Jeremy's Ramblings, Babblings, and Other Pretentious Bullshit.

2006-08-01T00:18:00.000-07:00

It’s been a very long time since I’ve written anything blog-wise (I know I still need to talk about the rest of the Young Playwrights Festival shows), and I wanted to wait even longer before putting anything down (hell, right now I wish I were asleep), but something has been bothering me for the past couple days, and I need to get it out:

As some of you may or may not know, I was asked by the Maverick Theater to write “Godzilla - The Musical” which, due to legal reasons, was turned into “Giant Green Lizard - The Musical”. The show opened this past weekend, the first of its seven-week run. It’s a huge spectacle of a show, employing a dozen original songs, two theaters and - in the second act - a miniature scale set of Tokyo which gets destroyed every night as a man in a lizard suit stomps around it. It’s very funny, and you will definitely get your admission’s worth out of it.

However, there are things that have emerged in the show that are offensive to the Japanese culture. I am not one who is a firm believer in being politically correct all the time. I quote “Avenue Q”: Everyone’s a little bit racist. And yet several of the laughs to be had in this show are easy laughs at the expense of a careless, lazy stereotype. If you leave the theater feeling uncomfortable (like some of my friends) or just plain wondering if I’m racist (like my mom), know that you’re not alone. Since the theater already put their own disclaimer on the postcards (“If you come expecting a play with substance, you won’t get your money back”), I offer my own words as to why a seemingly harmless show can seem so hurtful.

Before proceeding, I feel inclined to say that “Giant Green Lizard - The Musical” is, first and foremost, a piece of entertainment, meant to amuse. When I was asked to write it, it was to be understood that this was something to make audiences laugh and cheer, a spectacle as never before seen on a storefront theater stage. It was never meant as a show that someone could read into or pull special meanings from. Being a writer who naturally feels the need to provoke an audience into thinking about whatever happens to be on my mind, I found the prospect of writing something purely for the entertainment value an interesting experiement.

However, despite the insistence from the theater that the show is lighter than Ready-Whip on the moon, there is an undercurrent - albeit rather mild and not at all groundbreaking - that seeps through the piece. It is about the stereotypes we give each other. The “Godzilla” movies are firmly rooted in post-WWII Japan, when nuclear radiation was still in the air and paranoia about mass destruction ran rampant. Just like natural disaster movies in a time of war, “Godzilla” faced a society’s fears in a way that they could tolerate, through rubbery costumes and cheap special effects. And when the films came to America, they presented the Japanese culture - already a tarnished image - as a group of cowards, screaming and running at some cheesy being, while the noble American Raymond Burr came to save the day.

At the beginning of “Giant Green Lizard”, a rude American man by the name of Kevin sings a song called “Tokyo Baby”, which takes after certain naïvely prejudiced rock songs of the 1950’s. During that time, it was not unusual to hear Elvis singing, “A hard-headed woman is a thorn in the side of a man,” or to hear The Beach Boys using stereotypical Indian war cries as back-up for “Ten Little Indians”. Afterward, one of the Japanese characters, Toji-San, notes the offensiveness of the song, which Kevin shrugs off.

What takes place throughout the rest of the act is a small culture war, as Kevin and Toji-San criticize each other’s cultures. While everyone else seems to respect their surroundings (the Japanese characters speak English while in Tokyo’s only American-style karaoke bar, and - in a nice directorial touch - the American characters wear clothes that show a tourist’s fascination with Japan), Kevin and Toji-San repeatedly butt heads on the subject of food, myth and music (later, Toji-San launches into a one-man hoedown, joking that he is performing “a true American song”).

Then, disaster strikes, and for the second act, the two cultures come together. They unite forces to help the giant green lizard take down the monster that is ravaging Tokyo (on a set that is truly amazing). Working together, they all help save the day, and sing a song in which they celebrate their respective cultures (with references to Buddha and Tom Hanks). The last line of the show, which is sung, is “God Bless the U.S.A. and Tokyo”, complete with Japanese and American flags flying down. As intentionally cheesy and faux patriotic as the whole thing is, there is a reason for it all.

However, working on a show of this immense caliber - especially when time and money are limited - means that you are working on small details. As a result, characters did not get completely developed and themes were not fully explored. And while the American characters end up looking - for the most part - noble and courageous, the Japanese characters can seem like goofy, dense caricatures. What was meant to be an understanding of cultures has turned into a one-sided parody of a race of people.

Should you still see “Giant Green Lizard”? Certainly. The cast works hard and sounds great (Nick McGee and Enrique Munoz battling over Tokyo is one of the most enjoyable things I’ve seen in a while), the look of the show is unparalleled in Orange County storefront theater and there’s a lot of very funny stuff in it. However, I ask that you look past the accents and the stereotypical behaviors and listen to what the characters are saying - sometimes singing - to each other (I also recommend not bringing children to the show, despite the postcard’s insistence that it is for “10 & Over”. There is scary imagery, mild language and a lot of sexual innuendo. It’s more appropriate for teenagers and adults).

Anyway, “Giant Green Lizard - The Musical” plays through September 10th, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 3 p.m. It is $18 and plays at the beautiful Maverick Theater, 110 E. Walnut St., Fullerton, CA.

2006-06-09T10:58:00.000-07:00

Fueled by an anonymous comment left on my blog, I have decided to write a new entry (for the three of you who care). This anonymous person expressed the wish that I comment on the Blank Theatre's Young Playwrights Festival. I'm not sure what relation they have to the festival, or why they so desperately wish to hear my thoughts on the subject, but whatev's. Since I have no new blogs of my own in me (I'm writing like a mofo...and mofo's write like...well, people that write a lot), why don't I comment on the teenage-written shows I've seen this month?

Okay, so last weekend was the first week of the Young Playwrights Festival. For those of you who don't know, The Blank Theatre puts out a call to the teenage playwrights of America and asks them to send their plays. Then they choose the twelve shining stars and stage them. I was first involved in the festival when they staged my play "Algor Mortis" in 2002.

This year, for the second time, I was on the Selection Committee. This means I read a buttload of scripts and helped choose the ones that I felt were the finest pieces of theatre. In amongst the high school comedies and "overbearing parent" dramas, there were many beautiful, funny, thought-provoking scripts that showed talent beyond the ages of their writers. And while none of them reached the sublime level of Yelena Moskovich's "The Sandwich Conscience" (a winner from two years ago, one of the finest one-acts I've ever read or seen), there were some real winners.

The first week saw an unusually good week for the Young Playwrights Festival, with two very promising voices. But first, we'll talk about Matt Grossman's "To Albany!" Grossman is a 14-year-old from New York City who wrote a political comedy about a doofus running for State Senator, and the doofus that covers his campaign. For being 14, Grossman shows some promise of being a good sitcom writer. It was nice to have a comedy with some intelligence behind it, even if the production went for the easy joke.

The second show of the week was the highlight. Jessica Juhrend is a home-school 16-year-old from South Dakota whose "Restless Peace" was a highlight of the 2004 festival. Her submission this year was "American Cheese", and judging by these two scripts, she has an incredible future in writing. This play centered around a father having three conversations with her daughter (who ages from 10 to 15 to 20), all while making a sandwich (what is with the sandwich-making plays at the YPF being so damn good?). The characters were exceedingly well-drawn, their dialogue was witty while staying grounded (VERY difficult to do), the cast was near-flawless and the direction was mostly tight (the choice of song and the overlong game of Tag were iffy, but those are minor complaints). Juhrend joins the ranks of Tessa Leigh Williams and Kit Steinkellner as emerging female playwrights to watch.

The third show was my favorite script in the festival, and as will sometimes be the case with the YPF, the production couldn't match it. The play was called "Noel" by Lisa Meyers. It was a beautiful, whimsical, original work that, through rewrites, miscasting and some funky direction, lost a bit of its edge. Suddenly, the magical world that Meyers had created was given some misguided parallels to "It's a Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Carol", and the frenetic sense of a world in which anything can and will happen was not fully realized. Still, it retained a lot of its heart, power and beauty.

Next week will bring us Justin Kuritzkes' "Death and Taxes" (a charming comedy from a 15-year-old), "Jane Err" by Erica Drennan & Hannah Dean (a spoof of "Jane Eyre") and Erica Richardson's "Wasp" (one of the finest scripts in the bunch). You'll be hearing about these three in the next week.

Oh, and I'd also like to take this moment to applaud the incredible scripts that ended up not making it in the festival. There was Eric Levitz's "Penny", whose level of comic absurdity reached a climax with the lead character's father bloodied and having accidentally killed a truck filled with puppies. 13-year-old Kate Bethany Herzlin's "Happy Birthday To You" was a very promising 9/11 drama that had some really interesting ideas. Both Max Cuddy's "Getting Free" and Amy Claussen's "Remains" were very powerful scripts that unfortunately needed a great deal of cutting. And the saddest omission in this year's festival is Lucas Levya's "Death on Flagler". The dark comedy centered around two men selling hot dogs on a Miami street, when suddenly a buffalo collapses in front of them. It was quirky, witty and took a surprising twist. Levya is a promising voice whose work unfortunately goes over some people's heads. I'd love to read more of his work.

Viva la YPF!!!

2006-04-18T09:44:00.000-07:00

So, for the first time since 1997, the Pulitzer Prize committee chose not to award a Prize for Drama. Christopher Durang's "Miss Witherspoon", Rolin Jones' "The Intelligent Design of Jenny Chow" and Adam Rapp's "Red Light Winter" were all finalists, but none were considered worthy enough to award $10,000.

Granted, the eligibility period this year was only for nine months as opposed to the usual full year (which cut David Lindsay-Abaire's "Rabbit Hole", a clear favorite, out of the running). But it's also saying something that there wasn't a significant American play to open in the nine-month period. At this point, your eyes should be glazing over and your head should be nodding, despite the intensity and excitement from the rough-and-tumble world of Pulitzer eligibility.
Hmm, $10,000. Sounds nice.

So, this past week, I participated in a series of poetry readings at the Hunger Artists theatre. It is in celebration of National Poetry Month (since every month is officialy National *PUT CELEBRATORY THING HERE* Month, I'm going to make a National Gable Month. Perhaps May). I found a Robert Frost piece that I liked, and my sis found a great Billy Collins poem about having a hangover that she asked me to read.

Not having been a particular fan of poetry for, oh let's say, twenty-four years, I was surprised to find how much I connected to several of the pieces.

There was a Hans Ostrom piece about Elvis Presley and Emily Dickinson hanging out in Heaven together. There was a poem about marriage in which the protagonist spoke in random word pairings like "Christmas Teeth! Radio Belly! Penguin Dust!" There was another Billy Collins piece about the popular fads of past centuries (such as the popular game Find the Cow). There was a great Henry Rollins poem that says the word love "gets raped in the ass by a thousand convicts before it reaches what I feel for you", and ends by saying, "I wish I could sing like that guy from Boston. They rock like fuck!" And there were two fantastic original poems from our Company Manager Emily Brauer-Rogers and my sister (I'm leaving out Kelly Flynn's readings of vampire poetry and a piece by Jewel because, though his readings were quite inspired, the source material blew).

In fact, I found myself so inspired that the last night of the readings, I recited a little piece I had written a few hours before:

DEBRA MESSING'S SHOPPING LIST
by Jeremy Gable

Buttermilk
Pumpkin pie filling
Turkey breast (ULTRA Thin Sliced)
Sandals
SOS pads
Happiness
Massengill
Shasta Cola
Peanut butter (LOTS of peanut butter)
Someone who will love me for what I hide, instead of what I convey
DVD Copy of "The Wedding Date"
Tillamook cheddar cheese
Some kind of significant acting award
Pears
Swedish Fish (two bags)
Sunny D
O.J.
The Purple Stuff
To never be referred to ever again as Grace
A goldfish named Oliver Clozoff
Vicodin
Lettuce
Boo Berry Crunch (if not available - Cookie Crisp)
The ability to make my fans cry
The ability to make those I love smile
Napkins
A significant acting gig for my husband, not just guest spots on “Ned & Stacey”
To be one of the 50 Most Beautiful People again
To walk into a press junket and speak only in flag signals
To be with the one I truly love, Bebe Neuwirth
To tell Annette Bening to her face that “The Cherry Orchard” sucked and she sucked in it
To stop doing voice-overs
To make my little boy want to be with his mommy
To go back to the days when I was doing productions of “Angels in America”
To be truly, truly loved
Paper plates

And get it right this time, Rosita. I’m not paying you to buy Malt-O-Meal.

And on a final note, I am currently watching old episodes of the greatest robot daughter sitcom to come out of the '80's, "Small Wonder". YouTube rocks!

2006-04-03T09:47:00.000-07:00

Boy, it's been a long while since I wrote one of these, hasn't it? Let me just dust off the keyboard here and...

So, hi everybody! What brought me back into the atmosphere of blogging (or "blogosphere" as I've heard one too many times)? The fact that yesterday, I was accused of aiding terrorists! WHOOPEE!!!

Right now, the hot button issue (especially in the wonderful world of Southern California) is illegal immigration. There's a new bill in legislation, and it's causing quite a stir. Should illegal immigration be a felony? Is it too harsh of a bill? Should we send them all packing back to Mexico or should we work to make them citizens?

Yesterday, Brey and I get into a discussion with someone about this particular issue (which we are, admittedly, not as knowledgeable and passionate about as we probably should be). The discussion quickly escalates into a debate, and finally turns into us just trying to figure out what this woman's argument is.

Here is the basis of her argument: "I am against illegal immigration, but I find the bill to be too harsh." Fine. That sounds fair. It seems like this discussion is going to be a breeze.

But then she pulls this: "What I hate is that I lose jobs because I'm not bilingual. I don't think it's fair that I'm losing jobs to people that refuse to speak English."

Now read those two sentences again. Once more, just for effect. You spot the inconsistency, don't you? So did everyone else in the room...except for her. No matter how many times we pointed out that to be bilingual you had to learn English, she was convinced that her way of thinking was quite clear and to the point.

Then the rest of her arguments are just an array of contradictions: America should be a mix of cultures, but all signs should be printed in English. You can speak your own language, but you have to speak English. Mexican immigrants are welcome, but they need to respect our country and follow the Caucasian language and culture. She cannot learn Spanish (because she apparently can't roll her r's), but it's impossible for someone from Mexico to have trouble learning English. It's a mix of what she really feels (Speak English, motherfucker!), and what she thinks she should say to us (Not that I hate Mexicans or anything...).

After refusing to accept that the Spanish language is not an illegal immigration problem (I'd blame that on living two hours away from Mexico), that forcing English on every citizen is a violation of the First Amendment (It's not Freedom of ENGLISH Speech. Just Freedom of Speech period), and that the number of languages you know is not discrimination when hiring (because she's going to sue them, whoever "them" is, and it's going to be "a landmark case"), she drops this one on us...

"Well, the case'll get shot down because of you two! This problem's going to get worse because of you two! The next time we're bombed, it's because of you two!"

Now, I'm trying to think of the right word here...Let's see, what is it?...It's on the tip of my tongue...Oh, yeah...

WHAT???!?!?!?!?!

Suddenly, because we're pointing out the inconsistencies in her argument, and because we're saying that we shouldn't live in a society where everyone speaks the same language, we love terrorists! Oh, c'mere terrorist and give us a big juicy kiss! *MWAH* We're okay with you and your fundamentalist ways! Here, let me carry that backpack for you.

Because as we all know, terrorism is a language issue. None of the 9/11 terrorists spoke English (except for the ones that did, which is most if not all of them). And only illegal immigrants are the ones that cause terrorist acts in our country (including Timothy McVeigh and Ted Kaczynski, which certainly don't sound like names of white guys descended from European backgrounds).

And throughout this entire time, I feel inclined to tell her that I have not once stated what I feel about the new illegal immigration bill (because I haven't read it and therefore have no opinion on it). I want to point out that I agree with her stance on illegal immigration. I have the greatest urge to state that if we white people truly respected the country, we would have shown up learning how to speak Navajo and Cherokee. I want to question her when she says she hates the term "cultural melting pot" when describing America.

But who knows what might happen if we keep talking. Brey checks the clock and we politely excuse ourselves.

Here in Southern California, there are a lot of problems concerning overpopulation and heavy traffic. The finger for these problems tends to point at the Latino community. Whether this is fair or not I cannot say (and to be fair, this woman not only expressed her frustration toward the Latino community, but the Vietnamese-heavy community of Garden Grove. No doubt if the Middle Eastern population congregated in one specific area, she would have choice words for them, too).

It seems very easy to be angry with the Latino community in Southern California. When I was living in Idaho, a friend of mine visited Disneyland for a week and came back frustrated with Hispanics. He admitted that it seemed rather easy to turn into a racist living down there. A few years later, I moved down here and found out, thanks to not only this woman but countless others, how true that is.

I do not support illegal immigration, and I do recognize that it is a problem in this country. And yes, the influence of Latino, Asian and Middle Eastern culture all over the community is unusual for me, coming from a place where the only genuine piece of foreign culture was a small Greek restaurant on Spokane Street (I still miss their fantastic turkish cigars).

However, I blame my ill feelings about the language and cultural barriers on my natural human reaction to be scared by that which I don't understand. Should we deny an immigrant who wants to take the legal procedures to become an America citizen the right to practice their own culture or religion? And if an overwhelming number of immigrants populate one small area, should that area refuse to be tolerant of their language? Why should I, who has only 1/16th of true Native American heritage in me, claim that the English-speaking population is superior to the rest of the population?

But then again, that kind of inclusive, accepting way of thinking is what leads to buildings being blown up, right?

2006-01-31T14:44:00.000-08:00

On Friday, I bought the ultimate in wireless technology: A manual typewriter. It is a beautiful Olivetti Studio 44, dating back to 1952.

Isn't it a beauty?

For the past few days, I've been carrying it around, crazily typing out everything from play ideas to promotional materials for "4.48 Psychosis" to my Oscar nomination predictions (more on that later). Writing on a computer is problematic for someone who is as easily distracted as I am, and handwriting gives me too much of a cramp. So this is the perfect way of having a portable writing device with me wherever I go. Plus, hearing the old school sound of "click-click-click-click-click-click-DING!!!" is really quite satisfying.

So, with my new typewriter sitting proudly in the passenger seat of my car, I drove to Costa Mesa on Saturday and strolled into the second week of the eight-week playwriting class that I am taking at South Coast Repertory. The class is being taught by Noah Haidle, who made a splash at SCR when he wrote two brilliant, controversial pieces at the age of 24. One of those pieces is now playing off-Broadway in New York.

There I sat in the SCR Boardroom, staring at the poster of Ed Harris in their 1981 production of "True West" with about a dozen other writers. I was listening as several of the other members of the class were reading my latest play "Orange Alert" out loud. They told me how much they liked the developments from the seemingly normal O.C. world of the first act to the crazy, screwed up world of the second act.

Then Noah leaned forward and stated that he thought the piece felt like two different plays that did not match. He felt cheated when the beauty and realism of one of the storylines in the first act tragically turned out to be pretense in the second act. He wondered about the political themes that are presented.

And then I noticed something unusual happen. Those that were defending the play were now criticizing it. Suddenly, the term "two different plays" was being bounced around the room like a four-square ball. People were seemingly either reaching for things to criticize or they were going against what they had previously said. Could it be that they were agreeing with Noah because he was Noah? Seeing as these individuals were the same ones who spent fifteen minutes in the previous week's class desperately picking at his brain, this does not seem so farfetched.

I walked out of the class remembering why I've always hated the idea of being "taught" playwriting. Two different plays. From the very beginning that's what people said about "American Way", from those that first read it to the reviews of its first production. That tends to be my style. Taking an audience down one road, making them believe something is happening, and then pulling the rug out from under them and showing them what the play is really about. What makes that wrong?

People complained about how some scenes made them uneasy, took unhappy turns or left them with questions. Isn't that what a lot of good plays do? Does every play have to continue down one path to its inevitable conclusion? Isn't surprise an important element of storytelling? And for the love of God, just because someone who makes a living as a playwright disagrees, does that mean you have to betray your own opinions just to agree?

A few days have passed, and I have since rescinded my feeling of hating playwriting classes. I realized that the comments of Noah and those who agree with him, while misunderstanding my intentions, did serve a very useful purpose. They made me realize what I was intending with my play. The sudden shift in tone, and the consequences of these romances turning very, very foul, is representative of the awakening we get in the people and environments around us when we start seeing their faults and dark secrets. Yes, it settles into this leisurely pace in Act One and then suddenly becomes jarring, frantic and somewhat unsettling in the second half. But then again, doesn't life do that to us from time to time?

So thanks Noah and fellow classmates. I can't wait for next Saturday.

On a random topic jump, the Academy Award nominations came out today. Here are the categories I care about:

BEST PICTURE
Brokeback Mountain
Capote
Crash
Good Night, and Good Luck.
Munich

BEST DIRECTOR
George Clooney - Good Night, and Good Luck
Paul Haggis - Crash
Ang Lee - Brokeback Mountain
Bennet Miller - Capote
Steven Spielberg - Munich

BEST ACTOR
Philip Seymour Hoffman - Capote
Terrence Howard - Hustle & Flow
Heath Ledger - Brokeback Mountain
Joaquin Phoenix - Walk the Line
David Strathairn - Good Night, and Good Luck.

