Mr. Frank

In high school my drama teacher introduced me to a person who would change my life. Since then this person has pushed me to be a better version of myself, they’ve forced me to be more creative, and they’ve never let me settle for mediocre when they knew I could do better.

Now, it’s your turn. Allow me to introduce you to…Mr. Frank.

Mr. Frank is always there when I need honest criticism. Mr. Frank doesn’t say things to make me feel better, he only speaks the truth. Mr. Frank tells it like it is.

“Hello, I’m Mr. Frank...Brutally Frank.”

When my drama teacher needed to give us feedback on an assignment he would say “Allow me to be Mr. Frank for a moment. First name Brutally…” Then he’d proceed to give (sometimes harsh) feedback to help us improve. But since it was Mr. Frank speaking we knew not to take it personally. Deep down we knew that Mr. Frank only wanted to help us.

Mr. Frank always has your best interests in mind. Sometimes what Mr. Frank says may hurt your feelings or piss you off, but Mr. Frank doesn’t care. Mr. Frank is just being honest.

Everyone needs a Mr. (or Mrs.) Frank in their life. It could be your wife or husband, your creative partner, your brother, your sister, your teacher, your mom or your dad. It just needs to be someone you trust to be honest when you need feedback. But you have to promise to never get offended when they speak the truth. We all need Mr. Frank’s feedback to help us get better but we have to be willing to listen, learn, and improve - all without getting angry or refusing to accept the help.

The thing is, it's really easy to find Mr. Frank. It’s much harder to learn to listen to him. Being willing to accept harsh criticism without taking it personally is a skill that you have to work at. You have to develop a thick skin and be willing to let Mr. Frank tell you all the things you’re doing wrong. But if you can get there - if you can be gracious and accepting of that feedback - then you’ll never miss out on Mr. Frank’s insights.

Just remember: Mr. Frank wants to help you. So when Mr. Frank speaks, shut up and listen. Don’t react or get defensive. Don’t allow yourself to become upset. Just listen quietly, accept the feedback, and say thank you. That’s how you will get better.

“Hello, I’m Mr. Frank. How can I help you?”

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Other Thoughts:

• Here’s some Quarantine Mind Reading for you:

Legacy

In the early nineties, my father answered the home phone and I watched as the color drained from his face and a sadness washed over him. I later learned that his father, my grandfather, had passed away and from across the kitchen I had seen the moment my father heard the news for the first time.

That was the first time I was confronted with mortality.

I couldn’t help but remember that moment as I read about the passing of Kobe Bryant over the weekend. I have nothing new to add to the multitude of articles being written but he was still a huge influence on my childhood.

When I was 10 years old I’d dribble my favorite basketball on the driveway and pretend I was just like Kobe. I had no fantasies of being a professional athlete but seeing Kobe go straight from high school to the pros made me believe that I could go places, too, if I’d just work hard every single day.

Growing up in a small town in the pre-internet days, it was tricky to find a role model that made me believe I could move away and be successful. Things weren’t as accessible then. Celebrities (and their stories of success) felt more out of reach than they do now and it was hard to relate to their journeys from my lonely driveway in southeast Kansas. But Kobe (and later LeBron James) were different, along with a small handful of other talented athletes, entertainers, writers, and more. For some reason, seeing Kobe and LeBron make the jump to the pros made everything seem possible.

I heard a great quote recently but I have no idea who said it: “There are two types of people in a small town: those who have to leave and those who can’t.” I was always the former. From a young age, I wanted out. I wanted to move to the big city to chase my dreams. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against my hometown - I just wanted more.

I found more of what I wanted in my life with Stephanie in Chicago. From traveling worldwide for my tour dates to embracing the diverse culture of one of the biggest cities in the world, I’m so glad I ended up here. But seeing a legend die so young made me wonder: Am I doing enough? Am I working hard enough? Can I do more to leave a positive impact on people? Even in death, Kobe continues to inspire and motivate.

