trules rules

10/14/2024

“77, DADDIO!”

https://trules.substack.com/p/77-daddio

“How’d that happen?

Welllll…. you all know the answer: FATHER TIME… the old man nobody defeats.

Hell, I’ve survived lymphatic cancer, thoracic spine surgery, hip replacement, mumps, measles, and chicken pox. I’ve been taking pillboxes full of Western-gelled meds to keep gout, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, depression, neuropathic pain, and hosts of other colorful, life-threatening maladies from slowing my knock-knock-knocking on Heaven’s Door - for more than half my life. I’m lucky and grateful that… I’m still here.

But… 77?

I guess I have to be willing and simply - just force myself - to say it:

I’m ollllllllllllllld!!!!!!!!

Meaning.... I'm Officially Olllllld!

08/09/2024

Part 3 of "Farewell to 3 Beloved Dancers from my 1st 1970s Dance Company"
Au Revoir to Barbara Clay: Michigan, Chicago, and Santa Monica

https://erictrules.substack.com/p/part-3-of-farewell-to-3-deceased

Before I got married for the first time at 54 years young in 2003, I’d lived previously - with only two women. They were both women I had danced with in “The Dance Troupe” in the early 1970s in Chicago. But there was a gap of about twelve years between one and the other. The first was in Chicago in 1971, the other in LA (Santa Monica) in 1983.

Then, seemingly out of the spiritual, divine-clown blue, after more than 10 years, Barbara and I “reconnect” in the clown loft - on 23rd and Park, just before I leave New York for LA in November 1982. “Mr. Unattached” and “Ms. Spiritually Devoted”. We “reconnect” - make love, remember the “good ol’ Chicago dance days, the Port Huron Christmas Mass, the love affair we never had… and right then and there, amidst all the packed-up clown paraphernalia, Barbara decides to leave her spiritual practice behind and - meet me out - in sunny California.....

Au Revoir to Barbara Clay: Michigan, Chicago, and Santa Monica

07/26/2024

Part 2 of "Farewell to 3 Deceased Dancers from my 1st 1970s Dance Company"

Goodbye to Susan Kimmelman, aka Max the Clown

https://erictrules.substack.com/p/part-2-of-farewell-to-3-deceased

I think Susan’s story was exactly the same as mine.

Dancing set her free. Gave her life a purpose. And after just a few months of taking classes with Shirley in her college senior year in 1970, Susan too, was invited to join Shirley’s fledging new dance company, just months before I was to be - with Donna and Mitch, in residence at Columbia College. Immediately upon graduation, she gratefully left her LSAT and law books behind at the University of Chicago, moved to Chicago’s Northside, and never looked back. She too, became a professional modern dancer, soon teaching classes in Columbia College’s Dance Department, and spending the next seven years of her life as my professional dance colleague and my intimate friend.

Goodbye to Susan Kimmelman, aka Max the Clown

07/26/2024

"Part 2 of "Farewell to 3 Deceased Dancers from my 1st 1970s Dance Company"

Goodbye to Susan Kimmelman, aka Max the Clown

https://erictrules.substack.com/p/part-2-of-farewell-to-3-deceased

I think Susan’s story was exactly the same as mine.

Dancing set her free. Gave her life a purpose. And after just a few months of taking classes with Shirley in her college senior year in 1970, Susan too, was invited to join Shirley’s fledging new dance company, just months before I was to be - with Donna and Mitch, in residence at Columbia College. Immediately upon graduation, she gratefully left her LSAT and law books behind at the University of Chicago, moved to Chicago’s Northside, and never looked back. She too, became a professional modern dancer, soon teaching classes in Columbia College’s Dance Department, and spending the next seven years of her life as my professional dance colleague and my intimate friend.

Goodbye to Susan Kimmelman, aka Max the Clown

07/21/2024

SAVE THE DATE.

07/21/2024

Save the Date!

06/28/2024

What’s in a hat? you say.

How about an Emperor? An empire? An ambition, genius, and military strategy that changed history, the early 19th century, and the map of Europe?

Or what about these two smiling co-revolutionaries? Cuba’s Fidel Castro in his iconic military patrol cap, and Che Guevera, his compadre, in his black beret with silver star? Both defining an era of “anti-Americanism” in our own hemisphere, and a near nuclear disaster with the failed U.S. Bay of Pigs invasion on April 17, 1961, and the soon-to-follow Cuban Missile Crisis by which JFK and the USSR’s Nikita Khrushchev barely “saved the world” with a thirteen-day negotiation in October, 1962.

Speaking of which, equally iconic: John Fitzgerald Kennedy in a top hat - not the first politician to wear one (Abraham Lincoln, Uncle Sam, Winston Churchill,

Woodrow Wilson, FDR) - this photo of the Kennedys, with Jackie in her chic 1960s pillbox hat, not only defined “Camelot”, the storybook era of American politics and culture before JFK was assassinated in November, 1963, after which we all lost faith in politicians and government, but which even today, recaptures it, with the image of two idealized personalities in two perfectly iconic hats.

