Unstable Energy and Trust

We had the oddest interaction with a would-be filmmaker the other night. This “former addict” who claims to be six years clean, was, I am told, decidedly not clean when he approached a certain publicist just three years ago and told us on THIS call he’d just “had a Xanax” so he’s calm, anxiety in check. Um. That’s the drug he’s claiming to be clean from.

This person had scheduled a production meeting call with my fiancé for 9 pm. He answered his FaceTime from inside his car while driving and eating a hot dog. Charming. Professional. Clearly valuing Charles’ time. He pulled over, saying, “I hope this is safe. I’m in the ghetto" then announced the opening of a Coca-Cola and the lighting of a Parliament.

What came next was bizarre, at best.

“So are you into threesomes?”

Charles, iPad in hand, preparing for a production meeting gritted his teeth and said, “say more words.”

Filmmaker who has never made a film (who turns out to be actor who has never acted, comedian who’s never done comedy, etc.) pivots, pushing for the date we will schedule him as a guest on the podcast. The 4-minute trailer set in a rehab center (I’m now assuming this child has never actually seen the inside of one) may not happen. His Aunt, his only costar, may not be flying in after all.

SO this is now a pointless phone call that would have ended immediately, except he didn’t allow a breath before, “But fuck that shit, what would you charge to film me getting raped? I’m thinking a 30 minute short where I get raped and then kill my rapist.”

What?

More pushing for when he will be a guest.

I stepped in.

Tell me what you’ve done. You say you’re a comedian. Done any stand-up?

“I have, but that’s not my thing.”

What is your thing? Comedic acting?

“No, I’m more an in-the-moment guy. Like interviews. I’m best in an interview. Because I’m so funny. Don’t you think I’m funny?”

Sure. I deadpanned.

“That’s not the response I was hoping for” he added with nervous laughter.

I’m sure it wasn’t. Listen, if you’re looking for a comedy podcast, that’s not exactly what we do here. We try to add some humor, but mostly we talk about navigating real shit. Discuss real lives. Real work.

“Oh, I can be serious.”

Well, we like to research potential guests. IS there anything out there we may have seen you in? (TikTok even?)

“Well, I was in this series. It’s on my IMDb.”

Great, we’ll check that out tonight. I suppose we’ll check back in a couple days when your aunt decides her travel plans. We have another call.

Click.

Charles said, “who’s the next call with?”

(He’s so pretty.)

Nobody. I AM an actor.

____________________________________________________

We found the episode in which Done Nothing appears as an uncredited extra. We watched the entire thing, deciding maybe he was that guy who walked behind the airplane's main character. And maybe that was his forehead in that one shot.

WTF?

I have a resume full of extra work from the 90s. There are glimpses of me in several of the films made in Philadelphia back then. If you asked to see my work, I’d never point to any of those moments on screen. Because that would be ridiculous if you’re attempting to know me through my work.

There was more to this bizarre conversation with this young man who wants to do many things but has yet to accomplish any of them. He’s super certain Jimmy Kimmel can’t wait to talk with him if only Jimmy had the opportunity.

I have worked in and around show business for nearly 30 years, as has my partner. Small-time, local stuff. But there was a time I knew every casting agent in Philly and New York and had two agents myself. There’s plenty of the business we don’t know, but there’s plenty we do know, too. Charles is a legitimate filmmaker with an armload of international festival awards.

We initially thought we were interviewing a young filmmaker who would be wrapping a film on 4/11 and would love to show it to us and then talk about it. Fine. He’s queer. We can maybe make a fit.

The very next day Charles is asked to film and edit the little flick. Oh, and direct it for me? (Wait. What?) It was truly odd and last minute, but it was an offer of good money for a day’s work, hence the scheduling of the production meeting for “Oh fuck that, let’s film me being raped. I’ll pay extra.”

