surfing my relationship

This piece was performed at Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center, part of the Lifestories series.

As a note: I never wanted to include, well I shouldn't say never, actually, I always wanted to include surfing into my written performances. The reason for my swaying is that surfing in America carries so many stereotypes. Through movies, surfers have been characterised as the surfer dude, the unresponsible, the stoner, the beach bum, none of which describe me. I'm not putting anyone down, just saying I've always been highly passionate about surfing and have surfed for over 29 years now, but at the same time, I've led a responsible life outside of surfing.

However, once I took a risk and performed this piece about my relationship, relating it through surfing, the audience loved it and thus the inclusion of surfing into my show, Loveswell, became
inevitable. People who never surfed came up to me to comment on how much the ocean and surfing make perfect backdrops to relationships. One wave being the perfect day with your love, a ride you never want to end. The next wave closing out on you reflecting those days when your love looks like the scariest wave you've ever seen. So here is one piece that really inspired me. See what you think...


Sitting out on my board, bobbing up and down, waiting, scanning the calm waters for a ripple. A ripple turning into a wave I’ll catch and surf back to the beach. Man, I love this.

Cool water on my hands as I wave them like flippers beneath the still water. I can see my dangling feet, my reflecting face, my thoughts. I look out and see water meeting sky, light blue meets dark forming a line, asking the sun to set. A pelican glides by so uniform, so perfect, waving its fingery feathers above the water, balancing the air. The rusty sea kelp washes and bends over my board and my leg, reminding me I am not alone, then disappears.

The ocean’s been my sanctuary since I was a kid helping me surf through boring summers, girlfriend heartbreaks, my father’s absence. I feel at one in my mother ocean. I feel perfect, because I have completely forgotten that this weekend I will be getting married for the rest of my life.

I’m not scared of getting married, just scared of getting through the marriage, because I’m marrying her. Christie, my long life friend, room mate, acting buddy, the drive me crazy then turn soulmate, love of my life. I had always dreamed of a fantasy someone, it just was never her. Don’t get me wrong, I am truly in love. Oh, excuse me.

Automatically my feet spin circles under the water as my eyes have caught the sight that makes me happy. A wave's coming. My body doesn't think, it moves. Hands pull through green water and I'm facing the beach. My chest lies down on my friend, my board. She knows all my waves good, bad, and foreign. I paddle, stroking each hand in front of me as hard as I can. Muscles strain as my breathe reaches out for the cool air. The wave rises toward the sky behind me as if it were to pounce on my back. It pulls me toward it, the water underneath my board dragging me backwards, until I'm nuzzled up right against it and then it happens. The wave that could seem menacing playfully pushes me. My hands no longer reach out to paddle, they lift out of the water, knowing their next job is to push me up. And they do, lightening fast, they hit the deck of my board, palms open, fingers spread, lifting my entire body up into a gymnasts maneuver. My legs swing underneath me and in an instant I'm standing. My eyes take in the beauty of the wave before me and as I drop in, gliding up and down it's face, I get to know the wave that will be part of my life now forever.

Whheehoooo!!! Look at this wave. Sometimes, you just want to stand there, feeling free, at one with this living thing you've caught. You don’t need or want to do any fancy tricks, you just want to remember the moment forever, love it.

Like when I stood there looking at Christie in Bed Bath and Beyond. She's in deep thought, dressed in her old t-shirt and overall shorts, looking at a blue colander. My face had this silly grin on it. She gets me. I feel free with her. I can be myself. I wanted to bask in the perfect moment forever. I wanted to be her man, to take care of her, to love her all at once. I wanted that blue colander to mean something to us. I wanted us to be making dinner with that colander together, forever.

But you see, I am scared because all I have ever known is divorce. My parents divorce’s. I mean just in between my parents there have been 7 marriages and 6 divorces. In between Christie’s parents there have been 5 marriages and 3 divorces. Between our parents 12 marriages and 9 divorces??? I worry about the reasons that my parents got divorced. I mean, as far as I know, it wasn’t because someone cheated or stole money or decided they were gay, it was for the plain, old, reliable, irreconcilable differences. We just can’t get along.

My mom, to this day, still says, I will always love your father, Johnny, but I just can’t live with him. I believe in true love, in someone that’s meant for me and I believe that someone is Christie. I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Oh, hold on.

Another wave approaches. I turn around, paddle as she lifts me up, playfully daring me to ride. I push up and stand, but this wave won't have me and as soon as I've dropped in, as soon as I've reached the bottom of the wave, she's decided it's over. She walls up, shouting her disapproval at me by breaking over my head, pushing me off my board, pushing me under, into the darkness. Water races around my face, my body, pulling my arms, my legs in different directions. Then just like an earthquake, the shaking is over. I relax and reach for the surface. My head bobs into the air and my lungs expand with new air.

