The Scorpion

"When you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer..."

When I was growing up, I used to have a bunch of cool posters on my bedroom wall. Peter Fonda on his Easy Rider Harley, Joe Namath fading back to pass, Raquel Welch in a yellow bikini...

...what was I talking about? Oh, right, the posters.

I also had an orange and purple 'day-glo' poster with the signs of the zodiac arranged around the edge of a radiant circle -- kind of like a psychedelic dartboard. Each sign was identified by name along with its astrological symbol, date range, a pictoral representation and a one-word description. I remember the poster vividly, but I only remember one of the descriptions, the one for Scorpio -- my sign.

The word used to describe Scorpio was: Temperamental.

I used to look at that word when I'd been exiled to my room for having a "bad attitude." I really didn't know what 'temperamental' meant, any more than I knew what 'bad attitude' meant. But it definitely didn't strike me as a compliment.

I never liked the idea of being categorized by my astrological sign, especially when that category seemed to be 'Pain-In-The-Ass.' I found it ridiculous that some random group of stars a billion miles away was supposed to have some kind of influence on what kind of person I was. Even more absurd was the notion that everyone who was born during the same time of year, each and every year, somehow shared the same set of personality traits.

Who comes up with this crap?

But astrology was inescapable. Because no matter how illogical or superstitious it was, there were a lot of people who took it seriously. And when I say a lot of people, I mean, specifically, females. Not that there aren't guys who believe in astrology, just that if they do, well, who cares? But many women did take it seriously, and if I wanted to date them, I had to take it seriously, too. Or at least pretend to.

But due to my temperamental nature, I could never take it too seriously. When asked what my birthday was, an obvious prelude to astrological classification, I would often give false information and wait for the equally false interpretation. Inevitably I would get a response like: "I knew it -- your such a (fill in the sign)." Then, with a sly grin, I would reveal that I was not whatever sign she "knew" I was, but, in fact, a Scorpio. This revelation was usually met with comments like: "That figures -- Scorpios are such assholes."

Eventually I realized that making women feel stupid by lying to them about my birth sign was not an effective courtship strategy. So, I decided to play along. I reluctantly surrendered the facts and waited for the dreaded judgments. "Scorpios are so possessive... too intense... jealous... demanding... defensive... manipulative... suspicious... passionate... sensual... sexy...

Huh?

Apparently, there was another side to this whole Scorpio deal. Thanks to some wacky astrology book that came out back in the seventies, Scorpios got the reputation of being Red Hot Lovers. And since this crazy book was, at one time, required reading for all women between the ages of fourteen and ninety, the word got around. I came to feel proud of being a Scorpio -- even though I still thought it was all nonsense.

It was good PR.

Recently, however, I found out that I may not be a Scorpio after all! According to some astronomer in Minnesota, due to the earth's "wobbling" around its axis, all the astrological signs are off by about a month. And that would make me a Libra.

A Libra? Really? What am I supposed to do with that? How do you go from being a Badass Scorpion to "The Scales"? It's not even a living creature -- it's a freakin' appliance!

Definitely not sexy.

So if, as I firmly believe, astrology is all a big scam anyway, then why couldn't I just make up my own sign? There are plenty of other celestial bodies to choose from. A quick check of the November sky reveals such appealing alternatives as Delphinus, "The Dolphin" -- I enjoy swimming, and everybody likes dolphins. Or perhaps Draco, "The Dragon" -- dragons are awesome and way more badass than scorpions. How about Orion, "The Hunter". Pretty cool, right? Of course, according to myth, Orion was killed by a scorpion, and that takes us right back where we started.

I appear to be having trouble letting go of my Scorpion identity.

Fortunately, as I continued to research the matter, I discovered that the tropical zodiac signs that form the basis of Western horoscopic astrology have nothing to do with the astronomic positions of the constellations for which they are named. In other words, it really is just a completely made-up system.

And that means that I'm still a Scorpio!

Not that I care one way or another.

I mean, it's not like I'm obsessing about it or anything.

I'm just saying.