06/15/2024

For Joe, HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

y father used to be a carpenter
a master craftsman
a cabinet maker extraordinaire
he'd turn these perfect round cherry wood salad bowls on his lathe
dove tail smooth fitting mahogany joints on his meticulous router
pull his whining De Walt table saw over huge planes of wood that would magically become
with his love and care and endlessly detailed patience
kitchen tables with white inlaid formica tops
custom built wall units complete with knotty pine bookshelves for the World Book Encyclopedia
and antique scrolled top desks with french wire netted doors that were sanded smooth as a baby's cheek and stained the tawny color of sandalwood

his wood working shop was downstairs in the basement
the only place my mother would allow it
sort of off limits to the rest of us mere mortals
existing in a chaos all its own
full of the smell of sawdust
and the sounds of powerful metal machines groaning together like dinosaurs in this archaic man made sanctuary
amongst piles of wood scraps, nails, blueprints, and half completed projects

each of the dinosaurs had a personality all its own
there was the drill press
the stately straight backed worker who stood head and heels above the others
who with as little effort as possible bore through the lumber in the precise places where my father wished
whose only danger was in removing the spinning bit after the incision
for if you weren't careful in holding the wood down, it would fly around in a circular rage and knock your knuckles off

there was the simple jig saw
who even a small fry like me could enlist
to cut the simple shapes of stars, and squares, and keys
that i stained and finished and then tried to peddle door to door in the neighborhood
whose jagged blade rode furiously up and down up and down
like teeth
only to belie the feeling that it was cutting through the wood like butter

then there was the bigger band saw
a glorified version of the jig that wasn't quite as housebroken and could really get nasty sometimes
like the time my mother was attempting to lose her mechanical blind spot
but instead sawed off the end of her index finger
and came running upstairs with it in her fist
and vowed never to come down to the shop ever again
a vow that was easier said than kept
2- woodshop/Trules

there were lots of other mechanical monsters
whose names i can't remember
but whose images i see just as clearly in my mind today as i did 35 years ago
when they were all sacred to me
each in their own spot along the narrow green pastel walls
but whose mastery always eluded me
no matter how much i'd practice
or wish i had my father's dexterity or inventiveness

you see i always identified with my mother
in this division of the sexes
she was the articulate one
the one who used words
as tools
as creators
instead of machines
the one who encouraged my liberal education
my interest in books, and Broadway shows, and how things
went together

what did i learn from my father?
if not his scientific bent and his ability to fix anything anywhere anytime
i think i learned his curiosity and imagination and
his ability to see
his sixth sense that could look at an object
smell it
or hear it
and tell you
exactly what was wrong with it

he was like a magnet in this regard
he was drawn to thing's imperfection
its critical flaw
like a leech to blood
like a finger to a sore

it was his genius and his achilles heel
for the more he cared about something
the more he loved it
the better he saw
the more precisely he heard
the more exactly he noticed
what was wrong with it

the scuff on the shoe
the furrow in the brow
the crackle in the recording
the pimple on the nose
the thinness of the legs

the well from which this gift sprung was never revealed
perhaps it fed upon its own dark and troubled source
but it always reflected outward
never inward
and what it saw
it saw flawed
and then tried to fix

sometimes my father would really surprise me
when out of the blue and for no apparent reason
he'd ask helter skelter
"what's wrong?"

and i'd suddenly be frozen by his scalpel
caught by his glance
and just have to stop
i'd say to myself
"i don't know
is there something wrong?"

but when nothing presented itself
i'd just say "nothing"
"nothing's wrong, dad"
but then he'd tell me
"what about this
how about that
you don't look right
you look unhappy
there must be something wrong"

and pretty soon
i learned
i anticipated
i figured out
what was wrong
with me

i got to be one of the bowls
one of the records
one of the masterpieces he owned
or was creating
or needed to have

i got to see
in no uncertain terms
what was imperfect about me
what i couldn't win
how i couldn't compete
how nothing ever was
how i never was
good enough

so that now
i've incorporated his voice
made it my own
"the critic"
for whom nothing's ever good enough
who cripples me before i walk
who chokes on the words "i love you"
and folds at the point of conflict

oh dad, poor dad
you've locked me in the closet and made me so sad
it's not your fault
but how do i get out?
how do i let you go?

maybe i'll take a course in woodworking
and learn the skills i left behind
how to wield the hammer
carve with the chisel
build the walls i never was able to construct
between you and me
between me and them
between she and i

maybe woodworking 101
would teach me how to work with flaws
how to sand over rough edges
accept imperfections
say i love you without a guarantee
commit to her in sickness and in health
to death do us part

i still love the smell of sawdust
and the line of a graceful bowl
i look down at my hands and see the fingers of a carpenter
his hands
the swollen cuticles
scarred and bloody not from the work itself
but from the endless picking
digging
picking
at
and on
himself

i forgive you, dad
you loved me as you could
they're my fingers now
i have to build my own life
take my own wife
raise my own family
take my own risks