It’s okay, it happens. Sometimes surfing is scary.

What if I fail her? What if I lost the true love of my life? I think my heart would melt, spiral into deep depression, standing alone in a corner for the rest of my life. Sometimes when Christie and I get into a fight, I get that same scary feeling and think, maybe I am not cut out for marriage.

What if I can’t handle it one day when Christie won’t take out the trash or we’re yelling and screaming in the middle of the night because it’s hot and I’ve got her elbow in my ear. Will you scoot over? No. Please? No. Christie! John, I’m sleeping! Or I swear, if I miss a turn off the freeway and she says one more time, Where are you going???!!! I am pulling over and walking because I’ll explode. And she will get mad that I got mad, and the whole thing will get blown out of proportion and we will end up in divorce because I missed the exit to the movies. OOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!

I have never quit surfing, falling, failing, frustrated in my learning, cursing my board, pulling my feet up because I swear I saw a shark, or the waves were big and broke my board in half. I never quit. Would I be a quitter if I left my marriage? Is it strength or weakness? For now, I choose to live in the remembrance of the kisses, the hugs, the laughs, the frozen pictures, thousands of pictures glued to the membranes of my mind bringing a smile to my face when I think of her. This is where I want to live, so like the wave that crashes me, I wait under the water until I feel it pass me by. I pull myself back up onto my board and turn back to the horizon, back toward the ocean I love and the next playful wave she'll cook up for me. Because I want to keep surfing. I love it too much to quit.

Director Terrie Silverman Coming Back On Board

Hi all. I'm excited to say that my director, Terrie Silverman, was happy to come back on board to direct the second installment of LOVESWELL, my critically acclaimed and audience loved one person show.

Director Terrie Silverman is an amazing artist, storyteller, teacher and director. Writing, play writing, performance art, she is an extremely dedicated visionary who works intimately and intricately to bring out every pearl of a story. She's able to bring humor and see the big picture as a director, always putting the show first, the journey of the audience. I so look forward to working together again. You can find out more about Terrie and what she does at http://www.creativerites.com/

This time Loveswell will be put up in Hollywood and we are currently looking for just the right theatre in which to do this. And we are looking at putting the show up sometime toward the end of March 2009. So lots of fun work to do.

Again Loveswell will dedicate all earnings and work to raise awareness for charitable causes. Last time we raised awareness to thousands of people for The Surfrider Foundation and The Roy and Patricia Disney Cancer Center in Burbank, California.

Again I look forward to working with The Surfrider Foundation. They work so hard not just for surfers and the waves, but for all our beaches around the world and the health of our oceans and everyone who loves the ocean.

The second charity I'll be teaming up with hasn't been decided yet, but I'll let you know as we'll make an announcement as the show gets closer.

Loveswell was a great success with over 400 people coming to enjoy the show during it's run. The greatest thing was that it truly sparked conversation about what relationships are all about, what it takes to maintain one, and what people would put up with, not put up with, and how they deal with each other. That was my greatest satisfaction.

What will you say? I can't wait to hear what you will say when you see Loveswell. Here I'll be posting reviews, quotes, and conversations about Loveswell and the run. So come to the show, support a great cause and let's hear what you have to say.

Loveswell is about man's view of how to make his relationship work through all the ups and downs of marriage as seen through the eyes of a surfer. It's hilariously, nakedly, honest. Is that a word, nakedly - it is now. If you've ever been in a relationship and who hasn't then you'll love the show.

It's exciting for me and scary at the same time, just as it was the first run, just as it was the first day I sat down to write, Loveswell, just as it was walking into Terrie's workshop for the first time, as it was calling Terrie and announcing my intentions. But a year and a half after that phone call I was on stage in a critically acclaimed show that I had written and in which I was starring. So I set out tonight on this journey again, knowing that if there is a degree of fear I'm heading in the right direction.

Find out more at http://www.loveswell.com/ and the site is constantly being updated so hang in there if the info reflects the first run.

Best John

Driving in Australia

I have learned that when I’m not in love, it’s miserable. For our sixth year anniversary, we flew to Australia for three weeks. Through Sydney and over to Adelaide, where we caught a little two prop plane to our first official stop, Kangaroo Island. All the while we held hands, smiled at each other, and pointed out the windows. We were going to see Kangaroos, Wallabies, seals and if we were lucky, penguins in the wild, mate. Mate! Everybody talks like this, mate! G’day, mate! So cool! This was going to be our dream trip, a fantastic, romantic, adventure of a lifetime.

