The military is no place for a pacifist, especially one with severe social anxiety. I knew I had mental problems, too, but the extent to which they ran in our family was not yet known, so I felt very alone with what was going on in my head. I lasted at boot camp for five weeks, then all of the pressure of trying to fit into a place I did not belong or want to be caught up with me.

I went AWOL. I ran away. Initially, I intented to kill myself, but realized I did not want to do that, so I called home and told them what I had done.

Two days later, I ended up back at the Air Force Base in the dorm’s common area waiting for the next morning to come, so that I could be transported to the hospital’s mental ward. MTV was playing on the television, and this song came on: “Drive,” by The Cars. Listening to the song, and watching the video, I felt just like the woman in the film: mentally unfit, alone, tortured.

Today, I’m in a much better place. It’s taken a long time, but I know where I want to go with my life (something I’ve only recently figured out), even if it’s taking me forever to get there. While I still (and probably will always) have mental issues (isn’t genetics and upbringing wonderful?), I can handle them now. Yet, every time I hear this song, it brings back those memories of that time. It makes me sad, knowing that I wasted so much of my life trying to fit in and do what was expected of me.

There is another song that is associated with that time. It was a favorite of mine, and I heard it the night I called my family. I was in a strange city in a hotel room, wondering what would happen to me, when “Have You Ever Been Mellow” by Olivia Newton John came on the radio.

I worried for years that a song I loved would be associated with those memories and make me sad when I heard it. But time has passed and I’ve been able to separate the pain from the joy I experience when I hear the song. In a way, the song has helped me deal with my mental problems.

I’m not sure I want to do the same thing with “Drive.” There is something in remembering our bad times as well as our good. I’m not really sure I could explain it, but it’s similar to the blues, and how they comfort us.

Crazy! Huh?

I haven’t been following my life-long dreams. Trying to earn a living seems to have pushed me away from those things. It’s time I’ve steered myself back to those things which I want to accomplish.

Generally, I want to be in show business – not as a star or performer (although I will do some work on stage), but as a producer of variety shows and musicals. This has been something that has been a part of me since my childhood. I think it’s time I took it seriously and started really working on it.

I want this blog to reflect my progress as I work toward my goals. I also want it to motivate and help others who may be interested in the same things I am. So, I’ll be working on adding more posts about show business, music, singing, dancing, backstage work, and all the other factors that to into putting on a show.

I have a degree in Theater. I’ve worked in theater, both backstage and onstage. I’ve directed both shows and videos as a teacher, and have taken part in all sorts of special events. I’ve been in a band and several musicals. While I don’t consider myself an expert in show business or a musician, I have a lifetime of experience from which to build.

It’s time to move on and become an expert, so that I can do the thing that I feel I was meant to do in this life. Hopefully, you’ll be able to follow my progress by seeing more entertainment related posts here on my website. I guess now that I’ve put this out there publicly, I have to do it, right?

Myrtle Street looking West

(Originally published on December 21, 2007)

One of the most important landmarks in anyone”s life is the street where they grew up. I spent almost 30 years of my life on Myrtle Street. I”ve lived next to relatives and beside neighbors who were almost like family.

I remember as a very young child playing in the street with my brother and sister and other children who lived on the street. That was before you had to worry about traffic. In those days, a car seldom came down the street during the work day.

It was safe on Myrtle Street. Back in the sixties and seventies, neighbors looked out for you. If you were doing something you weren”t suppose to be doing, they would tell you, and probably tell your parents. If you needed help, they were there. As children, we must have made a lot of noise on the street, but I never heard a complaint (well, maybe one or two from “The Queen”).

My uncle and father would actually close off the street with police barriers, park a tractor-trailer on 22nd street and use it as a movie screen. We had street parties! This tradition lasted into the seventies. If anyone is interested, I have a picture of Stu dressed as Al Jolsen.

Of course, what makes a place special is the people. I won”t mention some of the families that still live on the street for privacy sake, but I remember some of those who have gone: The Kirers(sp), Mrs. Elliot, The Dyers, The Hoffners, The Brennens (22nd Street at the corner), Aunt Liz”s Family(opposite the Brennens), The Fosters (across 22nd Street), Laurel and others. And there were the passers-by: the Water Ice Man and the Broom Guy.

Neighbors on a small street like Myrtle St. were like family. They saw you at your best and your worse. Family arguments could be heard and even sometimes spilled out onto the street. But like family, it was kept on the street and if not forgiven, at least not mentioned.

While I don”t think I would like to live in a row house again, I can say that my memories and impressions of living on Myrtle Street are mostly good. The people who lived on the street are a part of my past, and I look back on that past fondly.

I leaned back and looked up at the millions of stars in the night sky. It was one of those rare moments when I felt so small because the universe was so big. Yet at the same time, I felt connected to it.

Sitting there in the quiet darkness, staring up in awe, I experienced what some would call a spiritual moment. There were just so many stars! Then, they started to move.

At first, they moved almost imperceptibly. But the motion increased little by little, until it seemed that the stars stopped moving and my body began to travel in the opposite direction. It was as though I was traveling through space.

The stars orbited the North Star, going around and around. I had to shut my eyes to stop the dizziness. From somewhere in the distance, meditative music was playing softly, and a deep voice said, ”Hello.”

“Hello, and welcome to the planetarium.”

It was not my first visit to this wonderful star theater. My grandfather was a member of the science museum and gave me a junior membership for several years. On many summer days, after walking through the museum watching others wonder at the exhibits that I had viewed a hundred times, I would go to the planetarium.

The planetarium had a small vestibule that guaranteed no outside light would enter during a show. This transitional space gave me a sense that I was entering a special place. The darkened space inside the second set of doors felt almost like a church. This feeling was enhanced by “celestial” music.

Next came the most memorable part of my visit, my meeting with the Star Monster. In the center of the dark, round room was an enormous black machine. This star projector was about 12 feet long and had large spheres on each end that were more than two feet in diameter.

Attached to the end of each sphere was a smaller ball about six inches wide. It reminded me of a giant dumbbell, but it was much more intimidating.

Dozens of small lens were scattered over the black metal surface of each orb. They looked like dark eyes and gave the impression that the machine could see you no matter where you were in the room.

The center bar that connected the two large spheres was not solid, but a framework of rods and metal strips. A wide metal ban wrapped around the center of the machine had marks and numbers inscribed on its surface.

The projector was supported at its center and was suspended six or seven feet above the floor by a metal frame. The four thin supports looked like spider legs. Placed here and there on the frame and the support platform were various lights and machines that must have been other projectors.

During the planetarium show, the different spheres on the projector would rotate to move the stars on the ceiling. Sometimes, the entire machine would seem to move, its dark image only visible because of the projected sky on the other side of the room. My imagination didn’t have to work overtime to make me believe that the entire apparatus would break free of its support platform and begin walking on its thin metal legs. Look out! Here comes the Star Monster!

This was as much a part of the experience as seeing the stars. Because of our modern computers and optical technology, the planetarium projector today is simply a small box with a dome lens measuring maybe a foot in diameter. This small light source can project the entire universe onto a dome sometimes measuring more than 70 feet or more across.

When I visit a modern planetarium, the dark lens (or glowing ball, if the planetarium is a bit older) in the center of the room seems mysterious and arouses curiosity. Yet, it can never compare to the Star Monster I knew as a youngster.

P.S. [added March 21, 2008] I found out that the Smithsonian Institution’s Einstein Planetarium has a Star Monster! A photo can be found Here.

Here’s Another One in Berlin.