BEST ACTRESS
Judi Dench - Mrs. Henderson Presents
Felicity Huffman - Transamerica
Keira Knightley - Pride & Prejudice
Charlize Theron - North Country
Reese Witherspoon - Walk the Line

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
George Clooney - Syriana
Matt Dillon - Crash
Paul Giamatti - Cinderella Man
Jake Gyllenhaal - Brokeback Mountain
William Hurt - A History of Violence

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
Amy Adams - Junebug
Catherine Keener - Capote
Frances McDormand - North Country
Rachel Weisz - The Constant Gardener
Michelle Williams - Brokeback Mountain

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
Brokeback Mountain - Larry McMurtry & Diana Ossana
Capote - Dan Futterman
The Constant Gardener - Jeffrey Caine
A History of Violence - Josh Olson
Munich - Tony Kushner and Eric Roth

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
Crash - Paul Haggis & Bobby Moresco
Good Night, and Good Luck. - George Clooney & Grant Heslov
Match Point - Woody Allen
The Squid and the Whale - Noah Baumbach
Syriana - Stephen Gaghan

A fairly predictable set of nominees for what looks to be a fairly predictable Oscar ceremony. The one big surprise is that "Syriana", which was based on a book by Robert Bahr, is in the Original Screenplay category (since it's been nominated for Adapted Screenplay everywhere else).

And who knows. Maybe "A History of Violence" and "Match Point" will take home screenplay Oscars, despite their unsettling shifts in tone.

2006-01-24T13:18:00.000-08:00

Can we stop making names adjectives? Especially authors and playwrights? Every time I see or hear a name being turned into an adjective it makes me want to shove that person off a curb, so that they'll fall onto the pavement with an embarrassing and clumsy thud.

Anything described as "Kafkaesque" usually has nothing to do with Kafka at all. Just because there is a nightmarish situation without any real explanation or solution, that does not mean that it is "Kafkaesque". You know what it is? A fucked up situation.

The only reason I can think of for using a name as an adjective is to show everyone how well-read you are. Otherwise, there is a another way to explain it, a way that will still make you look smart without making you look like a asshole.

In just the past week, I've heard "Beckett-ish" and "Durang-esque" used. The best part is that the "Durang-esque" culprit made sure to note, "I did not coin that word. It's an actual word!" Which only tells me, "I'm not the pretentious ass who thought up this idiotic term. I'm just the pretentious ass that copied it."

I once heard someone say "Tarantino-esque". What the fuck is Tarantino-esque? When did he earn an -esque? Does that mean that the piece is hyperviolent and filled with pop culture references? Or that it stars Uma Thurman? Or that it has a shot from the trunk of a car in it?

The adjective-as-name trend has got me so cheesed that I want to make my writing as diverse as possible so that Gable-esque will never, ever become an adjective.

And now, just to prove that I'm a huge hypocrite, here are occasions in my past writings where I've used the -esque adjective that I've grown to hate:

* "The Ernest Thompson comedy that invites every shaky Hepburn-esque septuagenarian to talk about the loooooons." (09/08/05)

* "And then I watch Brey, who walks around in a way that is almost balletic in its fluidity and Keatonesque in its innocent humor." (03/10/05)

* "...(right down to the 'Hamlet'-esque plot device of a son talking to the ghost of his father)." (10/12/04)

* "I feel like I could at least write a post in this blog that is about something more arresting and profound than this Fellini-esque post about not being able to write anything" (10/08/04)

Further proof. I'm an ass.

2006-01-23T14:56:00.000-08:00

A SPEECH MADE TODAY BY PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH, NOW WITH ADDED HECKLING:

Nellie, thank you very much. (Um, Mr. President, my name is Tom) I appreciate the invitation to speak. (Usually I just like to impose) I'm calling from Manhattan, Kansas. (Applause from people who like hearing the name Manhattan, Kansas.) Sounds like you got some good folks from Kansas there. (Applause from people who like to believe they’re “good folk”.) I want to thank everybody there -- if you're from Kansas, or anywhere else in our country (any of the other forty-three states), for your devotion to such a noble cause (the noble cause being my retention of power).

You believe, as I do (*COUGH, COUGH*), that every human life has value (except for those 2200 guys in Iraq. Who needs ‘em?), that the strong have a duty to protect the weak (much in the way that a school bully “protects” a kid’s lunch money), and that the self-evident truths of the Declaration of Independence apply to everyone, not just to those considered healthy or wanted or convenient (Warning: Declaration of Independence does not apply to minorities and the middle- to lower-class). These principles call us to defend the sick and the dying (unless we were the ones who made you sick or dying), persons with disabilities and birth defects (unless we were the ones who made you disabled or defective), all who are weak and vulnerable (unless we were the ones who made you weak or vulnerable), especially unborn children. (Applause from metal coat hanger manufacturers.)

We're making good progress in defending these principles, Nellie (The name’s still Tom), and you and I are working together, along with others, to build what I've called a culture of life (and it moves us all, through despair and hope, through faith and love). One of my first acts as the President was to ban the use of taxpayer money on programs that promote abortion overseas. (Applause from people who like hearing the words “money” and “promote”.) I want to thank you all for getting that ban on partial-birth abortion to my desk, a bill I was proud to sign -- (applause from people who like the name Bill) -- and a law which we are going to defend -- and are defending (and have defended -- and will defend -- and put on the side of the defensive) -- vigorously in our courts (I AM THE LAW!!!). Because we acted (in a high school production of “Harvey”), infants who are born despite an attempted abortion are now protected by law (unless they’re a minority or poor). Thanks to "Laci and Conner's Law," (note to self: send them a Valentine’s Day card) prosecutors can now charge ($37.50 plus shipping and handling) those who harm or kill a pregnant woman with harming or killing her unborn child, as well. (Applause from people who like to clap.)

We're vigorously promoting parental notification laws (Sir, ma’am, I’m here to notify you that you’re a parent), adoption (which I’m told is nothing like “Oliver!”), teen abstinence (we have armed officers at local makeout points all over the country), crisis pregnancy programs, and the vital work of our faith-based groups (Hi God, are you there? It’s me, fetus!). We're sending a clear message to any woman facing a crisis pregnancy (your choice and your life mean dick to us): We love you (not), we love your child (less), and we're here to help you (and by help you we mean take away your rights).

There's more work to be done (I’m still trying to figure out how to get oil out of birth canals). The House has passed a bill (who is only a bill, and he’s sittin’ there on Capitol Hill) to ensure that state parental involvement laws are not circumvented (looked that word up just this morning) by those who take minors across state lines to have abortions (Nevada, I’m looking at you). And the United States Senate needs to pass this bill so I can sign it into law. (Applause from people who just saved money on their car insurance.)

We also must respect human life and dignity (for once) when advancing (or suppressing) medical science, and we're making progress here, as well (We’re firing scientists nationwide). Last month, I signed a pro-life bill supporting ethical treatment and research using stem cells from umbilical cord blood (and all while eating spaghetti). I also renew my call for Congress to ban all forms of human cloning (I call it the Michael Keaton’s “Multiplicity” Act). Because human life is a gift from our Creator (Neo?) and should never be used as a means to an end (or “el fin” as the French would call it), we will not sanction the creation of life only to destroy it (at least not until you’re recruitment age).

By changing laws we can change our culture (and by change I mean destroy). And your persistence and prayers, Nellie (or Tom. Whichever), and the folks there with you, are making a real difference (Who, us? Oh, we’re just here for the free pizza). We, of course, seek common ground where possible (and then we go for full invasion); we're working to persuade more of our fellow Americans of the rightness of our cause (remember, America...we’re WATCHING yooooou...). And this is a cause that appeals to the conscience of our citizens (just like “Desperate Housewives”), and is rooted in America's deepest principles (do you mean the OLD principles of freedom and equality, or the NEW principles of greed and conformity?) -- and history tells us that with such a cause, we will prevail (because if there’s anyone who needs their rights taken away, it’s these crazy women! Take off those business shoes and make me some macaroni!!!).

Again, Nellie (whatever), thank you for letting me come to speak to you (if you start hearing a clicking on your phone, don’t be alarmed). Tell everybody there that I ask for God's blessings on them and their families (unless they don’t believe in God, in which case ask them to prepare for the cleansing), and, of course, may God continue to bless our grand country (because Lord knows someone has to look out for its well-being).

(Applause from people who follow an agenda that pleads to spare the lives of unborn fetuses while neglecting to shed a tear for those who die either in misguided wars or from poverty caused by a dwindling economy. Oh, did I say that out loud?)

2006-01-20T13:32:00.000-08:00

TEN RANDOM OBSERVATIONS:

1). Jonathan Rhys-Meyers was miscast in "Match Point". There should be a lot of tension surrounding that character as his cheating, lies and manipulations are weighing him down, and I don't think he was up to the challenge. Everything else about the movie was great, though.

2). Sad songs are generally longer than happy ones. I think it's because we want to linger on sad thoughts more than we want to indulge feelings of joy. I was making two mix CD's today - one with downbeat songs, one with upbeat songs. There is only a seven-second difference between the CD's and yet the upbeat CD has 23 tracks, while the downbeat CD has only 16.

3). Perhaps the reason the video game character Mario is so famous in our pop culture is that he is an underdog. Rather than being a strapping knight with a horse and a sword, he's an overweight plumber with a thick Italian accent. And yet, because of his knowledge of the underground piping systems, he ends up being the only person who can save a beautiful princess from a fire-breathing dragon. Maybe we all wish we could be like Mario, and that's why we play the games. Or maybe it's because they're fun.

4). Both Franz Kafka and Sarah Kane had issues with their body. Not so much in vain sense of feeling fat or being scrawny, but in the sense of feeling like their minds and souls were better fitted in different vessels, whether it be another body, another era or another species.

5). Sometimes you can be too friendly and too charismatic with your customer service, to the point where you become off-putting, awkward and almost creepy (especially when you not only make physical contact with a woman, but question the gender and sexuality of a man).

6). "Transamerica" will apparently never open up in Orange County. At this point, it's not even in Los Angeles. Felicity Huffman will surely get an Oscar nomination, and so people will hear about and desire to see the movie eventually (especially "Desperate Housewives" fans). Century Stadium 25 cannot hold out on me much longer. They're going to have to show it soon enough.

7). Directing an actress who operates on the same wavelength that you do is a thing that not only pleases, but invigorates. Only two rehearsals in, I'm finding that Jessica and I see eye to eye on nearly everything.

8). I'm surprisingly not nervous about starting playwriting classes at South Coast Repertory that will be taught by rising playwright Noah Haidle. Perhaps it is because I have so many things going on in my life, and this latest development happened so quickly and so suddenly. I will probably be unable to let it fully set in until I finally there.

9). Mention was made to me today about the upcoming O.C. Weekly Theater Awards (the Tony's of Orange County). I get way too much pleasure out of predicting awards shows, and this one is particularly fun to research considering that I actually know some of these people.

10). I wish I were at the Sundance Film Festival. A snowball fight with Zooey Deschanel and Michel Gondry sounds really good right about now.

2006-01-18T12:12:00.000-08:00

Last night was the first rehearsal of "4.48 Psychosis", the Sarah Kane play that I have been pestering the Hunger Artists Theatre Company to let me direct for over a year. I pulled into the parking lot and took a couple of deep breaths, reminding myself that I have good people on my side. That I'm a talented guy who knows what he's doing. That I'm not curing cancer, just putting on a show, and if it fails, the world will continue turning.

As I walked into the theatre, two of the theatre's founding members, who also happen to be two of my best friends, walked out on their way to a social gathering in Los Angeles. They wished me well and left. I walk up to the theatre to see Jessica Topliff, the insanely talented actress who is my one and only cast member, having a smoke outside the front door. We are the only two people there. That's when I fully realized that I am The Director. The one calling the shots. I am naturally someone who not only shies away from any sort of managerial position, but has trouble making decisions on what fast food restaurant Brey and I should eat at. And yet I am the captain of this ship. I say, "Let's do this," and we head into the theatre.

We sit in the front row of the audience, looking at the set for "Twelfth Night". The two shows could not be more different. "Twelfth Night" boasts a large, colorful set, a cast of seventeen (which for that space is enormous), disco musical numbers and the feel of innocence and love. "4.48 Psychosis", on the other hand, is spare and stark, using one actress, one table and two chairs. It is filled with loneliness, desperation and betrayal, both internal and external. Jessica and I are both in the cast of "Twelfth Night" and we note the contrast.

Then, we get to work. Jessica opens up the script and reads it out loud, stopping only for the occasional question. As she read, I remembered why I have chosen to direct this piece, and why I cast Jessica without audition or second thought. She is fearless, diving into the material without hesitation. The piece, often thought brutal and depressing, is in many places beautiful and funny. And like how Laurence Olivier spoke Shakespeare, William H. Macy speaks David Mamet and I speak Jason Lindner, so Jessica's voice the perfect vessel for Sarah Kane's words.

She reaches the end of the script and quietly closes it. I am pleased, both at the realization that Jessica is 80% of the way there and at the thought of pulling the other 20% out of her (I don't want this process to be too easy). For the next couple of hours, we sit and talk about what we want this show to be, what we don't want it to be (no "Goodbye to clocks ticking" in this piece) and what could drive someone to make the journey that the character in this show does.

Then, the conversation turns inward, and we start talking about our personal experiences with the emotions present in the script. We start talking about our ideas of theatre and our motives behind it. And in the midst of the conversation, I come to several observations:

* I do theatre not to earn fame and fortune. What I seek on the stage is a connection to the audience. Too often overpriced tickets, oversized budgets and overinflated egos create a distance between audience and performer, creating instead an "event" that the crowd can only observe. Even in distinguished theatres like the Mark Taper Forum and South Coast Repertory I've been able to have that connection between participant and observer.

* All the years I grew up playing nothing but chorus members in Coeur d'Alene Summer Theatre gave me an ensemble mentality. Rather than stealing the spotlight, I try to step back and let others have their moment. That could be what interests me about Hunger Artists. We seem to be a company of chorus members. People that strive to work as an ensemble, rather than a group of scene-stealers.

* My many years of loneliness and awkwardness around women has affected me much more than I let on. The effects of growing up with such a low self-esteem makes me tend to shy away from overly flirtatious women. In fact, when a woman flirts with me, I turn awkward and weird, not because of any desire for her, but because of my bewilderment that she is even bothering.

* I am truly lucky to have Brey in my life. People from time to time have criticized her, saying that she is mean to me simply because she calls me names. However, EVERYBODY calls me names, from my best friends to my own family. It's all in jest, and I never take it seriously. However, those accusations are unfair, mainly because those people do not realize just how much Brey has done for me. She came at a time when my longtime depression toward my loneliness had turned into cold indifference, and she showed me that not only was I a person worth liking, I was a person worth loving (something I had all but given up on at that point).

* I believe that we all have evil in our heads. Inside of us, we all have fucked-up voices that tell us things that we don't want to hear and showing us images we do not want to see. We all find different ways of dealing with these voices. These ways vary from working on cars to playing sports to murdering someone to committing suicide. I believe that this is why I have so many different little talents that I've learned, like piano, juggling, mime, tap dancing, etc. I learned these activities during my lonely teenage years and practiced them just so that I wasn't left alone with those voices.

As I was driving home, it was nice having such a revealing conversation. I suddenly had the urge to make more revelations, come to more conclusions, make more observations. I wanted to know everything about myself. I wanted to learn everything there was to know.

I got home and was talking to Brey. I wished out loud that I could do everything that I need in my life. Cook good meals, do my taxes, work on my car, etc. Brey replied with, "But if you did that, there would be no room to learn anything. And you wouldn't be able to appreciate those other people that do the things that you can't." Once again, she was keeping me in check, one of the many reasons that I'm in love with her.

With the contrast of Jessica helping me explore the clouds and Brey helping to keep me on the ground, I think that "4.48 Psychosis" is going to be a really rewarding process.

2005-12-18T11:06:00.000-08:00

Let me just dust off this blog here. It's been a while.

I've decided that I read too much into things sometimes. This concerns both my personal life (like when comments just out of my earshot must be about me, or when Brey's bad mood has to be based on something I did) or in the entertainment field. I don't just go searching for the message of the work. I study the technique. This is why Gene Kelly and Buster Keaton are two of my favorite actors and why "all wear bowlers" was my favorite show this year.

However, I feel like I go too far sometimes.

I came to this conclusion this morning after watching one of the many random videos floating around the Internet. As connections have become faster and computers become more advanced, the "funny picture" has given way to the "funny video". In the past couple of years, I have been treated to countless television commercials, home movies of people falling and "optical illusions" that turn out to be pranks.

Most of these range from the mildly amusing to the downright boring. However, there is the occasional clip that actually manages to fill me with a sense of wonder and delight. These include a two-minute Honda commercial employing a Rube Goldberg device made from car parts, a troupe of Japanese puppeteers making a ping pong game where the players leap impossible bounds and a very funny spoof of "The O.C." entitled "The 'Bu".

I found another such video. In its most basic form, it is two college-age guys banging their heads and lip synching to the System of a Down song "Chop Suey". Upon first viewing the video, it reminded me of something my friend James and I would have done in high school to amuse ourselves. And then I found myself watching the video over and over again.

I've seen it about a half dozen times now, and I find myself admiring the technique of these two guys. It is not simply two a**holes lip synching to a rock song. One of them is sitting in the forefront, with the other one popping out from behind his right shoulder for a more interesting angle. In the quieter opening passages of the song, they sit looking pensive, deep in thought like monks, until the song takes off and they instantly explode with flailing arms and pounding head movements. They proceed to mock the lyrics through spastic body movements and exaggerated facial expressions.

What strikes me about the clip is that, apart from their clumsy thrashing in the heaviest parts of the song, their moves seems carefully calculated. Without looking at each other, they mirror and compliment each other's movements (which becomes more noticeable at the angle they used), and their jerky motions are beautifully counteracted with their rubbery facial expressions, making it an excellent mockery of the song.

Or it could just be two a**holes lip synching to a rock song.

See what I mean? Why do I do this? Ever since the statewide drama competition my senior year of high school, when I fiercely claimed that a simple sketch comedy idea had "something going on underneath", I have overanalyzed everything from Homestar Runner cartoons to Tuesday's Golden Globe nominations (My predictions of the winners: "Brokeback Mountain", "Walk the Line", Ang Lee, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Felicity Huffman, Joaquin Phoenix, Reese Witherspoon, Paul Giamatti, Frances McDormand).

Why am I so desperate to study these things? Why can't I just sit back and enjoy a stupid video about two guys lip synching? Is it the director in me just wanting to get out and show himself? Am I trying to find out what works and what doesn't in the world of film/theatre/music/comedy? I'm obviously very busy and have a completely fulfilling life, so it can't be that this need is making up for something missing, right?

And why am I overanalyzing my habit of overanalyzing?

You see what I mean?

The infamous video
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3798552576550872870&q=%22system+of+a+down%22

2005-11-22T14:52:00.000-08:00

So, in February, I will be directing a production of Sarah Kane's "4.48 Psychosis". It is the final play of Sarah Kane, one of England's most important playwrights. She wrote five brutal, uncompromising plays and then hung herself at the age of 28. "4.48 Psychosis" was her final play, written one week before her suicide. It is basically her suicide note, expressed in theatrical form.

Upon reading the script over a year ago, I had a revelation that I had not yet experienced. I said to myself, "I want to direct this, and I know exactly how I want to do it." I had never thought of myself as a director until then. But as I swam through the beautiful, haunting text, I said to myself, "All I'd need is one actress, one table and two chairs, and I could make this work. I just want to focus on the words and not show off by doing a bunch of unnecessary shit."

Shortly thereafter, however, I started hearing about other productions of the show popping up around the country, doing exactly what I was going against. The first was a touring version of the premiere production seen at the Royal Court Theatre in 2001. Despite being directed by someone who knew Kane personally, the production (which came complete with three actors, a video-projected streetscape and a gigantic mirror on the back of the stage) seemed counterproductive and disconnected from the text.

Still, I thought to myself, "It's not bad. Just different from how I'd do it." I started bugging the Hunger Artists Theatre about the project, mentioning it to them on an average of every other week. Soon, it was on the list of projects being considered for the 2006 season.

Then, I heard about a second touring production of "4.48 Psychosis" that was coming around. This time, it was a widely acclaimed production that came out of France. It contained only two actors this time, the first being French film star Isabelle Huppert (the second actor stayed behind a scrim, playing her psychiatrist in certain scenes). The production was notable for keeping its lead actress standing at attention, showing little emotion and making even less movement, for a long hour and forty-five minutes (the piece generally runs an hour, maybe a little longer). While the intentions were good, the lack of anything coming from Ms. Huppert (along with the only intermittent supertitles translating the French) seemed to disconnect the audience from the text yet again.

Still, I said to myself, "Okay, while that just seems silly, the director had noble intentions, and was simply doing something different from what I want to." In the meantime, we read the work in the reading series I host, the theatre secured rights to the piece and it was slotted for February 2006.

Then, just today, I read about another overstylized production of "4.48 Psychosis" in Chicago that just upsets me. The casting of no less than six actors in the piece was just the beginning of my frustration. Here are some samples from today's glowing review in The Chicago Sun-Times...

"...a production in which the audience literally encircles you at every turn, standing so close, in fact, that the pores of your skin are fully visible."

"...the audience first gathers outside the playing area that is enclosed by plastic tarps. Once inside, the play unfolds on three elevated platforms."

"There she is surrounded by a chorus of three 'Macbeth'-like witches...in hoop skirts and headdresses topped by naked baby dolls impaled on stakes."

"Allison Siple's disturbed clown costumes are inspired."

"All the while, the audience mills around these staging areas, watching as [lead actress Stacy] Stoltz rants on about swallowing pills, opening a vein or hanging from a noose."

"At two crucial moments [director Sean] Graney even has this trio call a 'time out,' during which the actors and audience are able take a much-needed break from the intensity, even sharing some tangerines."

What...

...the...

...fuck???

Witches? Clowns? Tangerines? What show is this? This can't be "4.48 Psychosis", can it? This show with naked baby dolls impaled on stakes? I understand that this kind of imagery would not out of place in, say, "Phaedra's Love" or "Cleansed", but "4.48"? Really? Really?

