No Limits and the Texas Motor Speed

I had a lot of fun this weekend at the Texas Motor Speedway. I was hired by the folks at the No Limits Campaign to drive a beautiful truck called a Rat Rod and to interact with racing fans. For those of you who don't know what a Rat Rod is, it's a creative combination of a variety of antique vehicles, usually pulled out of junkyards. The only limitation is that of a mechanic's imagination. The one I drove was a beauty. Here are her specs:

- 1941 pre-war Chevy truck body
- 1937 Ford chassis
- Ford Pinto front end with disc brakes
- Pontiac steering column
- 8-inch Ford rear end
- 2-speed Powerglide transmission
- the bed was shortened 20 inches
- the cab was chopped down 4 inches
- 327 Chevy small block motor
- 1955 Chevy radiator
- one of a kind American racing wheels
- Hudson Terraplane grill
- Mac truck bulldog figurehead
- Honda Accord bucket seats
- original 1940's Cole bottle opener
- stained Ash wood bed
- chainsaw piston shifter

On top of the fact that I got to drive this amazing machine all day in clothes that were designed specifically for me, I also had the great pleasure of hauling a group of ladies called the Heartland Sweethearts in the back. They were an awesome group of people. A good time all around.

Striking a Balance with Time

Lately, the people closest to me have been telling me that I’m becoming too focused on my career. I am at a loss. My wife wants me to have more fun. She doesn’t like that I always have my cell phone in-hand in case I get an email requiring a quick response; that I take nearly every spare moment to work on some aspect of my career; that I have ZERO interest in parties, weekend hangtime with friends, or any unproductive time in general.

I see her point. I do. And maybe it’s getting out of hand, but I don’t feel comfortable kicking back when I see how much ground I have to cover. I’ve always believed that the phrase “a business that runs itself” really means no one’s running the business. And technically, my acting career is a business. My knee-jerk reaction is, “I’ll have fun when I get there.” However...

I can’t stop thinking about the lost moments of each day. Of today. When I think about what inspires me as an artist, let me tell ya’, it ain’t a non-stop work environment. It’s the whimsical thoughts that are the children of daydreams. It’s time spent with my wife and children without glancing at the clock to see if their allotted time with me has expired. It’s the excitement of not knowing where the day will take me because I chose not to plan it out. These are a few of the simple pleasures I haven't enjoyed in a while.

Has anyone out there ever run into this problem? How does a person strike a balance between creating a future and being present for today?

Dancing in Place

The past week has been insanely busy for me. Let's review: I took an acting workshop, I had lines to memorize for class, I had to decide whether or not to take an audition in Austin that my local agent found for me to which I would have had to drive 3 hours (I passed), my 5 year old was detained at her elementary school for two hours past the normal release time while a team of tornadoes cut through Dallas, I had to scramble to find someone to hire to videotape another of my auditions so I could send to my agent in Baton Rouge for a chance to get on the TV show Army Wives, and lastly, today I had to make a difficult call to my third agent in New Mexico to tell her that I've decided to leave her agency and allow my Dallas agent to handle my auditions in New Mexico and California as well as the local ones. All this plus being a husband, father, and sole financial support for my little family.

I know it's not for nothing, but sometimes I feel like, in building my acting career, I'm merely volunteering instead of working. This is what it's like sometimes. This is why so many people like the idea of being an actor until they give it a shot. It's a second job whose income fluctuates from really well to nothing at all. It may sound like I'm getting burned out. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I love this crazy life of mine and I know that when I do reach a point in my career when the paydays are so great that the time off between jobs will be considered a hiatus, I will look back fondly  at these times of struggle. I know this is true because I feel a great fondness for them right now.

Following in My Own Footsteps

My friend Brant asked me a great question this morning in reference to my first post. If I admire John Wayne for his iconic status even though he has never been one of my cinematic heroes, what type of actor do I want to emulate? This is not a trick question, but it is a tricky one, and it has everything to do with the answer.

