American Dream with a White Flag

Every Friday evening, I've been posting a new Spoken Word piece on YouTube.  Here's one I originally wrote senior year of college (2008) titled 'American Dream.'  Click here to watch the others.

 

And here's a newer poem...

White Flag

I loved to play!

Whatever the majority wanted to do in Pre-School, I was down.

You don't discuss when you're 5,

You do.

Flexibility was essential.

(Sweat pants trump jeans at that age)

It wasn't until middle school that everyone started tip-toeing on social glass,

Desperate to find their cliques-

A term disguised with the more justifiable term “friends.”

But “friends” limited interaction and stunted a learning curve-

It forced me to make decisions based on the viewpoints I borrowed from my parents.

If I didn't find my tribe, I'd be alone:

The most human of fears.

I had to conform to the game for survival.

As soon as labels defined me, joy shriveled.

The closed door of judgement wasn't unlocked, it was unhinged.

Day and night transformed into black and white with the command:

“Choose one!”

By high school debate was advertised as a positive

And we were told if we did not vote, we were neglecting civic duty.

Bitterness and political divides created what my preadolescence

Had only seen in Disney movies:

An enemy.

Breathing has become difficult.

I will put a stop to this fight:

It is past due to give up my right to an opinion.

It doesn't make friends.

I can't stop thoughts- but they're not as valuable

As my ego wants to believe.

My beliefs have created walls.

I want to bring people together, not divide them.

I want to play again!

No more cliques!

You are a people-pleaser, Michael-

Help them be happy to be alive!

People's respect and admiration is more important voicing

A selfish idea that will anger.

Being silently ridiculed is not a feeling I envy.

I surrender.

My sweat pants are going back on.

Poem about Hollywood (more to come)

Friday Night At Hollywood & Vine

Between the bus stop

And the patrolling cop

There's a stretched line

Of dressed up women

And impressed men

Waiting to pay $20 to listen to loud music

In a strobe-lit cave.

No more than 10 feet away,

The bus stop comes back into view.

Two short, stocky women who have long been called beautiful

Wait for the Red Line

After working double shifts.

The hospital-bright, glass-cased bus

Will be there soon.

Weathered faces look forward to sleep

As 18 year-olds with fake I.D.'s and 34 year-olds with fake sincerity look forward to sleeping in.

The painfully thin girl in a skin-tight sparkle dress

Walks alone with her arms crossed,

Purse dangling,

Skillfully maneuvering on stilts she saved for Fridays like this.

Maybe someone will think she's pretty.

Maybe she'll find THE guy.

The one who treats her like she's the only girl in the room.

Or maybe she'll just get laid.

Maybe she doesn't care anymore for a dream that's become a fantasy...

...The homeless man with a tattered suitcase of memories

Waits on a bench advertising the sexiness of Vodka.

As the Metro squeaks to an abrupt halt,

The messy-haired, unintentional character stumbles onto the bus.

The driver lets him ride for free-

The only price he can afford...

...Yards away seem like a mile

$20. $20. $20. And that's just for the privilege to buy a drink for $20 once inside.

There go the tips from all your hard work waiting tables, young actress.

Even if it's not worth it, it's the going rate for letting loose...

...Loose is skin of the elderly woman longing for retirement who

Pays a hard-earned $1.25 for every one-way trip back to Koreatown.

She always makes sure to have 5 quarters so she doesn't hold up the line.

And there's always a line at Hollywood & Vine.

The Clubbers and The Riders never make eye-contact-

Just fixate on their destination.

Both hoping.

Hoping to find home,

To avoid a Friday alone.

I envision both crowds meeting in the middle-

Maybe a food truck would satisfy both.

I want these opposites to realize that 

Between apathy and every eye roll,

There's common ground.

Pursue your needs tonight,

Bus-Stoppers and Club-Goers.
Because come Monday morning,

You'll both try your best to hide the fact that you

Look forward to Friday night.

Church and Karma

I've periodically attempted to reconcile with traditional worship for the last 6 years.  I just can't justify singing stock praises.  And even though some try hard to make it one, church is not a bass-infused, fog-invested night club where I can just ignore the lyrics and sway my limbs.  These aren't Katie Perry songs, these are hymns to God.  I feel dishonest when I use someone else's words to thank God.  I mean, if there's one Being I can't fool, it's the Creator.  Here is my most recent impulsive in-church thought:

"Exalt" the 500+ sang...Exalt...Lift up...God deserves praise, but does God want it?  Or need it?  Maybe God is wondering why we're not living what Jesus preached- why we condemn ourselves as sinners rather than hope-makers.  Lifting up others makes more sense.  Why else would we be commanded to serve.  Praising God feels like a deflection of who actually needs our attention: the strugglers.  I don't want to be ungrateful for the gift of life or the capacity for love but if we make time to be verbally thankful to God, then when do we take time to be actively thankful for God?  I guess action always made more sense than singing unless the singing inspires us to act.  It's easier to pray and sing to the Creator than show love to that manipulative friend or asshole stranger.  Refueling is what church is to me.  Worship is confusing.  But I refuse to be ungrateful.  I am fearful that bad habits will form if I don't sing praises/appreciation and that I'll be passively shunned by the community and argued with if I voice apathy for musical worship.  But God knows my heart.  And that's what keeps me honest.

On another note...a few weeks ago, this happened:

As I pulled into an open parking space on the street, a lady going the opposite direction stopped and addressed me, "Are you going to take that spot?"  Slightly confused, as I clearly just pulled in, I knew she knew the answer to that question.  I didn't even have a chance to say anything before she continued, "I was going to take that spot."  After an awkward pause of not knowing what to say, she upped the ante: "You took my spot."  I was already late to my destination and had never been confronted like this- it was like she was verbalizing common thoughts that one usually keeps to themselves.  Was I Will Ferrell's character in Stranger Than Fiction?  Clumsily I responded, "Ah, well, I got here first, so..."  She then went into desperation mode: "But I've been driving around for the past 10 minutes looking for a spot to park and I was going to park there.  Please can I park there?"  Okay.  I'm a people-pleaser because I want everyone to like me, but the chances of never seeing her again are pretty high, I logic-ed.  So, as politely as I could, in the gentlest voice I could muster I said, "No, I'm sorry.  I'm already here, so I'm going to take this spot."  The pouty demeanor drained from her face.  "I hope Karma's a bitch!" she exclaimed before violently peeling out.  I then proceeded to walk to church.  Once there, I fought the urge to pray against the bad karma she bestowed upon me.