The worst part is that the critics like it. The Chicago Sun-Times called it "startling and audacious", saying that "in director-designer Sean Graney...it has found an ideal interpreter." The Chicago Tribune called it "compelling", saying that it is "a series of bold strokes" (although they did point out "It's a bit much. There are times when Graney's production takes a theatrically jazzy way out of an exceedingly dark corner").

I am still sticking to my idea of keeping it minimal, limiting it to one woman, focusing on the text. But my mind keeps going to an observation made by Ms. Kane herself: "what is much more important than the content of a play is its form."

So what would she think of these productions? How would she feel knowing that the destructive parts of her former brain are being represented by a trio of what the Tribune described as "specters of doom dressed as punk Marie Antoinettes"? What if the content IS all the form you really need?

One of my good friends explained that the different between those productions and what I intend to do is that their theatrical gimmicks serve as a way of releasing the audience from the piece's raw, brutal power. I, however, do not want to let the audience go until the final blackout. I want them to feel the pain and tragedy of the piece, to let the words cling to them after they've left the theatre. I can't possibly be the only person who wants to do the show that way.

I think about the reading that we had of the piece. Jessica Topliff, wearing standard clothing and sitting in a chair under our fluorescent work lights, read the script, and after five months of hosting readings, I have not seen the company respond as strongly as they did to Kane's work.

So, I forge ahead, original plan intact, unfazed by the productions of others. Charles Isherwood of The New York Times said that there may never be a definitive production of "4.48 Psychosis" on stage. I hope to prove him wrong.

2005-11-17T13:54:00.000-08:00

Hey, Broadway. C'mere. No, come here, I want to show you something. I promise it'll be cool. Yeah, come here. A little closer. A liiiiitle clooooser...

*WHAP*

Yeah, that was me slapping you in the face. And here's why. Read these two paragraphs that I just read on playbill.com:

"The acclaimed TV series 'Designing Women,' which concerned four women who run an Atlanta design firm, may be turned into a Broadway play.

FOX News reports that Linda Bloodworth-Thomason, who created the situation comedy, is at work writing a play based on the Emmy-nominated series. Dixie Carter, Delta Burke, Annie Potts and Jean Smart, who were the show's original co-stars, are all said to be interested in reprising their roles on The Great White Way."

Now, Broadway, I've put up with a lot from you lately. I put up with your revivals of tired over-produced shows ("Steel Magnolias", "Twelve Angry Men", "On Golden Pond", "The Odd Couple", "A Streetcar Named Desire", "Barefoot in the Park", "Sweet Charity", "The Pajama Game" and "The Glass Menagerie"...and that's just in the last two years!), I put up with your jukebox musicals featuring flimsy plots strung along by poorly arranged renditions of aritsts's canons (John Lennon, Frankie Valli, Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley and The Beach Boys...and that's just in the last two years!), and I put up with your laughable adaptations of film or literature ("Dracula", "Little Women", "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels", "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang", "The Woman in White", "The Color Purple", "A Tale of Two Cities", "The Wedding Singer" and "Tarzan"...and that's just in the last two years!).

In recent years, you have provided the stage debuts of P. Diddy and Alicia Silverstone. You made God an Elvis impersonator and John Lennon a collage of minorities and genders. You rewrote the lyrics to "Total Eclipse of the Heart" to fit a story about vampires. You musicalized John Travolta, Kevin Bacon and Adam Sandler films. You turned Luke Skywalker into a gay dance teacher. You let Harvey Fierstein and Rosie O'Donnell play a married couple. You made such great actors as Al Pacino, Denzel Washington, John C. Reilly and Alfred Molina look undignified. For fuck's sake, you gave Suzanne Somers a one-woman show!

I always endured the torture of hearing about millions upon millions of dollars being poured into these productions because of the great work that you did in presenting original works like John Patrick Shanley's "Doubt", Martin McDonagh's "The Pillowman", Michael Frayn's "Democracy" and William Finn's "25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee", as well as inventive revivals of "Glengarry Glen Ross" and "Sweeney Todd" (which, sadly, is all I could come up with in the last two years).

But now you have gone too far. You are adapting a Delta Burke television sitcom for Broadway? Why? Tell me one good reason why. Tell me what this show could possibly do that the syndicated reruns could not. Tell me why thousands of theatregoers, when given over thirty shows to choose from (and that's not counting the shows that are playing off-Broadway and off-off-Broadway) would want to pay $75 to see a two-hour sitcom episode. Tell me why you think the one-liners and flimsy plotlines will make a successful leap from small screen to big stage. Tell me why!

And hey, since you're adapting anything and everything for the stage now, might I suggest the following ideas:

"Fear Factor! The Musical"
"Rock the Casbahs! The Clash Musical"
"Super Mario Brothers! The Musical"
"Space Mountain! The Musical"
"Entertainment Weekly! The Musical"
"Pop Tarts! The Musical"
"NyQuil! The Musical"

Go on, Broadway, adapt cold medicine into a feel-good family-friendly laugh riot! After all, you are supposed to be the theatrical mecca in all of North and South America, and instead you're now a joke. There are musical adaptations of "The Silence of the Lambs" and "Star Wars" on the Internet that are making fun of you. And the funny part is that they are as good, if not better, than most of the crap that you produce for real.

For Pete's sake, Broadway, people are watching! Get your shit together!

2005-11-10T12:17:00.000-08:00

I could soon be on my way to making more money from my playwriting. In my seven years of writing plays, I have received a whopping $450 for my troubles (jealous?). But I have come to realize that I have a few plays that are simply taking up space on my hard drive.

So yesterday, I sent three of my scripts to a publisher in Texas that specializes in plays for high schools. And considering how I discovered the company, I don't see why they should not accept them.

A couple of days ago, I was sitting at the Hunger Artists theater, getting ready for a rehearsal of "Little Women" (opening November 18th...shameless plug), when one of my co-stars walks up to me and drops a script in my lap. I take a look at the cover and am immediately filled with excitement.

The script is from a local playwright who specializes in comedies that are the theatrical equivalent of a Pixi Stik. His scripts are lack any sort of theatrical weight, his characters are devoid of any human qualities and his plot devices are unoriginal.

Now, don't get me wrong. I appreciate a good stage comedy. When done expertly, "Arsenic and Old Lace", "Noises Off" and "Play It Again, Sam" can come across wonderfully on stage (although I'm still convinced that, no matter who is involved in the staging, "The Odd Couple" was, is and always will be a puddle of foamy emu poop). However, this particular playwright (who considers himself a trained professional) still has a lot to learn about how to construct a tight comedy.

My excitement over receiving this gift derives from my guilty pleasure toward so-bad-they're-good entertainment. Plays and movies filled with lame jokes, miscasting, awkward direction and cheesy effects are my bread and butter. There's something almost endearing about "Troll 2", "The Wasp Woman" and "Girl in the Gold Boots" in the way that they fail so miserably in attempting to be a substantial work of horror/comedy/drama.

This particular script involves one of the most tired plot devices of the last century or so: The "Freaky Friday"-style switcheroo. This reincarnation of that old chestnut involves two faculty members of a high school faculty (one a psychologist and one a music "specialist") switching places for one school year (the name of the school is Benedict Arnold High School. Oh, the wit!). And when this happens, to quote the back of the script, "Chaos reigns!"

Now, I would like to personally issue a proposal that, in the world of theater, chaos stops reigning, wacky fun stops ensuing and zaniness stops happening. At least in the plot synopses. I think it's pretty evident that if two teachers switch places, a troupe of actors try putting a show together without their leading actress or a man with a funny accent moves into your house, that things will not be normal. In fact, if you're watching a play at all, things should not be normal.

I would now like to present you with a few choice dialogue samples from the piece. *AHEM*...

RUFUS: If you two gentlemen change places and pull it off for one school year, I'll give you $500,000.

THORPE: You usually have one or two fabulous tales to tell. What is it this year? Did you kidnap the Princess Hanakalua from a remote Pacific island?

BENTLEY: Boy, you've got violinist's hands!
PETER: Is it contagious?

BENTLEY: She's pouring something into a gourd.
ALVIN: You're out of your gourd!

COUNSELOR: Say, Mr. Cooper, my son will be graduating from high school next year and is interested in psychology. I want him to study where you did. Where did you get your training?
BENTLEY: Juilliard School of Music!

HEPHZIBBAH: Everyone in the rest room I was in was a man. How did they all go into the wrong rest room?

There are the two men, one nervous and jumpy, the other care-free and outspoken (an odd couple, indeed). There are the trophy wives, who serve the play only to discuss their husband's problems (and whose big scene takes place outside, that's right, a hair salon). There's the principal's wife (the absurdly-named Hephzibbah), who is so near-sighted that she has to literally walk right behind her husband to see him. There's the waiter at the posh Martinique's Restaurant, who has nothing better to do than stroke his moustache and eavesdrop on our character's conversations. There's the rich, eccentric uncle who travels around the world and undoubtedly wears a monocle.

Then there are the number of faculty and students (who are so unbelievable that, in real life, other students would accuse them of being narcs) who haven't seemed to notice that two of their teachers have dressed up like each other and switched places. Why is it that minor characters in chaos-reigning comedies have to be so stultifyingly stupid to the point where you expect them to start drooling?

And just when I thought I was home free from the pool of banality that I was swimming in, the last sentence of the last page kicked the crap up a notch: "All four of the characters look at each other, then to the audience--wink." It ends with a wink! A fucking wink!!! The only way to make it worse would be if they all did a Toyota jump and froze in mid-air!

I set the script down on my lap and realized that I had not read a script this horrible since my sophomore year of high school when I was in Craig Sodaro's audience participation mystery spoof "Touchtone M For Murder". It's that bad, ladies and gentlemen!

However, when I decided to research the publisher that would actually print a play this horrible, I found that they specialized in high-school-appropriate plays. I thought back to my high school drama department in northern Idaho, which was simply laughable. Our resources and budget were miniscule, our talent limited and our productions innocuous and lacking in any sort of ambition. Not exactly the kind of nurturing environment for someone who wants to spend a life in theatre (we did do a just-this-side-of-legal production of "Cats" my junior year, but even then, my choir teacher and I had to sidestep past the drama department to get that show done).

I thought about how my school would struggle just to find a quality piece of entertainment that would meet with the ultra-conservative standards in that reddest of all red states. I remembered how we would get stuck doing pieces like the one I had just read.

And I thought about some of the lesser play scripts that I had written. There were plenty of harmless, humorous one-acts that I wrote as a teenager. I also recently wrote a low-budget adaptation of "Taming of the Shrew" for Brey's high school (which they ended up not using). Slight, but amusing, entertainment. I didn't have any plans to shop those scripts out to local theaters. So why not put them on the market so that a high school drama department like the one I had could perform them?

After all, wouldn't it be nicer for them to do a show that's funny and family-friendly, but from a writer who is closer to their age than the other playwrights? And whose plays don't suck as bad as the one that I read?

So, yeah, I could soon be headed to a high school play catalog near you!

2005-11-08T11:19:00.000-08:00

What makes a celebrity? I was thinking about this recently when reflecting on the time three months ago when Ellen Degeneres visited my work. Production completely halted (except for one certain title analyst who wanted to seem indifferent) and everyone was clamoring to get noticed by America's favorite lesbian.

One of the people that Ellen ended up latching onto was a woman who I have lunch with every day (who we'll call Edith, mainly because I'm listening to Edith Piaf right now). Edith was shown on Ellen's show and was interviewed for the company magazine. And now Edith is approached constantly by people in our office who saw her on television. She is now one of the most recognizable faces at my workplace.

Edith has, in her own small way, become a celebrity.

What constitutes a celebrity, anyway? Is it people who don't know you recognizing you? Is it being seen by millions of people nationwide? If that is the case, then a big celebrity (Ellen) hath begat a small celebrity (Edith). True, Edith's fifteen minutes have passed (and talking to her about it, that's as long as she wanted it around), but she is no longer Edith. She is Edith, The Woman Who Was On "Ellen".

I used to think that celebrities were those who had made it in the entertainment industry. But fame is much more wide-spread. Tom Brady is a celebrity. Karl Rove is a celebrity. Charles Manson is a celebrity. To me (and others who follow Orange County theater) Mark Coyan and Jay Fraley are celebrities. To the people at work, Edith is a celebrity.

With all of these people, plus reality show contestants, game show hosts and informercial stars, the term "celebrity" really doesn't have the luster that it used to.

In an unrelated topic (remember the days when I used to transition between two unrelated topics with a very thin thread? Those were the days), my roommate Allan, who knows a little bit about nearly everything, introduced me to the work of a Czechoslovakian stop-motion animator named Jan Svankmajer. Mr. Svankmajer is like a Luis Bunuel or Salvador Dali with clay, commenting on the oppressed and the poverty-stricken through his surreal, humorous satire.

My favorite of the works I witnessed was simply called "Food". In three vignettes (appropriately titled "Breakfast", "Lunch" and "Dinner"), a man eats breakfast only to be turned into the same dumb-waiter he took food from, two men eat everything at the table except for food, and a crowd of people eat their own body parts after beautifully decorating them. It is very funny, remarkably inventive and (considering the way he combined real people with clay duplicates) amazing to watch. To watch the heads and mouths of real people be stretched and squished to impossible sizes, only to return to normal, takes on almost a grotesque sort of humor.

Watching the films of Jan Svankmajer and Buster Keaton (who I became re-obsessed with after seeing "all wear bowlers") have made me realize that I want the theatre and films that I make to exist in an alternate reality. It doesn't have to be as weird as people eating tables or doing pratfalls. Just something that exists in a parallel dimension.

It seems that the best entertainments as of late occupy this world. "Sin City" is a recent example, as is the play "Princess Marjorie". Hell, even "Batman Begins" and "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" exist in an alternate reality where men can fight crime in rubber bat suits and friends can randomly burst into a Twyla Tharp-style sing-along of "Aquarius".

Basically, I think my writing is no longer concerned with the real world how we know it. Like Constantine says in Anton Chekhov's "The Seagull", "Life must be represented not as it is, but as it ought to be; as it appears in dreams."

And who knows? Maybe this kind of writing will finally make me a celebrity.

2005-10-26T09:27:00.000-07:00

Last night, I took a trip back to my high school days, and was reminded of how far I've traveled since graduating. Now I'm left wondering if I have traveled too far.

I saw the show "All Wear Bowlers" at the Kirk Douglas Theatre, the latest acquisition of Los Angeles's esteemed Center Theatre Group. The space used to be a movie house, and now is a newly-opened theatre that devotes itself to more original pieces than its big brothers The Ahmanson Theatre and The Mark Taper Forum.

The former movie house setting is perfect for the show, which critics have described as a combination of Laurel & Hardy, Samuel Beckett and Rene Magritte. Which basically means that it's a surreal silent film played out before you on stage. It is a funny, haunting, inventive piece of theater that reminded me of a less-gimmicky "Blue Man Group".

The show starts with a silent film. We see two men hopelessly wandering a deserted plain. Suddenly, by accident, there's a flash of light, and one of them finds himself lying on the floor of the theatre. He gets up, notices the audience and, in a wonderful trick of synchronization, steps back onto the screen to tell the other man about this newly discovered universe. Soon, they are literally leaping between screen and stage like children playing with a new toy. But when the film burns up, they find themselves trapped inside the theater with no escape.

They make due, unscrewing two of the theater seats and bringing them onstage, performing a ventriloquist act and, in an astoundingly simple but effective trick, creating an invisible third cast member. And yet they seem scared of the theater, for good reason. Eggs keep popping up in unusual places, light fixtures fall from the rafters and gravity starts becoming optional.

The show's influences are numerous, and yet you do not need to know anything about them to enjoy the show. In fact, I wished that I had seen the show back in high school, when I had never seen a Buster Keaton film, had never stared at Magritte's "Son of Man" and had only half-read "Waiting For Godot" before proclaiming, "I don't get it."

I realized this fact as Brey and I were leaving the theater. She was bouncing around, giddy and excited about what she had just seen. I, however, was in the hypnotic state I usually assume after seeing a great piece of theatre: Eyes down, gears spinning, head a million miles away. Brey confessed that I'm depressing in such a state.

I suddenly thought back to my first taste of alternative theater, which happened my sophomore year of high school in Spokane, Washington after seeing the national tour of "Stomp". I left the Spokane Opera House drumming on my stomach, wanting to dance around from the adrenaline the show left in me. However, seven years later, the only evidence of my excitement getting the better of me was the way I flew from my seat to applaud and cheer the two performers for their curtain call.

I realized that I thrust myself from high school straight into the adult world. Within two years of graduating, I was working an office job, paying bills, earning credit. And being a patron of the theatre, I became civilized and analytical. I could not remember the last time I responded to something the way I responded to "Little Shop of Horrors" in the sixth grade, "Rhapsody in Blue" in junior high or "Magnolia" my senior year of high school. I suddenly realized something very horrifying...

I grew up.

I felt the harsh sting of those three words as we walked back to my car. I felt awful for being so old and depressing (which only made me more depressing) and Brey felt awful for bringing it up (which was only depressing me more). We entered the parking garage and approached my car. As I was searching my pockets for the parking ticket, Brey, sensing that something drastic had to be done, suddenly walked off and sat down, silently, playfully challenging me to do something, anything.

I suddenly felt my high school days return to me and, in the middle of the parking garage, I launched into an impromptu routine that would not be out of place in the show that we had just seen. As I kept trying to walk to her, I jerked my arms and legs as if some invisible force was pulling me around. It culminated in a series of jerks and spasms that ended with me landing right in front of her.

Anyone could have seen me (and I'm sure a few people did), but I didn't care. It needed to be done. I cannot let my job and my desires to support myself through entertainment rob me of my childhood. I cannot grow up too much. I need to be a little bit naive, a little bit innocent, a little bit goofy. So thank god for this show and for my girl.

And to end on a completely random note: I have a personalized Google homepage that gives me a new word definition every day. And this was today's entry:

"virago: an ill-tempered, overbearing woman; also, a woman of great strength and courage"

Am I the only one that finds it odd that a woman who has great strength and courage is also thought of as ill-tempered and overbearing?

2005-10-11T11:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I felt refreshingly alive for the first time in a rather long while. It is hard to explain how I was before, and even harder to explain how I am now. But the funk that I assume was perceptible only to Brey and myself is now a thing of the past.

There are several events that I believe have led to this blissful state of mind, and I believe they progress in this order: A fight with Brey, a hamburger to the face and reading "Little Women".

To explain...

A little over a week ago, during a rehearsal for "Guignol X" (currently playing at the Hunger Artists Theater through October 31st...shameless and ill-placed plug), Brey and I had yet another of our little quarrels, in which one of us says something in a certain tone, which causes the other person to give a certain sort of look. These small misinterpretations escalate to the point where we are both in foul moods.

While trying to get out of this argument, Brey informed me that I seem less happy in our relationship. I considered those words carefully, and for the first time, I felt like it was true. What I wanted more than anything is to be a couple where we could tell each other everything, and I felt like we were both walking on eggshells so as not to offend each other. We were turning into the exact opposite of what I wanted.

What followed were frighteningly serious talks about our future. What amuses me in hindsight is that these discussions could only take place in fifteen-minute spurts until one of us had to be on stage to be funny or frightening, then back to the discussion.

However, one of the things that I love the most about Brey is that we can sit down and talk through our problems like sensible, logical adults. In the glow of the College Business Park streetlight, we listed the problems that we have with each other, the things we need to work on. It was immensely satisfying to both say and hear those things, and we have been back to normal since then.

Then, we had opening weekend of "Guignol X" (this is where the shameless plug should have been, but I'm a rebel), and one of the vignettes that I am in is having a perspective-changing effect on me not felt since "The Gog/Magog Project". What's funny is that both pieces were written by the same person.

The piece is called "Gorge Rising". It is a brutal attack on the fast food industry as two Hansel and Gretel-like characters (played by the incredible duo of Joe Smash and Jessica Beane) tie up the assistant manager of a hamburger chain called Dinky's, and proceed to wreak havoc on him.

Throughout the show, I am shouted at, pushed around, licked, nearly have my neck snapped, and am forced to eat not only five hamburgers, but sawdust (really crumbled up graham crackers), bloodworm (brownie mix and gummi worms) and rat feces (chocolate sprinkles and raisins). The show is a grueling experience, as there is very little in it that is an trick of stage combat or special effects. Yes, I'm really getting that much food shoved in my face.

After the show, I walk off-stage covered in five types of food, fake blood on my face and in my hair. My mouth is sore, cold sores forming on the insides of my lips. Every so often, there might be a scratch on my face, or something up my nose like graham crackers or fake blood. I look like I've risen from the grave after being buried under a Nabisco factory.

And oddly enough, the piece makes me feel alive. I am not simply skipping up to the stage to recite meaningless jokes or tearfully pound home an "important" message. I am volunteering to go through an experience that most people in their right mind would not subject themselves to simply because I love the play. It's strangely revitalizing to know that there's a piece of theater so good that I am willing to be tortured for it. If only more shows could be this immediate and redeeming.

Then, I recently found out that I am going to be cast in the next Hunger Artists show, which is an adaptation of "Little Women". I will be playing the role of Laurie (which was played by Batman in the latest version), and to better understand the character, I have been reading the novel.

Yes, go ahead and make your gay jokes now...I'll wait...Okay...Oh, that's a good one...Oooh, burn, got me there...You finished?...Oh, wait, one more...Okay, now done? Cool.

I've discovered a couple of things while reading the book. First of all, Christian Bale had a very unusual approach to Laurie in the movie. Where the Laurie in the novel is bashful and lonely, Bale's Laurie was charming and playful. It worked in the movie, but was an odd choice, considering the way the source material describes him.

Secondly, it's really quite hard to feel depressed while reading the book. I believe one of the reasons that it has held up over time is its incredible warmth. These characters, steeped in poverty, trying to do good while making ends meeet, are so sincere in their nature that it is difficult to not get drawn in to their problems which, especially in the backdrop of the Civil War, seem rather petty.

