Tomorrow’s a Blank Page (Blog #572)

It’s 11:28 at night, and I’ve been dicking around for over two hours–fixing my parents screen door, running the virus scanner on my laptop, scrolling through Facebook ad nauseam–doing anything I can to avoid writing. I just don’t feel like it. Stupid blog. Ugh–whose idea was this every-day writing nonsense?

Oh, that’s right–it was mine.

This afternoon I did some handyman things for some friends and got absolutely eaten up by mosquitoes in the process because I refused to use the bug spray I keep in my car. I can be so stubborn sometimes. But I was in relatively nice clothes and just didn’t want to smell like Deet for the rest of the day. Honestly, what’s a girl to do when presented with two unpleasant options?

To itch or to stink, that is the question. Obviously, my answer today was to itch, although I’ve chosen to stink plenty of other times in the past.

I can’t believe I’m talking about mosquitoes.

Move on, Marcus.

This evening I went downtown in Fort Smith to check out The Unexpected. The Unexpected is a mural-painting project that happens annually here, and–I think–is one of the coolest things this city has ever done ever. The project goes through this Sunday, October 28. Anyway, every year the organizers put out a new map that lists all the artists and where their respective murals are or will be located, so tonight after parking my car at a local coffee shop and with my map in hand, I hit the streets (oh-la-la) to look for the latest artwork. Oh my gosh, y’all, what a cool thing, to walk up on an old building you’ve driven past hundreds of times and see it being brought back to life. Even at 8:00 this evening, there were a number of artists out working on their projects.

Here’s a picture of one of the murals in progress on Towson Avenue. The artist is Alexis Diaz.

This one is also on Towson Avenue and is by PREF. (A lot of muralists don’t go by their god-given names. Apparently it’s a thing.) Personally, I’m really excited to see how this mural turns out. I assume it will say, “The very best is yet to come,” but since there are three blank spaces left and “to come” would only fill up two of them, who knows? It could be anything. That’s the great thing about a blank “canvas.” You can do with it what you want.

This one is on Garrison Avenue (the main drag in downtown) and is by Ana Maria. She did another mural in the same spot for the first Unexpected (in 2015), but obviously had to paint over it in order to create this new piece.

This one is on North A, one block off Garrison Avenue and is being painted by local high school students. How cool is that?

Although there are a few other new murals this year (by BUFFALO, ADD FUEL, and Cody Hudson), I didn’t take pictures of them tonight. I did, however, take this picture, which is one of the murals done for the first Unexpected; it was painted by local university students. I took it because the guy in the mural looks like he’s pointing to the full moon. I love that.

Now it’s after midnight, and I’m ready to go to bed. I NEED to go to bed. Last night I didn’t fall asleep until after four, since blogging took forever and I still had to shower after that. Anyway, it feels as if I’m going through the motions here. Personally, I’m not particularly impressed with what’s landed on the page tonight, and now I don’t have anything “profound” to say. Whatever, this is the way art works. You show up. You do the thing. Sometimes it’s fabulous, sometimes it’s flopulous. (I just made that word up. As in a fabulous flop, Mom.)

Sometimes you want a re-do.
That’s okay.
You can paint over yesterday.
Tomorrow’s a blank canvas.
Tomorrow’s a blank page.
It holds endless possibilities.
The very best is yet _________.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous.

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You Know, a Guy Could Take This (Blog #505)

Twenty days ago, while I was in San Francisco for a dance event, I received a ticket (from a meter maid!) for parking on a steep hill and NOT turning my wheels toward the curb. Talk about a serious drag. I didn’t know a person was supposed to do this. Anyway, when I talked to a friend of mine who’s a policeman in San Francisco, they said, “Might I suggest a good old-fashioned protest?” Well, sure enough, there’s a website listed on the back of a ticket, in case someone wants to put up a fuss. So, in light of the fact that the ticket is sixty-nine frickin’ dollars, that’s exactly what I did this morning.

I resisted.

Unfortunately, I was limited to 1,000 characters, so I couldn’t be as “flowery” as I wanted to be with my words. Still, here’s what I said:

Hello. My name is Marcus Coker, and I recently visited SF for the first time (in order to attend a swing dance event). The event housed me with a local, on 14th Avenue. Of course, parking was a challenge, but I “finally” found a spot after 45 minutes of circling the neighborhood. You can imagine my relief. There was a sign about not parking on certain street-cleaning days, but otherwise–I thought–I was good. (Phew.) Alas, when I went to check on my vehicle the next day (a friend who is a policeman said vehicle break-ins were common in SF), I’d received a $69 dollar ticket for “parking on grades,” a term that I had to Google and means I didn’t turn my wheels toward the curb. Ugh. This really put a damper on my weekend, especially since I had no idea about your city’s policy. After all, it wasn’t posted, and, being from the flatlands of the south, I never park on hills. As I immediately corrected the problem, I ask that you forgive this incident. Please have mercy. Regards, Marcus

Then, when the website asked if I had any supporting documents, I uploaded this PDF: SF_ParkingProtest

So we’ll see what happens. At the very least, I figure I’ve bought myself some more time. This morning when I saw the ticket in my to-do pile, I freaked out. First, either the protest or the payment is due tomorrow, and that triggered my “not enough time” response. Second, the fact that this is an “authority issue,” made my butt pucker. But then I thought, You can do this, Marcus, and sat down and got to work. In no time, I was simply doing my thing–writing. Plus, I was trying to have a good time. So much of my past has been filled with my being nervous, afraid, and terrified about things that really amount to nothing. A parking ticket. A meter maid. But–regardless of how it turns out–this protest was actually fun for me.

