Dr. Yes

I've come to this point where I need to get out the Razor. Occam's Razor is that principle where you trim away the fat and get right down to the necessities in life. I need Occam's Ax. I need to hack at some pretty big issues. In my first attempt at this, I've told two people NO. Yes, I have said "No," which to most isn't too startling a story, until you get to know me and realize that I have trouble saying anything but YES. And then, AND ONLY THEN, do I shout NOOOOOOOOoooooo in the privacy of my car. So I do say NO. But only to myself in sad, regretful instances.

I'm not going to get cocky, but I'm pretty stoked about my Two No in a Row streak. It's March Madness here at the Ewy house. But sometimes I've been known to say NO and then, feeling badly, turn around and say "yes." Then I'm twice as sad and still doing what I don't want to do.

What is the typical case of not saying no? Handjobs on the bus? Doing dirty tricks for furry fetish Internet cams? Both would take less time and be less of a hassle than what I typically agree to. My wife might actually prefer my being a low-rent gigolo to the hours I spend editing somebody's wedding. Or whatever it is that usually involves a production that, in my head, will only take a few hours but ends up gobbling up part of a week. My kids are growing and driving and moving on without their father, and I'm a volunteer actor in a community play about being a bad parent. It's amazing irony and very close to the truth.

A fine example of this would be...well there are many...but one that really sticks out is my telling my friend Dave that I would help him run the lights for his children's theater. Why? I mean, really, why would someone say "yes" to something they have no idea how to do? Yes, I've been on stage. Yes, I've turned on lights, but neither of those add up to the qualifications of someone who can control the drama and mood of 150 inattentive children.

What was going through my head? I thought, "Well, I've done radio, and from what I've seen that lighting mixer is like a sound mixer and...yah, sure Dave. I'll do it." What kind of deluded freak says that? And it turns out I'd be doing audio, too. Also, you do much of this in the dark, with only a tiny pen light to keep the children from stampeding out of a blackened theater.

At least the evacuation of a dark building would have been a quick end for everyone. Instead, it was 90 minutes of professional actors pretending to be parched in the desert under cold blue lights and thunder. And then, when it was time to celebrate the rain, there was hot, red light and dust storms. I've never been more impressed with performers than the tests I put these through. Actually, that could be part of the audition: can you pretend you're drowning in these wind chimes?

For me it was an hour and a half of terror. Typically, the kids didn't mind, but every once and a while there'd be a teacher or chaperone looking up at the lighting booth to make sure there wasn't a medical emergency. Dave--who I think is still my friend--was luckily preoccupied with lobby duties, but on occasion would hear me disparaging myself, and make sure I was OK. Which has me wondering how many times the tiny venue shared too much of my struggle.

Professional actor: "And now, children, we will sing the happy song of our people! (darkness, thunder)"

Me: "Are you fucking kidding me?"

I still remember the face of the lead, actually painted as a lion, and standing under the hot lights of a monsoon, pausing, wondering if he'd screwed something up. You're fine, Simba. It's me. The tragic character who could not say NO.