It made me look at what's been going on in my life? Why was I in such a funk? What was bothering me so much? What was I desiring? I can't answer these questions, for I really don't know why I was being such a dick. All I know is that I've undergone a severe attitude change. Brey pointed out yesterday that I even seemed to have a sense of joy when talking about my job.

So a fight, some torture and a classic novel. Like two left jabs followed by a right hook, it knocked some sense into me and showed me what I have and what I should be grateful of.

On a completely unrelated note, the movie "Me and You and Everyone We Know" came out on DVD today. I know I've obsessed about this movie in previous posts, but I can't express enough just how awesome this movie is. Rent it this weekend. You won't regret it.

2005-10-03T14:36:00.000-07:00

There is a new guy at the office who has singlehandedly reminded me why I love doing storefront theater over professional paying gigs.

This man, we'll call him "Jori" (because frankly shouldn't there be more Jori's in the world?), is the latest addition to our lunch circle (the now four-member group that sits next to the company fountain, chicken quesadillas and tuna melts cooling in front of us, while we discuss the topics of the day).

Today, we are discussing the upcoming show I'm in ("Guignol X", opening Friday at the Hunger Artist Theater...Shameless plug), and the following dialogue ensues between him and someone who we'll name Hecuba...

JORI: I did that for a while. Full-time.
HECUBA: Really?
JORI: Yeah. The biggest thing I did was I was in "La Cage Aux Folles" the first time it was on Broadway, about twenty years ago.
HECUBA: Wow, really?
JORI: Yeah. But I couldn't do it anymore.
HECUBA: Why not?
JORI: Because you save up all this money, then you spend five months unemployed spending all that money while you wait for your next job.
HECUBA: Ohhhh...
ME: Yeah, a full-time job like this won't do if you want to go professional.
JORI: Yeah, because sometimes you have performances during the day.
HECUBA: Really?
ME: And rehearsals during the day, too.
JORI: Yeah.
HECUBA: Wow.
JORI: But I miss it. I miss it a lot.
HECUBA (pointing at me): Well, maybe you should start doing stuff at...
JORI (looking as if she had suggested he try garbage collecting as his trade): No.
HECUBA: Oh, okay.

I'm glad that people like him are around to let me know that the kind of theater I do is amateurish, unprofessional and, from the way he was acting, downright filthy.

Because I thought that I was one of a troupe of talented, dedicated and passionate acters, directors and designers doing what we love without any sort of compensation other than the experience, one of a handful of troupes trying valiantly to stay afloat in this culture-deprived county. I didn't know that I was simply some talentless nobody monotonously reciting Larry Shue dialogue while forgetting to cheat out and project my voice.

So Thank God for people like Jori, who can let me know that what I'm doing is unimportant, merely a roadside strawberry stand in the highway of theater. And thank God that he can regale us with his tales of yesteryear, underscored by his torment at having to give up a life on the stage without daring to compromise his dignity by doing STOREFRONT THEATER! I'm sure the very words send chills up his spine.

And how dare Hecuba even think of suggesting that - instead of spending his nights watching "Desperate Housewives" - he waste his time at some theater that would not only fellate him just to have a morsel of his wonderful talents, but would not know how to properly use those talents to any sort of great effect.

After all, if he were going to do theater in the area, it would have to be professional venues like Laguna Playhouse or South Coast Repertory. But only now that they have been established as Equity theaters, and not when they started out being storefront venues.

And he'd rather be working with Broadway stars, like Cheyenne Jackson. But only when he is the lead in shows like "All Shook Up", and not when he was doing community theater productions of "Cinderella" in Idaho.

So thank God for Jori, who can remind me what real theater is.

Ass.

2005-09-29T15:15:00.000-07:00

My best friend from high school, one James Gentry, has been going crazy with leaving comments on my blogs, which makes me happy since he stopped pissing and moaning about me not leaving messages without acknowledging that MySpace goes both ways (oh, yeah, I said it!).

In responding to my blogs about theatre, he calls me an "acter". I have to say that I really like his new spelling of the word. The word "actor" has left a rotten taste in my mouth as of late. It is a word that wants to have the weight of importance. It is a word that wants to imply an occupation. It is a word that wants to be said in a loud English tone with a long dramatic pause before its utterance (usually in a fit of rage from a formerly-knighted Shakespeare fanatic who has been reduced to reciting pizza slogans).

However, this new spelling is much more compatible with my idea of a performer. When you say the word, it almost warrants a Southern drawl. It sounds like something you do rather than study. It makes a lot of sense in terms of its definition: One that acts (why do they bother putting definitions like that in the dictionary? Has anyone in the history of mankind looked up "actor" in the dictionary and said, "One that acts? Oh, NOW I get it!").

From this moment on, I am no longer an actOR. I am an actER. It makes sense, since am I writER, an associate literary managER and a total losER. Maybe it will make the world of theatre a little bit less pretentious from now on. At least to me.

2005-09-27T08:19:00.000-07:00

On the way to Washington D.C. this past weekend, Darcy Hogan and I created a new style of poetry. After writing a limerick while waiting for the plane to take-off, she and I decided that there needed to be a new form of poetry, one that combined a haiku-like line structure with a limerick-like rhythm.

We called it the hoable (since the gabgan just didn't sound right), and we came up with the guidelines for writing one:

* Each hoable follows a five-line nineteen-syllable structure that is as follows:
One two three
One two three
One two three four
One two three four
One two three four five

* Each hoable has a specific rhythm to it that is as follows:
Ba ba ba
Ba ba ba
Ba-da-ba-da
Ba-da-ba-da
Ba ba ba-da ba

* The end of the second and fifth lines of a hoable must rhyme. All other rhyming is at the poet's discretion.

* The third and/or fourth lines of a hoable must contain a verb.

* The fifth line of a hoable must contain an adjective.

* The following is an example, the first hoable ever written:

Here's our poem
It's brand new
If you like it,
please repeat it
Take our clever cue

We want the hoable to become the next haiku. A MySpace page and website are in the works. I've been writing hoables all weekend and I find it just enough of a challenge without being too difficult. It's easy to learn, and it's addictive. So spread the word. Write a hoable and leave it as a comment on my blog. Send hoables to your friends.

And for now, I give you my favorites of the hoables I was writing this weekend:

ANXIOUS GIRLFRIEND

Wound-up nerves
Calmed and free
Staring at the
cotton sunlight
She is pure beauty

CLOUD NINE

No matter
what we do,
if you go up
high enough, the
sky is always blue

300,000 STRONG

On the march
Lift the sign
Join the thousands
chanting loudly
Protest's loud align

2005-09-22T15:24:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been obsessed with non-traditional forms of performance. I wish to incorporate them into my own writing, though I'm unsure how to do that.

It started with a Honda commercial that was sent to me through e-mail. It is an ingenious two-minute film - done in one take without computer enhancement - in which the various parts of a Honda Accord assemble to make a huge Rube Goldberg device. A remarkable amount of precision is used as each separate part barely touches the next. It is truly remarkable.

I suddenly want a Rube Goldberg device in something I write. I spent one morning thinking up a smaller, less ingenious device in which the tipping of a wine bottle leads to the launching of a Twinkie into the wine bottle tipper's hand. I felt incredibly proud of myself. I don't know quite how if it would work, and how I would use it in a piece, but I felt incredibly proud to have come up with it.

Then, as if to answer my pride, I am sent another e-mail, this one involving an act that was performed on what looks like a Japanese variety show. It is a ping pong match done in "bullet time" (the process used in "The Matrix" in which film is slowed down or stopped while being rotated). Using several puppeteers, many of whom are entirely clad in black, the two ping pong players do impossible moves (such as leaping twenty feet or "swimming" in the air to chase after the ball) and in the climax of the piece, the players, the ball and the table turn to provide the audience with a bird's eye view of the game. Again, the precision and coordination of all involved was flawless and the piece was not only technically impressive but also extremely funny.

And now...that's right...I want to work something like that into a piece of mine.

Why am I so restless? Why do I want to step away from the naturalism that I've been exploring for the past few years (which, in turn, was a step away from the comic absurdity that I milked all through high school and the couple of years after)?

And the main question that I have on my mind...Are these devices that I'm drooling over theatrical inventions, or simply gimmicks? Do I want to make a multi-sensory experience that will combine deep human pathos and humor with a theatrical flair, or am I subconsciously using these ideas to cover up something that is lacking in my writing? When does innovation stop and manipulation start?

I think back to Jason Lindner's one-man show "The Gog/Magog Project", and a specific part of the show that I'll be recreating in a variety show in a couple of weeks. Gog, stuck in a cage, decides to engage the audience in a camp sing-along called "The Music Doctor". Every night this required the audience to stand up and pretend they were playing instruments. The director and I discussed how even though this was audience participation, which we both normally hate ("Who thinks the killer is Dame Kensington, the famed opera singer?"), in this show it was a desperate need to connect with the audience, a very popular theme throughout the script. A device, not a gimmick.

Maybe I'm just trying too hard to be Jason Lindner. I guess we'll find out soon enough.

2005-09-20T09:04:00.000-07:00

I don't have a lot to say, mostly out of pure exhaustion (blogs tend to become more scarce when I'm busy) and a surge in playwriting (blogs tend to become even more scarce when I actually have a piece of fiction that I can work on), but one thing I can and will say is this:

When I'm driving to work, having just woken up a half-hour prior, still half-asleep, there are few things more disturbing than pulling up behind a bus and seeing Kenny Chesney, wearing nothing but jeans and a cowboy hat, laying on his side, looking straight out at me as the words "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem" hover above him.

It's part of an ad for a country music radio station, showcasing their station along with Mr. Chesney's latest album (which is dubbed "N.S.N.S.N.P." for short, I'd imagine). And maybe it's that he ripped off the title from Jeff Foxworthy. Maybe it's that the ad makes very little sense (how is the quality of a radio station connected to a lack of clothing?). Or maybe it's, I don't know, the rather scary sight of a life-size shirtless Kenny Chesney staring at me from the back of a bus. But I felt rather disturbed.

2005-09-08T13:35:00.000-07:00

Nintendogs.

Have you heard of this? It's a game for Nintendo DS (a hand-held video game console with two screens, touch screen capability and a microphone) where you basically buy a puppy and raise it. You use the touch screen to pet it, and you can train it to respond to your voice commands ("Sit! Roll over! Recite Kierkegaard!").

I played a version of this game, and I was surprised to find how realistic the digital puppies were. This is a far cry from the early days of the Gigapet (the annoying, chirping electronic pets that ended up being a great argument for animal cruelty). The puppies walk, bark and react like a real dog. When you pet them, they roll on their backs, tilt their heads to your scratching, and eventually get bored and walk away. They seem to have real weight and dimension, and of course, they're cute as hell (which is pretty damn cute, so I'm told).

And as I played the game, scratching the belly of a miniature dachshund (who seemed very appreciative), I suddenly came to a horrific realization: We're replacing dogs. We have digital dogs now. They look every bit the same, but they're cheaper and more obedient! Dogs 2.0!

This reminded me of a year ago, when I was testing out one of the Segway machines (the combination of a razor scooter, a pogo stick and a stepping stool), and the guy in the line behind me told his family, "We don't have to walk no more." We've already made convenient those things that were a hassle (doing laundry, washing dishes, cooking food, transportation, paying bills) and so now we're devoting technology to getting rid of the things that are a privilege in everyday life, such as the ability to walk or the companionship of a pet. Maybe someday we'll have digital blinking!

And with a hop, skip and a jump, I leap to another subject...

Yesterday, I was in Oceanside (Brey + a train ride + the Pacific Ocean + ironic t-shirts + chocolate coke + the Guess Who board game = paradise) and I suddenly realized that I knew nothing whatsoever about the theater scene in that neck of the woods. Literally ten seconds after that thought materialized, I spotted a theater: The Sunshine Brooks! Upon closer inspection, I found that it was the home of the New Vision Theatre Company. I'd already had a thought that any place with the name New Vision(s) does not actually have an original idea or "new vision". This place turned my thought into a theory. Their 2005-2006 season is as follows:

* "The Odd Couple" - The oft-performed, rarely-funny comedy by Neil Simon.
* "The Foreigner" - The oft-performed, rarely-funny comedy by Larry Shue.
* "She Loves Me" - The musical with songs that Music Theatre International describes as "Easy to learn, easy to sing".
* "Noises Off" - The oft-performed backstage comedy by Michael Frayn, who I think would much rather be remembered for his far superior plays "Copenhagen" and "Democracy".
* "On Golden Pond" - The Ernest Thompson comedy that invites every shaky Hepburn-esque septuagenarian to talk about the loooooons.

In my neverending quest to find the most mainstream season of American theatre, I believe that this beats Long Beach Playhouse's 2004/2005 lineup. All five shows are relatively similar in tone, and three of the five require a single set (which would only require a few modifications to change from show to show). There's nothing heavy, nothing exciting, nothing to challenge or provoke. For Christ's sake, there's not even a thriller to scare the blue-haired subscribers. The "new vision" that this company has is simply to use familiarity as an ally in its quest to delight, which is a vision shared by far too many community theaters around the country. Maybe someday we'll have digital playwrights!

And finally, I would like to applaud our governor, the one and only Arnold Schwarzenegger, for choosing the always-endearing roads of hate and oppression in his latest political move.

The star of "Raw Deal" and "Batman & Robin" announced that he plans to veto a bill legalizing same-sex marriage in California. With this one thoughtless gesture, he has fully displayed his homophobia, his disrespect for our Declaration of Independence and his complete abandonment of the bipartisanship promises that he made early in his campaign.

And the best part is that the governor's press secretary said that he still believes "gay couples are entitled to full protection under the law and should not be discriminated against based upon their relationship." Basically, he's saying "do as I say, not as I do, and don't go poking fun at those inferior beings."

It's good to know things like this. It's good to know that our declaration that "all men are created equal" does not apply if those men like other men. It's good to know that our leaders, the people chosen to represent us, reach D.W. Griffith levels of intolerance. It's good to know that we're still living in a society where it's considered okay to be feel threatened by someone simply because they are different.

It amazes me how little we grow past the days of elementary school recess, when compassion and tolerance are dwarfed by fear and humiliation. Maybe someday we'll have digital conservatives!

2005-08-31T08:21:00.000-07:00

This morning I discovered an example of a human being's close relationship to primates, to our need for a primal release of our emotions.

I overslept today and, in a rush to make it to work on time, I was following a blue Jaguar a little too closely. I often forget that - though this is common practice in Los Angeles - people in Orange County see this as some sort of threat. So when the car suddenly stopped, I wondered if there was going to be a problem. When the guy got out of his car, I knew there was going to be a problem. When I saw that he was wearing a namebadge from the same company I work for, I knew there was going to be a big problem.

I rolled down the window and the following ensues:

HE (shouting): Why don't you get off my fucking ass--
ME: I'm sorry.
HE: ...and back the fuck up?
ME: I'm sorry.
HE: Do you work for *COMPANY NAME*, because if you do...Where do you work?
ME: I'm sorry.
HE: Where do you work?
ME (holding my hands up as if he's pointing a gun at me): I'm really sorry.
HE: Where do you work?
ME: I'm really...I don't work for *COMPANY NAME*.
HE: Okay, good. (Muttering as he goes back to his car)
ME: I'm really sorry, sir.

Obviously, pulling up next to him in the parking lot is the worst of ideas. So I took a leisurely drive around the company building as I waited for him to park and go inside. I tried to see where he parked, making sure to avoid that area. As I took a drive around the building, I noticed a pair of headlights behind me. The kind that belong to a Jaguar. Sure enough, Screaming Primate Man was following me. Whether he was really following me, or he was just finding a parking spot, I don't know. But I suddenly thought about those dreams I have every so often, where someone is chasing me around my old house in Idaho, and I'm trying to figure out which area I should run to in an attempt to outsmart him.

Now, I'm looking around me every time I get up to go to the bathroom and constantly checking my car to make sure nothing has been done to it. I realize that this is foolish, and that he has probably forgotten about me already, but I proudly live a lifestyle that reduces the number of people that yell in my face. On those occasions that it happens, it is not that easy to simply recover from.

On one hand, the guy was insanely belligerent. Yes, I was riding on his ass, and yes, I shouldn't have, but yelling in the face of some twentysomething driving a Toyota Echo and dressed in a wrinkled shirt, tuxedo pants and white socks (when I oversleep, it shows) is not the answer. It is the ultimate image of evolution. A man wearing a nice suit getting out of his Jaguar so that he can scream on the side of a road in a business area.

On the other hand, I feel I should applaud him. So often people go through life keeping the things that bother them locked up. Especially in the business world, there is this inclination to put a smile behind your anger. So if this guy had a serious problem with me, why shouldn't he call me on it and show me that he will not put up with that type of behavior? After all, it worked. I gave him room (so much so that I was going 20 mph in a 35 mph zone).

As I made it to my desk, slightly shaking, I heard about how hundreds of people were killed in a human stampede in Baghdad. I have to take a second to register the words: "HUMAN stampede". And I realized that, in both ways small and large, the relationship between man and animal, one of the greatest questions we have concerning nature, is a lot closer than we may care to recognize.

2005-08-19T11:07:00.000-07:00

Last night, Brey and I sat in a dark room, populated by no more than ten people, and we all watched a young man walk around in a stupor for two hours before killing himself. All in all, a good time was had.

We went to see the movie "Last Days", the latest film from Gus Van Sant, whose career has been an interesting journey. After making his name on smaller films like "Drugstore Cowboy" and "My Own Private Idaho", he slid into mainstream directing with "Good Will Hunting", "To Die For", "Finding Forrester" and the unfortunate remake of "Psycho". Then, it seems like the 21st century came, and he decided to make the most anti-Hollywood American movies on the market.

His films have retreated to remote locations around California and the Northwest. They are populated by characters who speak in slurred tones and plod around their surroundings without drive or ambition. They literally wait for death to arrive.

"Last Days" is in many ways like Van Sant's last film "Elephant" in that it closely resembles an important topic of our generation (the suicide of Kurt Cobain and Columbine, respectively) without being a direct reflection of the event.

Within fifteen minutes of the start of the film, we see blonde-haired Blake, played by Michael Pitt, roaming around his large Seattle house, wearing a slip and holding a rifle. We know exactly how this movie is going to end. But like "Elephant" and "Gerry" (Van Sant's little-seen film where Matt Damon and Casey Affleck wander Death Valley looking for their car), it is not the destination that is important, but the journey to get there.

Over the course of the film, Blake retreats to the woods, locks himself in his greenhouse, composes a song or two, makes cereal, throws up, goes swimming, pretends to listen to friends, attends a concert, kills himself and puts an ad in the yellow pages (not in that order). Meanwhile, Mormons stop by and discuss their practices, a private investigator shows up, the phone keeps ringing and all sorts of sexual activity is taking place. However, Blake is disconnected from everything going on around him, almost as if he is already a ghost, floating above all that he sees.

The camera, meanwhile, follows his subject with the same distance. He is often seen in profile or from a distance, hiding behind his hair. Occasionally the shot lingers too long on a bush or a Boyz II Men music video. Even during a great monologue skillfully delivered by the awesome Ricky Jay, the shot is more focused on the reflections of trees on the car's windshield than it is on Jay himself. Up until the crucial close-up at the end of the film, it seems as if the camera doesn't really know Blake's there.

Van Sant, whose movies used to have sharp plotting and focus, now has become a director of moments. He is no longer concerned with the "why" behind his subjects. He now focuses on the "who" and "what". I imagine him spending studio meetings staring at a spider, speculating on its journey.

"Last Days" is very slow-paced, but most importantly, it is never boring. It is a fascinating look at a man who was so far removed from what his life used to be that his final moments were not a loud scream of despair (as is usually portrayed in rock biographies), but a lonely drift into nothingness.

However, it does beg the question: Is Van Sant working himself into a formula? He, along with cinematographer Harris Savides, have created three films in the last three years that feel the same and share similar themes. Having been familiar with these techniques since seeing "Gerry" its opening weekend in L.A., I was able to quickly assess the meandering tone of "Last Days" as "more of the same". But what about someone unfamiliar with the new Van Sant? How did they feel about the snail's pace? And now that Van Sant has shown that he can make this kind of movie several times over, when is going to go through yet another change? Or will he?

Perhaps this is the final chapter in a trilogy of films, all using the same techniques to explore different sides of loneliness. Seeing as his next project is an adaptation of Audrey Niffenegger's "The Time Traveler's Wife", that's a very real possibility.

Speaking of premature death in storytellers (wow, I was really reaching on that transition), I want to give notice to someone who is unknown by most, but whose work has been loved worldwide. His name was Joe Ranft, and he was the head of the story department at Pixar Studios. He died in a car accident last Tuesday.

From "Toy Story" on, he helped shape the movies that changed the face of animation. His work on the stories were a crucial element to Pixar's success. The typical American family would not have given a shit about computer animation if they had not felt such a connection to its spokesmen, Buzz Lightyear and Woody. He supervised the story development of both "Toy Story" films, "A Bug's Life", "Monsters, Inc.", "Finding Nemo" and "The Incredibles" (he also provided the voices of Heimlich the Caterpillar in "A Bug's Life" and Wheezy the Penguin in "Toy Story 2").

The stories in these films proved to everyone (including partners/rivals Disney) what a family story could and should truly be. Pixar's films had an equal amount of juvenile jokes, witty one-liners, inside references to other films and by the end, a really poignant message that was always skillfully unearthed as the plot progressed.

Each Pixar screenplay is a masterwork, something to be studied by future writers. I was a big admirer, and I'm sure he will be missed.

R.I.P. Joe Ranft 1960 - 2005

2005-08-17T15:19:00.000-07:00

Superstition is one of the most mind-boggling things to me. In a society that has become so desensitized to the unknowable, we still live in fear of superstitions.