And my biggest worry, driving in a car built backwards, on the other side of the road was turning out to be a piece of cake. Kangaroo Island wasn’t very populated. All the roads were two-lanes surrounded by nothing but shrubbery. I was focused and as always Christie became my little navigator; looking at maps, pointing out signs and feeding me snacks. We were this great happy, happy team. This was love.

We first drove to seal beach where we stood next to thousand pound seals sunning themselves after a morning swim. Awesome. It was like actually being in one of those Discovery Channel shows. The guide taught us things like, the seal can swim for 17 minutes without coming up for air and can dive as deep as a mile for food. That they would charge out through the waves toward Antarctica trying to escape the greatest of all predators, the
Great White Shark.

Christie and I stood against the railing overlooking the ocean wrapped up in each other’s arms. We looked at each other with deep admiration, thinking, “I love you.” “Thanks for making this happen.” I’d say, “Christie, you want your jacket honey? You cold? Here you go, let me zip that for you.” “You want a picture with that seal?” She set her love filled eyes on me with a smile that wouldn’t stop. Hand in hand we walked back to the car, ready for our next adventure.

I’m driving along the empty roads toward the exit of the seal sanctuary when Christie says, “Ohhh, look John, we have some cookies. You want some of my cookie? Huh? You want some of this?” I think, “I’m driving 25 miles per hour. No one around us. No one on the road. The long road lined each way with only shrubs. Shrubbery everywhere. Sure, I’ll have some of your cookie.” I nibble at her fingers as I drive. I look at the road, look at the cookie, look at her, then back to the road. Nibble some more. I think, “this is fun, this is love, this is living!” And as I am nibbling the chocolate off her finger tips, I make a left turn onto another empty road, into the wrong lane.

“John what’re you doing?! You’re on the wrong side of the road,” she yells. “Okay, okay,” I say. My hands casually spin the wheel into the long empty lane to our left. “O-kay, Christie, we’ll just get back over here.” I smile over to her, “I mean there is no one around for miles, so it’s okay.” My smile drops. “John you could of killed us! Aren’t you watching where we’re going?! You have to stay on the right side of the road! I mean what if someone else was coming,” she says.

“What?! What, Christie, what?! What is the risk? What is the big deal, What am I going to do drive into a shrub,” I ask.

But on she goes, “John you have to get this! I mean we are going to be driving in the city. Maybe we shouldn’t drive. Maybe we shouldn’t of rented this car. Maybe this is a big mistake, John. This was a bad idea! I mean do you even think what could of happened?!”
All I can think where is the love? It’s like all the love’s getting sucked, phoomp, out the window. It’s like she’s hitting my head and hitting my head and hitting my head with her words. Boom! Boom! Boom! You’re wrong! You’re wrong! Wrong! Hitting me down. She’s taking my head and just rubbing my face in it. It’s like I’m that one seal that charges out through the waves and runs right into a mouthful of huge white teeth and blood and chomping. And chomping! Chomping!! She’s completely changed. One second she’s feeding me cookies, it’s this romantic trip and the next second, I look ... and she’s the great white shark. AAAhh!!

That’s when my wall goes right up. I think, “You don’t want happiness? Fine. I’m not going to talk, not going to turn on the radio. I’m just going to drive. I’ll be the perfect driver for the next three weeks. No fun. Not going to sing, not going to smile, or look for animals, or make cute voices. I’m not going to think anything. I’ll just be the perfect driver for the next three weeks our romantic anniversary trip.” I hate this feeling. Why do I turn into this pulsing, frustrated, angry man? I could just take this steering wheel and just bend it right in half. I could get out, rip out the seat, take the car and throw it off a cliff. But... I don’t.

I try to hold on, because this has happened before. I used to clench my fists and sometimes hit my leg. Then she’d say, “Oh, what are you doing, John? You want to hit me? Is that what you want to do? Am I your leg you’re hitting?” “No,” I say, “I don’t want to hit you, Christie. I am not a wife abuser. I am just angry at the situation, Christie, can’t you see?” So, I just get quiet and don’t say anything. I just breathe.

