Darren Radar

Moving to LA from Denver has been a cultural baptism of sorts. While the look of many commercial buildings and cars and boulevards is disorienting-ly familiar, the rest of the city brims with voices, people, plants, and advertising that are anything but. The daily exposure to a diverse population has been overwhelming and reassuring. Somehow standing in line for take out in a Thai restaurant staffed by Korean- Anglo- and, Japanese-Americans with a crowd of patrons consisting of a gaggle of gay Aussies, a pair of botoxed British ladies, and several African-American couples causes me to feel more clearly defined. Defined as what, I'm not sure, but the feeling of definition is there. This exposure to human diversity also involves my employment experiences here. Recently I was hired as a temp at MySpace. MySpace, for those of you who don't know, is a free, on-line social networking and promotion website started two years ago as a little marketing tool for a guy who wanted so...

Two and half weeks ago I had the privilege of taking the small trek to Pasadena from Hollywood to attend a political program organized by the Interfaith Communities United for Justice and Peace. I had never heard of the ICUJP before, but by the end of the evening my indulgent despair over the American government and its people had taken quite a blow and I was faced with the kind of religious/political/cultural alchemy that lies at the core of the American promise. "ICUJP was created to support the work of Faith Leaders from Buddhist, Jewish, Christian, Islamic, Hindu, and Baha'i and other backgrounds who say, "Religious Communities Must Stop Blessing War and Violence." The program consisted of selected readings from Voices of a People's History of the United States, a book compiled and edited by Howard Zinn and Anthony Arnove. From the introduction, "I wanted my readers to experience how at key moments in our history some of the bravest and most effectiv...

Timothy James Brown has drawn Valentine's Day cards every year for his friends and loved ones for as long as I have known him. The cards range from hilarious to disarmingly sweet to just plain strange, but they are always unique and always delightful. I do not possess the skills necessary to draw him a Valentine, but I do love him and I am grateful to have him in my life and I have a keyboard in front of me. So, here's to you Timmy, one of the most romantic men I've ever met. No one can lift the mood of love like you when you smile, laugh, and honor the dizzy, dizzy light of possibility. You are Rumi dressed as an existentialist. No one else understands so clearly what love is and can be. Your stature and your generosity and how you open yourself to a room are inspiring. I don't care what that bitch in your New York singing class said, you have a lovely, lovely voice. You really get love songs. Really. Not just selfishly or because you are in love or because they ...

A few weeks ago Tim Brown, my lovely roommate and friend, managed to swing two free tickets to Carrie Fisher's one woman show, Wishful Drinking, at The Geffen Theater. Ever since seeing Postcards from the Edge I've envied the way Carrie Fisher can take her damaged parts and polish them into shiny, richly colored jewels of comedy and the opportunity to see her live had me practically giddy. We arrived early and found a pre-show reception in progress. We were not on the list of guests but I really had to pee and the reception party was nice enough to point me in the way of the boy’s room. When I returned I found Tim with a glass of wine in his hand and a face about to give birth to some news. "Okay the wine girl just came by and Debbie Reynolds is behind me." I had stopped listening at "wine girl" and started searching the room. "Behind ME, Cinderella." Said Tim with velvety exasperation. Thoughts of free wine spun me as I turned to look over T...

In LA unknown actors are not seen as real people, but they can assume a sort of vague realness in the eyes of others by resembling a celebrity. In my life I have glanced the periphery of LA realness when I've been told I remind someone of Simon Lebon, Neil Patrick Harris, Leonardo DeCaprio, Carry Grant, Garrison Keillor, and most recently Mark McKinney. I have met these comparisons with some flattery, some distain, and more than some confusion. I recently had lunch with an actor/writer friend who told me that I needed to get my look together and asked me what I thought my type was. Drenched in the uncertainty of an actor who has recently landed in LA sans trainer, dermatologist, life coach, and guru I replied, "Oh, I don't know...nerdy dad? Gay office temp?" He agreed with my assessment and said "or someone like the actor who plays the son on Desperate Housewives." Later I was told by my roommate, Tim Brown, that I should get the roles like Mark McKin...

