Friendship

May 7, 2020:

I took the canopy off the back of my truck the other day for the first time since I bought the vehicle new in late 2004. The weather was quite nice, warm and sunny, so I decided to go out for a drive. I came upon a cemetery and like all places of similar purpose, it was well tended. I pulled into the parking lot and sat there in the comfort of my vehicle contemplating life. I know that sounds weighty but what else would you do in the parking lot of a cemetery?

As I’m sure most who have lived long enough have experienced, we’ve all lost loved ones over time, both family and friends, but sometimes we’ll lose someone close to us long before we should have. I’ve experienced it, and I have friends who’ve experienced it. I reflected upon this from inside the contented serenity of my pickup recognizing that true friends are hard to come by.

Sure, we spend a good part of our lives floating in and out of relationships with people that we work with, maybe play recreational sports with, or even have a creative bond with. If we happen to share similar interests, like kids in mutual activities, then we build our association around that commonality, but when that one binding trait is no longer present, most likely that friendship will dissipate. We move on. Unless of course, there’s more to the relationship than any one thing, and that would make it special.

I came across a monologue (more like an advertisement) for a bike company that made an interesting point, and as I’ll be starting an online scene study course next week and possibly a three-day workshop involving self-tapes for audition submissions, I began to think that maybe I should get a little more ambitious (which has been a bit of a struggle of late, I’ll admit) and put something together as a practice run. I thought maybe this ad was a good jumping off point.

This scene was originally filmed with Christopher Walken (he nailed it, of course), along with a great location and wardrobe (I happen to be running a super low budget operation, as in no budget. So, no location, no wardrobe).

I hadn't grasped at first why this particular soliloquy spoke to me, but then musing back on that day in the parking lot of the cemetery, while seated in the familiar cradle of a vehicle that had no doubt saved my life at least once, I began to understand exactly what Mr. Walken was talking about.

Until next time.

P.S. Thanks for reading and watching.