She says, “Oh, okay you are just going to be quiet and not say anything? You just do that, don’t talk to me.” And that stupid last word tennis match starts. “I won’t.” “Fine.” “Okay.” “Good.” And this is our trip. I feel so ugly. In the silence my brain the questions pour in. Racing through my head in an instant. “Am I really in love with this woman? Is this going to happen for the rest of my life?” This mood feels permanent, like being tortured in hell. That scares me. I just want to be happy with her, nibbling at her fingers, like I was one minute ago. One minute ago! Feeling inside like I can’t wait to be with her. Like when I get home from work and see her standing in the door with her cute smile and hug. I’ll just want to eat her face up, gobble up her cute little lips and cheeks and hair and all of her and that’s love. That’s where I want to be.

Instead, all I can see is myself getting out of the car saying, “you drive. No? Well, that’s it. I’m going back to LA and you can stay here with the seals.” I think, “Where is that Australian girl from the airport? She’s cute with that accent. It would be fun to get to know her. She wouldn’t complain about my driving. She’d think I was doing good for an American. No, she’ll probably complain about something. Everyone has something. Everyone has something.”

I think, “Okay, I must be doing something wrong. How could I have dealt with this better?” I hear another man speaking through me. My perfect man in his perfectly calm voice, saying, “Okay honey, yes drive on this side of the road. Thanks for reminding me, little navigator. No, I won’t kill us, you little jokester. I was eating your cookie and nibbling at your sweet fingers. Can you blame me, really? We can’t be doing that anymore. Yes, I was bad, bad, bad.”

And she could say what ever she wanted. And I would just smile unaffected. I’d be like a porous sponge. It would soak into me, but at the same time, it would just go right out of me and it wouldn’t mean anything, because I know she’s acting this way because of her own fears or something.

But, unfortunately, I’m like a big net that catches all her comments, tones, and feelings; trapping them inside. They glow red like lava and want to explode out like a volcano. That scares me. That volcano could ruin everything. I could ruin this marriage. So... I sit... in silence... breathe.

A couple of hours go by, sometimes more, sometimes less. It seems like days and months. It feels like a dessert waiting for rain. No life around, only hot steamy air that’s suffocating, and dry-hot sand to crawl on, and no relief. Where’s the rain? Where’s my relief?

Then, finally, the clouds break. A laugh, or an accidental touching of elbows, a look at her cute lips, or a touch of a hand pulls me away from my wall of angry solitude. I get to the end of my cycle remembering, falling over what really makes me happy. Her gift of love, encouragement, a team mate, a playmate through life, for life. Kisses and closeness and sharing. Our relationship, our six years. How I can’t imagine it any other way.

I let go and see clearly what love is. It’s not me leaving or the other girl. It’s me, not hitting my leg or raising my voice. It’s me wanting to be better, to grow, to evolve so that we do live in the happiness, in the love, more and more. And then I know... I do love this woman.

Pet Me

Pet Me: As Performed for the Comedy Cetral Show Sit n' Spin created by Jill Soloway and Maggie Rowe at the Hudson Theatre in Los Angeles

I know what my wife wants. She wants to be petted. “Pet me. Pet me, pet me to sleep,” she asks. “I can’t sleep.” I open up my right arm as she lifts her pillow up and onto my chest. My arm runs under her pillow bending up at my elbow, then over with my hand to gently pet her forehead. I know how she likes it, because she has told me. “No not like that, not the eyebrows,” she says. “No that’s too fast, this isn’t a race. Soft, don’t rub my skin off. That’s it, that’s right, nice and soft right on my forehead, yes, soft strokes up toward the hair.” My hand strokes and pets her soft skin as quiet hits and she lies there looking foreword to the sleep coming her way.

Does petting work? Yes, and I have found that it actually does feel good on the three occasions she has petted me. Once when I was sick, once when I was trying to nap on the couch, and once when, well, I just give it to her that it has happened one other time. Actually, I don’t know why I don’t get petted more, except that maybe it’s like Valentine’s Day when she gets gifts and dinners and I get her saying, “It’s a girl’s holiday.” Sometimes, I’ll lay next to her, place her hand on my head and move it up and down myself, as if she was one of those wooden back scratchers. When I do, wow, her cool fingers brushing my forehead puts me into a kind of trance. A happy trance where tranquil surrounds my head and all is right and, yes I think I could fall asleep. So I can understand why she wants it, and I don’t mind. I am happy to do it when I am awake and feeling loving, but really I’ve found it to be just a horrible trap.