Checking my MySpace page, I find an insane number of bulletins every single day that promise me that if I pass the bulletin on I shall have good luck for x number of days, whereas if I dare break the chain, then bad luck/misfortune/death shall surely come my way (hey hey, hey hey hey).

Perhaps because I like to tempt fate, or perhaps because I don't even like to believe that fate operates through the World Wide Web, or perhaps because I don't even believe in fate at all, I break every single chain. Because I know the truth.

It baffles me what people are willing to believe. No, Bill Gates will not give you five dollars for every person you send an e-mail to, because there's no way for him to monitor that.

No, the "doctor" will not give ten cents to that little girl who is dying of "a disease known as CANCER" (I swear to god, that's word for word. As if there's someone out there who has never heard of this crazy new cancer that's sweeping the nation) every time you forward his message, because again, there's no way for him to figure that out.

The answer to that riddle will not magically appear on your screen when you close the message, no matter how curious you are and how many times you try it.

No, the seven-year-old ghost child with bad spelling and lack of shift key knowledge (it's hard to type when you're dead, apparently) is not going to kill you in the middle of the night with a knife, because the idea that a ghost is going to go on a mass killing spree by hacking into someone's computer is just...do I really need to use the list of adjectives that are coming to mind?

And it's not just Internet superstitions. Rabbits feet do jack shit (I'll even say jack rabbit shit). No one tells me "Break a leg" before a show. In fact, several co-workers say "Good luck," and I thank them kindly for it. My mother's back is perfectly fine despite my many years of crack-stepping (which sounds like a high-energy country-western dance).

We no longer live in the days where driving through dark, wooded areas in horse-drawn buggies and seeing wall shadows from the flickers of candlelight are everyday practices. And we have plenty of other real things to be scared of. So you know what I say? Embrace your fear! Break the chain! Break it right off! Believe me, when you break your first chain and your life continues at its normal, boring pace, it's a real feeling of liberation. You're free from being so gullible, so fearful of the unknowable mechanics of the Internet! Give it a try sometime.

FORWARD THISS TO AT LEEST FIVE PEEPLE ON THE NEXX TEN MINUTS AND YOU WIL BE SUPPER DOOPER RICH!!! IF YOU DO NOTT, THAN A GHOSTY CHILD WIL STEEL YUR MONEY, AND THAN KILL YOU, AND THAN YOU'L HAVE BAD LUKK!!!

2005-08-16T08:55:00.000-07:00

Why does everyone get to go to Europe? Every time I talk to a friend of mine, they are traveling to Europe or China or New York or someplace equally spectacular. Where do these people, all of whom are around my age, get the money to go on these trips?

I'm going to Washington D.C. in September for a protest march. I'll only be spending three days there. I was very thrifty when it came to the airline and the hotel. And yet doing so made me go broke, to the point where I overcharged my account by roughtly seventy dollars last week.

What's the difference between me and these vacationing friends of mine? How do I differ with them? What things do I have to pay for that they don't?

I am at an age where I should be joining those of my generation in their quests. I should be carrying a backpack of essentials while walking around the streets of Ireland alone. And yet, the closest I've come to that was a train trip to San Diego to see "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels: The Musical".

This is yet another way in which I feel disconnected from the rest of my generation. While I was moving to California and trying to earn a decent wage, they were going to college and vacationing in foreign countries (even when my senior class went to Mexico for a class trip, I spent that time in Chicago visiting a friend). I felt like I had skipped a part of my adolescence. And then before I knew it, they were all out of college and earning decent wages.

But then something strange happened. They all started getting married. In less than a year, they met, matched and surpassed me. Now I suddenly feel younger and less mature than my generational counterparts.

Of course, Brey assures me that I'm not them, and shouldn't aspire to be them, and of course, she's right. But I still find it odd that most of the women in our class now have different last names, their old ones simply a sign of their former lives (Holland, Adams, Fowler, all just a memory).

It's not so much that I desire to have their lives. I'm the happiest I've ever been, and with my new fantasy of moving to Stratford-Upon-Avon before 2010, the idea of travel is not out of my reach. I just wonder why other people my age don't seem to have my life.

In other news (and staying on the idea of England), I had one of those experiences that reminded me why I spend so much time pursuing my love of theatre. I was directing a reading of a truly fantastic play (that for some reason I don't want to give away the name of here), in hopes that I can direct an eventual production of it. For the reading, it was just me on stage reading stage directions, and next to me, Jessica Beane carrying the weight of the complex, highly emotional work on her strong shoulders.

For one hour, she took the journey that I put her through with an unbelievable amount of fearlessness. Going off of only one rehearsal, she was raw, unpolished and completely captivating, much like the script itself. It was nothing short of amazing, and when the artistic director said, "We have to do this show," I had her to thank.

In further news, I am currently not rehearsing anything or performing in anything. I have my many writing projects (which I always have) and the reading series. And that's it for at least a week (auditions for "Madame Guignol" are coming up and rehearsals for "Dead Letter Office" are on the horizon, I'm sure). I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my time (other than play Q*Bert. When and why did video games stop being so imaginative?).

And finally, I apologize for going so long since writing an entry (though I'm becoming more desensitized to it, I still shudder at the word "blog"). It's been a little while since I had both the time and energy to actually think.

2005-08-03T13:16:00.000-07:00

So, Ellen DeGeneres is visiting my work today. She is about 100 yards from me right now. I can hear her voice as she talks to the woman that I have lunch with everyday. A camera crew and an incredible amount of star-struck employees are following them around right now. Why? Beats me.

It's weird how surreal my life is at points. I show up at work, annoyed that I left my cell phone at home, really wanting sleep, feeling the tuna melt digesting in my stomach, and then suddenly one of America's most famous television personalities (not to mention the finest fish voice-over artist of all time. That's right, I'm making that bold statement) has invaded our office.

The funny thing about this (besides her witty one-liners) is that the entire floor (and yes, I mean the ENTIRE floor) has stopped to watch this. If a random person showed up, demanded that the entire office stand up and stretch and started writing on our bulletin board, they would be thrown out of the office with lightning speed. But since the random person has her own show, and the writing reads "Watch Ellen Everyday at 4 P.M.", then it's perfectly okay. That's the power of celebrity.

I realized that I really don't want to be really famous (this is where you go, "Oh, don't worry about THAT!" while rolling your eyes). I, of course, would like to be a known actor, but no higher than the level of a John C. Reilly or a David Cross. That guy that you've seen in that one thing. Important enough to get a second or third look, but not important enough to be approached. As Ellen walked through our building, people were asking for autographs, taking pictures of her and holding up "Finding Nemo" signs (where did they get those so fast?). She sounded very good-natured, but that has got to be an annoyance on both your hand and your psyche after a while.

While I was writing that last paragraph, Ms. DeGeneres started walking this way. I adopted the stance of the one person around who didn't care that a celebrity was in the building (of course I care, who wouldn't care, I just wanted it to SEEM like I didn't care). As she got closer, I had the usual swarm of thoughts that comes over me when I see television or movie cameras heading my way: "What if she stops to talk to me? What if I'm interviewed? What if I'm super funny and entertaining and get discovered and become the greatest star the world has ever known? Or what if I come across really idiotic and become the biggest novelty act since William Hung? I'll be ruined! Do I want to be on TV or don't I? DO I OR DON'T I???"

Then about ten feet from me she turned to her crew and said "Is that it?" She then signed a couple more autographs, took a picture with one employee's baby (where did she get THAT so fast?) and went back the way she came.

So now I get to stamp another entry in my list of Celebrities I've Randomly Seen (a list that includes such notables as John Travolta, Topher Grace, James Cameron and Tiffani Amber-Thiessen). People at the office asked why I didn't approach her, talk to her, be my usual actor-y self. But how could I? An actor trying to get on camera would probably be the last thing she would want.

America's favorite lesbian has now disappeared and the floor is quiet and productive again. And now whenever I look to the left while sitting at my desk, I'll have the subliminal urge to Watch Ellen Everyday at 4 P.M.

2005-08-01T10:32:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday was "24 Hour Theater" at Hunger Artists, an exercise in theatrical spontaneity that is as immediate as scripted theater can get.

Late Friday night, five writers entered the theater, in their individuality looking like contestants on a reality show. We randomly drew five audience-submitted elements (the setting of Hogwarts, a copy of "The Recycler", the opening chords of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long", a character named Pastor Ed and the line "It's got to special"), and then set to work, staying up all night to write one-act plays that incorporated all of these elements.
In those four or five hours, tears were shed, cigarettes were smoked, Corona's were downed, and at the end of it all, we looked at our finished scripts. We had castrations, gay kissing, severed hands, gunshots, hemorrhoids, soap opera actresses, and at the center of it all, a monobrowed, sailor-mouthed invention named Helene (played in a star-making turn by Sammi Smith).

While not nearly on the level of Christopher Spencer (whose play, "Tampon", was the highlight), here is my piece "Weapons of Ass Destruction" (I had made a promise to a friend of mine that I would give my piece that name, whatever it was about). Enjoy! Or not. I won't be mad, I promise.:

WEAPONS OF ASS DESTRUCTION

(Lights up on a desk. PASTOR ED, a woman, sits behind the desk, writing something in a notebook. She glances up, notices the audience, pauses for only a second, then returns to writing the notebook)

PASTOR ED: Hi. I'm, uh...just a second.

(A few seconds of silence as she finishes what she's writing)

Okay, aaaaand...There.

(She shuts the notebook)

So. As I was going to say, I'm Pastor Ed Menosky. I know. It's short for Vanessa. Don't ask how.

(She starts organizing things on the desk)

My father started calling me "Ed" in junior high, and the name somehow stuck. For some reason, people like giving girls guys names, like Jules and Sam. Like how inanimate objects get girls names, but animate and male.

In any case, welcome. This is the Heart Of Gold Women Artist Reform and Treatment Society.

(She holds up a sign that reads "H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S.")

Yes. I know. We sued. We lost.

In any case, this is where the magic happens, as they always say on that show. This is my office, my playpen, my space of stress and solace. I'd like to thank you all for coming. I'd like to say that we don't get any of your type around here, but unfortunately, we can't seem to get a break when it comes to you people.

(She picks up a piece of paper, reads it contents, considers what it says. As she reads:)

However, there is always hope. That's probably the only thing about our constantly churning society. The more problems arise in the world, the more solutions people like us are able to create.

(She decides the paper is secondary, puts it down and turns her attention back to the audience)

But of course, you're not here to be reformed. Of course not. You're here for a tour. Our lovely facility, which has not been open to the public since its inception over three years ago. When I took over as Head Pastor last April, we felt that we could really use an old heave ho in our public relations. Some C.P.R. to the P.R., if you will.

We've, of course, had a lot of...rumors, I guess you'd say. Unsubstantiated, completely unsubstantiated stories about our practices, our, well they called them "rituals", but that sounds very witch-y, doesn't it? Very sorority. It's funny how people see Point A and Point K, but since they can't see Points B through J, they make them up. It makes you realize just how necessary the numbers in a Connect-The-Dots picture is.

In any case, our Society's doctrine teaches us many valuable little tidbits, and one of these morsels is, and I quote, "She who says..."

(She pauses, thinks, picks up another piece of paper)

Yeah, okay, "She that does not admit any wrongdoings, she has done the most wrong." Admittance is the key step in reform. And so, to, I guess, dispel all of the slander that our Society has endured, we decided to put out advertisements...

(She holds up a copy of "The Recycler")

...and open our doors and let those with ill words experience the good work that my ladies are doing here.

I feel a little like Willy Wonka. Opening up the factory doors, letting all the naughty children see my wares.

In any case, here at...

(Emphasis on "warts")

...HogWARTS...

(Pause)

She countersued. We settled.

Here at HogWARTS, we believe in the importance of the arts as a wonderful way of not only entertaining society, but keeping them informed on current events and issues. This cannot be emphasized enough. We heart art. Those who will tell you otherwise wag their tongues like a peeing puppy with its tail.

However, we also recognize the world of arts and entertainment as a balls-and-penis club, if you will. This is not me spouting feminist agenda, this is not me trying to play violins for the female gender. This is me stating simple, cold fact.

Look at a list of those who have won Pulitzers, Academy Awards, Tonys (I'm talking writing, directing, technical prizes here). Look at the current season on Broadway, or the movies playing in your thin-walled cineplexes. It's a world of washboard abs, bare calves, tragic beauties, Sylvia's and Heather's with just enough conflict and quirk to need to be molded by charismatic, just-this-side-of-attractive men. Entertainment has never been so disappointing, not even in the days when priests charged people to look at stained glass projections on walls.

Even in Christianity, the ultimate in fictional entertainment (and this coming from the pastor), we have the father, son and holy ghost. Eve hurting Adam. Delilah hurting Samson. And the two most significant figures in the New Testament are a virgin and a whore. The only restraint on the part of the writer was not making them goddamn lesbians!

By the way, off the record, I do not like being called a Pastor. This isn't a religion, this isn't a cult, and Pastor's very religion-y and cult-esque. Our first Head Pastor, Pastor Natalia Schmidt, decided it was a denomination that was would show authority without allowing tyranny. Regardless, I don't break tradition.

So for the first time since the beginnings of language, the world of art is now less advanced the politics or business. Name me a woman playwright that is not a writer of plays for women. Name me a Grammy award-winning songstress with pore-clogged skin, crossed eyes or childhood scars. Name me a female novelist whose covers aren't splashed with martini glasses, Prada shoes and Eiffel Towers.

Female artists are just that. Female Artists. They write for women about women. There is no advancement, no progress, no step forward. Five years ago, our former Head Pastor, Pastor Natalia Schmidt, stepping out of a rather disappointing art gallery showing (she used to say, "Give me one good reason why a vagina on canvas means more than one in real life."), stepping out of that, she heard a popular song playing, muffled through the closed windows and screaming vocals, but still audible.

(She pulls out a CD player, and presses "Play". The opening chords of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" plays. She shuts it off after the first five seconds or so)

Snippets of lyrics popped out at her. "She was a fast machine." "Those American thighs." "She told me to come but I was already there." "The walls were shaking, the earth was quaking."

It was in the one instant, the simultaneous jab of what the image of the female truly meant to both genders, the her twinkle of an idea eventually coagulated into the Heart Of Gold Women Artist Reform and Treatment Society.

Those women who have been scorned by art, the not-pretty actresses, the poets who let their self-importance propel them to give their shows the most ludicrous of names like "Womyn With A Y" or "Weapons of Ass Destruction", the writers who - despite their late night skepticism and arguments with themselves - can't seem to keep their stories out of the European borders, they are all welcomed here.

By convincing them that what they are doing is like a bacteria infesting another equal bacteria - by telling them that to have your art accepted in a world of cigars and beards, it can't just be good, it's got to be special - we are helping out both the women (who by this time in their lives are in a matter of mental and economic crisis) and the world of art itself.

Now, make sure to pay attention because this is where attention must be paid. We do not...DO NOT...oppress what they have to say. At all. We never said they could not act, write, draw, sing, slam. We simply told them that no one would listen. Unless! Yes, there's an unless, no one on the outside likes to talk about the unless. Unless they gave the world a reason to listen. A reach-out-and-swing-you-by-the-balls reason.

After all, what good is an idea, a word, any sort of utterance, if the purpose it serves is so narrow in its scope and exectuion that it easily slips not only through the keyholes of America but the ear lobes of our youth? Do you think that a couple of failed romances, a bad childhood memory and a dozen encounters with creepy strangers are really going to give you a voice that anyone can care about?

Then again, a process filled with such classic hits like seclusion, deprecation, starvation and good old-fashioned abuse is often the jump start to a new career.

Ah, now is when the crowd starts squirming. There's a word you people use for this. Unethical. That's the only adjective you can conjure up, isn't it? What about helpful? What about profitable? That's what we hear. And after all, we listen because no one else does.

Which brings you to why you're here. You answered the ad. You took this here tour. And you were guaranteed, at the end of said tour, a spot in the first of what will undoubtedly be many wonderful, informative television commercials. And so you shall.

It's understandable, your desire to be on television. Every little girl dreams of being a famous actress. At least the ones who play by the rules of stereotyping.

So what brought your dream to such a dire situation that you're taking paying tours just to get in a commercial?

Problems with agents? Auditions? Never felt you were pretty, talented, easy enough?

What if I were to tell you that our former Head Pastor, Pastor Natalia Schmidt, is now acting in a popular soap opera that many of you have probably seen? You see, she's not only the Head Pastor, she's also a member.

I think you'll find that you have more in common with us than you may have thought.

(She holds up a thrice-folded piece of paper)

Would you like to see a brochure?

BLACKOUT

2005-07-27T15:27:00.000-07:00

OBSERVATIONS ABOUT SUMMER MOVIES:

"Batman Begins" - I wonder if during "Batman & Robin", Bruce Wayne remembered this important phase of his life and thought to himself, "When did my life turn into such a cartoon...and where's that cute brunette that talks out of the side of her mouth?"

"Star Wars - Episode III: Revenge of the Sith" - Did anyone in this galaxy know how to tell a freaking joke before Han Solo came along?

"Howl's Moving Castle" - I think anime voiceover is the truest test for an actor. No matter how good of an actor you are, there are just some lines you can't make sound good. Not even Christian Bale can say "Your hair is silver! I love it!" without getting laughs from the audience.

"War of the Worlds" - Huge alien ships rise from the ground after having been buried for presumably thousands of years. During that time, no archaeologist ever came across one of them, and there's no amount of rust or corrosion to the vehicles. The aliens obviously don't buy American.

"Kingdom of Heaven" - I can't think of a better film to kick off the summer season. After all, what better genre to reel in the core summer demographic than a really long R-rated film about the Crusades?

"Fantastic Four" - If I had the power to stretch like rubber, fly, light on fire or turn invisible, I doubt that I would treat it as simply a minor annoyance. But then again, I'm not a scientist. Oh, and I also blame Hollywood for giving me the belief that all female scientists are sexy.

"Bewitched" - You know you've stepped wrong when not even Will Ferrell and Steve Carrell can save your project.

"Mr. and Mrs. Smith" - I swear, if they make a sequel where they have a baby, I'm going to punch all of Hollywood in the stomach.

"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" - Deep Roy is my hero. And there has never been a more perfect cast of children in any movie I've seen.

2005-07-19T11:17:00.000-07:00

I have become a zombie. No one bit me, nor is there a rage-filled virus that's going around (other than the Atkins Diet). Perhaps it's in celebration of "Land of the Dead", a movie that I still haven't seen (though I did make time for "Fantastic Four", starring Jessica Alba's cleavage and an insane amount of setup. The plot finally arrived about 90 minutes late saying "Sorry, guys, traffic was horrible!"). It is simply through a lack of sleep that I've entered this vegatative state.

In fact, here's proof. I don't even want to write about being tired anymore. THAT'S how tired I am. So since I can't seem to keep my head on one topic, here comes my thought process, unfiltered and unstructured. Enjoy!:

Show me an actress hotter than Jessica Alba, and I'll show you a blind man. Deep Roy as the Oompa-Loompa (complete with Bollywood-like musical numbers) was the high point of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory". I wish I were copying scripts right now. I've been doing it for the reading series, and I find it to be a very relaxing exercise, but only if the copier is slow. I need to get the copy of "Occupational Hazard" back from Shannon so that I can start copying it. Jason Lindner is a master of the English language. So is Will Eno. So is Kit Steinkellner. So is anyone who can write a good one-man show that contains only one character. I want to write a one-man show. Would that be self-indulgent, since I would play the role, too? Eric Bogosian did it all the time in the '80's. Of course, people listened to Wham! in the '80's. I need to copy "Thom Pain (based no nothing)" for Darin, but I have to be careful which copier I use. I hope my production isn't too low at work. I hope they don't mind that I sleep in my car during breaks. I hope that I can pay for everything that I need to pay for. Do I really need to get my Disneyland passport renewed before it expires on Saturday? Can't I just wait until I get paid on the 29th? I need to pee. I'm gonna do that...

*TIME LAPSE*

Better. John looked like John Lennon last night. Appropriate, since they're both named John. I'm glad Jessica's excited about "4.48 Psychosis". She's doubting herself, but I'm not even worried about her. I just hope I can do the show justice. I don't want to end Hunger's streak of good shows. What else should I direct? "Art", of course. "The Zoo Story". Something of my own? I need to work on "Orange Alert". Make it better. I'm really glad Terri, Darcy and Mike are doing the reading. The L.A. reading was great. Abigail was an awesome Lindsey. Darcy will be an awesome Lindsey. I wish I could go to vmk.com at work. But then I'd never get any work done. I hope that I can get the rewrites done reasonably soon. I hope I can get that comic book rewritten soon, too. Send it to Anne and see if I can start on a new career as a writer. However, I know nothing about writing comic books. Just like I know nothing about writing for movies or television. Come to think of it, I know nothing about writing plays. I know nothing about writing. I feel dizzy. Don't think about things that give you anxiety. I wish I were in bed. With Brey. Both of us sleeping. We both need sleep. What do I want for lunch?

You know what, I'm going to go to lunch. I'm sorry I haven't been able to form complete thoughts lately. Just slap me in the face the next time you see me.

2005-07-13T12:26:00.000-07:00

I discovered a cricket in my room. Normally I am freaked out by insects (I don't do well with exoskeletons), but crickets are in that rare group that I'm okay with. When I discovered it, it was hanging out next to my CD collections (probably admiring it, although I'm sure he was wondering why there aren't any Buddy Holly CD's), chirping its mating call, foolishly hoping that a female will be hanging out by the DVD's.