So that’s something.

Yesterday I attended a memorial service for my friend and local artist Ralph Irwin. I wrote about Ralph in detail here (in my most highly read article), so I won’t go into great detail about him here. However, I was reminded yesterday what a profound impact one person can have on another. Honestly, although I worked two doors down from him when I had my dance studio, I didn’t spend that much time with Ralph. We only had a handful of heart-to-hearts. That being said, they were enough. Ralph left his mark on me.

One of the things that was mentioned at the memorial service was that Ralph would often take some odd, discarded object, hold it up to the light, squint, and say, “You know, a guy could take this and–.” Then Ralph would proceed into a barrage of wild ideas and creative possibilities. This was my experience with him. Once he told me, “Some people might look at a rusty old door and think of it as trash. But an artist would look at it and see possibility, something you could paint or hang on a wall or use for something else entirely.”

Possibility. If nothing else, Ralph taught me that there’s an infinite number of ways to see the world. What’s more, there’s an infinite number of ways to make your world more beautiful. But it all starts with how you see things. Do you look at the objects and people in your life–do you look at yourself–as trash? Or do you see something beautiful there? Personally, I think Ralph saw people the way he saw objects–full of potential. At least that’s how I think he saw me. I’m not sure he ever said it directly, but he took time to help me flesh out ideas and show me new ways of looking at things. He encouraged me (and I know he did this for countless others).

Of course, it’s no small thing to be encouraged.

There was something said yesterday about how Ralph felt like he didn’t get enough done. The man was teeming with creative ideas and projects, and although many of them were completed during his seventy-six years on earth, many of them were not. I get this–I love completion. But as an artist and creative, I think this is a good “problem” to have–to wake up every day with a million ideas, to see possibility everywhere you look, to not get locked into one way of seeing a situation. This is where I see progress in my own life. Five years ago I would have gotten a traffic ticket, and it would have been “awful” from start to finish. But whereas facts are facts–I got a parking ticket–I can choose how I look at the facts. I can paint them up and put a frame around them that I like and that’s fun for me. I can choose how I respond.

I can hold my problems up to The Light.

I can squint my eyes.

I can see the world differently.

Yes–

It’s more beautiful now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

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All These Things Neatly Arranged (Blog #459)

It’s one in the morning, and I’m worn the fuck out. My hips hurt, my legs hurt, my back hurts, my head hurts. Everything is throbbing. That being said, I have a distinct feeling of satisfaction, as I’ve spent the entire day organizing, decorating, and cleaning my room.

(I’m a neat freak.)

As I’ve mentioned dozens of times before, over a year and a half ago I had an estate sale and sold most of my possessions. I kept a few things, of course, mostly books, a handful of pictures, knick knacks, and can’t-live-withouts. As my original plan was to move to Austin (I’ve recently run into several people in Fort Smith who think I’m “back home,” but–joke’s on them–I never left), I’ve essentially been living out of a suitcase since moving in with my parents last February-ish. Granted, I hung my clothes in my sister’s old closet, put my underwear in a spare chest of drawers, even set up a small bookshelf. But–until today–I haven’t hung anything on the walls.

I guess I didn’t want to get too comfortable.

Sometime last year I went from sleeping in my sister’s old room to sleeping in my old room because I hoped a different bed would help my sore back. I don’t think it did, but I’ve stayed here anyway–in my old room–where I am now. Consequently, for over six months I’ve been living in two places, some of my stuff in my old room, some of my stuff in my sister’s. However, because I’m anal retentive and love order, this situation has been wearing me the fuck out. Every day I walk into this room and notice all the chachkies that aren’t mine and I don’t like looking at, all the shit hung on the wall in the wrong place “because there was a nail there,” all the family junk that’s stored in the closet.

Until today, that is. For whatever reason, this morning I had enough. I thought, Marcus, you’ve been here for over a year. You might as settle in. So that’s what I did. For over twelve hours starting this afternoon, I moved (almost) everything that wasn’t mine to another room, gathered all my worldly possessions into this one, and went to work sorting, grouping, and arranging.

My first major task was decorating the built-in bookshelves that frame my window. This was a major frustration point, since I kept looking for little collectables to decorate with but couldn’t find any BECAUSE I FUCKING SOLD EVERYTHING I USED TO COLLECT! (Whoops.) Still, I managed, and after the bookshelf project, I cleaned out a box of old birthday cards and letters I found in the closet (where I used to be). (That was a gay joke, Mom.) This was really strange, looking at twenty-five-year-old birthday cards from friends and relatives, some of whom are no longer alive. Having just been reminded that I don’t own much anymore, I wanted to hang on to every slip of paper, every fond thought and signature. But I didn’t. I kept a few things to take pictures of tomorrow, but that’s it. The rest went in the trash.

The past is over.