Last Sunday a friend invited me to a yoga class. After two weeks spent exclusively in my car, at a desk, or on the couch I was in serious need of a body reconnection. I have done yoga, in a not very disciplined manner, off and on for the last 6 years, but what I have learned could not have prepared me for this class. My understanding of yoga is not very historical and not very sophisticated. I took it up pretty diligently for a year or so after my brother committed suicide. It was a way for me to process the ocean of that experience and I am almost certain that without it I would have...well, I wouldn't have been able to face the reality of that death in quite the same way. The class started late and the wooden floor was filled by the time the yogi, a be-turbaned, 67 year old woman, joyfully made her way to the front of the long room. She was late and she spoke for some time about a yoga conference she had just returned from. She had attended the conference as the lead rep...

Here I sit at my first temp job in LA. Offices are the same where ever I go; grimy cubicles, shutter inducing florescent lighting, cell phones and LAN lines ringing in concert, copiers and printers coaxing exasperation from every human in need of them, managers and employees huffing, sighing, gossiping, and assuming a "this stuff really matters" stance during meetings while underneath they day dream and keep close watch on their secretes. The good thing about being a temp is that unless you light something on fire or show up naked, the regular office folk are usually happy to see you, at worst they are indifferent. This regard gives one the feeling of being needed and anonymous and free from the mill of office politics. There are the occasional permanent employees who project an exotic gaze onto a temp, viewing this outsider as someone from a land far more exciting, dangerous, and far less stable than their own. They smile at you with curiosity and sympathy as you pass t...

Thanks to everyone who has asked after my brother. He is currently in an acute rehabilitation facility getting help on constructing his future. As my younger sister, Debbie, pointed out in a mass New Year's Eve text message, "Be grateful for what you have because it could all change in a second." ...And usually does. My very good friend, Lindsey, brightened Xmas in LA LA Land with her vivacious personage. During her stay she claimed that we had officially moved beyond the friend stage and should now consider ourselves full on siblings. I was thrilled by this claim and agree to it immediately. Lindsey is an amazingly loyal and compassionate person and has been a nurse, teacher, and confidant to me over the last 7 years. Mostly she's been a great friend. She always seems to be available when I need someone the most. And I - much to the chagrin of many in my life - am all too often in need. She's smart, funny, brimming with creativity. She brings energy to...

My older brother, Mark, was admitted to the hospital two weeks ago after getting into a fight at a party. Physically, he is on the mend, but he is still unconscious and the prognosis isn't very good. For those of you who pray, I would ask the you send a little light in the direction of Utah. Thanks.

The late afternoon light is quite beautiful here. Everything is pink except the deep chalky green palm trees. The buildings and the sky are soaked in a fuzzy, hypnotic haze. It’s nearly enough to distract from the helicopters that seem constantly in the sky from 3pm to 9pm. I hear them as I putter around the walk-in freezer that is my apartment. It's cold for California. I had to buy a space heater! In California! The unexpected is the only reliable element in any plot, plan, or circumstance. I futz with my computer. I call service support. I call Bestbuy. I research computer info on line. I strive to understand this machine and make it work for me. I search for cheap software on-line and end up creating a flyer for some second-hand software pusher in the hopes that he'll give me what I need for free. I sit and surf, worry, experiment, try desperately to teach this old brain something new, and when I can breath back some worry I move from the ice chamber and swim ...

We arrived on what seemed to be a scrambled signal. After leaving Barstow in the early afternoon, two Saturday's ago, my beautiful sister, my cat, and I became a red blood cell in a large clog in the artery if Interstate 15. The subsequent detour added 4 hours to what would normally have been and hour and a half trip. By the time we arrived in Los Angeles it was dark. There were a number of phone calls made to my new roommate and to the U-haul station where I was planning to drop of the truck and the trailer I was pulling behind it, which contained my car. After three or four missed or mistaken exits my sister and I reached the Uhaul place 30 minutes before they were going to close. I figured I would just drop off the trailer that night and then drive the truck to my new apartment, unload it, and return it the following day. Getting the car off the trailer took no time, but due to the angle of the turn from the street getting the truck and trailer into the Uhaul lot wasn...