Change

Around this time of year, everybody starts thinking about change. There's a new year on the horizon, and we all get a fresh start. Everything's going to be different. Out with the old and in with the new. New calendar. New Congress. New Facebook profile. Because new means better. Change is good. Anything different is an improvement on what we already have. Right?

Not always.

Take Congress for example. We "change" Congress every two years. Has it ever improved? Not a bit. Nobody has ever said, "damn, this new Congress is way better than that crappy old Congress we used to have." And they never will. Because change is not inherently good. Sometimes the crappy Congress we have is the best one we can get. And changing it only makes it worse.

As for Facebook, they have a whole army of people working around the clock whose sole objective is to make unnecessary changes to the system. These so-called "improvements," often known as "upgrades" are actually a continuing series of useless annoyances whose only real purpose is to provide the employees of Facebook with a sense of job security. Currently they are pushing a new profile format. Why? Is there something wrong with the current format? I like my profile the way it is. Some people say "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." But at Facebook their motto is, "if it ain't broke, be patient, we'll be screwing it up shortly."

Change.

While I accept the inevitability of change, I tend to resist its implementation. Recently, at work, I was asked to relocate to another building to help out with one of our more popular shows. They were gearing up for production and needed a few extra hands on deck, as it were. Now, some might see such a change of assignment as a welcome break to the hum-drum workaday routine. Not me. Once I get settled into my daily routine, I pretty much like to stick with it. I know exactly how long the commute takes. I have my computer set up just the way I like it. Got my favorite chair. I even have a little niche in the hallway fridge for my unsweetened chocolate soy milk. Now they want me to move?

Of course I agreed. I had no choice, really, but it seemed more civilized to pretend that I did. I decided to look at it as an adventure. As it turned out, the commute to the other building wasn't all that much different, just a few minutes longer. And the people over there were nice and all. They stuck me in an editing bay with some headphones and a laptop and basically left me alone. It was pretty damn cold in there, and the chair was kind of uncomfortable. And I couldn't quite get used to the size of the keyboard on the laptop. But, I decided to make a go of it.

After a few hours, I swapped chairs with one that wasn't being used. Then I scrounged around for a full-sized keyboard. The headphones were kind of digging into my skull, but I had to put up with them. I managed to tough it out for the rest of the night. After all, it was an adventure.

The next day, I was moved to another work station with a better chair and more comfortable headphones. Still a little chilly, but I brought a sweater along just in case. I also found a fridge for my soy milk. It was kind of over-crowded, but it would do. Things were looking up. Had to leave home a few minutes early to account for the slightly longer commute, but I was handling it.

I got moved again the next day, and spent the first half-hour setting up my workspace so it was just right. Put a box under the laptop to raise the monitor to eye-level. Switched chairs with one from an empty conference room. Got hold of a new keyboard from the guy in IT. And I was now working in an editing bay that was heated to actual room temperature. There was an editor in there with me who was putting together bits and pieces of video from a vast array of clips for a segment in one of the upcoming shows. I occasionally interrupted him and asked him questions about his process. It was pretty fascinating. I was getting a little bonus OJT out of the deal. This new assignment was turning out all right after all.

By the end of the week, I had settled into my new routine quite nicely. I was making friends with the editor and learning a lot about the nuts and bolts of storytelling from his perspective. I'd learned my way around the building and even found another fridge that had plenty of room for my soy milk and other snack items. I was just beginning to feel at home there. And that's when they told me my assignment was done and I would be moving back to the main building. I was glad to be going back, but I had to admit I had kind of been enjoying my little adventure. Especially now that it was over.

The following weekend, I did a major rewrite of a screenplay I've been working on for several years. They say all good writing is rewriting, but rewriting can be a real pain in the ass. I'd been living with this story for so long, it was hard for me to imagine it any other way. But I'd gotten some pretty clear notes that what I had wasn't working and I needed to make some serious changes. I'd been putting off the rewrite for months and now the deadline was near. I was backed into a corner and the clock was ticking. I dug through the loose pile of notecards and scraps of paper where I'd scribbled some random ideas, and started piecing them together bit by bit. Much like my editor friend had done with his array of video clips. Fortunately, I was working at home, where the chair is comfortable, the monitor is just the right height, and the fridge is stocked with unsweetened chocolate soy milk. In the end, the rewrite turned out pretty damn good. Much better than I'd expected. Much better than the original.