Of all the framed pictures and artwork I used to have, I only kept nine (my favorite number) when I had the sale. Y’all, it took me at least two hours to figure out how to hang them on the wall, but I finally did. And here’s what’s great about having these nine pictures on the wall–I love, absolutely adore–every one of them. Each one has a story, each one “made the cut” for a different reason. Even now as I type, they are hanging around me, bringing a smile to my face, helping me feel at home here.

Enjoy where you are.

I suppose this is something I haven’t wanted to admit–that I’m home again, that I’m here now. But I am here now, so I might as well act like it. That’s what today was about for me–acceptance, admitting that even though I’m not where I thought I would be at this point in my life, I can still enjoy where I am. I spend so much time in this room, so much time staring at these walls–why shouldn’t I like what I’m looking at? Currently I’m propped up in bed, and across the room is my Zac Efron wall calendar, my collection of magnets, the typewriter and cup of coffee drawing I blogged about yesterday, my vision board, and an antique swag lamp I’ve had for two years but haven’t used until tonight. All these things neatly arranged truly inspire me. Why didn’t I do this sooner? (It doesn’t mean I’ll be here forever.) Already I feel more creative, more relaxed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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Looking Like a Marcus (Even If I Don’t Feel Like One) (Blog #406)

I’ve been staring at the screen for thirty minutes. Well, checking Facebook. Regardless, I’ve been avoiding the blog. I’m tired today. I’d rather go to bed than write. It was almost five in the morning when I finished last night’s blog about my issues with money, and I was up early this morning (before noon) to attend a comedy workshop in Fayetteville. The point is, I didn’t get a lot of sleep. But who does, really?

Let’s talk about something else.

The comedy workshop I attended was put on by Theater Squared and the cast of their current play, The Hound of the Baskervilles, which I saw last week. (It was hilarious.) The workshop was hosted at the library, and when I got there and saw that there were only a few people in the class, I thought, Shit, I’m going to have to participate. Y’all, I almost turned right around and drove back home. But then I thought, I came here to learn something, so I stepped outside my comfort zone and into the room.

As a general rule, I like meeting new people. Not that I’m “one of those” who get chatty on airplanes or anything, but I certainly could (given enough scotch). Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone new, to be “nice,” to participate. But as I was sitting in my chair and fiddling with my phone, the older lady next to me broke out in a grin and said, “Hi, I’m Janice. What’s your name?”

Reminding myself to smile, I said, “Marcus.”

Janice gasped audibly. “Of course you are!”

I laughed. “Of course I am?”

“Yes,” she proclaimed. “You LOOK like a Marcus.”

Later Janice said she meant I looked stately (like the Romans who originally coined my name), which no one has ever told me before, but I took as a good thing. I just looked up stately on the internet, and it means, “having a dignified, unhurried, or grand manner.” Talk about a high-octane compliment. My head is getting bigger as we speak. And yet, in that moment earlier today, I’m quite sure I didn’t have “a grand manner.” A nervous manner, for sure. First, I was in a new situation. Second, ten minutes after the workshop started, I noticed a missed call from the insurance company of the guy who rear-ended me last summer. Crap, I thought, they’re gonna want to talk about money. I couldn’t stop worrying about it the entire class. All I could think about was calling them back and getting it over with.

Unhurried my ass.

The workshop itself went great. First we talked generally about how a play is written, then talked about how a play (specifically a comedy) is interpreted. And whereas I mostly paid attention, took notes, and “let” everyone else participate, I did get out of my seat to join in an exercise in which a number of choreographed dance steps were performed. Y’all, it really was a fabulous workshop, and my big takeaway was that even when something on stage looks spontaneous, chances are that it’s not. Rather, every sigh, glance, step, and gesture has likely been planned out and rehearsed over and over again.

Three hours later, when the workshop was finished, I called the insurance company back, but they’d already gone home for the day. Consequently, I’ve spent all evening running scenarios in my head–things going my way, things going almost my way, things not going my way at all. I keep telling myself that whatever happens when we talk, it will just be a conversation, and I’ve had plenty of conversations before. But I really am starting to get fed up with the whole ordeal, which has now dragged on for over ten months. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I already feel as if my health and entire life are also on hiatus. Seriously, if only I could get paid for being a professional foot-tapper and watch-looker-at-er.

What if being patient now will make whatever comes later that much sweeter?

One of the concepts discussed in the workshop today was that not only does a play have a beginning, middle, and end, but almost every part of a play has a beginning, middle, and end, as well. For example, if one actor looks at another, that look has a point at which it starts, is held for a certain amount of time, and is then completed. One of the points to this conversation was–don’t rush from beginning to end–the middle is what MAKES the ending. This was a great reminder for me. So often I feel as if my life is on hold, like I’m just biding my time until I settle this accident claim, find consistent work, or whatever. But what if this is the middle part of my story? What if being patient now will make whatever comes later that much sweeter, that much more satisfying? If that’s the case, then surely this is an opportunity for me to practice being unhurried, even if that’s not my default way of acting. Surely I could rehearse “unhurried” over and over again until it actually were spontaneous for me to live in a stately, dignified, and grand manner–like a man perfectly at ease with the speed of life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t stuff down the truth—it always comes up.