5- woodshop/Trules

maybe i'll just try a little differently with my boy
let him find his own tools
say his own words
develop his own skills
fight his own battles

i'll love him
like you did me
and plant the seeds
for him to grow

i'll be a gardener
and make the soil rich
and the water pure
and the light good

my tools will be the watering can
and trowel
instead of chisel and saw

trules
tools
trowel
power

into his own
sturdy
self reliant
healthy
little tree

for some woodsman to cut down and give to a carpenter
and the cycle will start again

04/19/2024

Our Son Turns 17!
And We Go to the Circus Do Portugal

https://trules.substack.com/p/our-son-turns-17

"It was the Cinco de Mayo. May 5, 2015… when the tiny-boned, 50-pound Indonesian immigrant boy came squinty-eyed, up from the bowels of the long dark international tunnel in Tom Bradley Terminal at LAX. He was with his “Bou Ani” (his father Nanda’s younger sister, therefore his “aunt” in Indonesian), pulling his navy blue trolley suitcase that looked far bigger than he was. It and he were an awkward “misfit” there at LAX, arriving on a Mexican holiday, rather than on an Indonesian one, since he was born and raised in Medan, Sumatra, just like his “Bou”, my wife, Surya. He was eight years old, looking fragile and overwhelmed - at the first day of the rest of his life… in America."

And We Go to the Circus Do Portugal

03/22/2024

https://trules.substack.com/p/trules-deceased-parents-come-to-visit

I call Warren Beatty, producer and director of the film, Heaven Can Wait (originally Here Comes Mr. Jordan, 1941), who tells me exactly how to teleport bodies and souls from the afterlife, back and forth to Santa Fe. With just a little help from a guardian angel, and her supervisor, Mr. Jordan, I can choose the exact day and time to have Roz and Joe arrive at the small, nearby Santa Fe Airport, as opposed to the usual Albuquerque Airport, over an hour away, which most out of towners have to really hassle with.

03/05/2024

I previously published this piece on May 3, 2014, the first day I announced my “semi-retirement” from USC (the University of Southern California where I had been a theater professor for almost 3 decades).

I am re-posting it today as a tribute to my great friend and tennis partner/coach of just about the same 3 decades, who just recently passed away from a stroke, after living on the hard-scrabble streets of South Central LA, as a trickster, rabble-rouser, and keen-witted survivor.

NOTE: I previously published this piece on May 3, 2014, the first day I announced my “semi-retirement” from USC (the University of Southern California where I had been a theater professor for almost 3 decades). I am re-posting it today as a tribute to my great friend and tennis partner/coach of ...

02/23/2024

https://erictrules.substack.com/p/trules-reviews-the-decades-the-end

The decade of the 2010s began in the chaotic wake of the 2008 global financial crisis and ended with the impeachment of a U.S. president. The continued explosion of social media fueled mass protest movements like “Occupy Wall Street”, “Black Lives Matter”, and “Me Too”, bringing millions of people together around the globe in pursuit of common objectives. Britain saw a new generation of royals emerge, countries around the world passed new laws legalizing same-sex marriage, President Trump was impeached by the House of Representatives, and a beloved baseball team, the Chicago Cubs, ended a 108-year-long dry spell by winning a World Series.

Me? I started the decade with all things in order, the 3 pillars of my life still sturdily in place: the oldest of the three, my USC theater professor job heading into its 24th pedagogical year, the second oldest pillar, my home of 17 years (even though I never owned it) was still holding my hillside palace in place, overlooking the Pacific Ocean and the Hollywood Sign from the hills of Echo Park, and the third pillar, my unlikely marriage to Surya, an Indonesian woman 31 years my junior, was as secure as ever, going on its 7th year, 9th if you counted the year she actually joined me in 2001.

Of course, if I looked more closely, perhaps I could have seen some cracks in the pillars, some fissures in the masonry: things like another battle or two with my bullying Dean at USC, or an unannounced and hostile rent raise at “Lucretia Gardens”, or maybe even an angry and solo trip back to Sumatra by my wife to visit her family while she was depressed about her unemployment during “the recession”. But hey, who wants to look at cracks and fissures?

2010 to the Present... Finally!

05/21/2023

Well, my blogging has moved with me - To Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Come along for the ride: SANTA FE SUBSTACK!!!

Life and Culture from "The Land of Enchantment" by Eric Trules

03/01/2023

Welll... I've been retired now for almost 6 years!!! Never had any idea I'd end up in Santa Fe, New Mexico, "Land of Enchantment".

No complaints!!!!

Tomorrow I’ll pick up my final pay check. It’s my “last day of service” at the great University of Southern California, where I’ve taught in the School of Dramatic Arts for 31 years. I started as a simple adjunct instructor with a single improv class, and I ended up improvising my way to b...

10/12/2022

Amazing!