I may not ever be one of the greatest who ever lived. I will never own a private helicopter or a mansion in Calabasas. I won’t win a world championship or become MVP. But I do care about my legacy and how I’m impacting the people around me. Kobe’s death (and that call many years ago) are a couple of the many ways that I’ve been reminded of how fragile life can be.

I don't know the true meaning of life but what I’ve tried to do is find something that I enjoy doing and make the most of it. I’m trying to spend every day doing my endeavors to the best of my ability so I can be proud of my work. And I try to use my talents to connect with other people and create joy in their lives.

There are doctors, scientists, nurses, and many other heroes out there doing far more important work - I understand that. But this is where I’ve ended up and I’m going to pour my entire being into it until I can’t any longer.

I hope that years from now, when someone gets a call about me, that they’ll look back fondly at the ways I relentlessly pursued my goals and it will inspire them to do the same.

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Other Thoughts:

• Currently Reading: “Talking to Strangers” by Malcolm Gladwell

• Another good thing about being off of social media was that I found out the news about Kobe in a healthy fashion. I drove up past Milwaukee for a show over the weekend and opened The New York Times app to see the top stories. It was still shocking, but at least I wasn’t reading people’s conspiracies or TMZ’s clickbait. I was reading the facts that had been assembled and verified.

• Catch me at The Magic Penthouse in February and the Chicago Magic Lounge in March!

Right Now

I never wanted to live in Chicago. It was always supposed to be New York.

The pre-internet half of my childhood was full of classic movies, music, and television. I’d watch King Kong climb the Empire State Building, listen to Frank Sinatra start spreadin’ the news, get up early to watch the balloons march past Macy’s, and stay up late to see the ball magically defy gravity until the stroke of midnight. I was captivated by the Big Apple.

“If not New York then I'll settle for Hollywood,” I told myself, and set my sights on either coast. Every thought I had, every song I sang, and every movie I watched seem to pull me in diametrically opposed directions. Movies: LA! Plays: New York City! My own TV show: Hollywood! Musicals: New York!

Between my junior and senior years of high school I went to Chicago for the first (and I’m sure I imagined on that trip, my last) time, to audition for two colleges: New York University (Tisch) and the University of Southern California.

First came NYU, for three very serious people in a very serious room. I had a terrible audition. I was a small town kid in the big city for the first time and it got to me. I was nervous and it showed.

After that, I calmed down and had a good audition for USC. I was more confident and felt better afterwards.

My folks made me apply to the University of Kansas, too, so I would have a back-up plan in case I didn’t get into NYU or USC. I did, but there’s no way I would have gone there. I hate back-up plans and how was I supposed to stay in Kansas when I’d spent my entire childhood dreaming of one of the coastal cities?

Weeks later I got a short letter from NYU letting me know I hadn’t gotten accepted. It was disappointing but I knew it was coming. A few days after that, a large packet from USC arrived and I was accepted into the acting program. I was ecstatic. It was incredible - I would be going to one of my dream schools. (I had done it all thanks to hard work since my parents couldn’t afford to bribe my way in.)

I spent a year in California before my father passed away and I had to return to Kansas. I miserably finished school back home before heading back out to LA to “make it”…whatever that means. I slept on couches, struggled, and failed. Back to the Sunflower State I went again.

Soon after I proposed to my wife and we started planning our next move. We would save money and move to New York instead. I worked multiple jobs and moonlighted as an entertainer, while she finished school. Somewhere between summer and winter (fall, perhaps?) Steph thought we should start with Chicago first. She had friends there. It was closer to her family. She’d never lived in a huge city before. We could start there, then head to NYC after a couple years. “Okay,” I said, “will you be there?” (A longstanding joke with Steph about how I will have fun anywhere as long as I’m with her.)