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Create, Adjust, and Maneuver (Blog #395)

Last night was one of the best night’s I’ve had in a while. Our improv group, The Razorlaughs, performed in Tulsa at a venue called The Rabbit Hole. A few of our regular members were unable to attend, so at first it was just going to be my friend Aaron and me. (I realize that, grammatically, that should be Aaron and I, Mom.) But at the last-minute our friend Victoria jumped in, and y’all, last night was her first improv show ever, but she did great! We had a small audience, a baker’s dozen, but all of them were into the show, and most of them participated. As a performer, this makes all the difference, performing for people who want to be performed to.

In the above photo, we are making a nod to one of our improv games–Stand, Sit, Kneel–where someone always has to be standing, sitting, or kneeling. (Therefore, if one person changes their position, the others have to also.) In the picture below, Aaron and I were playing a game called Pillars with two audience members, who had to “fill in the blanks” or give us suggestions at random times during the game.

One of the highlights of last night’s show was that my friend Kara, whom I went to high school with, came to watch. She even got up on stage. (She also took the above photos.) When we graduated, Kara was the valedictorian of our class, and I was the salutatorian, so I couldn’t help but notice how well she did with The Alphabet Game, where players have a conversation in which the first sentence starts with A, the next with B, and so on. When it came to the letter X and it was Kara’s turn to speak, she said, “Xerxes (pronounced Zerksies) only knows. (Pause.) It starts with an X, I promise.” So this morning I texted Kara, referenced this moment on stage, and said, “#ThingsOnlyValedictoriansSay.”

Last week at therapy I told my therapist that I was doing the Autoimmune Paleo (AIP) diet, which basically means eating nothing enjoyable–wheat, dairy, tomatoes, legumes, eggs, nuts, or alcohol. Later she told me, “Go easy on yourself. It’s okay to modify. If you want to eat some nuts, eat some frickin’ nuts.” So last night after the show I took her advice to heart. Aaron, Victoria, Kara, and I met at Kilkenny’s, a cool Irish pub, and whereas I stuck to AIP for my meal, I decided to have a drink. I told myself, “It’s okay to modify, Marcus. If you want to have some vodka, have some vodka.”

When our group wrapped up for the evening and said our goodbyes, I walked around the corner at Kilkenny’s and ran into my swing dancing friends Gregg and Rita, who had come by for a bite after last night’s celebratory swing dance. (Yesterday was International Dance Day). Y’all, it was the perfect little unexpected reunion. They were with their son and some of his friends, and everyone was so kind. We sat for a couple of hours and just caught up, talking about dance, work, family, earrings–you name it.

It was a wonderful night.

This is what I want for my life.

Now it’s two in the afternoon, and I’m back in Arkansas. When I first woke up this morning, I thought I was going to be sick because my sinuses were running. Maybe it’s just allergies, I thought. Still, I took some probiotics that usually help my sinuses, lay back down for a nap, and have been hitting the water pretty hard since I woke back up. (Water covers a multitude of sins.) I just had breakfast, and I need to get on the road again in an hour and a half, since I’m seeing a show in Little Rock tonight. I don’t have a “deep thought” for the day, but I do wish you could see an improv show–the way the people on stage have NO idea what’s about to happen, but are still able to create, adjust, and maneuver their way into something fun. More and more, this is what I want for my life, to be able to rise to any occasion, to take what life gives me, roll with it, and enjoy.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Being scared isn’t always an invitation to run away. More often than not, it’s an invitation to grow a pair and run toward.

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That Untouchable Thing (Blog #377)

When I was a kid, my sister had a crush on Elvis Presley, and I guess I did too. Not that I talked about it. Still, we grew up watching his movies, listening to his music. At some point, our parents took us to Graceland. I can still remember the mansion–the long couch in the living room, the entertainment room downstairs, the pool table, even the airplane with the bed where he slept. As we got older, both my sister and I turned our attention to other things, but it’s weird how those childhood fondnesses hang on. Now when I hear Elvis’s music, especially if I’m dancing to it, there’s part of me that comes alive and feels like a kid again.

As I mentioned yesterday, I’m in Memphis this week as part of a media tour. This morning, Graceland was our first stop. Y’all, it’s grown in the last thirty years–not Graceland itself, but Elvis Presley Enterprises. They’ve built a new hotel and expanded the museum to a building across the street. Well, it’s a complex, basically–two hundred thousand square feet of The King–records, awards, souvenirs, and jumpsuit after jumpsuit.

So. Many. Rhinestones.

After seeing the museum, we toured Graceland proper, and whereas it was “smaller” than I remembered as a child, it was almost exactly the same. (Some items have been moved across the street.) It was so surreal–I’d have a picture in my head, then I’d walk around a corner, and there it would be, the Jungle Room, the racquetball court. For me, it was all phenomenal. The digital tour (we were each given tablets with pictures and audio) was hosted by John Stamos, and I learned that Elvis bought Graceland as a twenty-two year-old. Can you imagine? His parents and other family members lived there with him, since he’d grown up poor and always promised them a better home, a better life.

Fun fact–John Stamos’s character, Uncle Jesse, on Full House, was named as a tribute to Elvis’s twin brother (Jesse), who died at birth.

During the tour, our guide said that Elvis had quite the temper. One day he got made at the news, so he pulled out a gun and shot the television. It’s now on display in the museum. (Think about having one of your worst moments immortalized for all the world to see.) Something else I found interesting was that Elvis was always surrounded by his best friends, often referred to as The Memphis Mafia. Our guide said if Elvis bought one car, he bought thirteen; if he bought one motorcycle, he bought thirteen–all for him and his friends.

