When I was seven I lived with my friends family for two weeks. I still have no idea why this happened. When ever I think about why it happened, my mind only goes to one thing. Where were my brothers during those two weeks? Were they at a friends house? Were they at home? They would have been 13 and 15 respectively at the time. I suppose that is old enough for them to stay at home by themselves, but young enough that they couldn't be trusted to watch me.
They proved they couldn't watch me when I was four. I wanted some ice cream. They were probably having ice cream. I never would have thought of having ice cream on my own. I couldn't have scooped it either. I was a weak child.
The ice cream was too cold. It needed warmed up. I put it in the microwave. It was an old fashioned microwave. No buttons. Just some dials that you turned. I didn't know how the thing worked. I just turned the dial all the way.
My ice cream cooked in that microwave for 35 minutes. That's how far the dial went. The ice cream was now too hot. It was also just a puddle. I did the only thing I knew how to do as a kid. I cried, a lot. My brothers wouldn't scoop me more ice cream. I already had ice cream that I had to eat. Eventually, I ate the melted ice cream. Maybe that's why I don't like soup.
Maybe my brothers weren't home alone. It could have been that I just had to leave the house for two weeks. Either way, I'm fairly certain that they were at home for those two weeks. If they were to stay somewhere else, it would have been with the same family I stayed with. My whole family and my friend's whole family were best friends.
Whatever the reason was, it happened. Two things happened during the time that I stayed at my friends house. That I remember at least. It was two weeks. I'm sure more than two things happened.
The first is that I went to church with them. This was years before my family went to church with any kind of regularity. I didn't know anything about church. It got worse because my friend was born in 1984. I was born in 1985. This meant that the Sunday School class he was in, was one class higher than the class I should have been in. I would have been the dumb kid in my Sunday School class. I shouldn't have been skipped ahead like this. Surely they wouldn't ask me questions. I shouldn't of been in this class. They'd realize that and not ask me questions about religion.
I was the first one asked to answer a question. I didn't know anything about religion. Not a good excuse. I'm sure none of the kids in that class actually knew anything about religion. I answered the question the only way I knew how to. I cried, a lot. It was embarrassing. This just wasn't a bunch of random kids and my friend that I was crying in front of. I knew all the other kids from school. For some reason this incident never got brought up again. I'd still be mentioning it, had it have been someone else that cried.
The second thing I remember about those two weeks is the time we went to the mall. They had a lot of kids. I was like the seventh or eighth wheel. All of the kids were given a dollar to spend at the mall. I got one of those dollars. This was awesome. My mom never gave me a dollar when I went to the mall with her. I'd usually just say 'I want that' and she'd get it. I never bothered to look at the price. I was probably asking for stuff that costed way less than a dollar. I was going to make it rain with this dollar.
The six of us kids all got a dollar. We were all going to make it rain in that mall. That mall was going to remember us. We all went separate ways. We had different ideas on how to make it rain.
I made it rain in Toys 'R Us. I was into baseball and basketball cards as a kid. What kid wasn't? I'm told some of those cards are worth money now. Maybe there are. I don't have the time to find out. Then find some sucker that will buy them.
I found a pack that was only a dollar. Just my luck. I had a dollar. For some reason, they keep the dollar pack of cards behind glass. I had to ask the grown man behind the counter to grab it for me. In reality, it was probably a 16-year-old kid. But to me, he was a fully grown adult with a great life. His future, and his families future, was secure with his job at Toys 'R Us.
He rang up my dollar pack of cards. Then he asked me for one dollar and six cents. One dollar and six cents? What was this? I only had a dollar. I did what I always did in these situations. I cried, a lot. At least I wasn't crying in front of my friend this time. He was somewhere else in the mall, making it rain.
In fact, I was the only one in the Toys 'R Us. Except for the grown adult, supporting his family of four with his job at Toys 'R Us, behind the counter. The fact that there was only one customer in the Toys 'R Us and he only had a dollar to spend, probably explains why Toys 'R Us left that mall a year later.
The wealthy man behind the counter tried to explain something to me about tax. That's why my dollar pack of cards was one dollar and six cents. How was I supposed to know what tax was? The paper sign had a one on it. That's how much I had. I should be able to have my pack of cards. Him trying to explain to me how tax worked only made my cry harder.
I got my pack of cards. The millionaire behind the counter took care of the six cents. A drop in the bucket for him.