So I guess not all change is bad. Sometimes change can even be fun.

But I'm still not switching to the new Facebook profile.

Giving Thanks

"Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)"

So I'm heading into work the other day and I pass by the boss's Range Rover -- when I say "boss" I mean our CEO, the guy who founded the company -- and I wondered if anybody ever thanks him. Not just the regular kind of "thanks" for holding the door open or passing the salt, but a more all-encompassing "thanks" for creating a successful company, providing people with jobs, and generally improving the economy. Obviously he didn't do it all out of the goodness of his heart; he's made a pile of money for himself. But, without his hard work and marketable ideas, I might not have a job right now. And that would suck.

So, thanks, dude.

While I'm at it, I should thank the woman who hired me for the job, too. She is my actual "boss-boss," and she came through for me when I really needed it. Again, she wasn't acting completely out of charity, she had a position to fill and needed someone she could rely on. She could very easily have hired someone else, but she knew I needed the gig and kept me in mind until something turned up. She also let me work around my screenwriting schedule, which is something I very much need to stay committed to.

So to her, I also say: "Thanks."

Then there's the guy who recommended me for the job in the first place. True, I dropped a few hints here and there. Some would say begged and pleaded. He made sure the boss-lady knew I was still interested and available and helped me get my foot in the door. He's still got my back now that I'm on the inside, keeping me in the loop with the producers I'm hoping to work with.

Yeah -- thanks, man.

And I know I've mentioned it before, but it bears repeating: I really appreciate my screenwriting group. This summer they helped me work through a rewrite of one of my scripts that has enabled me to revive some interest in it. And it's not just the writers in the group, but the actors too. They helped me see things that I didn't know were there, and some things that weren't there but needed to be. It was a huge help.

Thanks, guys.

I have, and have had, some pretty cool co-workers who allow me to bitch and moan when I feel the need to vent. Of course, I do the same for them. Most jobs seem to be like that -- people help each other through the rough spots by simply nodding and understanding, or sometimes chiming in or making a joke. It seems like a small thing, but without such commiserators, most of us would not last more than a few weeks at our jobs. Some of these office-buddies have remained my pals, long after we are no longer co-workers. And they still let me bitch and moan when I need to.

Thanks.

Old friends can be pretty cool, too. Sometimes, nobody but old friend can fix a bout of bad craziness with a simple reminder of where you came from or a well-aimed reality check. It's hard sometimes to stay in touch with your old friends as the years fly by. But a short phone call or even a funny Facebook post from an old friend can really bring you back home.

Many thanks.

Nobody, however, can bring you back home like your family. My sisters, who are so different, both continue give me insights and perspective that help keep me grounded and at the same time open my mind to possibilities and potential. They also show me examples of strength and wisdom that make me proud to know them. My brothers-in-law provide some needed guy-energy to the mix, because no matter how awesome my sisters are, it's still nice to know there's a man around to lift heavy objects and say things that are really obvious. My parents, meanwhile, offer unfailing support as well as a constant source of inspiration. They encourage me to pursue my dreams while reminding me of the little things that matter most. And they say some really funny shit.

I can't thank them enough.

My niece and nephews totally honor me by making me feel like I am still "cool" enough to hang with them. They also fill me with hope, just knowing there are such good people out there to face the weirdness that undoubtedly lies ahead. My niece's husband adds a wonderful new wing to our little family and enjoys the eminent distinction of being good enough for my niece.

Thanks, kids.

The more I think about it, the more people there are to thank. I'm not sure I can ever thank them all. If I ever gave an Oscar speech, I'd be up there for days. Just this week, a friend invited me over to share Thanksgiving dinner. Same thing happened last year, and the year before. I know I said "thank you," but somehow that just doesn't seem to be enough.

Or maybe it is. As long as you really mean it.

Uh-oh, they're playing the exit music, and I just know I'm forgetting someone...

I'll try again next year.

Thank you.