Now, this really isn’t the publicist’s fault. He didn’t foresee the way this would all unravel, (so spectacularly) and I assume he’d already cashed his check. He believed Dude when he said he fired the cameraman and needed someone else immediately he could better “vibe with.” So publicist thought it was an easy opportunity for Charles. Nice, actually. We did thank him before we recounted the little horror show that unfolded.

Not at all nice, experientially. We don’t expect to hear from this child again, and I honestly don’t feel like conducting a Come-to-Jesus, but I will do one, short and salty if needed.

I don’t want our names attached to any of this person’s work. We coulda used the money, for sure. But some money is too expensive.

And staging a rape is out of the question, full stop.

I have navigated unstable energy my entire fucking life. My grandmother. My brother. My mother. Others in the family. That shit on the Oscars stage…I know it when I see it by how it makes me feel.

The words being spoken are actually irrelevant when I can feel you, and you’re creeping me the fuck out.

It is an untrustworthy instability. I can sense when another human may blow at any moment. They’re like walking powder kegs. Their eruptions are not always physically violent, but the potential of their energy is emotionally violent. Invasive. Often meant to shock or destabilize another human.

Now, are there unstable geniuses out there? Some. Is it a thing they wear to keep from being held accountable for indecent human behavior? I think so. They’re running a game of sorts to convince themselves we are all just as pathetic as they are in their twisted, prolly broken-by-trauma, minds.

I’ve seen it too often. Recognize my reaction immediately. And the answer always is, “this is not a person I can work with.” I wish I could say I’ve immediately moved along each time, but there have been a couple-few people I have let in despite my own misgivings, and they have always proven to be complete disappointments.

Charles has often said, “You’re too nice. I was done with them when I met them.” I knew, too. I guess I hoped this one would be different for whatever reason, and I am sorry every time. Trust your gut. Always trust your gut.

____________________________________________________

I floated in the Atlantic Ocean one clear August Day in 2011, my life of the previous 14 years falling apart, my soul aching hard. I decided to meditate. And I asked the Universe for a word. One word. To carry me through. To get me through. To sustain me as I faced another divorce I didn’t want or ask for, my future uncertain as hell. I floated a long time. Out far enough to be away from the swimmers, close enough not to alarm the lifeguards. Was it an hour? I can’t say. But when the word came through, it was clear as glass. Clear as that August sky.

“Trust.”

The word was trust. I said my thank you to Mother God and swam back to shore.

I was staying with extended family in a house just off the beach. We’d rented it together for the week. I was the only smoker, and I had made a makeshift ashtray out of a Solo cup with water in it, left on the front porch. It kept blowing over, so one of my grand nieces brought me a good rock to fit at the bottom of the cup and keep it upright in the glorious ocean breeze. She only charged me a hug, proud of her ingenuity.

As we were packing up at the end of the week, I dumped the Solo cup and hosed off the rock. I packed it in my suitcase, knowing I’d find a Sharpie at home and inscribe it with My word.

I did. It lived on my nightstand for many years. It now lives beside me as I write, journal, read or work.

My Rock reminds me, through lean times, through uncertainty, through grief, fear, and despair, what I need to do first: Trust.

It has never done me wrong, and it may be my most prized possession.

I am a trans woman. I thought I could never trust my own instincts. What I knew of my deepest essence was wrong. Right? Everyone who raised me said so. And they loved me, right? Right? How could I ever trust this mind?

Because they were just wrong.

Perhaps well intended, but wrong. Dead wrong.

But coming to know that took me through a whole LOT of unstable energy coming at me dressed as The Truth. It wasn’t. Ever. It just wasted my time and challenged my confidence.

So I glanced over at my rock when I stood up to walk over to that nonsensical FaceTime call and introduce myself. That will likely suffice as hello AND goodbye.

Martha is too old to play, y’all. And in that I find peace, and I find rest. And I will protect my peace at all costs. That’s why I always sit right next to a damn rock.

Peace, Lovelies

- MM

PS: What?

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