The Mouths of Babes

I am not good about blogging. I mean to be. I plan to be. I want to be. In general, I’m not great about taking the time to do stuff that I want to do when I’m at the computer. I check Facebook a little, sure, but I’d say 90% of my time at this screen is spent doing work for other people.

There’s a self-indulgent nature to blogging — an assumption that if I write something, someone will want to read it. Or, worse yet, I think there’s a perception that bloggers are somehow egomaniacs who need to share their private-most thoughts in a public forum. 

So, label it (or me) what you will, I am going to plan on sharing more in the coming weeks and months. Let’s see how it goes.

[End of prologue.] 

I’ve been a little blue lately. 

Things aren’t quite lining up the way I’d like them to — finances, acting jobs, etc. Frankly, it happens about once a year, but this year it struck earlier than usual and hit me a little harder. I think it’s a trap of this career I’ve chosen to pursue. Being an actor (or anyone in the arts) means that your career is forever at the whim of others. People talk all the time about “rejection,” but I’ve never felt rejected in my life. What I have felt is unworthy or undeserving. 

And that’s a lot worse than being turned down (“rejected”) for a gig. 

So I’m working on that stuff. Therapy. Yoga. Affirmations. (That’s right — “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough…”) Then last night, my sister Tracy sent me a poem written by my niece Emily. Who is 12. TWELVE. I thought I’d share it. 

The Shatterer

by Emily A. Aubin

As I blitz fast and free
I feel emotion over me, 
and I bound.
As if to the rhythm of a beating drum,
laughter shatters sky,
formerly deep and glum,
a sky of sorrow shatters.

Avoid no water,
shatter silver,
let joy overcome you through 
shattered silver.

Never lose hope to fierce wind,
Run forward and shatter air.
Fight the wind and
shatter air.

When darkness takes you prisoner,
blitz right on and
shatter darkness,
out-blitz dusk,
and shatter darkness.

I mean, c’mon.

Let me just repeat: “When darkness takes you prisoner, blitz right on and shatter darkness.” 

Thanks Emmy. I’m blitzing. 

A Foreign Country

I like to travel. Love it, in fact. I've been lucky enough to see places in the world that I never would've dreamed of, mostly through a cruise ship gig I did a number of years ago: six months traveling to countries as "main-stream" as Spain and Italy to more off-the-beaten-track places like Uruguay and Mauritius. (My favorite in that latter category: Bom Bom Island.) 

What I think I like most about being in a new place is that it is truly, undeniably NEW. If you've ever so much as left your hometown, you'll know what I mean. You can try to prepare: you can study maps, read about the big sites, even Google Map actual pictures of actual streets — but you won't know what that place is like until you're there. Not really. Until your two feet are planted squarely on the ground will you realize that the route you'd so carefully planned is impossible because of construction or one-way streets or over-crowding. You may even do what i did and walk right by the famed Spanish Steps in Rome without even realizing it (until three blocks later, when you double back to take a picture). Somehow, they just look different in person.

My father is dying. 

He has advanced, aggressive prostate cancer that has long-since left his actual prostate and invaded his kidneys, liver and lungs. (Thankfully, it's not in his bones.) My sister Kelly and I were talking last night, and she said, "I just can't imagine him gone. I want to prepare myself, but I can't. I don't know how."

That's when I realized this is exactly like a trip to a foreign country. We're all reading books about the after life and about coping with grief. We're all doing our best to get used to the idea of being without our hero in the world. But we just can't do it. 

All we can do is try to understand the best we can, then just deal with it when it finally happens. Support and love one another as we fumble our respective ways (undoubtedly looking as hopeless as we feel) through the new terrain. 

But we will.

My therapist is fond of quoting Mark Twain who said something along the lines of (pardon the paraphrase), "It's remarkable the blows the human spirit can take and still survive."

It's a blow we'll take, and it will hurt for a long time -- probably, to some degree, forever -- but we'll find our way. And so will Dad. 

For My Dad on His 80th Birthday

A few years ago, I took a trip to Miami with a big group of friends. I'd decided I was going to do it on the cheap, so a few of us got together and split a rental house. I think there were six of us somehow sharing four bedrooms — I volunteered for the couch. Everyone else was going down on Thursday, but I decided to wait until Friday afternoon and so was the last to arrive. If you’ve ever flown into Miami, then you know that there are two airports. Miami International is one, but if you fly into the smaller airport, it’s considerably cheaper. If you change planes in Raleigh, it’s cheaper, still. Then if you find a discount shuttle, you can save car rental and cab fare. That was my plan. Unfortunately, the smaller Miami airport is Ft. Lauderdale. I flew into Palm Beach.