After the tour we had lunch at Vernon’s, a barbecue restaurant named after Elvis’s dad (Vernon). We had some extra time after lunch, so I toured Elvis’s planes. The big one, The Lisa Marie, is the one with the bed. And whereas I remembered the bed and the gold sink in the bathroom, I’d forgotten about the meeting room, the television set, and the Gatorade bottle at the bar. I mean, surely I must have seen them before. It’s funny how your mind does that–hangs on to one memory and lets go of another.

When we left Graceland, we went immediately to Sun Records, the recording studio where Elvis got his start when he was still a teenager. Our guide there, Tiffany (she was over-the-top amazing), referred to the recording studio itself as “hollowed ground,” this little room filled with old guitars and an upright piano, home to Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Johnny Cash, to name a few. Y’all, I’m not ashamed to say that I teared up more than once today, both at Graceland and at Sun. By the world’s standards, Elvis came from nowhere, he was no one. But he had a nice face, a ton of talent, and maybe more determination. One day he was basically living in a run-down shack, the next, Graceland.

I can’t tell you how inspiring this is. Talk about turning your life around.

Here’s a video of Tiffany telling the story of how Elvis was “discovered” by Sam Phillips, the owner of Sun. (Elvis had been jamming at Sun for a while and finally hit upon a sound and song that Sam liked and approved of.) The next thing the world knew, Elvis was on the radio singing, “That’s Alright, Mama.” As Tiffany says, “The rest is history.”

Soul–that untouchable thing that always insists on rising.

When we left Sun, we went to Stax Museum. Stax was another Memphis recording company, the one that brought us such artists as Otis Redding, Sam and Dave, Isaac Hayes, and Booker T. and the MG’s. There, because of the type of music they were producing, there was a big emphasis on “soul,” that quality in music born out of slavery and the blues, out of pain and hardship. Soul–that untouchable thing that always insists on rising. And what a beautiful thing, to take any kind of pain or negative life experience and turn it into something creative with depth and grit, something beautiful that brings joy to others. Here we are decades later, and millions, including me, are still smiling.

Our last “tour stop” today was Royal Studios, which I had never heard of and was completely off the beaten path. Y’all, it was in the hood. I guess it used to be a silent movie theater–the floor steadily slopes from the front to the back–but it just looked like an old beat-up building. At least on the outside. But on the inside–y’all, Royal Studios was home to Al Green. He recorded all his albums there. Over the years, Royal Studios has recorded and produced AC/DC (Back in Black album), Keith Richards, Ann Peebles, Melissa Ethridge, and–recently–Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars. That’s right, Royal Studios produced “Uptown Funk.” The studio was started by Willie Mitchell, and his son, Boo, gave us the tour today. He said, “It was four in the morning, and they were still writing the song. We’d run out of booze, so I broke open an old bottle, a special edition, that belonged to my father when he was alive. (Willie Mitchell was a famous singer and producer in his own right.) I said, ‘Sorry, Pops.’ I brought the bottle back to where we were recording, and Bruno said, ‘Boo Mitchell–fill my cup, put some liquor in it.’ An hour later, those words were in the song.”

Is that cool or what?

(That’s a picture of me and Boo at the top of the blog. Boo’s father, Willie, is pictured behind us.)

No one is immune from life’s challenges.

The last thing our group did today was eat dinner (and a lot of it) at The Gray Canary. The staff was kind enough to charge my phone while we were eating, so I didn’t take any pictures until dessert. But y’all, it was the perfect evening, a chance to sit down, unwind, let it all soak in (the food and the entire day). I’m still over-the-moon. Mostly I’ve been thinking about Elvis. The tour guide didn’t say it specifically, but I got the sense that he was lonely, the way he always surrounded himself with so many people. I guess no one is immune from life’s challenges and emotions. Elvis apparently did a lot of spiritual reading, trying to make sense of why he, a boy from Tupelo, Mississippi, would be given so much fame and fortune. And who knows why things happen as they do? But I think it’s beautiful and oh-so-inspiring whenever any soul, despite its challenges and perhaps because of them, grits through the creation process, rises, and lifts others up along the way.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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I Was Here (Blog #349)

Last night I was up until six in the morning, partly because I drank a lot of coffee yesterday, partly because I have a rash (where no one wants to have a rash), and it’s been itching like crazy. When I saw my dermatologist a couple days ago, it wasn’t so bad. But things have gotten dramatically worse. I guess when my rash got a glimpse of my doctor, it decided it wasn’t going down without a fight. Anyway, I called my dermatologist today, and his nurse told me, “Do this.” I said, “I’ve been doing that for a week.”

“Oh,” she said. “Let me call you back.” So now I’m still itching but have another appointment, seven not-so-short days away.

Tomorrow I’m planning to go out-of-town for the swing dance convention I’ve been working with the last two months. Part of me is hesitant to go because my energy is low and I get winded walking up stairs. Hell, I get winded riding in an elevator. But I’ve worked really hard for this event, and I’d like to experience at least part of it in person. Plus, I think it will do me good to get out-of-town and spend some time on the road with Tom Collins (my beloved car). I just need to pace myself and take it easy.

