been searching for a perfect every day beer for years now and I found it this year. Silver Moon Brewery of Bend, Oregon gave the world-and me, in particular-this fine beverage. Chapter 2 Casual Ale. it is what I will consume come midnight on New Year's.
Finally, my good friend and benefactor Melanie Roady, formerly of Mel O' Drama Theater, gifted me with the original latex head of Francois Fibian from the original production of THE PERILS OF FRANCOIS (now known as DEAD TUESDAY) Created by master mask maker David Knezz, he is true work of art and I'm proud to own him for more reasons than one. Francois sits above my front door, reminding of me who I am and what I can do. Now all I have to do...is do it.
That's what 2018 is all about. Let's do it, people. Otherwise, we have to blame no one but ourselves. Time's a-wastin' and waits for no man, woman or child. The only thing you have to lose is yourself-and that's the whole ballgame.
Happy New Year, I mean it. Let's reboot and start 2018 on, if not a positive, at least a willing note. It's time we took back our lives. We either surrendered or cowered in fear when the Empire struck back and snatched it away. We have to fight back. Our very survival-physically, mentally, morally- depends on it.
Bring on the 2018.
Full steam ahead.
Fire in the hole, kids.
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