We all have backstories; adventures and foibles few would believe the people we are now would ever be a party to. So in the interest of mixing it up a little, this week I’m unpacking the story about almost committing professional suicide on-stage. During a show. Enjoy!
We all have backstories; adventures and foibles few would believe the people we are now would ever be a party to. So in the interest of mixing it up a little, this week I’m unpacking the story behind becoming Donald (Duck, that is) and traveling to Guatemala as one of three caballeros. Enjoy!
Five months after my Christmas debut in the Magic Kingdom as Donald Duck, I returned to Character Department for a summer gig performing in the Main Street Electrical Parade. The adventure proved to be so much more than I bargained for … in the best way imaginable. The people I worked with were the best, despite my disdain for the job itself. I put college on a temporary hold and expressed an interest to character management in joining their ranks a full-time permanent employee … as did several other several other hopefuls lucky enough to continue working past the summer.
Recently, the Medium publication C(G) SNAPSHOTS issued a challenge in which participants were invited to submit images for their Snapshot Selfie Challenge. Being the camera-phobe that I am — no, really; until recently your truly used the same avatar across all social media for almost six years (don’t judge) — I opted to submit a snapshot of a few mementos that signified different periods of my life. Oddly enough, one object in my snapshot that garnered a few comments was a vintage Donald Duck bobblehead from the late 1960s or early 1970s, described in the accompanying text as: symbol of my former alter-ego, vehicle of torture, and self-discovery — let’s talk about that some time.
Well … the time has come.
We all have backstories; adventures and foibles few would believe the people we are now would ever be a party to. So in the interest of mixing it up a little and unpacking one such story here. Enjoy!*
A couple of weeks ago, I announced in this post that United Thank Offering, a ministry of The Episcopal Church, is considering a grant proposal I’ve written and submitted for a series of workshops on racial reconciliation. Awards won’t be announced until early July 2018, so that gives me plenty of time to plot, plan, and flesh out some ideas.
So this is where we are, America. Polarized. It’s Us versus Them in a battle royale, and we’re fighting tooth and nail over just about every imaginable topic. Few people are interested in finding common ground as a starting place to facilitate healing for our nation, or more importantly, its citizenry. But if you’re not raging at either end of spectrum, there’s a path to higher middleground.
Disney Imagineering is the company’s think-tank full of super-creative designers, storytellers, and engineers who dream up theme parks, resorts, and attractions. All projects go through a crucible of development phases before they’re deemed ready for the public. During the first phase, everyone is encouraged to think outside the box and develop ideas that know no bounds. This phase has been dubbed the Blue Sky phase.
Palm Sunday, 2018. I forget exactly when I started closing my essays with the words “love one another,” but what follows is a redux of an essay I wrote on June 26, 2016, days after the Pulse shooting, that lays out my interpretation of those three little words. Plus with Easter coming up on Sunday, it’s kinda relevant. Enjoy.
Recently, a friend told me he posted a meme on social media that he thought was perfectly fine until a friend pointed out to him that said meme might be offensive. My friend informed me that he removed the meme and proceeded to render a heartfelt apology. But between his confession and mea culpa, he sandwiched a question: is an Oompa Loompa meme offensive to Little People?
Over the past few years, we’ve witnessed a number of mass shootings. Yes, the ones that make national headlines, and the ones that go unmentioned by the mainstream media. There’s a lot that’s been said about them; plenty of debate, conjecture, blaming, shaming, convicting, and support of victims. But there’s one subject that is rarely addressed: the ripple effect these shootings have not just on those not directly impacted, but those who are continually watching from a disance and what coping skills we should we all employ.
What do we do?
It is with great sorrow that we, the family of our beloved Clay Rivers, announce his passing. His body was found by authorities late last night in a wooded area in Ocoee, hanging from a tree. Please respect our privacy during this time of deep mourning as we try to understand this unspeakable act.
—the Rivers family
The fear that members of my family would ever have to post the above message or something similar has been a palpable fear I’ve lived with since I was in my early twenties. While I seldom, if ever, had reason to be in Ocoee, I grew up hearing rumors about Ku Klux Klan activity in Lake County. This has been a pervasive fear among black families who have lived in central Florida long enough to know of Ocoee’s reputation as a sundown town. For years, a well-known sign even gave public notice that blacks should not be found in Ocoee after sunset.