With the exception of a year-long performance contract at Disney World, we’ve been in Chicago ever since. We moved here in 2011 and we’re coming up on 9 years. That’s about 8 years longer than I’d expected and the truth is, I never wanted to be here.

Most of the time I've still been thinking about LA or NYC and longing for another shot at succeeding there. I’ve spent countless hours comparing the worst parts of The Windy City to the best parts back east and out west. Every year I think we may move out there, then things happen. I dislocate a shoulder or wreck our car; one of us needs surgery or we encounter something equally unexpected, so we crack open our piggy bank like the glass jar in “UP” and use that “big city move money” for something else. Those big cities? Still on the back burner.

But here’s the thing...

I was in LA two weeks ago and it was my least favorite trip to SoCal I’ve ever had. I spent most of the time stuck in traffic. I was able to catch up with family briefly but it was so short that I didn’t really feel like I even saw the city. Usually I go to the ocean or a museum or something, but this time wasn’t special at all.

Then, I went to NY last weekend to see a Broadway show. The trip was fun but unfortunately all I remember is trash piled high on the ground and people constantly getting in my way everywhere I went. The subway was disgusting, the Museum of Natural History was disappointing, and everything is comically overpriced. It’s filthy and smelly and crowded. I’m still in awe of the opportunity and enormity of it all but the shine is starting to wear off.

When we flew in I could see the Chicago skyline beyond the wing of the plane and I had a feeling that I’ve ignored for far too long. I smiled to myself and realized how much I’ve grown to like it here.

At a moment’s notice I get to run along Chicago’s lake front; truly one of the best routes in the entire world. We have incredible food here and it’s allowed me to transform from a picky eater in my teenage years to a bit of a “foodie”. We have amazing museums, gorgeous architecture, and the best skyline views you’ll find anywhere. We have AMCs for the latest movies and a cinema within walking distance that still shows films on film. There’s amazing art - music, theater, comedy, and more - that never ceases to inspire me. And we have a small but amazing apartment with gorgeous views that I share with my best friend and the furriest, sweetest two cats you’ve ever seen. We wake up every day with plenty of space to sip coffee, do our crosswords, and be happy in this small corner of the world that we get to call our own.

Much of my life has been spent thinking about the next thing. The next show, the next year, the next plan, the next move to the next big city. But I’m done with all of that. From now on I’m only thinking about one thing: how lucky I am to be right here, right now.

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Other Thoughts:

• We were in NY to see my friend Derren Brown’s incredible show “SECRET” on Broadway. If you find yourself there before January 4th be sure to check it out. We grabbed dinner after the show and here’s a picture of Derren trying on my glasses before he realized how horrible my prescription is.

• I’m continuing my annual tradition today and running the Turkey Trot here in Chicago. Yet another thing I’m thankful for here in the Second (to none) City.

• What To Watch Next: Check out Mike Birbiglia’s “The New One” and Seth Meyers’ “Lobby Baby” on Netflix. Or “Knives Out” in theaters. I really enjoyed all three!

• Thank you for reading these essays. Wherever you find yourself this weekend, I hope you and your loved ones have a wonderful Thanksgiving! As always, I’ll be taking December off from the blog since I’m going to be traveling so much. See you in 2020!

Failure

My first big performance was a huge disappointment.

I was in first grade when I found out they were holding auditions for the school talent show. They shouldn’t have made the announcement in the morning because I couldn’t focus for the rest of the day. All I could think about was getting to do magic in front of the whole school.

I remember bursting through my front door and calling to my dad, “I’m going to try out for the talent show! Will you help me practice?”

He helped me read the rules for the audition, then we pulled some tricks from my shelf of magic props and headed downstairs. He plopped down on the couch and patiently watched me as I stumbled through my makeshift performance.

I had asked my friend Tim to perform with me. He was the only other person I knew who liked magic as much as I did. So we worked on our tricks nonstop, hoping we would get a spot in the talent show.