There was only four cards in the pack. I had never seen this before. The packs my mom bought me always had at least ten. I felt like I had been taken. Especially since my friend had gotten some Gobstoppers with his dollar. That box had at least 20 Gobstoppers in it. It wasn't fair. He was more experienced than me. This obviously wasn't the first dollar he had spent. I was a rookie when it came to the spending a dollar game.
I did learn one thing about money that day though. The value of crying is six cents.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Marty Breaks Down Prodigal Sons
Paul McKerrow was born in a small town in Montana. He was voted 'best looking' and 'most likely to succeed'. The star quarterback, the star basketball player, valedictorian and a ladies man. Paul McKerrow had it all. Upon graduating, he went to the University of California, Berkley.
Paul McKerrow never went back to Montana. He never will, because Paul McKerrow is now Kimberly Reed. It's been 20 years since Kimberly, then Paul, left Montana and for her 20th high school reunion, Kimberly decides to go back and make a documentary.
Sounds like a pretty good story line for a documentary. Only that's not the most compelling thing about this documentary. It's barely a side story. The star of this documentary is Kimberly's brother, Marc McKerrow.
The story starts at the high school reunion. Kimberly is received well at the reunion. It's at the reunion that we are introduced to Marc. Marc is adopted and was only a grade ahead of Kimberly in high school. So it isn't weird for him to be at the reunion. He is weird though. We find that out when he just randomly tells people about having to file for bankruptcy.
Marc was always in Paul's shadow in high school. He wasn't the sports star and he certainly wasn't the popular one. He was just Paul's brother.
Marc suffered severe brain damage in a car crash at the age of 21.
The brain damage left him mentally incapacitated. He became prone to seizures. He'd frequently succumb to violent fits of rage. We first see one of these hilarious fits of rage when he explains his crash and what it did to him. Complete with breaking a glass picture frame.
It's then that we meet Todd McKerrow. The youngest of the McKerrow kids. It's unclear as to why he is ever in the documentary. He isn't really needed. He's doesn't really communicate with family anymore. I think he is just thrown into the documentary because it's somewhat interesting that he is gay. He does show up at the family Christmas gathering. Where he plays a key role in the greatest scene in cinema history. His appearance at the family event seems to be more for sake of the documentary than anything. I certainly don't think it's because he likes his family
The McKerrow family consists of Kimberly, who was born Paul. Todd, the least interesting of the family as he is just gay. Then we have Marc. Who is severely developmentally challenged and frequently violent. Quite the family
The documentary jumps around a lot. It's not a hinderance though. Each time it does jump, it gets more interesting.
It's at this point that we, and Marc, learn about Marc's biological family. He does get to see his mom. He got to go to her funeral. It's only shortly after her death that Marc learns the identity of his mom.
It's Rebecca Welles. The daughter of Orson Welles and Rita Hayworth. Marc's birth was a secret. Something that was quite common back then with families or prominence. Orson never knew of his grandson. It's likely Rita didn't know about Marc either.
Marc's grandparents are the great Rita Hayworth and Orson Welles. Learning that Marc exists, the lover of Orson Welles at the time of his death, Oja Kodar, wants to meet him.
The documentary then moves to Croatia. Where Marc meets the lover of Orson Welles for the last 20 years of his life. The only interesting things that come out of this are that we learn that Marc is married and has a daughter A fact that is only briefly brought up again. I feel like Kimberly should have spent more time on Marc's family. Marc also shows a picture that makes Kimberly uncomfortable in Croatia. It's of himself, Todd and Paul as young boys.
Kimberly is embarrassed by the picture. Being that she is now standing in front of these people as a woman. She confronts Marc about this. The scene is a little awkward, since Kimberly is in a swimsuit as the argument takes place. The argument ends with Kimberly saying how good Marc's shirt makes him look.
This is when the documentary briefly gets boring. It start to focus too much on Kimberly. She goes to San Francisco. Where we see the apartment she rented as a male. When she moved out of the apartment, she was a female.
After the brief foray into boredom, we get back to the good stuff. Kimberly goes to Spokane to see Marc and his family. She also plans on driving a truck, that Marc has, back to Montana. The truck mention seems pointless at first. It pays off in the end though.
Kimberly wants to drive the truck back in the morning. The gas gauge is broken. It's been broken for years, but Marc decides he wants it fixed right now. Hilarity ensues.
Marc gets some choice words in and some good hits, but Kimberly gets the last laugh. She leaves with the truck.