Excerpt from Ska Article

Here's an excerpt from the article "Ska Changed My Life" that I'm writing for The Public Queue:


     "Ska wasn't just a movement for me or a fad. It was an opportunity to actually like music Christians created. Sunday praise wasn't exactly all Hillsong-ed up in the mid-90s (which I have issue with but will write about another time) and Michael W. Smith wasn't exactly my generation's cup of tea. So when I first heard ska in the form of The O.C. Supertones' Adonai (which I had no idea was a Hebrew name for God at the time), I was hooked. The first song on their first album started with a cartoon-ish voice declaring “Alright Supertones: let's rock” followed by a 1:13 intro of dramatic garage band proportions accompanied by sharp, catchy horns which lead into: “Well I'm as ugly as sin, that is to say I'm not good lookin'.”  Humility.  Something the mainstream music I listened to lacked. The 'Tones continued with:

     '...One purpose is to worship and to make the body strong, I don't care about your haircut,     

     can't we all just get along? Not just get along, but to really love and care. If your eyes are 

     on the Lord you can't see nobody's hair.'

     I was excited. A new form of socially-conscious, relatable worship. I remember randomly checking out Arrested Development's 3 Years, 5 Months, 2 Days in the Life Of... at the library a few years earlier (I was attracted to their non-threatening, colorful CD cover- a rarity among rap albums) and was pumped that similar social commentary had emerged in my new favorite genre of music. Ska was a more fun, danceable version of rock: fast, catchy, high energy, inspirational.  I mean, I could move to pop music, but I was never moved by it.  I joined band in 5th grade and recognized later why my lips subconsciously decided to play the alto saxophone the most fluidly: I wanted to be the next Dave Chevalier (Supertones saxophonist for their first two albums). I remember being so excited about The Supertones, that I brought The Adventures of The O.C. Supertones CD over to my best friend Corey's house so he could have this music change his life as well. I placed it in his CD player when he wasn't looking and pressed play. "This is awful" Corey told me with a good-natured chuckle. I think this was the first time we ever disagreed about something I really cared about. It may have nothing to do with this heart-breaking moment, but our super-close friendship slowly became unhinged over the next few years. Ultimately, it was probably more that I had started a faith journey without my best friend that tore us apart, but at the time, I felt like our differing taste in music may be a problem in relating to one another. Corey started listening to more rap music (and not the Arrested Development variety) and I ska. I was listening to music that sang about God the entire album while he was listening to music that sang about God once during the album (which was usually very poetically done) and about money, sex, and violence the other 11 tracks (can you say DMX?).  Music molds impressionable middle schoolers more than I ever gave it credit." 

New Poems...

Wowzers!  I haven't blogged in almost a year.  I completely forgot I even had one until a stranger messaged me on my Facebook Fan Page: "Good day friend, as I observe you no longer use the www.facebook.blogspot.com blog, I would perform a request to transfer me to the blog I manage, thanks."  Okay...I have no idea what Carluis Perez Contera means by this, but I figured I'd post something in his honor!  Here's a few recent poems I wrote...(I'll probably start using this blog again strictly for my writing projects)

Late

I've complained about loneliness before.

I have written poems that have made the reader pity me.

I have publicly challenged people to hang out with me (thanks Facebook).

I have been frustrated at never having a girlfriend.

I have sat alone at home many a Friday night wondering why.

I finally have a new answer:

I do everything last minute.

I never plan.

I'm always a step behind.

See, tonight it hit me.

A text:

“I like that you are spontaneous (ooo, I like where this is going),

But I just generally make plans (then you don't really like that I'm spontaneous)

At least a day before (man, I'm always a day late then)

I just feel bad I keep telling you no” (me too...)

Finally some honesty!

Hey, I need to improve just as much as the next schlub.

Wow. I knew I was late to lunch meet-ups, auditions, and to shows,

But it was usually no big deal...otherwise there would be consequences.

But this-
This is being late to the point where all the doors
Have been shut since the rooms are already being occupied.

I am the problem.

Good. I thought I'd have to blame someone else again (that gets exhausting after a while).

I gotta start to schedule, plan.

I mean, I can't be spontaneous with an empty hallway.

Shit.

Today, I prepare for tomorrow, so tomorrow won't be like today.

Delusion

I had a dream about her.

I found her hidden key and broke into her apartment.

Thinking I was going to be romantic, I prepared her living room for an intimate evening for two.

Then I realized- she might not look at this as cute.

I quickly tried to putting the rose peddles away and blew out the candles-

Knowing this was a huge mistake.

I need to leave before she arrives-

Too late.

The key was in the door, turning.

I had no where to go.

She freezes in the doorway.

Scared and helpless I looked into her panicked eyes.

Angry yet sympathetic, she asks the obvious:

What are you doing here?

“I can explain- please don't call the police.”

No. You need help.

She dials 911.

Extreme for a friend-

But necessary.

I crossed the line.

In my last attempt to show her how much I love her,

I had driven her away for good.

Maybe if I would have just waited until she called

There still would be a chance for her to come around.

For her to love me.

I anticipate my alarm and wake up.

Closing my eyes again, I try to finish the life-like dream-

I want her to pour her heart out before the police get there

So I can plan my real life accordingly.

I close my eyes tighter.

Doesn't work.

I couldn't get back into the scene without making it up.

And now I'll never know the most important part:

Why she never returned my texts, phone calls, Facebook messages.