A week later, I packed my props into my backpack and left for school. The big day had arrived. I was more nervous than I’d ever been before.

All of the hopeful performers were ushered into the gymnasium. We sat in clusters around the room as each of our names were called. People sang and danced and hula-hooped and did skits. I heard the other students playing outside and wondered what my friends were doing. For a split second I zoned out - and then:

“Up next are Mark and Tim, the magicians!”

I heard my name and suddenly I couldn’t stop shaking. Luckily, I had my friend Tim to back me up. We walked to the front and began our performance.

Our showstopper was a numbers trick. I wish I could remember the exact trick but I’ve mostly forgotten. All I know is that when I went to reveal our prediction, my principal just looked up at us with complete disappointment.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my number.”

We were crushed.

Something had gone wrong with the trick. I had failed in front a hundred other students and embarassed myself. When they called the final acts, our names weren’t on the list.

When I got home, I shoved my props on the shelf and swore I hated magic. I told my dad I didn’t want to do any tricks ever again. When I calmed down and wiped the tears away, I went outside and shot some hoops to calm down.

Then I heard a voice. It was my dad saying I had a phone call.

I walked inside, said hello, and was surprised to hear my principal’s voice on the other end.

“Mark, I have an apology to make. I messed up your trick. When I got home from school I tried it again and realized I made a mistake. You were right and I don’t know how you did it!”

I didn’t know what to say.

“We want you and Tim to be in the talent show. Can you guys do that?”

Of course I said yes, then hung up. I’m sure I screamed at the top of my lungs or something of the sort. All of our practice had paid off.

Not only did we get to be part of the talent show, but we actually ended up getting to be a featured act at the entrance of the school. As everyone entered for the show Tim and I were there in the lobby doing tricks for anyone who would watch. It was easily the greatest night of the first six years of my life.

If it wasn’t for my dad’s encouragement or my principal’s phone call, I might not be writing this essay. You might not be reading this post. And I might not be a professional mind reader.

Some of life’s lessons are intuitive, some are learned, and some are just downright lucky. I’m not sure where this one falls, but what I do know is that it’s impossible to fail if you never quit.

Impression

One random night eight years ago I met Craig Ferguson in a crosswalk. I’d just finished having dinner with a couple friends and we were heading back to our car across the street.

I looked left. No cars.

I looked right. No cars.

I started to cross and looked back to my left. And there was Craig Ferguson. 

“How’s it going, Craig?” I said. “Can I get a picture with you?”

“Do you mind if we finish crossing the street first?” he quipped.

He spent a few minutes joking with us and taking photos.  We laughed as he made fun of my friend’s hat and asked us some questions. Then, he shook our hands and strolled off into the shadows of Hollywood.

At a private event recently, a man asked me my name and why I was in attendance. I explained that I was the entertainment and would be performing following dinner.

He dismissively made smalltalk while never quite making eye contact with me. Then he turned to leave, saying “Nice to meet you, Matt.”

“It’s Mark, actually,” I corrected him, and nodded politely as he walked off.

Later, after my show, he approached me raving about my performance.

“That was amazing, Mark…let me buy you a drink!” he exclaimed, and dragged me over to show off to a table of his friends. 

“I was friends with Mark before we knew how amazing he was…” he bragged, as I introduced myself to the other guests.

The night went on but I couldn’t forget how he had treated me before he saw me in my element. Featured entertainment or not, I felt that I should have been met with common decency from the beginning.

It’s amazing to me that a celebrity in the middle of the street made a bigger effort than a person having a one-on-one conversation with me at a small dinner party. It shouldn’t matter if the person you’re talking to is a stranger or your best friend, you should always strive to make that person feel special.

At my gigs I make a big point of befriending the crew. I learn the names of the sound and lighting people, the stage manager, the director of the venue, the director of catering, the custodians, and the servers. Sometimes I’ll end up talking with them even more than my client.