We then hear a phone message from Marc, apologizing for reacting in such a way about a stupid truck.
Things fade to black. That's when it happens. The greatest scene in cinema history. I'm not even going to say anything about it. It's that great.
The cops come after that. As far as I'm concerned, the documentary is over after that.
To not leave you hanging though, I'll continue. He threatened everyone with a kitchen knife and is taken to jail.
The documentary ends with Marc going to several hospitals and having many psychiatric evaluations.
Marc McKerrow died in 2010. Shortly after Kimberly appeared on Oprah for her documentary.
Paul McKerrow never went back to Montana. He never will, because Paul McKerrow is now Kimberly Reed. It's been 20 years since Kimberly, then Paul, left Montana and for her 20th high school reunion, Kimberly decides to go back and make a documentary.
Sounds like a pretty good story line for a documentary. Only that's not the most compelling thing about this documentary. It's barely a side story. The star of this documentary is Kimberly's brother, Marc McKerrow.
The story starts at the high school reunion. Kimberly is received well at the reunion. It's at the reunion that we are introduced to Marc. Marc is adopted and was only a grade ahead of Kimberly in high school. So it isn't weird for him to be at the reunion. He is weird though. We find that out when he just randomly tells people about having to file for bankruptcy.
Marc was always in Paul's shadow in high school. He wasn't the sports star and he certainly wasn't the popular one. He was just Paul's brother.
Marc suffered severe brain damage in a car crash at the age of 21.
The brain damage left him mentally incapacitated. He became prone to seizures. He'd frequently succumb to violent fits of rage. We first see one of these hilarious fits of rage when he explains his crash and what it did to him. Complete with breaking a glass picture frame.
It's then that we meet Todd McKerrow. The youngest of the McKerrow kids. It's unclear as to why he is ever in the documentary. He isn't really needed. He's doesn't really communicate with family anymore. I think he is just thrown into the documentary because it's somewhat interesting that he is gay. He does show up at the family Christmas gathering. Where he plays a key role in the greatest scene in cinema history. His appearance at the family event seems to be more for sake of the documentary than anything. I certainly don't think it's because he likes his family
The McKerrow family consists of Kimberly, who was born Paul. Todd, the least interesting of the family as he is just gay. Then we have Marc. Who is severely developmentally challenged and frequently violent. Quite the family
The documentary jumps around a lot. It's not a hinderance though. Each time it does jump, it gets more interesting.
It's at this point that we, and Marc, learn about Marc's biological family. He does get to see his mom. He got to go to her funeral. It's only shortly after her death that Marc learns the identity of his mom.
It's Rebecca Welles. The daughter of Orson Welles and Rita Hayworth. Marc's birth was a secret. Something that was quite common back then with families or prominence. Orson never knew of his grandson. It's likely Rita didn't know about Marc either.
Marc's grandparents are the great Rita Hayworth and Orson Welles. Learning that Marc exists, the lover of Orson Welles at the time of his death, Oja Kodar, wants to meet him.
The documentary then moves to Croatia. Where Marc meets the lover of Orson Welles for the last 20 years of his life. The only interesting things that come out of this are that we learn that Marc is married and has a daughter A fact that is only briefly brought up again. I feel like Kimberly should have spent more time on Marc's family. Marc also shows a picture that makes Kimberly uncomfortable in Croatia. It's of himself, Todd and Paul as young boys.
Kimberly is embarrassed by the picture. Being that she is now standing in front of these people as a woman. She confronts Marc about this. The scene is a little awkward, since Kimberly is in a swimsuit as the argument takes place. The argument ends with Kimberly saying how good Marc's shirt makes him look.
This is when the documentary briefly gets boring. It start to focus too much on Kimberly. She goes to San Francisco. Where we see the apartment she rented as a male. When she moved out of the apartment, she was a female.
After the brief foray into boredom, we get back to the good stuff. Kimberly goes to Spokane to see Marc and his family. She also plans on driving a truck, that Marc has, back to Montana. The truck mention seems pointless at first. It pays off in the end though.
Kimberly wants to drive the truck back in the morning. The gas gauge is broken. It's been broken for years, but Marc decides he wants it fixed right now. Hilarity ensues.
Marc gets some choice words in and some good hits, but Kimberly gets the last laugh. She leaves with the truck.
We then hear a phone message from Marc, apologizing for reacting in such a way about a stupid truck.
Things fade to black. That's when it happens. The greatest scene in cinema history. I'm not even going to say anything about it. It's that great.