Why she encouraged me love her through physical touch, laughter, sharing personal stories.

Why she rejected me.

This dream shook my heart awake from fantastical slumber.

Because if we're ever going to happen,

It shouldn't be this hard.

Wake up.

  

It's been awhile...

If you're reading this, then you haven't given up on this blog.  Thank you.  I've been splitting my writing time between Twitter (yeah, I technically/barely consider it writing), poetry and a few short films I hope to one day finish.  


A recent thought I've had involves complaining.  Now God knows I've done my fair share of talking trash, so I'm not leaving myself out of the mix here, but why does there seem to be an overwhelming desire to talk about how much you've been wronged?  I mean on a daily basis I overhear and directly listen to more gossip, character assassination and bitching about how I'm right and they're wrong than I hear about how sweet their friends are or how they plan to rise above the adversity.  It's come to the point where I refuse to even vent because I know how quickly that can turn into complaining.  And often times when I finally hear friends, acquaintances or strangers speak positively, they do it in the form of self indulgence.  Where has humility gone?  Well, I don't want to beat a dead horse here or fall into the trap of complaining about complaining, so I'll stop myself.  And now a short-short story that may or may not have anything to do with what I've been writing about....

Interruption

Morris casually hiked in the soft April rain, smiling toward the charcoal sky.  Leaving the city reminded him of how simple and beautiful the landscape used to be.  Morris slid his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  Wait a minute, he thought.  I'm missing my wallet.  He always put his wallet in his front right pocket instead of the traditional right butt pocket for two reasons: One, he hated the feeling of being uneven when he sat down.  And two, he figured it would make him exponentially more difficult to pick-pocket.  Morris looked around at the ground.  No black leather rectangle to be found anywhere in 10 foot radius.  His heart dropped.  He checked his pockets one more time.  Hold on.  His cell phone was no longer in his front left pocket.  Again, he frantically scanned the ground.  Nothing.  Morris started to panic.  How are people suppose to get a hold of him?  What if someone is maxing out his credit cards right now?  And even if they were, he wouldn't even be able to call to cancel them.  He instinctively reached in his pockets again.  Shit.  No keys.  Both pockets, completely empty.  Morris was stranded.  He had lost the three most important items in his world: phone, wallet, keys.  He began retracing his steps.  Nothing but brown, wet leaves.  They have to be in my car, he thought.  The rain stopped.  Morris made his way back to his car.  Locked.  No other vehicles around.  He had no idea what to do.  The sun surfaced from behind the clouds.          

Hello and A Short Story

Well, well.  I haven't posted anything on this 'ol blog lately, so if you're reading this, I appreciate you checking in with me.  This Thanksgiving I was invited up my good friend Noel Thompson's place in Exeter, CA (3 1/2 hours north of LA, 3 hours south of San Francisco) and spent the holiday with his lovely wife Rachel, her momma Becky and her brother Stephen (who proudly roots for the LA Clippers like I've started to do) and her Grandmother.  Getting to hang out with the Thompsons and Dottas while eating delicious home-cooked meals, playing group games, golfing and day-tripping to San Fran easily made the list of the most enjoyable moments I've had in California.  It brings a smile to my face knowing that I have a second Californian home up in Exeter.  I hope y'all had an excellent Thanksgiving as well.  For this blog, I've decided to post a short story I recently wrote...Enjoy!

 The Problem With Conscience

     There was always one more uncomfortable conversation than expected.....Allen hated parties. He especially hated parties that were set for a certain time (in this case 7pm), but no one actually started showing up until a few hours later. Why didn't they just start the festivities at 9? He had been, by his standards, fashionably late- arriving at 7:30. It was now almost 11:00. He decided to exercise his communication skills one more time before throwing in the towel for the evening.

     “So, what do you do?”

     Yet another great start to a potentially meaningless conversation. Allen quickly wish he hadn't opened his mouth.

     “I'm a lawyer.”

     Great.

     “You know, I actually just finished up a case for a guy who looks exactly like you.”

     Oh, how interesting.

     “Huh. It's uncanny how much you look alike....”

     Allen couldn't stand when people didn't look at him when he was talking, so, on principal, he smiled and nodded at the guy wearing one too many tablespoons of cologne.

     “....are you related to a Gregory Ortatangle? I think it's Dutch. Anyways, Greg's one of those losers       

     who still lives with his parents...”

     I suppose I deserve this, Allen thought, I should have recognized by his tweed overcoat that he'd be a yapper. In between nods and “Ah-Huh”'s, Allen rotated stolen glances at his watch, other smiling party guests and the spit gathering on the sides of Mr. I-don't-get-to-bullshit-enough-at-my-day-job-so-I-have-to-do-it-at-social-gathering-as-well-guy's mouth. Then, the Lawyer's monologue shifted gears and directly involved Allen.

     “So are you gay or bi?”

     “Huh?”

     The lawyer chuckled.

     “You sound surprised.”

     “Surprised? Me? No, I was just...well, I was-”

     “Kidding! Wow, you should have seen your face! You thought I was hitting on you...”

     Wow. This guy was hilarious. They both smiled- the lawyer at his “cleverness” and Allen at the thought of his gay friend James who would have dropped-kicked this asshole by now. Even though he detested this guy even more after the joke, he had to admit, if he watched this happen to someone on a TV show, he may have laughed. More importantly, Allen saw this as the perfect opportunity to get out of this interaction and head home. Who else was going to silently protest the party starting later than it should have and go home at a decent time? Not the attractive brunette being bombarded by horny guys and their wingmen. Not the couple tag-teaming the ipod playlist while dancing like nobody's watching. Not the host, mainly since he's already home, but also because he's trying to talk to everybody in the room for exactly ten minutes, unless you're a female- then you got 15.

     “I'll be right back.”

     These words were quickly regretted. Allen knew he wasn't coming back, and though he probably would never talk to this guy again, he was instinctively paranoid on wanting to be perceived as a nice guy.