The cricket on your hearth is considered a sign of good luck (since I don't really have a hearth, I'm wondering if the CD collection is a good substitute), and in fact it is considered bad luck to kill one (which I had coincidentally read earlier that day in the play "Bug" by Tracy Letts, which so far is quite, quite good). So rather than disposing of it, Brey gave it the name of Bloody Bugger (B.B. for short), and we're welcoming it for as long as it wants to camp out in my room.

Good luck is needed at the moment, as I am in the beginning process of my first bit of real management. At Hunger Artists, I am heading up the newly-founded reading series that will take place every two weeks.

"But wait," you more astute readers will point out, "didn't you write a post a few months ago talking about how you hated readings and talkbacks? Now you're heading up a reading series?" Well, allow me to explain.

In deciding our 2006 season, we were faced with several prospects. Rather than all of the copying, reading, discussing, etc., it was decided that it would be more exciting to get our enormous group of phenomenal actors together and have them read the material. After all, why read a play when you can have people like Mark Coyan, Jessica Beane, Terri Mowrey and Mark Palkoner read them for you?

This way, we are involving our entire company in the process of choosing our shows. The process will be relaxed (no staging, no special lights or costumes, just actors sitting down, reading from scripts). Rather than sapping the spontaneity of theater through "workshopping", we are helping to create a year of theatre that will truly be collaborative (and with those shows that we don't choose, it will still be fun to see Hunger's best tackle the material). So wish me luck (via Bloody Bugger)!

2005-07-05T11:25:00.000-07:00

It is fitting that the Fourth of July weekend was filled with much style, very little substance. I spent the entire three days looking for something fulfilling, and was repeatedly disappointed.

It all started with a viewing of Spielberg's remake of "War of the Worlds". Now granted, I think that Spielberg is one of the greatest builders of suspense cinema has ever had. But where "Jaws", "Jurassic Park", "Minority Report" and "Close Encounters" balanced their suspense with true imagination, "War of the Worlds" is simply a series of cliches and recycled images that have their last ounce of suspense expertly juiced from them. It's like a car made up of old parts but with a shiny new cover.

The movie gave me two crucial revelations. The first is that we desperately need to come up with better aliens. The naked, bug-eyed, slimy creature with a huge noggin isn't interesting to anyone anymore. Make him furry, give him a toga, do something different. Wouldn't it be great if civilization was being wiped out by a band of very cute but very deadly aliens? ("Awww, come here, you. You are so adorable. What's your name? Can you say Norman? Norman? What's that you're holding in your haAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!")

The second is how zombie/disaster/alien movies led us to believe that they have a "happy ending". We have spent two hours witnessing death and destruction that is unlike anything we've seen in modern society. And yet because the half-dozen characters who are the focus of the film are alive, we feel happy when the end credits start rolling.

I always feel uneasy by this. What about the billions of people who died? Where's their story? I mean, it's nice that Tom Cruise made it out alive, but what about the mechanic who was one of the first people killed in the movie? Why couldn't we have had a two-hour story of his life followed by a five-minute finale in which aliens rise from the ground and zap him into dust? Must we always follow the character who best fits Syd Field's rules of cinematic story structure? And for that matter, why do the quick deaths always happen to cameos and extras? Why do the supporting and lead players always have the slowest deaths possible? Wouldn't it be more interesting if Tim Robbins is here one second and then *POOF* gone the next?

I also watched "The Rocky Horror Show" (now playing at the Maverick Theater through August 13th...Shameless plug) again before taking over the role of Brad next weekend. While a more original offering than "War of the Worlds", it has the same entertainment-only flavor that is the trademark of the Maverick. I sat in the audience, watching these people I knew and liked performing, and I shouted back the witty comments that have been time-tested through countless midnight showings of the movie ("I don't like men with too many muscles." "Just one big one!"). But I couldn't help but wonder if the show is as entertaining to someone who doesn't know the cast members or the shoutouts. I guess I'll find out this weekend.

On Sunday, I went to see a local theater company take a sophisticated, witty English play and remove any sophistication or wit from it. What they gave us instead was misguided casting, weak accents and an unbelievably loud doorbell. As the very funny dialogue fell flat, the audience was given new reasons to laugh, none of them good. As we left, one of the company members apologized for the show, assuring us that usually their shows are better, and my search for something stimulating and nourishing was still unfulfilled.

As the Fourth of July came upon us (enter your own joke here), I found myself unexpectedly watching the movie "Joe Dirt". I sat there, watching David Spade rely on his mullet and redneck accent to be funny (Comedy Tip: It's not what you look and sound like that make you funny, but what you do with what you look and sound like). Okay, I'll admit it was foolish to wish for anything substantial with "Joe Dirt", but ever since the surprise of "Pleasantville", I've had high hopes for High Concept.

So finally, I gave up. If all I was going to get this weekend was sugar, then I was going to stop looking for steak, so to speak. I decided the way to end this weekend would be to go to Downtown Disney and watch Disneyland's fireworks display. It promised to be the shiny object to end all shiny objects. Brey and I arrived to see what, oddly enough, could have been a scene from "War of the Worlds". People were camped out everywhere, from the parking garage, to the tram kiosk, to every square foot of Downtown Disney, joining me in my quest for meaningless entertainment.

Then, something amazing happened. Just as the fireworks were starting, Brey asked if we could get something to eat. We made our way through the crowds to the restaurant at the Anaheim House of Blues. The entire time, I was only able to hear the fireworks, and its sound resembled that of a small town being obliterated by air-dropped bombs. I imagined that it was a real bombing, and I wondered if I would be the lead of a two-hour story, or if I would simply be a cameo.

We walked into the restaurant which, like most of the things at Downtown Disney, wants to achieve a certain feeling and can't quite get it right. I retreated to the bathroom and suddenly found myself having cologne sprayed on me by the attendant. I was dressed in unwashed clothes and had unwashed hair...but I smelled great. I had suddenly turned into the very thing that I was surrounded by this entire weekend.

When I returned to the table, I looked in Brey's eyes. She'd recently had some life-changing decisions sprung on her, and I could see her going through them in her head. I suddenly thought about what she means to me and what I would do if I ever lost her. The thought terrified me.

I reached over and took her hand, and - despite the deep, meaningful thoughts running through both of our heads - we talked about light, entertaining subjects. And for the first time that entire weekend, I felt truly fulfilled.

2005-06-29T12:22:00.000-07:00

In an address to the nation on June 28, 2005:

THE PRESIDENT: Thank you. Please be seated. Good evening. I'm pleased to visit Fort Bragg, "Home of the Airborne and Special Operations Forces." It's an honor to speak before you tonight. (Especially since a military base was not something the president was used to seeing during the Vietnam years)

My greatest responsibility as President is to protect the American people (Yeah, way to go). And that's your calling, as well. I thank you for your service, your courage and your sacrifice (Three things I lack). I thank your families, who support you in your vital work. The soldiers and families of Fort Bragg have contributed mightily to our efforts to secure our country and promote peace (Note the keyword “efforts”). America is grateful, and so is your Commander-in-Chief (I'm sorry he wasn't here to tell you that, but...oh, wait, that's me!).

The troops here and across the world are fighting a global war on terror (Oh, how’s that going? I never know because I only watch the evening news). The war reached our shores on September the 11th, 2001. The terrorists who attacked us -- and the terrorists we face -- murder in the name of a totalitarian ideology that hates freedom, rejects tolerance, and despises all dissent (Much like we do, but with bigger beards). Their aim is to remake the Middle East in their own grim image of tyranny and oppression -- by toppling governments, by driving us out of the region, and by exporting terror (and apple butter).

To achieve these aims, they have continued to kill -- in Madrid, Istanbul, Jakarta, Casablanca (We’ll always have Paris!), Riyadh, Bali, and elsewhere (places he can’t pronounce). The terrorists believe that free societies are essentially corrupt and decadent (Do they now?), and with a few hard blows they can force us to retreat. They are mistaken. After September the 11th, I made a commitment to the American people: This nation will not wait to be attacked again (Boy, did you ever fulfill THAT one). We will defend our freedom. We will take the fight to the enemy (Hell, you don’t even have to be the enemy anymore, we’ll bring the fight to you, anyway).

Iraq is the latest battlefield in this war. Many terrorists who kill innocent men, women, and children on the streets of Baghdad are followers of the same murderous ideology that took the lives of our citizens in New York, in Washington, and Pennsylvania (and proposed “Real ID”). There is only one course of action against them: to defeat them abroad before they attack us at home. The commander in charge of coalition operations in Iraq -- who is also senior commander at this base -- General John Vines, put it well the other day. He said: "We either deal with terrorism and this extremism abroad, or we deal with it when it comes to us." (Laura, get Bartlett’s on the phone!)

Our mission in Iraq is clear (Steal natural resou...Um, I mean, uh, secure freedom?). We're hunting down the terrorists. We're helping Iraqis build a free nation that is an ally in the war on terror (in what we call our “Three Steps Forward, Four Steps Back” Plan). We're advancing freedom in the broader Middle East (Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia sold separately). We are removing a source of violence and instability, and laying the foundation of peace for our children and our grandchildren (Have you noticed peace smells a lot like blood and rubble?).

The work in Iraq is difficult and it is dangerous (I would know...Oh, wait, no I wouldn’t). Like most Americans, I see the images of violence and bloodshed (Where? On the news? Because they’re too busy talking about a rescued pelican). Every picture is horrifying, and the suffering is real (which none of us here in the White House really expected). Amid all this violence, I know Americans ask the question: Is the sacrifice worth it? (No. It’s no, right? The answer’s no) It is worth it, (WHAT???) and it is vital to the future security of our country (Yeah, in that it’s a huge freaking blow). And tonight I will explain the reasons why. (Why? Because we like you!)

Some of the violence you see in Iraq is being carried out by ruthless killers who are converging on Iraq to fight the advance of peace and freedom (The rest of it is being carried out by otherwise very nice people). Our military reports that we have killed or captured hundreds of foreign fighters (meaning people with beards and shifty eyes) in Iraq who have come from Saudi Arabia and Syria, Iran, Egypt, Sudan, Yemen, Libya and others. They are making common cause with criminal elements, Iraqi insurgents, and remnants of Saddam Hussein's regime who want to restore the old order (because at least the buildings were still standing then). They fight because they know that the survival of their hateful ideology is at stake (Trust me on this one, Republicans are used to this). They know that as freedom takes root in Iraq, it will inspire millions across the Middle East to claim their liberty, as well (which is tax-deductible). And when the Middle East grows in democracy and prosperity and hope, the terrorists will lose their sponsors (Pepsi already pulled out), lose their recruits, and lose their hopes for turning that region into a base for attacks on America and our allies around the world (Soon, they’ll have to rely on donations from viewers like you).

Some wonder whether Iraq is a central front in the war on terror (the rest of us know that it's not). Among the terrorists, there is no debate ("Purple Rain" is Prince's best album). Hear the words of Osama Bin Laden: "This Third World War is raging" in Iraq. "The whole world is watching this war." (Unless you're in America) He says it will end in "victory and glory, or misery and humiliation." (Boy, this has really been a day of poignant, not-obvious-at-all quotations)

The terrorists know that the outcome will leave them emboldened, or defeated (the option of "reasonably comfortable" was crossed off). So they are waging a campaign of murder and destruction (just like us). And there is no limit to the innocent lives they are willing to take (just like us).

We see the nature of the enemy in terrorists who exploded car bombs along a busy shopping street in Baghdad, including one outside a mosque (kind of like the one we accidentally bombed). We see the nature of the enemy in terrorists who sent a suicide bomber to a teaching hospital in Mosul. We see the nature of the enemy in terrorists who behead civilian hostages and broadcast their atrocities for the world to see (although that Flash cartoon of the gerbil in the microwave was funny).

These are savage acts of violence, but they have not brought the terrorists any closer to achieving their strategic objectives (our foreign policy and shoddy border patrol have already taken care of that). The terrorists -- both foreign and Iraqi -- failed to stop the transfer of sovereignty (But of course, you can't stop what really isn't there). They failed to break our Coalition and force a mass withdrawal by our allies (again, we blame ourselves). They failed to incite an Iraqi civil war (Riiiiiiight). They failed to prevent free elections (Define “free”). They failed to stop the formation of a democratic Iraqi government that represents all of Iraq's diverse population (Sunnis sold separately). And they failed to stop Iraqis from signing up in large number with the police forces and the army to defend their new democracy (so they just blew them up instead).

The lesson of this experience is clear: The terrorists can kill the innocent, but they cannot stop the advance of freedom (What do you bet Bush wanted to say that line like Mel Gibson in "Braveheart"?). The only way our enemies can succeed is if we forget the lessons of September the 11th (September the huh? I already forgot), if we abandon the Iraqi people to men like Zarqawi, and if we yield the future of the Middle East to men like Bin Laden (or Dick Cheney). For the sake of our nation's security, this will not happen on my watch (It's a Rolex, and that shit's expensive).

A little over a year ago, I spoke to the nation and described our coalition's goals in Iraq (A Milky Way to whoever remembers what I said). I said that America's mission in Iraq is to defeat an enemy (the Iraqi people) and give strength to a friend (Halliburton) -- a free, representative government that is an ally in the war on terror, and a beacon of hope in a part of the world that is desperate for reform (is something we're not going to have any time soon). I outlined the steps we would take to achieve this goal (Step 1: Put right foot in...): We would hand authority over to a sovereign Iraqi government (headed by a wooden marionette). We would help Iraqis hold free elections by January 2005 (in the one place in the world where the voter turnout was lower than our own). We would continue helping Iraqis rebuild their nation's infrastructure and economy (but without letting them actually help us). We would encourage more international support for Iraq's democratic transition (and not get it), and we would enable Iraqis to take increasing responsibility for their own security and stability (two hours of electricity every day is certainly stable).

In the past year, we have made significant progress (thanks to “Desperate Housewives” and “Lost”). One year ago today, we restored sovereignty to the Iraqi people (Trust me, they haven’t stopped dancing since). In January 2005, more than 8 million Iraqi men and women voted in elections that were free and fair, and took time on -- and took place on time (Ummm...What?). We continued our efforts to help them rebuild their country (then destroy it then rebuild it then destroy it then rebuild it...). Rebuilding a country after three decades of tyranny is hard (like being President), and rebuilding while at war is even harder (not to mention just plain stupid). Our progress has been uneven, but progress is being made (By the way, you ever hear that one about the opposite of progress being Congress? Gets me every time).

We're improving roads and schools and health clinics (We might actually start doing that in America soon, too). We're working to improve basic services like sanitation, electricity, and water (They’re just going crazy over that indoor plumbing). And together with our allies, we'll help the new Iraqi government deliver a better life for its citizens (Why can’t they do that with US???).

In the past year, the international community has stepped forward with vital assistance (followed by revelation and subsequent withdrawal). Some 30 nations have troops in Iraq, and many others are contributing non-military assistance (like criticism). The United Nations is in Iraq to help Iraqis write a constitution and conduct their next elections (which John Bolton’s already preparing to fix). Thus far, some 40 countries and three international organizations have pledged about $34 billion in assistance for Iraqi reconstruction (which should more than make up for the $8.8 billion of ours that went missing). More than 80 countries and international organizations recently came together in Brussels to coordinate their efforts to help Iraqis provide for their security and rebuild their country (Their first idea: Kick us out). And next month, donor countries will meet in Jordan to support Iraqi reconstruction (“Go, reconstruct, win!”).

Whatever our differences in the past (paper vs. plastic), the world understands that success in Iraq is critical to the security of our nations (cough, national resources, cough). As German Chancellor Gerhard Schroder said at the White House yesterday, "There can be no question a stable and democratic Iraq is in the vested interest of not just Germany, but also Europe." (He also said he liked “Kingdom of Heaven”, so I don’t know...) Finally, we have continued our efforts to equip and train Iraqi security forces (We just donated some body armor from our own troops. They won’t miss it). We made gains in both the number and quality of those forces (We’ve gone from “way too few and very unequipped” to “lower than average and a little overwhelmed”). Today Iraq has more than 160,000 security forces trained and equipped for a variety of missions (such as human shields). Iraqi forces have fought bravely, helping to capture terrorists and insurgents in Najaf and Samarra, Fallujah and Mosul (What do you bet he smirked when he pronounced all of these right?). And in the past month, Iraqi forces have led a major anti-terrorist campaign in Baghdad called Operation Lightning (very, very frightening), which has led to the capture of hundreds of suspected insurgents (and a couple zookeepers). Like free people everywhere, Iraqis want to be defended by their own countrymen, and we are helping Iraqis assume those duties (and we’ll still be helping them do that five years from now).

The progress in the past year has been significant, and we have a clear path forward (once we clear all the bodies out of the way). To complete the mission, we will continue to hunt down the terrorists and insurgents (Have you noticed that if you say “terrorist” enough it sounds like “terrace”?). To complete the mission, we will prevent al Qaeda and other foreign terrorists from turning Iraq into what Afghanistan was under the Taliban, a safe haven from which they could launch attacks on America and our friends (Umm, too late). And the best way to complete the mission is to help Iraqis build a free nation that can govern itself, sustain itself, and defend itself (So, what exactly are you saying?).

So our strategy going forward has both a military track and a political track (and a go-kart track for the kids). The principal task of our military is to find and defeat the terrorists, and that is why we are on the offense (“offensive” certainly is an appropriate word). And as we pursue the terrorists, our military is helping to train Iraqi security forces so that they can defend their people and fight the enemy on their own. Our strategy can be summed up this way (turn to page 32 in your textbooks): As the Iraqis stand up, we will stand down (and probably go for some Del Taco).

We've made progress, but we have a lot of -- (Say it!!! Say it!!!) a lot more work to do (You got that right). Today Iraqi security forces are at different levels of readiness (We’ve put it into this color-coded chart). Some are capable of taking on the terrorists and insurgents by themselves (much like Rambo). A large number can plan and execute anti-terrorist operations with coalition support (they are currently working on anti-terrorist spray). The rest are forming and not yet ready to participate fully in security operations (and as such, they will be thrown into the middle of battle within the week). Our task is to make the Iraqi units fully capable and independent (much like Destiny’s Child). We're building up Iraqi security forces as quickly as possible, so they can assume the lead in defeating the terrorists and insurgents (with America as the slutty cheerleader on the sidelines)

Our coalition is devoting considerable resources and manpower to this critical task (and by considerable, we mean underwhelming). Thousands of coalition troops are involved in the training and equipping of Iraqi security forces. NATO is establishing a military academy near Baghdad (The Donald Rumsfeld School of Buffoonery) to train the next generation of Iraqi military leaders, and 17 nations are contributing troops to the NATO training mission. Iraqi army and police are being trained by personnel from Italy (Ciao!), Germany (Guten tag!), Ukraine (Howdy!), Turkey (Gobble gobble!), Poland (Don’t forget ‘em!), Romania (Love your lettuce!), Australia (G’day!), and the United Kingdom (Pip pip, Tony Blair!). Today, dozens of nations are working toward a common objective: an Iraq that can defend itself, defeat its enemies, and secure its freedom (although the other dozens of nations keep snickering when I say that).

To further prepare Iraqi forces to fight the enemy on their own, we are taking three new steps (two to the left, one to the right): First, we are partnering coalition units with Iraqi units (which make some nice shelving units). These coalition-Iraqi teams are conducting operations together in the field (like softball tournaments). These combined operations are giving Iraqis a chance to experience how the most professional armed forces in the world operate in combat (they’ll be unnecessarily invading other countries in no time).

Second, we are embedding coalition "transition teams" inside Iraqi units. These teams are made up of coalition officers and non-commissioned officers who live, work, and fight together with their Iraqi comrades (and some D-list celebrities...all in the same house!). Under U.S. command, they are providing battlefield advice and assistance to Iraqi forces during combat operations (“Step 2: Attach electrode B to right genital”). Between battles, they are assisting the Iraqis with important skills, such as urban combat (is that like gang warfare), and intelligence (a.k.a. “The Anti-Bush”), surveillance (every Iraqi gets a tracking device, guaranteed!) and reconnaissance techniques (Oh, how I love the paintings of Raphael. Oh, wait, I’m thinking of the Renaissance).

Third, we're working with the Iraqi Ministries of Interior and Defense to improve their capabilities to coordinate anti-terrorist operations. We're helping them develop command and control structures (Every Iraqi computer gets the game “Command & Conquer: Red Alert”, guaranteed!). We're also providing them with civilian and military leadership training, so Iraq's new leaders can effectively manage their forces in the fight against terror (rather than the previous strategy of “run and scatter”).

The new Iraqi security forces are proving their courage every day (They tried sushi for the first time last week). More than 2,000 members of Iraqi security forces have given their lives in the line of duty. Thousands more have stepped forward, and are now training to serve their nation (We got them to do this by asking those who liked ice cream to step forward). With each engagement, Iraqi soldiers grow more battle-hardened, and their officers grow more experienced (This week they’re working on their angry sneer). We've learned that Iraqis are courageous and that they need additional skills (Who knew?). And that is why a major part of our mission is to train them so they can do the fighting, and then our troops can come home (We’re predicting fall of 2008, around the time that “Indiana Jones 4” is released).

I recognize that Americans want our troops to come home as quickly as possible. So do I (This is the point where he twirled his moustache and wrung his hands). Some contend that we should set a deadline for withdrawing U.S. forces (Yeah, that would be nice). Let me explain why that would be a serious mistake (Oooh, this guy’s got balls). Setting an artificial timetable (who said the timetable would be artificial?) would send the wrong message to the Iraqis, who need to know that America will not leave before the job is done (the job that we started and screwed up). It would send the wrong message to our troops, who need to know that we are serious about completing the mission they are risking their lives to achieve (they got really mad when did the Iraqi Mission Comedy Hour for them). And it would send the wrong message to the enemy, who would know that all they have to do is to wait us out. We will stay in Iraq as long as we are needed, and not a day longer (or a week or a month or a year or five years...).