The cops come after that. As far as I'm concerned, the documentary is over after that.
To not leave you hanging though, I'll continue. He threatened everyone with a kitchen knife and is taken to jail.
The documentary ends with Marc going to several hospitals and having many psychiatric evaluations.
Marc McKerrow died in 2010. Shortly after Kimberly appeared on Oprah for her documentary.
One is the loneliest number, 28 is the scariest
I just agree with people when they say I moved to New York City to chase the dream, when in reality, I did it to run towards my fear.
In 2007, I took a beginning acting class at Utah State University. I was below a beginner. There were maybe three people in there that had any real acting skills. Not to say that no one else had any potential. At this point, even I could probably do a decent acting job. There was only about 15 people in the class. None of us knew each other, except for the three with real acting skills. I assume it's because they had other acting type classes together. It wasn't like there were best friends.
I never would have hung out with any of these people before the class. I never did after the class. During the class, I only hung out with any of them once. On the last day of class, half of us went to Olive Garden. To this day, it's one of the best times I've had. I kept in brief contact with one girl from the class. But that died out after a few years. Other than having two or three people from the class as Facebook friends, I've had no contact with anyone in that class for years. Hell, I don't even know most of their names anymore, just personal details. Even with that, I'll never forget any of them and in a way, they know me better than anyone else.
As I look back, there wasn't really much acting or learning about acting taking place. It was really just group therapy. Which I've since learned, is fairly common for acting classes.
I think it was the second week of class. We were each taking turns saying the thing in life that scares us the most. No one was taking it seriously. Everyone just said the stock scary things: snakes, spiders, ghosts, heights etc... I don't even remember what I said.
After we all gave lame answers, the teacher expressed his disappointment. He wasn't mad, just disappointed. That's when the weirdest, most misfit of us started speaking. Which is saying a lot. We were a class of misfits. We were all such misfits, that none of us fit in with each other.
I don't remember what he said, or maybe I just don't think you should know, but there was a lot of crying. From him and everyone else in the class. One by one, everyone re-answered the question of what scared them the most. Some were funny, some were tear jerkers and some were in between. But there was real emotion behind all of them. Class went about 30 minutes longer than scheduled that day. No one cared. I doubt anyone even noticed. We all sat there as everyone said the thing they fear most and once we were done, we continued to sit. Mostly in silence.
I took my turn somewhere in there. It was sometime in high school when I really started to think about the rest of my life. What would my life be like when i was older? What would it look like? Being a teenager, I had all kinds of fantasies. Some realistic, some outlandish. But in thinking out the rest of my life, all of the possibilities had one thing in common. Not one of them had me being older than 28.
I thought nothing of it at the time. I had more than 10 years until I turned 28. But as I finished high school, I did start to notice it. Why was I never over 28 when I pictured myself? Even in my outlandish dreams about my life, like being a pro-athlete, I was still never over 28.
I thought about it a lot after I realized it. It started to gnaw at me. By the time I took that acting class, I had convinced myself that the reason was because I wasn't going to live past then. I was 22, and the only question I had about it, was whether I'd die at 28 or if I'd get to live until 29.
My fear didn't end when I told the class about it. They continued for quite some time. Telling people didn't dispel the fear, but it did help me feel like I could tell these people anything else. Things that helped me in other ways. It helped me open up a little bit in my acting. Not saying that it still was atrocious.
It was about that time that I was taking the idea of doing stand-up comedy seriously. That's partly why I took the class. I figured it would help in some small way. Little did I know how big of a help it would be.
I didn't actually step on a comedy stage until late 2009. Two years after the class. But I can say with certainty, I never would have gotten on stage if it weren't for that class. The class helped me open up a bit.
Two years into being a stand-up, things were going well and I started to think about the future. That's when I noticed something. I was picturing myself past the age of 28. I could see myself doing stand-up at 30, 40, 50, 60...
That's it though. I still couldn't see myself doing anything else. It's still that way. Everything I see me doing past the age of 28 is still me on stage. Sometimes I'm not on stage. I'm sitting at a table, just talking with other comics. But that's it. I still haven't been able to see myself doing something not comedy related.
I see no girlfriends, wife, kids or different job. Maybe they'll come. But I can't envision it.
That's why I moved. Things were good for me in Salt Lake. Really good. I probably would have eventually made something of myself in comedy had I stayed there. But I can't wait. I left for New York to speed up the process. Even if it essentially means starting over at first. And likely, never amounting to anything.