Since I’m trying to get in bed soon in order to wake up in the morning, pack, and hit the road at a decent hour, I just took two Benadryl. Plus, the dermatologist said an extra anti-histamine or two could help with the rash. Either way, Benadryl almost always knocks me out, so I’m hoping for a good night’s sleep. That being said, I’m currently rushing to get this blog done, since I don’t know when I’ll become too woozy to function.

Considering that last half-sentence took me ten minutes to write, perhaps that time is now.

I imagine the next few days at the dance event will be jam-packed. When I originally said that I would go, I hesitated because of the blog. My one-year anniversary is at the end of the month, and I didn’t (and don’t) want to get down there, wear myself out, and somehow let a day go by without writing. But I don’t think that will happen. I’m too far into it now, too committed. Plus, over the course of the last eleven months, I’ve figured out how to work this in even on the busiest of days. I used to think that every blog had to be a thousand words, something super deep or beautiful. But now I know that’s not the case. Some days it’s more than enough to simply show up and say, “I was here.”

You keep trying.

This is something I’ve learned about the creative process, not just from reading about it, but from living it for the last 349 days. I can sit down every day to write, but I never know what’s going to end up on the page. Likewise, I can apply creams and take anti-histamines for my rash, but I have no idea whether it’s going to heal. As far as this blog goes, I know that many of my posts are average while others are absolutely over the moon. Either way, I try not to take too much credit. Sure, I’m committed to showing up every day and doing the work, but not once have I ever been able to “force” a super-deep or beautiful post. They either happen or they don’t. When they do, I’m just as surprised and delighted as anyone else. When they don’t, well, that’s just part of the process, part of life. But I’m learning that you don’t quit simply because every day isn’t a banner day. Rather, you keep showing up, you keep doing the best you can, you keep trying.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."

The Improv Adventure (Blog #261)

A couple months ago I bought the wrong-sized boxer briefs. These were small, and I’m usually a medium. (I’m glad we can talk about such things.) Anyway, I tried to fit into them, but there was simply no way in hell. I mean, my butt’s really big, and it was like trying to push a bowling ball through a pea shooter. Not cute. At first I thought about trashing the boxer briefs, but I’m not really one to waste things, so then I thought about giving them away. Surely I can find a skinny twink in need of a pair of four-dollar underwear. (Hey–I’m not cheap–they were on sale! Also, look at me, trying to put underwear ON a twink.) But, honestly, giving once-tried-on underwear away is a rather weird thing to do, even for the holidays. I get that. Besides, what would the card say–Thinking of you? Plus, I’d already taken the tags off.

So I just kept them.

The History of my Underpants by Marcus Coker.

Believe it or not, there’s a point here. Last night, in a mad dash to get ready for my first improv comedy show, I realized I didn’t have any clean underwear–except the small boxer briefs! Well, I’ve lost some weight recently, so I thought, What the hell, it can’t hurt to try. So I took a deep breath, and y’all, it’s amazing what a few pounds can do–I actually managed to get the waistband over my hump. Granted, I felt like I was wearing a girdle, but I had clean underwear on, by god. Actually, it was rather pleasant the way they squeezed everything together, pushed one cheek up against the other, and made my assets, well, perkier.

Yes, I said assets.

The improv show last night with The RazorLaughs was a fundraiser for Dwight Mission, somewhere in Oklahoma. I didn’t drive, so I honestly have no idea where it was, but I guess getting people to come to an improv show in the middle of nowhere is about like getting people to attend a rumba lesson in Arkansas. In other words, there weren’t a lot of people there. This made me nervous, like, this could be awkward, but Aaron, Ian, and Summer said they’d performed for small groups before, and sometimes they’re easier than large ones–it just depends on the particular crowd. Fortunately, we lucked out. First of all, we got fed, and the food was great–apple and cranberry stuffing, sweet potatoes, green beans, and make-your-own sugar cookies. (Talk about fancy!) Second, the group was wonderful. We performed for over an hour, and not only did they not leave the room or throw rotten fruit at us, they participated and laughed–a lot.

If you’ve never been to an improv comedy show, it’s intentionally silly and unbelievable. In one of the scenes last night, I was a party host who had to guess what made each attendee special–Ian was a guy who laughed at EVERYTHING, Aaron was a hand model, and Summer was a sloth. It took me FOREVER to guess the sloth thing. Why are you moving so slowly–are you a woman on drugs? I mean, I was only given so much to work with (I knew I was a party host, and that was it), then I had to figure the rest out as I went along. In this sense, it was like an adventure. This is the fun of improv–not knowing where you’re going until you get there. In another scene, Summer was Frosty, and she was fighting with Aaron, who was Santa. Well, before things were over, Santa revealed that Frosty was his son. (Who would have guessed!) Summer said, “Uh, I’m actually your daughter.”

End of scene.

I realize these sketches aren’t that funny to read about it–you’re probably not even laughing out loud–but in the moment, they were hilarious. More than that, at least for me, they were actually interesting. At one point I was watching Summer play Jack Frost and Ian play Santa. They were thinking of stealing Christmas or something ridiculous, but I got so wrapped up in it. I kept thinking, What’s going to happen next?