     “Okay, man! Could you grab me a Bud?”

     “Sure.”

     Allen walked with purpose towards the kitchen. He slyly slipped into the bedroom to grab his jacket. Without saying goodbye to his acquaintances (he didn't want to jeopardize his mission), he put his head down and headed for the entrance. Before he left the party, he glanced over at Mr. Lawyer. He was standing in the same spot, smiling at people walking past him with his hands in his pockets while periodically glancing towards the kitchen. From a distance, a thought crossed Allen's mind: That's me. He had abandoned a more annoying version of himself. Feeling guilty and a little embarrassed, he quickly squeezed out of apartment #327 and slinked down six flights of stairs. As he left through the flimsy glass door, he held it open for a group of friends who were too busy talking to notice the gesture. As Allen released the door, the crisp Friday night air picked up and whooshed through his hair, combing it the opposite way it was groomed. Allen looked back at the door he had just escaped through. The strong wind had blown it open before it had a chance to shut.

   

Back in California After a Minnesota Summer

Hey there!  I've been back in Los Angeles for a couple weeks now and just wanted to touch base with those who still check my blog periodically.  Just in case I never told you, I went back to Minnesota for July and most of August to attend T-Bone and Jeremy Larson's wedding and be in K-Smooth and Joseph Z's wedding.  In fact, I got back 30 minutes before T-Bone's wedding started.  I would have been back sooner if my car didn't refuse to start on me just outside of Gallup, New Mexico (lovely town under different circumstances).  12 hours and a $30 hotel room later, the second best auto mechanic in Gallup (according to the tow-truck driver) diagnosed the problem: my radio suppressor was shot.  My Uncle Paul (who is also an auto mechanic) told me the guy was screwing me, but, hey- I had no choice- T-Bone's wedding wasn't going to wait for me.  So, I put the ol' 1992 Camry in gear and drove 24 hours straight- only stopping a few hours for a little shut eye.  Anyways, I made it back to Minnesota safe and sound in a car that didn't even have any brake pads left on it.  Once back in good old Fridley, I tried meeting up with as many friends as I could.  But, fortunately and unfortunately, I accepted the great opportunity of doing summer programming for CLIMB Theatre.  Thumbs up: I got to work with kids this summer, be a part of CLIMB again and make a little extra dough.  Thumbs down: I didn't have enough time to see everybody I wanted to.  But that's what Facebook's for, right?  Talking to an old friend in person will always be better than poking them on an internet social networking site, but I have to admit, I do catch myself taking a stroll down memory lane every now and again by clicking through pictures of old memories.  It kind of makes me sad.  It makes me wish I was still back in high school or college.  It makes me wonder what would have happened if I remained close friends with the person whose photo album I'm looking at.  If it feels right, I may shoot an old friend a message, letting them know I was thinking about them.  They should know that they were important to me.  

So, I'm back in LA!  I've got a new car (a silver 2002 Honda Civic),  a new apartment (in Filipino Town- which is right next to Koreatown where my old place was), have had a few auditions (including one for an Orbit Gum commercial) and am going through the process of becoming a substitute teacher as well as looking to do a part-time internship at a casting office.  And one more thing!  I now have my own radio show!  Yoshi will be missed, but I will try my best to make this show just as super, fantastic, happy, and fun as Yoshi and I did back at KGSM (Gustavus' hidden gem).  I will be on Blog Talk Radio every Friday night from 8-9:00 pacific time (10-11:00 central time) starting on September 10th!  Here's the link:

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/michaeljsielaff     

Hope you have a chance to listen live- but even if you don't, each show is archived for your convenience.  Until next time- remember: reduce, reuse, recycle (in that order)!

   

New Poems

Weakness Strengthened By Audrey (what else is new?)

It's just so easy.

Google “Beautiful Women.”

Instead of images of Gloria Steinem and Kathy Aung;

Bikini-clad supermodels, actresses and athletes are showing off what gets them attention-

As if they patented the phrase.

Search results for 'female models:' 21.6 million.

Search results for 'female activists:' 0.9 million.

Value is decided by dollar signs rather than piece of mind.
Our eyes are lied to,

Coaxed to indulge in shapes and curves

While the shape of the modern woman curves downward

Until the gift of mind is a mirage.

It's just so easy.
Go to the magazine stand:

Maxim sells out while Ms. is out selling

Truth that women are not Barbie dolls to be undressed at will.

But sex wins because thinking is too hard
And mystery is used to being solved in 60 minutes.

The brain is so polluted with skin that any attempt to clean it out

Is scorned, leaving you alone, 
Going through withdrawal.
Prevention is the only successful remedy. 

Constant bombardment is too difficult to turn from so

Let it control you.

You are a machine, programmed for repetition.

Place sole blame on The Media 
Who gives license to gawk at “beautiful women.”

It's just so easy.
Appreciation of exaggerated physical beauty is accepted as an excuse
And high test scores are considered proof that even smart women 
Show off their bodies. 
But intelligence doesn't seek societal approval,
It challenges it.
(After all, brokenness isn't visible on airbrushed faces.)
Weakness needs strength.

The past reminds us

REAL beautiful women don't need 
Quotes around the words, Google searches

Or recognition-

They just need to be the future.

Perspective

I parallel park-

I'm actually going to be early today.

The sky releases drizzle.

It looks like it will pass in a moment.

I stay inside my car to wait it out.

A car parallel parks behind me.

The driver opens his door and places a wheelchair on the pavement.

It's raining.

He swiftly shifts seats, locks his door and rolls off.

He's early every day.

The Price Is Right!

I love telling stories (and hearing them too). But, as with any good story, it takes some time to sit down and write it the way it should be told. Truth is, I prefer telling stories out loud. Through encouragement and some discipline, though, I write these blog entries (that was not meant to have sounded as dramatic as it did...). If you ever want to hear a story quicker, please feel free to give me a call (if you don't have my number, just send me a Facebook message or email and I'll give it to you- no problem [insert Indian head bobble here]). And on with the show...