See, in one scenario, I softly pet her when she is tired, over and over. My arm and hand petting fifty, sixty, seventy times in a row, quietly getting burnt out when all of a sudden I hear loud breathing. Is she asleep, I wonder? That sounds like asleep. So I gently and carefully slow my pettings down until I am just barely touching her head, then I delicately lift up my hand and wait. Is she asleep? She is still breathing hard and hasn’t said anything. But my arm is trapped under her and my hand is frozen in a type of, well, “curling back toward me, suspended in mid air,” position. Not comfortable right? No, not at all and even worse. I know that as soon as I try to just let my arm fall to the bed, which I do as quietly as possible without making any squuking, rubbing sounds like a pillow can make, as soon as it hits the bed, her head will move and “mmmmhhhmmmmmm?” There it was. She said it. “Mmmmmhhmmmm?” Like a whining puppy.

So I put my hand back to work petting her forehead until I hear the breathing start up again, then I slowly stop. With my arm frozen, straight up in the air, trying not to move, I start to think. What can I do? How can I let her sleep and rescue my arm? I think, I’ll just let my arm hang there like a tree until I fall asleep and then I won’t hear the, “mmmmmhhhmmmmm?” and it won’t matter, but I don’t fall asleep at all. Just my arm falls asleep and it hurts as it turns numb. I twist it to wake it up and her head turns and, “mmmmmhhmmmm?” I pet her again and while I send her to dreamtime, I strategize about the next pet-stop. I try to scoot my arm out from underneath the pillow while I am petting her so it will be easy to pull away when she falls asleep. She breathes hard and I slowly stop and as I carefully pull my hand away from the wall, “mmmmmmhmmmmm?” I say, “Christie I can’t pet you anymore, you keep falling asleep, and…” “No I don’t,” she says. “Yes you did,” I say. “I have petted you three different times and you keep falling asleep.” “John, I haven’t fallen asleep,” she barks. “Christie you’re snoring,” I reply. “How can you not be asleep?” She doesn’t answer, then, “mm…” “Honey my arm is going to fall off. I can’t pet you anymore, please get off me!”

I feel bad. I want so bad to fall asleep next to her in some sweet, “movie bed”, laying position, all spooned and smiling, but let’s face it, that’s for the movies. It’s hot, and my arm, I wish I could take it off and throw it on the floor next to my shirt, only to put it back on when I wake up. It’s always in the way. Her hair is tickling and poking my face as I cuddle on her. Then she’ll say, “Get your arm off me.” “What does it weigh? Is it a gorilla arm?” Apparently, all my body parts weigh the same as a gorilla, because they all almost kill her. Oh, except my head. “John, get your head off me,” she’ll say. “What is it a bowling ball head?” So I lay Egyptian style, arms crossed, looking straight up, as if in a coffin. She lies next to me and we try not to touch.

And the other petting situation gone bad is worse than the first. Petting her over and over, stroke, stroke, stroke and sweetly, nicely, quietly heavy breaths are heard as I, yes, I have to fallen asleep and left my heavy gorilla hand sweating up her forehead. My eyes are hitting REM and colors and images are beginning to form as I happily drift off into lala land, “mmmmmhhmmm?” “John, you fell asleep,” she says. Quickly I am pulled back out of the light of dreamland and into reality of her voice. “Pet me, you fell asleep,” she asks. My hand moves up and then down. My eyes shut and my mouth opens and peace covers my face as I begin to breathe hard, falling to sweet sleep. “mmmmmhhhmmmm?” “Huh,” I mutter? I feel her head begging for petting on my chest, like a cat rubbing against your leg, and, “enough,” I think, pushing her over to her side of the bed. “Christie, I am falling asleep and can’t take this anymore,” I say. “Okay, okay,” she says. I lay back down try to reclaim my sleep, but of course now I can’t. I just get to listen to her instantly fall asleep, while I lay there feeling as restless as the undead.

Another petting problem is when I sit on the couch and I really want to take care of her because she isn’t feeling well. I rest her head on my lap and softly pet her. I look down at her sweet, restful face. Quiet, her closed eyes are still and she looks so calm. She’s asleep. I look outside at the birds; I look to the TV, then to the TV remote, but the noise. I look at the magazine….just out of reach. I look back to her head and think, how I could move it without her knowing. But I just can’t. I am bored stiff, she is asleep, and I am trapped sitting on the couch.

You see, these petting traps have made me a more aware man, a man who thinks ahead, who is more patient, a man who can say NO, sometimes. I mean, I always want to make her feel good, but if I am tired, she ain’t getting petted. If I’m falling asleep, I’m sorry honey you can, “mmmmhhmmmm?” all you want, but I’m going to sleep. I now ask myself how tired I am, then decide whether I can pet or not. If that’s what she wants and I feel good, then bring it on. I will pet her like my little lion cub, but if not, she is going to have to count sheep and bring visions of sugarplums dancing into her own head.