It seems giving anything our attention is what makes it interesting. Like, I know that no one else cares about the size of my underwear, but it’s fascinating to me when I focus on it. And just like good underwear, even the silliest comedy sketches can be riveting and fun once we manage to get into them. I imagine this is how life is. We think we need a big audience. We walk into a room and say, “Where is everybody?” But last night Summer said a small crowd can be a great crowd if they simply want to be entertained. Ultimately, I guess it’s what we’re looking for, whether or not we’re willing to consider the pieces of our lives and be fascinated by them, whether or not we can take what we’re given and turn it into an adventure.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We were made to love without conditions. That's the packaging we were sent with."

We Follow the Mystery (Blog #222)

Once again, I have no idea where to begin, or for that matter, where to end. I’ve spent the evening reading and reading some more, and I’ve gone through my nightly routine–flossed and brushed my teeth, washed my face, prepared my bed for sleeping. I’ve looked everywhere for inspiration, something to write about, but nothing has seemed remarkable. Sometimes blogging is like watching paint dry. Would something–anything– happen already? For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been reading a book about writing called Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, and Natalie says that if you don’t know where to start, talk about food, so I’ll try that.

Also, do we like Natalie or what?

After one full week of clean eating, I can officially say that it sucks. It’s nice to fit in my jeans and all, but tonight I went grocery shopping for my parents and kept putting item after item into the basket and thinking, Can’t eat that–can’t eat that. Oh, butter bread! Definitely can’t eat that. This afternoon I had salmon and vegetables for breakfast, and tonight I had hamburger patties and vegetables for dinner. Every meal is essentially like the last. This is the part that sucks–no variety. Well, wait. I did have a pickle tonight–that was exciting. Of course, since I’m speaking about a literal pickle and not a euphemistic one, what I actually mean is that it wasn’t exciting at all.

Whenever I eat well for a week (or God forbid two), I always think that should be enough time to reach my ideal weight and feel like Liza Minnelli in Cabaret. Fabulous! My friend George refers to this kind of thinking as “wanting a parade” for making good decisions. (Bring on the band!) Obviously, my expectations are too high. Every day I wake up wanting instant results, but my body always says exactly what the button on my cashier at the grocery store tonight said–Nope! Not today. This is almost enough to make me want to go back to eating chocolate cake for breakfast. Almost.

Somehow you arrive, always astonished when you do.

On nights like tonight, writing feels like the diet–ho, hum–routine–is it really worth it? Words that work show up about as often as winning lottery numbers. Whenever the last word does show up, I think, God, I’m glad THAT’S over. Other nights I sit down at the laptop, and it’s like a miracle. I can’t type the words fast enough. I get to the end of the post and think, Brilliant.  Rarely is there an indication beforehand of what kind of night it’s going to be, so I’ve decided that creativity is a lot like that asshole friend who says, “Follow me to the party,” but never uses his damn turn signal along the way. So you just take the trip and try to keep up. Feeling mostly lost and out of control the entire time, somehow you arrive, always astonished when you do.

Natalie says this is normal. Some days your writing soars, some days it sinks–never mind–keep writing. This reminds me of a principle taught in The Bhagavad Gita, one of the Hindu scriptures–take action, but let go of the results. In other words, eat better, but don’t expect to gain anything from it. Sit down to write every night, but don’t expect it to go anywhere. This, of course, is a tough pill to swallow. Personally, my inner control freak thinks it’s a bunch of shit. (Is it any wonder I don’t have a dot in the middle of my forehead?) That being said, I don’t remember the last time a day, a diet, or even a simple blog post ended like I thought it was going to. So how much control does my inner control freak really have?

Not a lot, that’s how much.

I find this idea of not having much control both terrifying and exciting. It’s like, I didn’t make the sun rise this morning or hang the stars in the sky, but I’d like to think I could get through the day on my own, thank you very much. But take today, for example. I had it all planned out. First I’d go to the chiropractor, then I’d go to the library to read Natalie, then I’d come home, eat, and go shopping. Well, I got to the chiropractor, but before I could point my car in the direction of the library, my body said coffee, so I ended up at a coffee shop. That’d be normal enough, I suppose, but I ran into one of my old friends, someone who said they’d uncharacteristically had a couple dreams about me lately, so maybe it wasn’t an accident that we ran into each other. Who’s to say why anything happens the way it does?

We follow the mystery, never knowing what’s next.

As I understand it, this is how the mystery of life works. You wake up every day, and even if you have a plan, you try to be open to whatever happens. You do your best to let go of the idea that you’re leading the way. You think, “I want coffee,” then your ego takes credit for it when you’re holding a cup of joe in your hands. But where did that thought come from? That’s the mystery. Tonight at the grocery store I kept noticing a booklet called The Science of Emotions, so I bought it and started reading it. Now it sits on a stack of several other books, some of which are mine, some of which belong to the library. (I eventually ended up there this evening.) I can’t tell you what I’m going to do with all that information anymore than the man in the moon can, just like I can’t tell what the results of my boring diet will be. Still, I’m learning that not knowing is the exciting part, just like arriving anywhere is the astonishing part. (Look, we got to the last paragraph!) Also, I’m beginning to believe that each new moment is not only a starting point full of possibilities, but is also a destination that looks like right here, right now. In this sense and without turn signals, we follow the mystery, constantly arriving, never knowing what’s next.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

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Improvising My Way through Life (Blog #140)

Except for the part where I stopped at a car wash and vacuumed my car with a vacuum cleaner that smelled like vomit, today was a great day. First of all, I didn’t get out of bed until three in the afternoon, and second, at the tender age of thirty-six, I went back to school–improv comedy school.