As you probably already know, I was on the April Fool's episode of The Price Is Right modeling cars, tredmills and chia pets (among other things).  How did I even get a shot at being on the show? Well, it happened like this: my agent Stephanie calls me (which is always exciting) on a February morning to ask me if I have any recent full-body photos of myself that show off my height and, if so, send them her way ASAP.  She said the project had something to do with a skit on The Price Is Right.   I said I'd check Facebook STASAP (sooner than as soon as possible) and ended up sending her a picture of Chantel Hanson and I who had visited me along with Megan a few weeks earlier (side note: I really appreciate those who have popped in when visiting LA: Chantel, Megan, Holly, Noel, Debbie, Dave, Jenna, Brother). The next day, I was called by Gina Edwards Nyman, one of the producers of The Price Is Right, who told me they wanted to have me on their show in a April Fool's Day skit.  She also told me that Robin Gurney would be giving me a call shortly to discuss what options of clothing I should bring to the set. After a few more phone calls and emails between Gina and Robin, before I knew it, I was supposed to be at the CBS studios on Fairfax Ave at 8:30am on March 3rd (for those interested: there are multiple CBS studios.  For instance, CBS studios on Radford Ave are where shows like Parks & Recreation and CSI: New York are shot. For clarification: production studios, regardless of network affiliation, are rented out to whomever is willing to pay for them).  CBS Fairfax is where The Young And The Restless (of which I was both the night before being on TPIR), The Craig Furgeson Show and The Price Is Right is filmed.

Now, I'm usually late to everything, but I decided that March 3rd was the wrong day to be tardy so I left early (I guess I do have the potential to be on-time...)- even though I only live 10 minutes from the CBS Fairfax. When I drove up to the studio, I showed the security guard my ID (I definitely felt like a big shot) and he directed me to where I needed to park with a smile.  When I came to the area I was to park in after going no more than 8 mph (which was the speed limit in the park lot) , I saw a white piece of paper on an orange traffic cone that read: "Michael Sielaff.”  They left out the J.  Unbelievable.  I was going to have to find out who was responsible for this...I excitedly walked towards the main door with my hands full of wardrobe options.  As I walked past the large group waiting in line to get into The Price Is Right, people looked at me like I was important- they may have been trying to think of where they've seen me before (I surprisingly get this a lot- of which I usually respond “Do you watch The Price Is Right?” Or “Are you from Fridley, Minnesota?”).  Just four months ago, I was in this same line waiting to be an audience member for Craig Furgeson.  Later, I heard that one family even camped out in front of the studio to get tickets.  After going through an airport-esque security check I went inside CBS Studios, was cleared by another security guard and was directed to the infamous Studio 33.  Walking down the main hallway with posters of “The Mentalist,” “CSI: Las Vegas,” and “Two and a Half Men” hanging on the walls, it finally sunk in: I'm going to be on network television! (More to come...aka I will add on to the story a little later this week...)

Other news...

I now have a website (michaeljsielaff.webs.com) which I will probably be updating more frequently than my blog- so check it out if you want to see what I'm up to acting-wise. I also received my first IMDb credit for a short film I was in (“Red Princess Blues”) as well as a credit for The Price Is Right and a student film called “Punch Line”- so feel free to check it out if you're bored (I gotta get my popularity up if I'm going to compete with Robert De Niro). I plan on being back in Minnesota on July 8^th through the middle of August, so I hope to see a lot of you during that time! Thanks for reading!

"Perseverance is a great substitute for talent.”

(Steve Martin)

The day that will live on in infamy!

Hello, there! Just in case nobody has told you yet: you're looking good today. Hey, a special thanks goes out to Vanessa, Louis, KatyAnna and Joy for demanding that I write another blog entry! Like always, I appreciate the kick in the pants. Zwack, I completely forgot about the Ray Charles song! Man, everybody's talking about Georgia: Ray Charles, John Mayer, Charlie Daniels (accompanied by the Devil) and now me- I'm going to have find a girl named Vermont or Alaska to be original. And now, back to the story (if you're asking yourself "What story?", please read my Feb. 9th post "Thanks for sticking with me..." before proceeding. Thank you.). Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

So I decided to go through with committing to a short film where my character makes out with a bikini model- despite a little voice inside of me whispering "What in the world are you doing?!" As the shooting day for the film got closer, the more I began to regret this decision. I mean, this is a non-paying gig, I have to travel about 40 minutes north of LA to Santa Clarita and this could be amateur porn disguised as a legitimate project (worst case scenario).

A few days before the shoot, I hadn't received what I should've asked for before committing to this project: the script. So I sent the director an email asking for it. No response. Crap. Well, I guess it will have to be improvised or memorized on the spot! I reasoned this wasn't that big of a deal since short films usually don't have an overwhelming amount of lines to memorize. Besides, soap opera actors have to memorize 20-30 pages of script everyday.

So I wake up early on "The day that will live on in infamy" (you gotta include the title somewhere in your story) to make the trek to Laurel Canyon Park, just past Santa Clarita where the director had told me to show up. I arrive a little late (me, late? I know, it never happens) since I got lost on the way there (I get lost going to auditions/film projects about 51% of the time), quickly park my car and rush up to...wait a minute, the director never told me WHERE in the park to meet him. On top of that, there where no signs (literal or otherwise) of a film being shot at this park. Maybe I had the wrong location? I check my email. I check the address on the visitor center. Yup- this is it. I look around the visitor center for remnants of life and find it- a preschool class was in session. I had a sneaking suspicion they weren't a part of the film. Well, I thought, good thing I'm wearing Asics (product placement), 'cause there's still a lot of the park to explore before giving up and going home. I mean, I want my gas reimbursement!