Some Americans ask me (and by ask me, I mean that they ask one of my minions and despite the numerous filters, the question somehow gets to me), if completing the mission is so important, why don't you send more troops? (Because we don’t have any more) If our commanders on the ground say we need more troops, I will send them (along with a Get Well card). But our commanders tell me they have the number of troops they need to do their job (they call them “sacrifices”. It’s kinda funny). Sending more Americans would undermine our strategy of encouraging Iraqis to take the lead in this fight (it would also piss the fuck out of them). And sending more Americans would suggest that we intend to stay forever (well, aren’t we?), when we are, in fact, working for the day when Iraq can defend itself and we can leave. As we determine the right force level (we’re currently on Force Level Orange), our troops can know that I will continue to be guided by the advice that matters: the sober judgment of our military leaders (and the misconstrued words of Jesus).

The other critical element of our strategy is to help ensure that the hopes Iraqis expressed at the polls in January are translated into a secure democracy (‘cause their language is pretty hard to translate. Just a lot of yelling and babbling as far as I’m concerned). The Iraqi people are emerging from decades of tyranny and oppression. Under the regime of Saddam Hussein, the Shia and Kurds were brutally oppressed, and the vast majority of Sunni Arabs were also denied their basic rights, while senior regime officials enjoyed the privileges of unchecked power (God, this is sounding more and more familiar). The challenge facing Iraqis today is to put this past behind them, and come together to build a new Iraq that includes all of its people (preferably alive).

They're doing that by building the institutions of a free society (plus shipping and handling), a society based on freedom of speech (Shut up!), freedom of assembly (Go away!), freedom of religion (Praise Jesus!), and equal justice under law (Praise Gitmo!). The Iraqis have held free elections and established a Transitional National Assembly (Which gets a laugh in Congress when I call it “TNA”). The next step is to write a good constitution that enshrines these freedoms in permanent law (and then rewrite it). The Assembly plans to expand its constitutional drafting committee to include more Sunni Arabs (we’d certainly love to draft them, too). Many Sunnis who opposed the January elections are now taking part in the democratic process, and that is essential to Iraq's future (along with our plan to stop fucking things up over there).

After a constitution is written, the Iraqi people will have a chance to vote on it (provided the polling places aren’t burning piles of rubble). If approved, Iraqis will go to the polls again, to elect a new government (composed of marionettes and/or aspiring dictators) under their new, permanent constitution (Yeah, permanent like OUR constitution?). By taking these critical steps and meeting their deadlines, Iraqis will bind their multiethnic society together in a democracy that respects the will of the majority and protects minority rights (which will be impressive, since we can’t even seem to do that here).

As Iraqis grow confident that the democratic progress they are making is real and permanent (Shhh, don’t let them know it’s not true), more will join the political process. And as Iraqis see that their military can protect them (again, Mum’s the word), more will step forward with vital intelligence to help defeat the enemies of a free Iraq (which such bits of intelligence as “Stop destroying our country”). The combination of political and military reform will lay a solid foundation for a free and stable Iraq (at least, that’s what we’re saying. We also thought there wouldn’t be any major casualties, though, so what do we know).

As Iraqis make progress toward a free society, the effects are being felt beyond Iraq's borders (Iran, for instance, is shaking in its boots). Before our coalition liberated Iraq, Libya was secretly pursuing nuclear weapons (the nuclear weapons just wanted to be friends, though). Today the leader of Libya has given up his chemical and nuclear weapons programs (we’re planning on invading next spring). Across the broader Middle East, people are claiming their freedom (the fools). In the last few months, we've witnessed elections in the Palestinian Territories and Lebanon (they voted for Clay Aiken). These elections are inspiring democratic reformers in places like Egypt and Saudi Arabia (where our family has ties with the corrupt royal family and where the American military bases that inspired the 9/11 hijackers to carry out their deeds are...Um, I’m sorry, did I just say something?). Our strategy to defend ourselves and spread freedom is working (if by working you mean “not working”). The rise of freedom in this vital region will eliminate the conditions that feed radicalism and ideologies of murder (Really, it’s that easy? Radicalism and murder are purely Middle Eastern philosophies?), and make our nation safer.

We have more work to do (no shit), and there will be tough moments that test America's resolve (or there would be if Americans knew what was going on). We're fighting against men with blind hatred -- and armed with lethal weapons (starring Danny Glover) -- who are capable of any atrocity. They wear no uniform (the football team got all the funding); they respect no laws of warfare or morality. They take innocent lives to create chaos for the cameras (which is completely unlike the Jessica Lynch rescue). They are trying to shake our will in Iraq, just as they tried to shake our will on September the 11th, 2001. They will fail (We recently got a statement from Will, who said, “Stop shaking me!”). The terrorists do not understand America (They keep asking, “What’s so great about ‘The Bachelor?’”). The American people do not falter under threat, and we will not allow our future to be determined by car bombers and assassins (just liars and corrupt businessmen).

America and our friends are in a conflict that demands much of us (loss of sanity, ignorance toward the facts...). It demands the courage of our fighting men and women (who we abuse), it demands the steadfastness of our allies (who we ignore), and it demands the perseverance of our citizens (who we oppress). We accept these burdens, because we know what is at stake (Mmm, who could go for a barbecue steak right about now, huh?). We fight today because Iraq now carries the hope of freedom in a vital region of the world (Omaha?), and the rise of democracy will be the ultimate triumph over radicalism and terror (Yeah, because we’re really going to eliminate THOSE soon). And we fight today because terrorists want to attack our country and kill our citizens, and Iraq is where they are making their stand (Yeah, it makes sense to attack our country and its citizens by retreating to a different continent). So we'll fight them there, we'll fight them across the world, and we will stay in the fight until the fight is won. (Apparently at this point in the speech there was applause from sparkly-eyed, blissfully ignorant Republicans.)

America has done difficult work before. From our desperate fight for independence to the darkest days of a Civil War, to the hard-fought battles against tyranny in the 20th century (not to mention watching “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” three times a week), there were many chances to lose our heart, our nerve, or our way. But Americans have always held firm, because we have always believed in certain truths (until now). We know that if evil is not confronted, it gains in strength and audacity, and returns to strike us again (Which is why impeachment papers need to be drafted). We know that when the work is hard, the proper response is not retreat, it is courage (Does that include joining the National Guard in 1972?). And we know that this great ideal of human freedom entrusted to us in a special way (Oh, unnecessarily invading a country is a special way of being entrusted freedom?), and that the ideal of liberty is worth defending.

In this time of testing, our troops can know: The American people are behind you (Because we’re going to be drafted soon). Next week, our nation has an opportunity to make sure that support is felt by every soldier, sailor, airman, Coast Guardsman, and Marine at every outpost across the world (How so, George?). This Fourth of July, I ask you to find a way to thank the men and women defending our freedom -- by flying the flag, sending a letter to our troops in the field, or helping the military family down the street (Yeah, Corporal Johnson’s really going to give a shit if I have a flag in my front yard while he’s involved in a shootout). The Department of Defense has set up a website (hotDoDgirls.xxx) -- AmericaSupportsYou.mil. You can go there to learn about private efforts in your own community. At this time when we celebrate our freedom, let us stand with the men and women who defend us all (Just sign this paper and get on that plane).

To the soldiers in this hall, and our servicemen and women across the globe: I thank you for your courage under fire and your service to our nation (Lord knows it’s more than I’d do). I thank our military families -- the burden of war falls especially hard on you (Not that I’d know. My daughters are busy doing body shots in Cabo). In this war, we have lost good men and women who left our shores to defend freedom and did not live to make the journey home. I've met with families grieving the loss of loved ones who were taken from us too soon. I've been inspired by their strength in the face of such great loss (Not inspired enough to actually do something about it, but you know what I mean). We pray for the families (unless they’re Jewish or Muslim or their kid is gay). And the best way to honor the lives that have been given in this struggle is to complete the mission (If only he really believed it).

I thank those of you who have re-enlisted in an hour when your country needs you (And I can assure you that in an hour, your country will need you. There’s a plane out back). And to those watching tonight who are considering a military career, there is no higher calling than service in our Armed Forces (despite the impressive advertising campaign of the shopping mall security guards). We live in freedom because every generation has produced patriots willing to serve a cause greater than themselves (I am not one of them). Those who serve today are taking their rightful place among the greatest generations that have worn our nation's uniform. When the history of this period is written, the liberation of Afghanistan and the liberation of Iraq will be remembered as great turning points in the story of freedom (but only in the textbook, “Delusional Views of American History”).

After September the 11th, 2001, I told the American people that the road ahead would be difficult, and that we would prevail (And how blindly you followed me. It’s called power, baby, and I swim in it every day!). Well, it has been difficult -- and we are prevailing (I assume he used finger quotations around “prevailing”). Our enemies are brutal, but they are no match for the United States of America, and they are no match for the men and women of the United States military.

May God bless you all (and have mercy on us).

(More applause from people who apparently just like clapping).

2005-06-28T08:11:00.000-07:00

Well, our generation finally got its nickname, if an Associated Press article printed last Sunday is to be believed. After the Greatest Generation, the Silent Generation, the Baby Boomers and Generation X, we have been dubbed...

THE ENTITLEMENT GENERATION!!!

Yes, we apparently feel that we are entitled to everything. The article states that our generation has "shockingly high expectations for salary, job flexibility and duties but little willingness to take on grunt work or remain loyal to a company."

The article further quotes Dr. Mel Levine, a pediatrics professor at the University of North Carolina Medical School, who states, "We're seeing an epidemic of people who are having a hard time making the transition to work — kids who had too much success early in life and who've become accustomed to instant gratification," and says that too many of us "are heavily committed to something we call 'fun.'"

Is this true? Are we passing on Generation X's standard of living for ourselves and updating it with a desire to own everything? Granted, it may seem that way. More and more, people my age are rising to positions that would normally take them another five years to achieve.

But isn't the desire to get everything now simply a human desire, regardless of age? Does anybody really say to themselves, "I can't wait to be unappreciated and underpaid for ten years before I really start making a living for myself"? Besides, wouldn't a sterling example of entitlement be our Baby Boomer President, who coasted his way through the Vietnam Era before using his family connections to ascend to the leader of the free world?

I would be fully willing to agree with the title of The Entitlement Generation if those young people didn't work for their rewards. However, the young successful people that I know got there through a combination of unwavering idealism and tireless effort.

For example, it took me one year to go from being a kid who worked odd jobs (newspaper sports writer, Mystery Shack tour guide) to getting a comfortable lower-middle class position. However, that one year involved commutes from Barstow to Anaheim, 12-hour days and constant slaps in the face (demotions to the mail room, "special" projects, etc.). And now that I like where I am, I've stopped putting in that extra go-getter effort and my progress in the company has come to a stand-still. And those who get promotions over me do so because they work harder than I do.

I do not think that our generation believes that we are "entitled" to everything. I do not think that we were spoiled by the previous generations. I feel that we simply do not want to put up with the crap that those previous generations went through, and that our rewards should be in direct relation to our effort. I have no qualms with those who work harder than I do to get those promotions over me. They deserve it, and I do not.

I leave you with a final question: If those older than us are really frustrated with the Entitlement Generation, and truly feel that we do not have the drive and potential to work hard, then why do they continue to give us those jobs?

2005-06-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

Last night I went for a haircut. This is actually an event with more fanfare and build-up than one might think. The haircut for me happens usually every six months, and in the past has been accompanied by tears that were not my own. The next day elicits gasps of shock from co-workers, all of whom proclaim with the keen eye of a sleuth detective, "You got your hair cut!" I always want to pull out that lame grade school joke and tell them that I simply got my ears lowered, but I can only imagine that it would warrant confused looks.

Let me tell you a little something about my hair. We don't have that good of a relationship. Not to say that we don't get along. But we just don't really talk. Of course I take care of it. I lather it in shampoo and run a brush through it every morning. But for the most part, I let it roam freely, sticking out whichever way it pleases. Unless I'm in a show, I don't make it conform to any sort of gel or spray, and those occasions when I do, it puts up a damn good fight before settling down. I imagine the relationship between my hair and I is not unlike that of Medusa and her snakes.

I allow this behavior under one condition: it cannot distract me from my everyday life. And yet, every four to six months, it breaches this part of our contract, and I punish it by cutting it down to a reasonable size. This usually involves me walking into Supercuts, giving the instructions "I want it much shorter, but still long enough that I can slick it back if I want to", and twenty minutes later having a haircut that is not great, but decent enough. Just how I like it. Then I retreat to the car to get a closer look and I see the hair equivalent of a hyperactive boy dressed up for church: behaving, but very obviously not wanting to.

Last night, however, was an experience that brought me and my hair a little closer (which is quite a feat considering we are connected at the scalp). I walked into Supercuts, and all I'll say is that I should have seen it coming. My usual instructions were met with a look of confusion from the woman cutting my hair. "So you want it short, but long?" "Well, shorter than this, I want it out of my face, but long enough that if I wanted to slick it back, it wouldn't try to spike up on me." "Um...okay. Do you want a shampoo?"

SIDE NOTE: When I was single, which was a very long time, I always enjoyed getting a shampoo at the hair salon. It was a chance for me to go to an unseen corner with a woman (who was usually at the very least somewhat cute) and share something that I felt was rather intimate. I am fully aware that this sounds pathetic (and regarding the fact that I'm paying her to do this takes it to levels that I frankly don't want to explore right now), and indeed it probably was. All I'll say is I'm glad that I now see it for exactly what it is. Anyway...

Another bad sign was when about halfway in, she exclaimed, "You have a LOT of hair!" This is usually what someone says when first meeting me (along with "Who let you in here?"). When someone who for the last ten minutes has been concentrating on nothing except my hair suddenly realizes, "Whoa, what a hippie", that's definitely not good.

And yet, there is nothing that I can do. My glasses are resting on the counter. I cannot see what she's doing. I can only feel where she is cutting and try to form a picture in my mind of what the shape of my silhouette is turning into. I surrender my trust to her. All I can do is look in the mirror at the word "SUPERCUTS" shouting from my chest. I realize that they print the word backwards on the apron/tarp/blanket that they wrap around you so that you can read it correctly in the mirror. I wonder if they did that because people were making the checks out to Stucrepus.

After the cut, I was in a hurry, so I left a 28% tip (my only other options were 6% or 111%), and retreated to the car. Everything was as it should be.

...or was it?

I sensed something wrong. My hair seemed to be wailing, crying, shouting at me. I looked at it in the mirror. Everything seemed fine from the front. "What's wrong?" I asked, "It looks fine." But still my hair wailed. I decided to feel around, and I saw the problem. While the front of my hair was definitely shorter and out of my face, the back of my hair still extended to the middle of the my neck. I had a mullet!

It seemed impossible. And yet there is was, my fingers gripping onto the extended length of mane that creeped down the back of my neck. What made this woman think that "shorter, but long enough to slick back" meant "business in the front, party in the back"? Why would she think that this slacker-looking kid dressed in jungle tones without an ounce of denim would be the type to proclaim that "the South will rise again"?

I promptly went to a rehearsal of "Rocky Horror Show" (opening Friday at the Maverick Theater in Fullerton. Shameless plug), and greeted every cast member that arrived with, "Hi, how's it going, I went to Supercuts and they gave me a mullet, do you know anything about cutting hair?" One of the two guys playing Riff Raff pulled out a pair of cruddy scissors that was one of the many contraptions on his knife, and proceeded to do a better job on my hair than the woman who trained at a school and had the competent equipment to work with. Now it resembles a brown furry helmet, but at least the mullet was eliminated, and both me and my hair are happier.

When telling one of my friends what happened, she replied, "Don't get your hair cut anywhere that has the word 'Super' or 'Fantastic' or 'Great' in it." I realized that she was right. It seems that it is common practice in the business world to say that you are what you are not. Supercuts is actually Effective-But-Occasionally-Giving-You-Mulletscuts. Restaurants that proclaim to have the World's Greatest Burgers (and there are many) usually cannot live up to the claim. It seems like only Super Mario is worthy of the title (name me any other plumber that can storm a castle and defeat a fire-breathing dragon).

In other news, Miranda July's wonderful film "Me and You and Everyone We Know" will be playing for one week only at the Nu Art Theater in Los Angeles starting tomorrow. I am not sure if it will go into wider release than this (I can only hope), so this might be your one chance to see it. And I'm telling you now, GO SEE IT! I've talked about it in a previous post, but I cannot stress how great this movie is.

2005-06-20T12:51:00.000-07:00

Why am I so awkward around people who are feeling miserable? I try not to be. I try to be the guy that you can turn to when you have troubles. Someone who will listen to you, sympathize with you, give you sage advice (as opposed to oregano advice, which is usually no good...though it tastes quite nice).

This morning, however, was a different story. I was walking over to the fax machine, anticipating the steady rhythm of the fax papers being scanned (CHUNG CHUNG SHIIIIIIK, CHUNG CHUNG SHIIIIIIK. I could sing "We Will Rock You" to it). And I was looking forward to being greeted by a co-worker of mine, who we will call "Princess Ezenwa" for purposes of anonymity. Princess Ezenwa is someone with whom I share very short-lived but enthuasiasic conversations. The following is the typical exchange:

PRINCESS EZENWA: Hey, Jeremy!
JEREMY: Well hi! How's it going?
PRINCESS EZENWA: Fabulous! You?
JEREMY: Downright awesome!
PRINCESS EZENWA: Wonderful!

Granted, no revelations or insight are extracted from these brief conversations, but since I live a life filled with commas, parantheses and ellipses, it's nice to have a conversation fueled by exclamation marks. Also, Princess Ezenwa has a nice smile and a congenial nature, which in an energy-draining office is something that you cannot get enough of.

But this morning, as I proceeded to the facsimile transporter (as I would call it if I were brainier), I noticed that Princess Ezenwa was sitting in front of her monitor, the sound of crying emanating from her. Her regional manager was sitting next to her, rubbing her back in a "there there" style gesture. Those are usually pretty sure signs that something is wrong.

So, what did I do? Did I walk over and ask what's wrong? Did I try to hear her problems out and offer advice? Did I even fax what I wanted to fax? No. I simply looked at the paper, gave a look like I forgot something ("Oh, that...thing that needs to be...done...I should do that...now."), and retreated back to my desk.

I feel like a jerk. I can't even help out Princess Ezenwa, whose cheerfulness helps me out from day to day, the one time when she's feeling down. What kind of a man am I? Why do I shy away from misery? I was recently told that the fact that I haven't cried in a few years was sad and kind of pathetic. Is that true? Do I shut out sadness from my life?

It is not that I deny that sad things exist. I know about a lot of the death, torture, war, famine, greed that is out in the world. I just choose not to let it get me down. Is that so wrong? After all, if you are trying to help humanity, don't you need a little hope and optimism that everything will turn out okay?

Of course, if you're trying to help humanity, you also shouldn't pretend that there's something wrong with the paper that you're going to fax. Maybe I'm just a really sympathetic jerk. I'll go with that.

2005-06-13T11:12:00.000-07:00

Why is everyone so afraid that we're going to forget 9/11? Not since "Remember the Alamo" has there been such an overwhelming campaign for the memory of a tragedy. Every time I see a 9/11 bumper sticker, it says "We will never forget", "Always remember", "Don't forget", "I believe I have some sort of recollection", etc. Have you ever had to tell someone, "No, remember that day when the planes hit the buildings and Dan Rather interrupted 'The View'?" Has anyone ever said, "9/11? Oh, yeah, that was the day the Jamiroquai album came out, wasn't it?"

I saw a play last night where the central message was, "While 9/11 will someday be forgotten, we must try to keep the memory alive." What? 9/11 is going to be forgotten? By who? When was this decided? Try to find three more significant events that happened in the U.S.A. in the last 100 years (no, Watergate and the Kennedy assassination are not acceptable answers). I can assure you that we will forget about The Shot Heard Round the World, John Wilkes Booth and the War of 1812 long before we forget about 9/11.

So those of you who are fighting to make sure that we all remember what happened on that day, you can stop working so hard. Trust me, we won't forget any time soon.

And while I was unable to come up with any sort of unique insight on the situation, I felt I should point out the fact that I had the interesting experience recently of seeing a punk band that was actually pretty good performing in a church in front of a bunch of high school kids, who instead of dancing or moshing, just sat and nodded their heads to the truly rousing music. How far we've come from the days of The Sex Pistols.

P.S. This brief blog is dedicated to those whose eyes have been hurting by reading the novella length of my usual posts.

2005-06-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

As I pull into the parking garage, I look at my clock. 3:56 p.m. I'm one hour early. Should I wait in the lobby for an hour? Will it look desperate if I'm too early? The last thing I want to be is desperate. But the thing is, I AM desperate. This is a huge opportunity for me, a chance to get out of working an office job for the rest of my life and making a name for myself before I hit 25. Of all days, why did THIS one have to be the one where there's no traffic on the freeways (Santa Ana to West Hollywood in 90 minutes, including a bathroom break in Montebello. A personal record)?

But don't think about that, Jeremy. Don't think about the stakes. Just go in and do it. Brush the hair one more time. Make it look good...okay, well, at least decent. I should wear the tie. No, I shouldn't, semi-casual is best. No, make a good first impression. Always better to be overdressed than underdressed. Remember that you're in a town full of rich, judgmental people. Maybe if I stay in the lobby for an hour, then I can go up at 5:00, as if I just happened to show up right on time. Wearing a tie. Not wearing a tie. No, wearing a tie. I put the tie on. Remember to get the new White Stripes CD after I'm done. If this goes well, it will be a celebration present. If it doesn't go well, it will be a way of cheering me up.

In the elevator, I press the button marked "L", hoping it stands for "luxury". The doors open, I step out and realize that there is no "lobby" in the sense of a big open area with floor listings, a fountain and people walking to and from the building. There are just elevators and a desk with three security guards in suits nicer than any I own, the kind of guards that have perfected that charmingly abrasive look of someone who is going to throw your ass on the street in the nicest manner possible.