I do my best to make them feel important. I’ll read their minds backstage and ask them where they’re from and what they enjoy doing. It doesn’t take much to make a positive impression on someone.

If something goes wrong or I need some help, the crew is always more apt to assist me. I would be kind without the extra incentive but it’s always nice to know they’ve got my back.

Just this week I learned that one of the employees in my garage suddenly moved away and is no longer working in my building. I used to show him tricks and ask him about his family every chance I could. Now he’s gone and I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.

I just hope that when he thinks about Chicago he remembers me and knows that I thought of him as more than just the valet grabbing my car. I thought of him as a friend and a fellow human being. I truly enjoyed getting to know him and will miss him dearly. No matter what kind of day I was having, he always put a smile on my face.

It could be a crosswalk or a parking garage, but it’s amazing how much of an impression people can make on you in such a short period of time. And quite often, they vanish from your life as quickly as they arrived.

Stuck

Last summer I made a goal to write more.

Since then, I’ve written something nearly every day. Sometimes it’s a list, sometimes it’s a poem, sometimes it’s an essay. Most of the time I don’t publish them. They just sit in a folder on my desktop waiting for further refinement.

I’ve always enjoyed writing but I’d never taken it as seriously as I have for the last nine months. It’s become a daily form of catharsis. I get an idea for something - usually on a run or backstage at a show - then race to my notebook and write it down.

It takes coffee and focused energy to turn that idea into a finished essay. It’s a good feeling to finish something every week. I have a self-imposed deadline and it keeps me on track.

Until this week. This week I got stuck.

I’m not sure if it’s the looming summer tour or the endless to-do list of condo repairs back in Chicago. Maybe it’s the warmer weather or because I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I know one thing, though, it’s not because I’m out of ideas.

I have a million of them. Ideas, I mean. I keep a list of each and every one, carefully indexed on my phone and MacBook. I’m never at a loss for what to write about because I view everything as an art project.  Everything that happens to me gets filed away in my ideas folder, waiting to “volunteer as tribute” for this week’s Thursday Thoughts. Eventually I pick an idea, sit down to write, and don’t stop until I’m finished.

I followed the same formula this week. I picked a topic and wrote an essay. It was okay, but not great. So I wrote another draft. And another. I had a couple people read them and give me honest feedback. It wasn’t good to hear - but they were just being honest.

So I picked a new idea and started from scratch but it didn’t amount to anything. I paced my hotel room and stared blankly out the window of my flight into New York. I practiced calligraphy in my notebook (a favorite hobby) but the letters weren’t forming any meaningful words - just doodles in the margins.

I was stuck.

It’s not that the ideas were stupid or that the essays were terrible. They just weren’t ready, you know? They were unfinished and incomplete. I didn’t want to share something if I didn’t think it was good enough.

When I started Thursday Thoughts back in August, I did it on two conditions:

1) I would publish an essay every Thursday, without fail.
2) The essay had to be positive. 

I found myself needing a place to rant. A place to complain or voice frustrations with the rigors of a creative life. A blog seemed like the perfect place. But the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t want my writing to be full of negativity. I wanted to see if I could take something that was bothering me and put an optimistic spin on it.

That’s why the essays weren’t ready. They weren’t fully formed and were too negative to publish here. They weren’t helpful or constructive. They were just me getting a few things off my chest.

Was it good to get them off my mind? Absolutely. But that’s all. I’ll keep revisiting those topics until I can find a way to share them in a positive light.

Recently, someone told me they wanted to start a blog but they didn’t know what to write about that.

My advice? “Write about that.”

That’s exactly what I’m doing now. I’m turning my lack of concrete ideas into a post because that’s the best I can do this week. But I have seven or eight unfinished essays that are soon to follow.

I don’t know when they’ll be ready but I’m going to keep working on them. And I’ll be back next week with another new essay because Thursday Thoughts is not going anywhere.

I want to be able to say that I stuck with it - even when I was stuck.