The actors I have most admired are those who are so incredibly honest in their work that they seem as though they're not acting. Some people (like yours truly and those under whom I've trained) would say that when an actor gives a performance befitting of the above definition, our supposition is correct - they ain't acting. That's why it's so real. Very Zen, right. Maybe the preconceived notion that we have about acting is so trumped up that when an actor comes along and blows our minds with their subtlety and precision, we automatically think that they have so much more to give than all the rest. I think it's the inverse of that. I think those "gifted" few have refined their craft to no more than exactly what they would feel if they were really in any given situation. They don't sour the performance with what they think "should be". Instead, they simply react as they are. As they actually are.

I'm not talking about losing all touch with reality. If Robert DeNiro still thought he was Travis Bickle after Taxi Driver was already shot and ready for distribution, that would be something else. That would be called the art of schizophrenia. I'm talking about being so well trained and so well practiced and so well prepared that even though there are bright lights, a giant camera, tons of wires, and twenty five crew members hoping the star gets it right so they can go home on time, all crammed into the same tiny space, that the actor still feels all of the emotions the screenwriter and director intended the character to feel and maybe even a few more. When they feel it, we see it. And we love it.

So back to the original question.  What type of actor do I want to emulate? It's a tricky question because I DON'T WANT TO EMULATE. Neither does DeNiro, Streep, Washington, or any of the other greats. So to be like them, I want to be unlike anyone but myself. Like I said, very Zen, right?

Delayed Reaction

So if I've supposedly been so captivated by the Hollywood archetype for 35 years, why have I only pursued acting for the past 10? Short answer: I listened to all the naysayers from early on and bought into their crap. I was very impressionable. Since then, I have learned that anyone who tells you that you can't or shouldn't do something that you find fulfilling is someone to be wary of. Their ideas about my dream became a part of my belief system. On the outside I believed that pursuing an acting career was a wreckless venture, one I figured I'd probably fail at anyway.

Nevertheless, a sense of responsibility nagged at me. A responsibility to myself. A responsibility to my children for the example I would set for them by living the life I knew I must in order to be happy. I had to ask myself a very important question: What do I want out of this life? As a husband and father of two little girls, I fully understand the every day trials and tribulations that come between a person and their ideal life. I do. But there's no such thing as an ideal life. A gazelle taken down by a pack of cackling hyenas isn’t living it's ideal life. It wants to run free on the wild plains for eternity, but it never tries to be something it's not. I had to choose to live and die like the gazelle. Once I did, I was happier.

A perfect example of someone who knew exactly what he wanted out of life was Bruce Lee. In 1969 he clearly stated what he wanted well in advance of achieving it when he penned his "definite chief aim":

My Definite Chief Aim

I, Bruce Lee, will be the first highest paid Oriental super star in the United States. In return I will give the most exciting performances and render the best of quality in the capacity of an actor. Starting 1970 I will achieve world fame and from then onward till the end of 1980 I will have in my possession $10,000,000. I will live the way I please and achieve inner harmony and happiness.

Bruce Lee
1969
 

I've always made sure that I could support my family through this crazy, unpredictable process, and as a result I have gone without many of the niceties that are considered commonplace, as has my ever faithful and supportive wife. But here's the thing, I choose this life. I can't help myself. It's what makes my heart sing.

When I Was Very Young

When I was very young I drew a picture with crayons on off-white construction paper. It was John Wayne standing on a stage in full cowboy regalia. He was never one of my heroes, but I recognized him for the cinematic icon that he was and still is. He was indisputably a member of Hollywood royalty, a culture all its own by which I was totally captivated. I still remember seeing his face along with those of Marilyn Monroe and Charlie Chaplin in the pre-show intro that was run before many films projected at AMC Theaters.


I wanted in. I wanted to be an actor.

My feelings about acting haven't changed in these last 35 years. I'm still captivated. There is no substitute for the sublime tingle I get when I'm cast in a role, go to an audition, or merely study my lines for acting class. It's never boring for me. Never monotonous. It's always magic, every part of it. It took me a while to recognize this as an important clue in my decision to pursue acting as a real career choice and to respect it as more than just a hobby or pipe dream. As my good friend and fellow actor Lee Burns put it, "I think that being an artist is one of the most challenging and yet most rewarding ventures one can embark on. None of us should ever feel like we have to apologize for what we do. It's a needed and noble position. The artist is the one who inspires change and hope in cultures. And I think our planet could use a little of both."

Lee, I couldn't agree more.