I started my search by hiking up the hill on the North side of the park. No luck (but a beautiful view of the valley prevented me from getting angry just yet). I made my way back down the hill. Hmm, where else could they be? The rest of the park was pretty wide open so I would be able to see them...Unless this was part of the film...I foolishly peeked in between shrubs and trees as I made my way to the South side of the spread-out park. On my way there, I spotted a maintenance guy. Great! Finally, someone who can help me out. "Excuse me, there. Hi, I'm looking for a someone shooting a film. Have you seen anyone with a camera?" The maintenance guy looked confused. "A camera? No, I don't think so." "Oh, okay. I've just been looking for that past 30 minutes for this film project that's supposed to shoot here and can't find them." The guy looks at me for a moment. "Well, there is a group down beyond those trees if you follow that path.” He points to the one place I hadn't checked yet. “Yeah, they told me not to send anyone down there, but you can check it out if you'd like." Well, that's a strange request- after all, they're missing one of their actors. "Thanks. I think I will." I had no other choice- this had to be it!

I started walking in the direction the guy told me and after coming to a bend in the path, I turned the corner and voila (pronounced wall-la...it's French)! People! There were two guys sitting a bench talking and a girl sitting underneath a tree in a sweatshirt. I noticed a small camcorder on a tripod. This can't be it- it looks like a home video set up, not a short film. "Hello! Is this for the film "Calendar Girl?" Both guys slowly turned around. The guy without a script looked at his buddy, then back at me. "No. It's not." His response was in a spaced-out monotone voice. “Really? I've been walking around the entire park looking for this shoot. This isn't it?” The guy stares at me while his buddy continued looking at his script. “What was it called?” “Uh, Calendar Girl.” “No. That's not what this is.” Surprised and confused, I replied, "Oh, okay...well, have you seen another film crew around here at all?" "No. I haven't." This guy was definitely awkward and a little creepy. "Okay." I stood there for a moment, looking around. "Did you receive a script?" What? That was a strange question. "No actually, the director never sent me a script which I thought was kind of strange." Uncomfortable silence. "Oh, well, this isn't that project." I could tell he was trying to get rid of me. "Okay. I'll keep looking." I continued walking on the path. "There's nothing over there." His monotone changed pitch, raising suspicion. "What?" "There's nothing over there. The path ends." As strange as this statement sounded, it appeared he was right. "Alright. Have a good day." As I walked back toward the visitor center, I could feel those eyes staring at me. Maybe they were shooting a horror film...

Going back to my car, I ran into the maintenance guy again. "Can I ask you something?" I said, still confused and curious on what had just happened. "Yeah, you think those people were a little strange too?" He read my mind. "Yes I did! That's exactly what I was going to ask you." "Yeah, it seems like they're trying to cover something up. Well, I gotta get going. Good luck." The maintenance guy got into his truck. "Thanks for all your help." We shared a wave and he drove off. Well, at least I know I wasn't imagining things. But, either way, that doesn't definitively answer the question: Were those people with "Calendar Girl?" As much as I wanted to say yes, I needed proof. I had to see a girl in a bikini.

As indiscreetly as I could, I made my way back to the mysterious scene I had reluctantly left a moment before. Not wanting to be seen, I walked to the edge of the woods, crouched down, and peeked through the foliage. They were gone! Huh. I know, they're probably just around the bend that the creepy guy told me to stay away from. But how was I to get down there without being seen...Wait a minute, one of them was walking back towards me! I instantly fell flat on a bed of leaves behind the bush I was looking through. Hold on, he was just getting his script. Whew! False alarm. Hey, maybe I could I climb this tree to get a better look. It was at this moment I realized something. I had officially become the creepy guy: I'm kneeling in between shrubbery and two trees trying to get a clear view of a girl in a bikini. Embarrassed, I stood up, dusted myself off, and walked back to my car. Just let it go, Michael, just let it go.

Later that day, I had an opportunity to play the role of a date for the lead character in an independent film I had auditioned for a few weeks ago (hey, if you can't get 'em in real life, might as well get 'em on the silver screen!). When I got to the set, I met the other actors who were also playing dates in the film. One of them I had met before at an audition and another looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on where I saw him before...wait a minute, hold the phone! “Hey, were you at a film shoot at a park earlier today?!” “I was hoping you wouldn't have recognized me.” he replied with a little embarrassment. This was the guy who was reading the script from this morning's adventure- the one I didn't talk to! “Alright! What was going on?” He told me that the director (the creepy guy I spoke to) had forgot to notify about 10 guys that he had decided to go with another actor as the “Camera Guy” and because of that, I was the tenth person who had come by looking for “Calendar Girl.” While I was being late and wandering around the park, I must have just missed these other actors who were looking for a bikini model to make out with as well. But why didn't the director just tell me that? “I guess by the time you showed up, he was tried of explaining himself and just told you that it wasn't the shoot. You were the first person he didn't explain the situation to. Sorry about that.” Unbelievable! “So, was the shoot as creepy as the director was?” “No, actually it was pretty professional.” “So it wasn't porn or anything.” He laughed. “No, not this time. Oh, and just to let you know, we saw you in the bushes.”

Fast forward a few months. New LA Casting posting in my email: “Calendar Girl 2.” I laugh out loud (that's right, I actually justified the acronym “lol”). I've never had a more satisfying click of delete in my life.

Next Time:

A poem or two AND my adventure on The Price Is Right! Speaking of which...Watch The Price Is Right on Thursday, April 1^st at 10:00am on CBS. Thank you for reading this and I truly appreciate your patience on me updating my blog!