Moon Over Buffalo opened four weeks ago and it’s been nothing short of delightful. It's that rare theater experience where the ensemble clicks and grows and treats each other respectfully, even when tensions are running high. I am grateful for the personalities I get to share a stage and greenroom with and am honored to be close to so much talent. The cast and crew have socialized in various groups and sets over the course of the run and every single gathering has been warm and entertaining - so much so that I'm losing way too much sleep and consuming way too many libations for my own good. This experience is a welcome reminder of just how satisfying theater can be. My mother, younger sister, and two of my younger brothers and their wives came from Utah to see this show. I was a bit nervous when anticipating their visit. I tend to get more nervous when someone I know is in the audience. But, for whatever reason I was not nervous as I peeked through the curtains and saw ...

Eleven days since arriving back in Denver and my sinuses are finally (re)adjusting to the dusty heights of Colorado's capitol city. When I first moved to Denver some...well, some years ago I spent the first two weeks beset with headaches and bloody noses. While this return experience isn't as intense as my initial introduction to these climes, I’m still playing the lead in an itching, burning, twitching and turning opera of the sinuses. It seems everyone here suffers from some sort of allergy or infection or sinus...of the times -- pollution and global warming are hell on the heady mucous membranes. The play I'm currently rehearsing seems to be shaping up quite well. The cast is funny, dedicated and flexible. The director is a charming and talented veteran of the stage who's love for theater breaks forth from her delicious laugh at every rehearsal. She is also an amazing actress, which makes her sensitive to the actor's process and for that I cannot be too tha...

Today my car and I head northeast on a return route to Denver. Tim and I rode the roller coaster on the Santa Monica Pier earlier. The ocean shines today like giant chunks of blue and white glitter; sailboats cloud their way across it. Hazy, wet air seeps into my head thickening it like pudding. I don't want to drive. I don't want to go. I want to lay on the beach with hot sand pressing into my back. I want to see the sun drop into the sea like a fiery iris disappearing beneath the heavy blue lid of night. It will be relieving to see familiar faces and clearer highways, but this adventure into the forward past has my heart jangled.

I heard a haunting song on the radio yesterday. William S. Burroughs pushed his pleasing, prickly drone through the speakers while a random, slow-tempo beat and jazzy noise played underneath. "The road to the western lands is by definition the most dangerous road in the world. For it is a journey beyond death, beyond the basic God-standard of fear and danger. It is the most heavily guarded road in the world. For it gives access to the gift that supersedes all other gifts; immortality." It sounded like a song about LA. But then, everything sounds like a song about LA to me at this point - even commercial jingles. It is, quite literally, the border between land and sea, and less literally the border between desires fulfilled and not. The search for immortality, both physical and historical, is a strong, palpable drive for many of the denizens of this city by the sea. So, I'm not here for even two weeks before I head north to see a short play of mine produced at my ...

Saturday. One official week since my landing here on the coast Pacific. What has happened? Sleep, driving, drinking, and lots of traffic and coffee. Got eleven spider bites (if these spiders were casting directors I would SO be cast in a show right now. They love me.) Courtesy of my current host, I went to the Hollywood Bowl for a staged reading of the screen play for Sunset Boulevard, complete will a full orchestra playing the entire score of the movie under the reading (fabulous!). Signed up for Central Casting - which is basically like signing up for a temp job in the world of camera acting - a strange, funny, totally LA-ish experience. And right outside the doors of Central Casting I met the Scientologists. Nice group. Good hair. Today is my good friend Lindsey's birthday. It's an important birthday and I regret not being in Denver so I can take her to dinner and flatter her and give her a smidgen of the attention she deserves. Everyone here seems to speak onl...

Night before I blow the town of Denver as my town of home. Big feelings. Some of them involve keen frustration. Though, I only point that truth out to prevent myself from crying again about the things I am leaving behind...the people...the situations...and who I am. Some parts of me are supposed to die as a result of this move. I want to think that I know what those parts are. It's apparently the good kind of death. I can only hope. I've experienced enough of the bad kind of death, thank you. Not that any one person is really prescribed a limit of death in their lifetime. No one gets a pass, as they say. And as I have learned. Is this life about the life or is it a long (or short) preparation for the end that follows it? An almost pointless question. Is the mind most important? It is the mind that causes the most change? Or prevents it? Or...seems to prevent it? Stupid questions for one as I am. Stupid because I can only worry and never commit to understanding. Stupid because I...

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