I can't take the slow road. I can't take the chance that maybe 28 is it. Because in my mind, it is. Until I turn 29, I'll always believe that. Comedy is the one thing that gives me hope, that maybe it isn't.
In 2007, I took a beginning acting class at Utah State University. I was below a beginner. There were maybe three people in there that had any real acting skills. Not to say that no one else had any potential. At this point, even I could probably do a decent acting job. There was only about 15 people in the class. None of us knew each other, except for the three with real acting skills. I assume it's because they had other acting type classes together. It wasn't like there were best friends.
I never would have hung out with any of these people before the class. I never did after the class. During the class, I only hung out with any of them once. On the last day of class, half of us went to Olive Garden. To this day, it's one of the best times I've had. I kept in brief contact with one girl from the class. But that died out after a few years. Other than having two or three people from the class as Facebook friends, I've had no contact with anyone in that class for years. Hell, I don't even know most of their names anymore, just personal details. Even with that, I'll never forget any of them and in a way, they know me better than anyone else.
As I look back, there wasn't really much acting or learning about acting taking place. It was really just group therapy. Which I've since learned, is fairly common for acting classes.
I think it was the second week of class. We were each taking turns saying the thing in life that scares us the most. No one was taking it seriously. Everyone just said the stock scary things: snakes, spiders, ghosts, heights etc... I don't even remember what I said.
After we all gave lame answers, the teacher expressed his disappointment. He wasn't mad, just disappointed. That's when the weirdest, most misfit of us started speaking. Which is saying a lot. We were a class of misfits. We were all such misfits, that none of us fit in with each other.
I don't remember what he said, or maybe I just don't think you should know, but there was a lot of crying. From him and everyone else in the class. One by one, everyone re-answered the question of what scared them the most. Some were funny, some were tear jerkers and some were in between. But there was real emotion behind all of them. Class went about 30 minutes longer than scheduled that day. No one cared. I doubt anyone even noticed. We all sat there as everyone said the thing they fear most and once we were done, we continued to sit. Mostly in silence.
I took my turn somewhere in there. It was sometime in high school when I really started to think about the rest of my life. What would my life be like when i was older? What would it look like? Being a teenager, I had all kinds of fantasies. Some realistic, some outlandish. But in thinking out the rest of my life, all of the possibilities had one thing in common. Not one of them had me being older than 28.
I thought nothing of it at the time. I had more than 10 years until I turned 28. But as I finished high school, I did start to notice it. Why was I never over 28 when I pictured myself? Even in my outlandish dreams about my life, like being a pro-athlete, I was still never over 28.
I thought about it a lot after I realized it. It started to gnaw at me. By the time I took that acting class, I had convinced myself that the reason was because I wasn't going to live past then. I was 22, and the only question I had about it, was whether I'd die at 28 or if I'd get to live until 29.
My fear didn't end when I told the class about it. They continued for quite some time. Telling people didn't dispel the fear, but it did help me feel like I could tell these people anything else. Things that helped me in other ways. It helped me open up a little bit in my acting. Not saying that it still was atrocious.
It was about that time that I was taking the idea of doing stand-up comedy seriously. That's partly why I took the class. I figured it would help in some small way. Little did I know how big of a help it would be.
I didn't actually step on a comedy stage until late 2009. Two years after the class. But I can say with certainty, I never would have gotten on stage if it weren't for that class. The class helped me open up a bit.
Two years into being a stand-up, things were going well and I started to think about the future. That's when I noticed something. I was picturing myself past the age of 28. I could see myself doing stand-up at 30, 40, 50, 60...
That's it though. I still couldn't see myself doing anything else. It's still that way. Everything I see me doing past the age of 28 is still me on stage. Sometimes I'm not on stage. I'm sitting at a table, just talking with other comics. But that's it. I still haven't been able to see myself doing something not comedy related.
I see no girlfriends, wife, kids or different job. Maybe they'll come. But I can't envision it.
That's why I moved. Things were good for me in Salt Lake. Really good. I probably would have eventually made something of myself in comedy had I stayed there. But I can't wait. I left for New York to speed up the process. Even if it essentially means starting over at first. And likely, never amounting to anything.
I can't take the slow road. I can't take the chance that maybe 28 is it. Because in my mind, it is. Until I turn 29, I'll always believe that. Comedy is the one thing that gives me hope, that maybe it isn't.
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