I’ll explain.

Several of my friends are in a local improv comedy group called The Razorlaughs. (They’re super creative and hilarious.) If you don’t know, improv comedy is comedy that is made up on the spot. It’s sort of like eating a box of chocolates while riding a roller coaster blindfolded–you never know what you’re gonna get or what’s gonna happen next. Anyway, The Razorlaughs (Aaron, Ian, Summer, Austin) are teaching an improv class at Future School of Fort Smith, which is the new kid on the block in terms of high schools ’round these parts. (I don’t know why I suddenly started talking like a cowboy.) The cool thing? The class is open to adults as well as high school students. (Come join the fun.)

Tonight the improv class started with introductions, then we did some basic stretches, since apparently it’s not uncommon for actors and actresses to hurt their ankles. (Who knew?) Then we warmed up our voices by making noises like rockets and whiney little children. (It was awesome.) Finally we did some tongue twisters, such as saying “wristwatch” and “toy boat” five times fast.

Go ahead and try it. No one’s watching.

The actual improv part of the evening centered around a game called Freeze, Unfreeze. The idea is that two people start the scene, each with a character and a setting. Like maybe a guy and a girl are on a blind date at a bowling alley. Hopefully each character is all dramatic with lots of gestures, then at some point, maybe while the guy is celebrating with his hands in the air, one of the other actors says, “Freeze,” and steps in to take the place of one of the people on stage, assuming their exact position. But the catch is that when they Unfreeze, the setting and situation change. Maybe now the guy has his hands in the air and is being arrested. So everyone has to adapt and go in a different direction.

When it was my turn to participate, I noticed my heart was beating pretty fast. I told Summer (who’s a pro at this sort of thing), “I’m nervous,” and she said, “It’s all right.” Well, like any typical Thursday evening, I started out on my knees (just kidding), as I was given the assignment to “be someone who plays video games.” My partner for the scene, a girl, was someone riding a bike. The setting was–get this–a disco club. Honestly, I’m not sure what happened next. I just know there was a simulated bike-to-video-gamer crash, some John Travolta moves, and a lot of silliness.

Soon I was tapped out, and others took over the scene. The whole thing was a blur, but somehow or other, Ian ended up on the ground with someone sitting on top of him. Maybe they were wrestling–I don’t know–but I said, “Freeze,” tapped out the person on top, and took their place. Quickly I grabbed Ian’s leg, slowly dragged him along the floor, and sang, “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.”

These sorts of shenanigans went on for over an hour. Several times I got so caught up in what the others were doing and creating, that I couldn’t think fast enough to jump in. Seriously, I was really impressed with the high school kids–not just for being half my age, but for all their bravery and good ideas. At one point I started a scene on one leg, which I was thinking of as a yoga pose, but then one of the students stepped up, put my arms above my head, and said, “Now this is how you do a pirouette.” Later, someone else pushed me around the floor after telling me I was a lawnmower.

It was fun, but I wish I’d known to bring my kneepads. (I am almost forty.)

After class Aaron said that one of the principles of good improv is something called “yes and,” which means that if someone tells you that you’re a lawnmower, you say yes and add something to it. In my case, I added the fact that my lawnmower ran out of gas, which gave the next person something to work with. So if each person does this, it moves the scene along. But obviously a scene would die if someone said no–no, I’m not a lawnmower–and just stood there.

Tonight I finished a young-adult fiction novel I’ve been reading, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie. The story centers around a teenage Indian who leaves his reservation to attend an all-white school. Toward the end of the story, he joins the basketball team. Before his first game, much like I did with Summer tonight, he tells his coach he’s nervous. In response, his coach says there’s a difference between being nervous and being scared. He says, “Nervous means you want to play. Scared means you don’t want to play.”

I hadn’t thought about this distinction before. I mean, before the class tonight, I was definitely nervous. As I think about what’s to come next in my life and whether or not my dreams will come true, I’m definitely nervous. Perhaps a little scared, but mostly nervous. And I love the idea that maybe my nervousness simply means I want to play–I want to get out there–I want to try something new and see what happens.

I want an adventure.

Honestly, it seems that life is a lot like an improv game where things are constantly changing and new characters are coming in and out of the scene. One minute you’ve got your own business, and the next you’re living with your parents. (I’m just pulling possibilities out of a hat here.) And whereas there are certain things you can’t change, you can always adapt and go in a different direction. You can say “yes and.” Yes, I’m living at home again–and I’m taking the opportunity to write every day. Yes, I don’t have a job–and I’m using my free time to learn something new. Yes, I’m the oldest person in the improv class–and at least I know what disco is.

Yes, I’m nervous–and I still want to play.

[Thanks to the Razorlaughs for a great evening. You guys rock. Thanks to Kate for the pictures of me. You rock too. Lastly, here’s a video of the pros playing Freeze, Unfreeze (3.5 minutes).]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A friend’s laughter takes us backward and carries us forward simultaneously.

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