Thanks for sticking with me

Hey, I'm sorry I haven't updated this blog in a while- but if you remind me to post something new (thanks Kelly!), I'll will happily oblige! So...like I said I would do back in November, I'm going to tell you a story. The votes narrowed it down to "Fight Club Theatre Fiasco" and "Wait a minute, my character has to make out with a bikini model?" In the end, though, the latter outweighed the former by a whopping two votes to one! But before I begin, I'll give you a speedy update on my life the last few weeks: last Monday I got to be a featured extra (aka you can actually see me rather than just being a blur in the background) in a Boost Mobile commercial as a doctor; I started taking acting classes on Monday nights with the Australian Institute of Dramatic Arts; last Friday I got to be in a short film called "Expired" as a cocaine butler (the film is about a drug addict includes recognizable actors Bob Clendenin and Chris Owen); I've been tutoring three students: Cindi (Lang. Arts), Ronald (Lang. Arts) and Stephen (Math); I have been going to about 6 auditions a week; and I've personally been submitting my headshot/resume to multiple casting directors: Dorian Frankel (Curb Your Enthusiasm, Parks & Recreation), Nikki Valko (Big Bang Theory), April Webster (Criminal Minds), Julie Ashton (Psych), Patrick Rush (Chuck) [quick story about dropping off my headshot/resume to Patrick Rush: when I knocked on his office door, his secretary opened the door and said with one of the sweetest smiles "How can I help you?" Taken aback by her friendliness (most casting director offices are annoyed when I come by with a headshot/resume) as well as her physical beauty, I responded with a "Uh...I just wanted to, uh...Sorry. I guess I just wanted to drop off my headshot and, uh, resume- if that's alright." "Sure, no problem." "Hi, my name is Michael." "Hi, Michael. I'm Georgia." We shook hands and somehow I pulled myself away from that door. For weeks I contemplated living dangerously by calling the casting office to ask her if she would like to grab coffee sometime (and I don't even like the smell of coffee). Our meeting even had me changing the words to James Taylor's song "Carolina In My Mind" to "Georgia In My Mind." Instead of calling her work line for a personal inquiry, I've decided to personally deliver a Thank You card to Patrick Rush for considering me for the Nerd Herd in Chuck and, if I have enough boldness that day, I'll ask her if she would like to chat sometime over a cup of apple juice (or coffee, I guess)]. Oh, about that story I said I would tell...

"Wait a minute, my character has to make out with a bikini model?"

Everyday I submit to projects (called "breakdowns") that are in need of actors on lacasting.com. Many of the projects I am allowed to see and therefore submit to are student films and other non-paying gigs (my agent is allowed to see and submit to all the paying gigs because she's an agent). The benefit of these non-paying projects are the experience, the chance to work with up and coming directors and footage for your acting reel. Back in November I saw a project titled "Calendar Girl" and I quickly submitted without a second thought as I normally do (I usually submit to about 25-30 projects a day). About a week later, I received an email saying that the director of "Calendar Girl" would like me to audition. Alright, I thought, let's check out what this project's all about. I went back on lacasting.com and read the character description: a down-on-his-luck photographer shoots a swimsuit calendar to make money after getting laid off. Interesting- I've definitely never had this role before. I emailed the director back about setting up an audition time and he responded by asking me if I could be in the film at a specific date and time in the middle of December. I said sure- I mean, I wasn't going to complain about not auditioning. I decided I should read the character descriptions for the other roles if I was going to be in the film. Back to LA Casting. I scroll down and start reading about the bikini model character. First off, she was getting paid $200 for her role (all I get is gas reimbursement). I suppose being in a bikini in front of the camera is probably uncomfortable for someone who's not used to it, so I could see why she would be getting paid. The description continued: "...will be making out with the photographer..." Wait a minute. What was that? I'm the photographer. She'll be making out with me! That wasn't in my character's description! Instantly getting nervous- I've never kissed someone on stage or film let alone making out with them- I considered backing out. But I slept on it and eventually reasoned that, hey, I'm going to have do it sometime, so why not now?! To be continued....

Next blog: The day that will live on in infamy! And...some new and improved poems! Thanks for tuning in!

Everyone Deserves a Poem

I remember Phil Bryant, an English Professor at Gustavus, once told our class: "Everyone deserves to have a poem written about them." When I heard this, I knew it was going to be one of those quotes that will stay with me my entire life. And I hope this concept will stay with you too. Everyone deserves to be cared about by at least one other person to the extent that their existence is celebrated. Everyone needs to know that their life is worth it. Nobody hears their own eulogy. Maybe you don't write poetry. Maybe you don't write at all. Then speak it. Show it. Prove to someone you're happy they're alive. You won't regret it.

"We are once in a lifetime." (Switchfoot)

What happened to November?

Hello, there. I haven't written in a while because it started to feel like an obligation- and who wants to write when it feels like you have to? Forced writing usually results in uninspired dribble. But, even with that said, I do enjoy updating you all on what I'm up to because by reading this, you're showing in interest in my life- which is encouraging and very much appreciated. So, what have I been up to....

Recently, I started a part-time, government funded, job tutoring. So far, so good. I am working with a brother and sister combo: Ronald (1st grade) and Cindi (5th). Their mother doesn't speak very much English, so Cindi translates for me- which is a little weird when I'm updating her on Cindi's progress. Fortunately updates have been nothing but good news, as both kids are pretty darn smart and really don't "need" to be tutored. It always impresses me how Cindi translates with such patience and clarity, making sure she understands what I'm trying to say before she tells her mom (which has taught long-winded me to be more concise with my words). Being bilingual is definitely an underrated skill. I hope to learn a little Spanish myself during this process so I can communicate a little bit with their mom- anybody have any good phrases they want to teach me? Not only are both kids smart, but also respectful and easy-going. Maybe after I am finished tutoring them, I'll see if they ever need a sitter...

A couple weeks ago, I was back home for Corey Kelzenberg's wedding. Corey and I have been friends since pre-school. I still remember building forts in his basement; singing along with him to Radio Oz songs; running the pick 'n roll with him which always resulted in the perfect pass (and me being an assist-killer by missing the layup & scoring on the offensive rebound); debating why he can't give himself a nickname (i.e. The Riddler); writing the Homecoming Top Ten List together; various Xplosion Days; and just having a lot of laughs in each other's company. Definitely some great memories. Although Corey and I haven't been super close for a while now, I couldn't help but feel a little weird seeing so many non-Fridley friends at the wedding playing such a big role in his life. Even so, I still felt really close to Corey that evening- like we were back in 5th grade again singing song clips from the "Sounds of the 70s" compilation album. The joy of the past is amplified when reflecting on time apart.

