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editor's note: going to bed at a good hour is only really productive if one actually falls asleep around that time.  after lying on my bed for over an hour, i'm here, blogging instead.

i used to be big.  i used to rule the world.  seas would rise when i gave the word.  producers would call me, insisting that i was their favorite and that they didn't want anyone else.  i would finish the shots when the director went home.  every tuesday evening my house would fill with friends, gathering to watch whatever cinematic oddity i had decided to show for the night, and many people came just for the social aspect.  afterwards we'd play rock band until midnight and, if we didn't feel like calling it a night, we'd run off to ihop just because none of us wanted to say goodnight.  it was my place, my world.  i was the host.  inside the red door, i knew who i was.  my place was the place.  it was where we met before, where we reconvened afterwards, where we went when there was nowhere else to go.  everyone knew your name there.  it wasn't a perfect era, but the rough times were scattered in between awesome times and moments of sheer dangness.

then sound came.  people no longer wanted silent physical comedy, but verbal gags and flashy song and dance numbers.  now, in the morning i sleep alone, getting up every day just in time to be seven minutes late to class.  some days i come home in the evening enough to eat, then i'm back at school until midnight or later.  i'm a side act, a supporting character.  i ask questions instead of provide answers.

it takes time.  transitions always do.  and i'm inertial.  i move slowly, establish security and identity gradually, but with permanence and depth.

ok.  patience.  mr. demille, i'm ready for my close-up....