I didn’t realize my mistake until I’d landed and been told that there was no shuttle and that a taxi was $150. For an instant, I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach, then I laughed at my own poor planning, got a rental car and a map and drove the 70 miles South to Miami.

I could’ve had a meltdown. I could’ve beat myself up. But, ultimately, those things would’ve hurt me — no one else. And, just like Dad, I didn’t get angry. I didn’t curse or cry or lose my senses. It’s in these moments that I realize I am my father’s son.
On the surface, we aren’t that much alike. I am a performer (and a singer at that). I live far away from home. But with every passing year, I realize how much more like Dad I am.

When my reaction to a crisis is to laugh instead of cry. When my choice of ministry is to do what’s right instead of preach about it. When my response to unemployment is to dig in and — as Dad says — “never put down my tools.”

I remember once, as a kid, riding into town with Dad (I usually tagged along on his Saturday errands, which generally included a stop at an office supply store for me), and he was remembering his father: “I know he was human,” he said, “and therefore imperfect. But if he had a flaw, I couldn’t tell you what it was.”

I know just how he feels.

I know that the life I have chosen for myself is not what either of my parents envisioned, but what a testament to both of them that I have the freedom to live it, without ever feeling guilty or inadequate or like I am somehow letting them down.
I am so grateful.
— James Benton Donegan
July 17, 2010

James of All Gets a New Website

I am a web designer. I have literally designed dozens of websites for a range of clients — from classical actors to retail clothing stores — and I’m (honestly) really good at it. So why did it take me so long to redesign my own site? I have been struggling for over a year to get it right, and I think I finally have.

Why so difficult?

I think it’s because it’s impossible to look at ourselves objectively. To step back and decide what to say about ourselves. I also loved my last site. It was like a little square postage stamp with bright colors and some cute little icons, but it wasn’t right. At least not any more. It was the website of someone who was trying too hard. Someone who was overcomplicating things.

I don’t think that’s who I am, and it’s certainly not who I want to be.

So I took my own advice and simplified. What did I have to say, and how simple could I make it? I remember in ad school, my writing partner would always say (almost as a mantra): “What can we take away?” In a print advertisement, there are five basic elements: headline, visual, body copy, logo, tagline. But every ad doesn’t need all of those things. The goal, in fact, is to remove as many as possible without damaging the story you’re trying to tell. A Powerade ad doesn’t need body copy. Some Apple ads don’t even have a logo (relying on the small apple on the computer to do the job). Periodically, you even see an ad without an visual: just a line of type set in the center of a white page.

And that’s what I’ve tried to do here. I’m proud it’s so simple and humbled that such simplicity is so difficult.

Gourmet the James-of-All Way

I love to cook. I don't think it's so much because I'm good at it (which I am) or because I love to eat (which I do), but because I love the CREATION of the whole thing. I love that combining a dash of this and pinch of that can yield something entirely new.
Think about it: what started as a chicken breast, raw pasta, tomatoes and a few spices will, in twenty or thirty minutes, be a single dish of food that has never existed before (and, in about five minutes, will exist no longer). So what is the wash-rinse-and-repeat of making delicious, healthful, "gourmet" dishes?

As always, it's very simple:

1. Choose fresh, simple ingredients -- no more than five (say: chicken breast, garlic, canned San Marzano tomatoes, basil, onion)
2. Cook the protein first (chicken) with a little salt and pepper. Set aside.
3. Cook the other ingredients second -- starting with the stuff that takes the longest to cook (in order: onion, garlic, tomatoes). Add salt and pepper.
4. Combine them.
5. Add herbs (basil).
6. Serve.

In my quest to make things even simpler:

1. Buy fresh food.
2. Add heat.
3. Serve.

You have to be an amazing chef to make frozen food good, or to make dishes with dozens of ingredients. That's hard. Every now and then, I give it a shot, but it seems like the payoff is rarely worth the effort.

This was all driven home in last season's Top Chef. I'm a huge fan, but the people who make overly-complicated dishes that used super-fancy techniques almost never win. They obviously are trained chefs with mad skills, but the judges' favorites are invariably the simple, clean dishes that use follow my simple rules.

Delicious.