The wedding had a wonderful ceremony, dinner and dance. It was an excellent evening. Corey and Megan (his wife) were very appreciative that I came back for their big day- which reiterated what I reasoned a month ago: I couldn't miss the wedding of the first person I called best friend. Congratulations Corey and Megan! May your marriage be filled with happiness, humor and humility! Amen.

Other things I've been up to: auditioning for various paying and non-paying gigs; finished the student film I started in the beginning of November; starting to write a few screenplays; moved into a new apartment about six blocks away from the old one (new address posted on Facebook); was an extra on CSI: Miami (that's right, it wasn't even shot in Miami) and got to watch a stunt double go up in flames; also got to be an extra on the film "The Secret Lives of Dorks" starring Jim Belushi and Jennifer Tilley (who I got to talk to briefly- I was 1 for 2 on making her laugh).

For my next blog entry please vote on which stories you would like to hear most (or hear them in person when I arrive back in Minnesota on Dec. 2oth):

1) Portraying Michael Phelps at Blouze-O-Ween

2) Fight Club Theatre Fiasco

3) Forget acting, we want the real thing for this audition!

4) Wait a minute, my character has to make out with a bikini model?

I'll leave you with the following fun fact:

The tallest actor in the history of film is Minneapolis born Johnan Aasen who is traditionally listed as 8' 9" (more info at http://johanaasen.com/index.html). His film credits include playing "Giant Man," "Circus Giant," "Very Tall Golfer," "The Giant," and "Colosso." Talk about being typecast. And I complain about not getting work as an extra because of my height...

Some New Poems

Instead of an update on the trouble I've been getting into out in LA (which is forthcoming), here are a few poems I wrote in the past month:

Where Dreams Go To Die (ode to Los Angeles)

Why this insistence on seeing your image on the big screen?

Why delay doing anything worthwhile until this mosquito is out of your system?

Why fulfill selfish-

Stop.

Why allow a poem to make you stay at home,

Leaving you with the harnessing feeling of

What if?

When dreams set they never organically rise again.

But what if dreams die?

Change the cliché

So you can sleep knowing

Success and passion

Are the difference between

How the world understands you and

How you see yourself.

Chase dreams until another exhausts your soul with excitement.

Acting is art.

Art inspires.

What does this tired world need more of?

Extra (By Way Of Specking): Day 1

9:00am. Follow buddy in thick morning traffic. Park. Get in van. Get dropped off. Ask if extra extras are needed. Scolded for riding in van- they are now liable for someone who is not signed up to work on the set. Wait. Ask again. Told to sit down. Eat breakfast. Wait. Approached. Asked if I ate. Say no. He seems satisfied. I'm in- someone didn't show. Sign voucher. Go to wardrobe. Wait (in scorching sun). Shoot breeze with other extras. Wait. My turn. Told to put on new shirt. Done. Wait. Not approved by one. Few minutes later, approved by another. Hair needs trim. Wait. Get trim from friendly stylist. Good to go back to home base. Wait. Start writing this poem. Hear “At least I have a job.” Get approved by assistant director. Get instruction. Cross street. Told where to stand. Get moved. Wait. Director explains what to do: we are dancing, having fun. Rehearse. Picture up. Rolling. Action. Dance and smile. Cut. Watch crew work. Wait.  Talk to fellow extra.  Picture up. Rolling. Action. Dance. Cut. Repeat (x 10). Shuffled under stage. About to sit down, shuffled back on stage. Wait. Picture up. Rolling. Action. Dance. Cut. Repeat (x 5). Shuffled under stage. Talk to fellow extra. Get picture taken in group of five. Wait. Shuffled on stage. Wait. Picture up. Rolling. Action. Cut. Get moved upstairs. Not enough time to film. 5:00pm. Break for lunch. Walk back to home base. Eat large meal in the dark. Eyes are bigger than stomach.  Same is true for half of the extras.  Talk to neighbor. Crew puts lights in room. Called outside on street. Get put in group of four. Talk. Rolling (?). Moved to different street. Talk. Get selected for scene. Rejected for height reasons. Stand by. Told to line up against wall for scene. Told to move down a few places. Wait. Still too tall. Back to street with unused extras. Talk to cop. Wait. Shuffled inside under stage. Told to go back outside. Wait. Lead back under stage. Wait. That's a wrap. Get changed. Instructed they need us tomorrow- call time: 11:00am. Fill out voucher.  Wait in line.  Turn in voucher. Get in van. Get dropped off. Get in car. 1:30am. Head home. Check in mail. Wait for minimum wage. Repeat process in 8 hours.

Only Read This Poem If You Plan To Act...

Every day take 4 deep breaths,

Sing 3 calming songs,

Dance uninhibited 2 times-

All for 1 goal:

To float a heavy heart.

I need release, relief, restoration.

I admit I need help.

The help of honest physical touch

And real supernatural love.

If I can't feel, I can't understand.

Give me more than mechanical, methodical numbers-

Give me a kiss of reassurance:

I am meaningful,

I am significant,

I am not wasting air.

Speed up my worth and slow down my ego.

Can I be ONE with the stranger at the gas station

And with the friend at the dinner table?

Breathing, singing and dancing can be done alone,

But goals are achieved by help from ANOTHER.

Please,

Hug me today-

I am waiting..........

(Reread title)

Feel free to give me any and all constructive criticism! Oh, and just in case you didn't get to see me as a Zombie on those MTV Halloween Promos, here are the links:

"That was my grandmother's vase:"

http://www.mtv.com/videos/misc/449982/that-was-my-grandmothers-vase.jhtml.

Zombie Dancing:

http://www.mtv.com/videos/misc/449147/future-love-live.jhtml#id=1624508.