Trying to look indiscreet (which I realize later is the worst possible way to act around a security guard), I get back into the elevator. Okay, Suite 520. Is this is a legitimate company if they're in a suite in a building? Shouldn't they have their own, like, studio or something? Okay, Jeremy, don't be a backwoods idiot. They set up the projects and then give them to studios. As I press "5", two people walk in (an older man and a beautiful woman, an oft-seen pairing in this neck of the woods) and press "2". They say the following in a somber tone:

SHE: So how are you feeling?
HE: I...You know, I still don't think it's quite set in yet.
SHE: I know. It's really sad. Really tragic.
HE: He was a great guy.
SHE: Yeah, and the thing is, I had lunch with him a couple of days ago, and we were saying that we needed to--
HE: You look great, by the way.
SHE (suddenly happy and appreciative): Oh, thank you very much! So do you!

Bing! goes the elevator doors and they step out. Is that all it takes to cheer those people up? "You look great"? If someone close to me had died, I wouldn't give a shit if I changed into Rudolph Valentino. Ooh, remember to reference a lot of movies and movie stars at the meeting. Show them that you know what you're talking about.

I step off the elevator (after the doors opened, of course, because that's much easier) and find plastic spread out on the floor. Are they cleaning? Renovating? I need to go to the bathroom. Do I really? Kind of, but not enough to go. Then why am I walking in that direction. Because, Jeremy, you want to buy time. Oh, yeah, that's right. Is that Paul Rodriguez washing his hands? No, just some random guy. Wouldn't that be weird if I saw a celebrity? Probably not going to happen.

I step into the...Oh my god, this office is really, really nice. There are various novels and posters of book covers adorning the walls. Not like how I pictured a production company being. But then I remember that this is a story-oriented company that loves adapting books. They want Michael Connelly to walk in, see a copy of his book on the receptionist's desk and feel good about himself.

I check in with the receptionist and take a seat. I have a copy of my screenplay and a notebook with me in case she really wanted to give me notes, like she said in the e-mail. I start pretending to read my script. No, Jeremy, don't sit like that. Frat boys and slackers sit like that. I sit back in my chair, left leg resting on right knee. Think sophisticated, mature and confident. The receptionist turns the corner and I quietly hear him say, "Jeremy is here to see you," which is met with a very quiet (yet still audible) reply of "Oh, shit!" My first day as a Hollywood screenwriter, and already I'm the cause of expletives. I return to my script, convincing myself that I simply caught her off-guard with my astounding punctuality.

Someone walks by, and I look to see if I recognize them. A second person walks by and I look to see if I recognize them. Stop looking to see if you recognize people. Remember, mature and sophisticated. You don't give a shit if they're famous. They should be looking at YOU to see if they recognize you. A third person walks by and I look to see if I recognize them.

I overhear one half of a phone conversation: "Well, I guess he's not that young...Yeah, he's 32...Well, what about Tobey Maguire?...Yeah, with 'Spiderman', he showed that he could do that inner angst...No, that's still up in the air...Tell her we're looking at either Michael Bay or Brian Helgeland...Well, doesn't she have a relationship with Brian Helgeland?"

What am I doing here? They're talking about Tobey Maguire, Brian Helgeland and Michael Bay. I'm an awkward, uneducated, unknown kid from Idaho who has delusions of being a good writer. I'm not a Hollywood guy. I don't belong here. Can I deal with the bullshit? Because there will be bullshit. You know this. People will be rude to you. I have little tolerance for rude people. Will I drive people away? Worse yet, will I be desensitized by the Hollywood system into becoming a pretentious dick? Should I just leave right now?

"Jeremy, hi!" I stand up and get a good look at the woman who I met before. She looks different. Or maybe I was just too tired the last time we talked. She looks nice. Of course she does. Anybody with any power in Hollywood looks attractive. That's how they persuade you to do anything they want. She escorts me into an office with a poster for "Vertigo" on the wall. I ask the ghost of Alfred Hitchcock to watch over me.

The conversation goes surprisingly well. I remember to ask questions. I remember to fill in any pauses or silences with an observation or subject change. I slip in several movie references without making them seem arbitrary or out-of-place. I talk about the mechanics of screenwriting versus the mechanics of playwriting (as I'm pretty sure she thought I didn't really know the difference). I remember to mention the projects all of the projects I'm working on. "Orange Alert". "American Way". An adaptation of "The Land Southward". An adaptation of "Maus". All the while, she is really sweet and supportive, and seems very sincere and low bullshit.

"American Way" sparks her interest, and she tells me about how I should also try writing graphic novels. Um...okay. That'd actually be really cool. I never thought about that before. I'll have to ask Jason about that. He'd know about it better than I would, I'm sure. The rest of the ideas are great ideas, but not marketable as movies, she tells me. For a first-time screenwriter with no college education or real Hollywood connections, I need something that can be easily sold.

So I succomb and say, "Well, I do have a screenplay that I currently don't like but am doing rewrites on about teenage girls who make money while in high school by doing con jobs." She points at me and says, "There you go. That's what I'm talking about." I know where she's coming from. Granted, her studio would not make a movie like that. They're into dramatic adaptations of novels. But how else am I going to get noticed unless I give the big studios something that they want to see? Still, there's no other way? I have to write mediocre screenplays before I can write good ones?

She reveals to me that she wants to be a sort of mentor to me. I send her my scripts, she helps me fine tune them, telling me what the studios will want to see, and then she can help me pass them on to people who would actually make them. Which is a fantastic to-die-for opportunity. I'd be a fool to say "no", right? Right?

I get walked around the office, meeting various people whose names I most likely will not remember. I really have to work on my skills at remembering people's names. Faces I'm good with, but when it comes to names and dates I always draw a blank. She introduces me to someone who I assume has some sort of pull in the industry since he has his own office. She mentions "American Way" to him and he likes the idea, chuckling mildly at the thought of a retired superhero who still goes everywhere wearing his costume.

Then she says, "Tell him about your screenplay." "Oh, yeah," I say, trying to sound eager and passionate about my lame idea, "It's about teenage girls who make money in high school by pulling con jobs." "Okay," he replies, "this is a screenplay?" I feel like a fraud. Goodbye to artistic integrity. Now I'm pitching High Concept screenplays to guys who look at me with only moderate interest.

I'm led out of his office and am offered lemon cake. Not wanting to refuse, I pick up a piece and take a bite. This is a bad idea for two reasons. One, I'm not that hungry. Two, there are no napkins around and I'm holding it with my bare hands. I quickly shift the piece from my right hand to my left. If I'm to shake any more hands on my way out, I don't want to give them any frosting.

And so here I am. Jeremy Gable from Post Falls, Idaho. Walking out of a Hollywood production company with a screenplay that I didn't open, a notebook that I didn't write in, a validated parking garage ticket, and a once-bitten piece of lemon cake.

The door closes behind me. I quickly retreat to the bathroom, throwing away the piece of lemon cake and washing my hands. I shouldn't be so weird about my hands. They're just hands. Yeah, you're a pianist and a typist, but Jesus, man, they're just hands. Get a grip on yourself.

I check my watch. 4:55 p.m. Now I'm going to go back to Anaheim, change into my crappy clothes, hang out with my girlfriend and probably play a little "Grand Theft Auto: Vice City". Wow. Was that me in there? That didn't seem like a guy who would go back to O.C. to play video games and hang out with his girlfriend. Who was I in there? Anybody worth noting? Anybody worth remembering? Somebody who is going to still continue to tell challenging, thought-provoking stories?

I start the ignition on my $15,000 car and Air America Radio comes on, broadcasting the voices of people who truly want to change the world to an audience of millions. Perhaps popularity and social change can be hand in hand. Maybe I can help fuel a change in society's standards through movies. Like that woman said (after calling me an "intellectual"), "A screenplay about teenage girls doing con jobs can still be smart."

I decide how best to word the experience that I just had and decide that the words "exciting opportunity" fit best. I pull out my cell phone and begin to dial...

2005-06-06T10:30:00.000-07:00

A couple of nights ago, I went to see what has become a very important yearly tradition for me: The Blank Theatre Company's Annual Young Playwrights Festival. Every June, the theatre puts on a dozen shows from writers no older than nineteen and as young as thirteen. Three shows are performed each weekend, and they are given the best production that one can give with a minimal budget. C and D-list celebrities are cast in the pieces and professionals in the theater industry help the writers flesh out their plays.

I was first involved in the festival when they produced a play of mine three years ago. It was an incredible experience. They brought in a supporting player from the television show "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" to star in it, and a Tony-nominated Broadway director to be my mentor for the piece (although in the midst of Tony Madness, he only had time for a half-hour phone conversation). For a kid who had just moved to Anaheim after living in Barstow (and growing up in Idaho), to see a team of professionals - all volunteering their time - quickly and efficiently bring my play to life was an incredible, exhilirating experience (I wish I could have remembered more of it. I was operating on four hours of sleep every night...much like nowadays).

I have tried to help out when I can (I served on the Play Selection Committee last year, and would have been in one of the musicals if my work schedule had permitted...which it didn't), but my favorite way of contributing is as audience member. There have been weeks in which all three shows were fantastic (last year's third week was a particular highlight) and weeks that were rather forgettable (2002's fourth week was quite simply not good).

This week's selections ranked high. After an amusing but forgettable start, the festival was kicked into high gear with Tessa Leigh Williams' "Home For Christmas", which was a frantic, intense and original look at a mother and daughter who drive each other literally insane. Williams is the kind of girl who, at first glance, seems like the typical teenager, the kind you'd see not giving you the time of day. Yet she is a really sweet girl who writes suspenseful, consistently surprising plays (I wish I had been writing the same kind of plays when I was her age). This, along with her subway thriller "Last Stop Downtown", which was a highlight of last year's festival, has shown her to be a very promising new voice.

Then the evening concluded with Kit Steinkellner's "The Room Next Door". For the last three festivals, Steinkellner has proven to be a real find. While most of the writers submit pieces that are either staged sitcoms (this is a festival in Hollywood, after all) or attempts to show how "edgy" they can be (sorry, Bryce), she writes with grace and elegance, etching characters who are witty, intelligent and fed up with the absurdity of modern life (these characters are usually fans of classic movies and music). So imagine my shock when the play opened with two "Oh my gawd" college princesses fussing over their looks and saying they'd have sex with each other if they were guys while an English girl with glasses sat in the corner reading a book. Fortunately, what seemed at first to be a semi-autobiographical sitcom idea turned out to be a comment on the withering of the idea of true love in the 21st century, and the characters, who started out as caricatures, each showed unexpected depth as the play progressed.

So, the real reason that I'm writing this (apart from continuing to mention the names of these talented writers until they become famous, which reminds me...Yelena Moskovich, Shane Lynch, David Watson, Adam Westfall Cochran, Max Freedman, Jason Connors) is to show the change that I went through from last year's festival to the one I attended last night.

Usually, I spend copious amounts of time before and after the festival going around, talking to everyone I know (which is an extensive list, seeing as the same people return year after year) and "schmoozing" (for those unfamiliar with Hollywood, that comes from a Yiddish word meaning talk, and refers to the unique way that the artists of Hollywood can simultaneously have a casual chat with you while at the same time feverishly networking).

This time, however, I found myself just giving general greetings to those I saw, extending simple congratulations to the playwrights and spending most of my time talking to my friend who came with me (and brushing off the colony of ants that invaded my jacket while I was leaning against a tree in front of the theater). Having been so furiously working in Orange County theatre, I suddenly realized that the theatre scene in Los Angeles in many ways frustrates me.

I'm not talking about the quality of the shows. For being a town that is dominated by sitcoms and action film sequels, Los Angeles continually puts on interesting, original and challenging works that, while not always successful, are usually noble efforts. I often bring up the productions of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?", "The Woman in Black", "Cold/Tender" and "Heathen Valley" as great theatrical experiences.

But I realized that the typical L.A. Audience Member that populates these shows drives me absolutely insane. They are wearing outfits that cost more than I make in a month and are covered in more chemicals than a lab rat. They show up to theatre not because it is the most exciting form of storytelling and an excellent way to instigate social change, but simply because it is an avenue to the film and television industry. They spend any downtime schmoozing with anyone that could possibly further their career (upon finding out that I'm a writer, I usually get approached by actresses), and they always seem to emerge from the shows with a look of "I didn't get it".

Last year, my sister told me that when she was going to see the Young Playwrights Festival with me, her agent suggested to her that she use the time spent there to network. He encouraged her to talk to people, sell her image, etc. The idea really made both of us uncomfortable. She couldn't just go to see a show? She had to try to go around charming the pants off of everyone? Then after the show, she waited around while I, yes, went around trying to charm the pants off of everyone.

Before the show on Saturday, the theatre's artistic director was talking about Young Playwrights Festival success stories. He proudly noted past festival winners who graduated from the graduate playwriting program at Yale and whose sitcoms were picked up for a second season. I was seated in the front row and he said, "I see right over there Jeremy Gable. We produced his play 'American Way' last fall, and he recently received a great review in L.A. Times for a show that he adapted in Orange County. So he's busy doing...playwriting?"

The inflection behind that last word was really telling. Almost as if to say, "That's it?" Apparently, escaping a small, uncultured town and becoming a produced playwright at 22 without any sort of formal education in the subject is not a good enough success story. That won't happen until I have a prestigious degree or a television show to my name. I realized that I would have been more impressive if I had told him about the meeting I'll be having at a production company this week, and that as long as I stay at Hunger Artists and The Blank, I'll only be worth mentioning if I'm attending the performance.

Sure, Orange County theatre is a place that has trouble with finding decent actors, securing financial stability and pulling in crowds. But the majority of people who go to see a show in Ornage County are there to see a show. No agendas, no desperation, just a passion for live performance. It's so nice to go to a show and not have to perform.

So my hats off to those writers that will try to preserve the magic of live theatre. Keep the dream alive, and don't let glitz and glamour tarnish it.

2005-06-03T13:01:00.000-07:00

This past week, I received a bit of exciting news. There is a very real chance that I could be on the road to taking the "aspiring" off of "aspiring screenwriter", one of the many titles that I hold. I say this not with stars in my eyes, but with the firm, grounded belief that this could either be my foot in the door, or a fleeting chance that quickly disappears in a wisp of smoke.

This is a loose transcript of the not-so-chance meeting that I had with an audience member after the closing performance of "Marat.Sade" on Sunday. Crucial names have been censored in case these people want nothing to do with me later on:

SHE: Hey, great job. You wrote the adaptation, right?

ME: Yeah.

SHE: Great adaptation. Really great job.

ME: Oh, thanks. (Trying to sound appreciative while being really freaking tired)

SHE: Do you write screenplays?

ME: Um, yeah, I have, but they're not very good. (This is true)

SHE: Really? Why is that?

ME: I don't know. I just write them and go, "Mmm. I dunno." (This is also true)

SHE: Oh. (The director, GLENDELE, enters)

GLENDELE: That could be because he's not very good. (That's a joke)

ME: Yeah, I'm only good with other people's material. (Another joke)

GLENDELE (laughing): Yeah. Oh, by the way, Jeremy, *NAME*. *NAME*, Jeremy. (She exits)

SHE: Well, I'd like to talk with you more. I work for *PRODUCTION COMPANY*. You know *MAINSTREAM MOVIE NAME* with *BIG ACTOR NAME* and *BIG ACTRESS NAME*, we made that one.

ME: Oh, right. (Hadn't seen the movie, but had heard OF it)

SHE (fishing through purse for card): I can't seem to...Well, you can ask Glen for my contact info. We should talk.

ME: Definitely, definitely. It was great meeting you. (Now fully awake and sincere)

SHE: Yeah, nice meeting you, too.

MY INTERNAL VOICE: I'm a moron!

So after a swapping of contact information, I was asked to send any screenplays that I had. I quickly went through my small canon of screenplays, and was highly disappointed in what I found:

"Loner" (Drama), 1998. A high school drama about a loner (didn't see that coming, did you?). I basically keep this one around for kicks. The self-indulgent story (I was a lonely sophomore in high school while I wrote it), the wants-to-be-witty dialogue, the unbelievable characters, and the absurd notion that a sixteen year-old who mopes around while reading Erich Segal will be lusted after by not one, not two, but THREE cute teenage girls is simply laughable. PASS!

"Lockdown" (Drama), 1999. I started writing this the day after the Columbine tragedy (I've always coped with tragedy through writing. My first full-length play happened because of 9/11, a fact that made me feel somewhat guilty when I was cashing the first royalty check that I received from it). It is about a fictional high school in a fictional town that is fictionally shot up by a fictional deranged kid (not in a trenchcoat, but a tuxedo. I don't quite know my reason for this, but I like it). Bogged down in cliches and weepy dialogue, it reaches the height of a forgettable TV movie. And after seeing Gus Van Sant's "Elephant", I'd simply be too embarrassed to even try with this one. PASS!

"Post Falls" (Drama), 1999-2003. Have you ever had a relationship where you wanted so badly to stay with the person, but there were just too many problems and you finally had to give up and cut all ties? I have not had one of these myself (I'm not bragging, it's simply because I was very inexperienced for a long time when it came to relationships), but I imagine it is something close to my relationship with this screenplay. I worked on continuosly for four years, coming with dozens of different drafts. It's a semi-autobiographical tale of going to high school in a small, boring town, with only my one good friend, who I looked up to as a brother, to help me through. The only problem is that I'd never been able to make it good. My high school years were boring as hell, so I had to come up with a lot of contrivances to make it an interesting movie (sex, parties, arguments, mean parents, car crashes, etc.). It made for a script that was either very organic or very cliched. I eventually gave it up, vowing to return to it when my sense of nostalgia (along with my sense of storytelling) had improved. PASS!

"Project" (Drama), 2000. My good friend Katie sent me this, which was her first and to date (I think) only screenplay. Seeing a lot of potential (along with the wrong formatting and only a 70-minute running time), I asked if I could do a rewrite on it. Together, what we came up with is an interesting cast of characters (they're all, GASP, high school students!), a plot that, while cliched and convoluted, is fast-moving and not entirely predictable, and some really great dialogue (along with some really crappy dialogue as well). Basically, it's something for us to be proud of. But not anything that we'd really want to show anyone. PASS!

"Cult Classic" (Comedy), 2001. A very absurd comedy written at a low point in my life. A video store employee in Victorville comes across an old, obscure Western movie musical featuring an actor that not only looks like him, but has the same name. His investigation into the film leads him to an underground cult who worships the actor. While recently re-reading it, I found it to be fresh and original, great characters and plot, but too amateurish in its dialogue and has too many jokes that fall flat. This has potential, but it needs a huge re-write first. POSSIBILITY!

"The Rules" (Drama), 2004. My glorious return to screenwriting, made not-so-glorious. The first ten pages of this script were based on a dream that I had, in which I and couple of friends conned some poor stiff out of a couple hundred bucks. From that, I wrote this Mamet-wannabe screenplay about teenage girls who pull con jobs while dealing with their impending high school graduation. Think the more boring aspects of "Ghost World" and the more manipulative aspects of "House of Games" meshed into one poorly constructed, lazily written mess. PASSY PASSER PANTS!

On a side note, looking at all of these descriptions, I realized that I really want a movie to be filmed in my hometown of Post Falls, Idaho. Of those six scripts, three of them actually take place in Post Falls, and two of them take place in an unnamed small Inland Northwest town (like I could be any more obvious). I can think of two reasons for this. The non-selfish reason is that it is an immensely beautiful town with kind-hearted citizens who would quite literally flip if an entire movie was filmed there (believe me, I know. For "Dante's Peak" they destroyed a small town about a half-hour from where I was living, and the residents there loved them for it). The selfish reason would be so that I could return to the place where outdoor activities are king, and a teenager with an obsession for independent/foreign films will find himself mocked, and show them all that I MADE IT!!! I'm weird like that.

So, anyway, I was left with a bunch of "no" scripts, and one "maybe". It was looking like I could see that wisp of smoke forming. But then I remember the voice that existed not only in the back of my head, but in the mouths of a few other people, telling me to adapt my latest play "Orange Alert" into a screenplay.

"Orange Alert" is a story fueled by my subsequent love and frustration with Orange County, as seen through the eyes of three women trying to fit in with the standards of O.C. living. It has numerous scenes, a handful of characters and, unlike my previous plays, an actual progressing plot (my earlier works were exercises in style and dialogue), so it's a natural for an adaptation to the screen.

So I spent the last few days working on reformatting, cutting, and restructuring one of the few scripts of mine that I actually really like. And yesterday, before I sent it off, I read it straight through one last time, fixing any typos or making any changes I felt were necessary.

I was amazed to find myself looking at the story in a different way. With a lot of the unnecessary dialogue exchanges taken out and the world of the story expanded to include the citizens of Orange County (who are essential to the love/hate relationship I have with this place), it seemed to be more rich and natural than its theatrical counterpart. Not only did I have a screenplay that I liked, but I actually liked it better than the stage play.

But is it because it really is better as a screenplay, or is it because of the standards for movie writing (because let's face it, a lot of the best movies would make only mediocre plays. Only a few films like "My Dinner With Andre" would work on stage, and most plays, like "Angels in America" and "Oleanna" tend to lose their power when put on film)? My love of movies came before my love of theatre, so is this where I'm supposed to be? Am I going to be doing the Alan Ball route, turning my mediocre plays into really good screenplays?

I guess will have to see how the adaptation is received. I'm just hoping that when my friend Darcy told me about a month ago that big changes were coming for me, this is what she was referring to (see, Darcy, I told you I'd work you into this post).

2005-06-01T11:15:00.000-07:00

Being a movie fanatic, one of the things that I've had to accept over the years is that there are no new stories. Everything has been seen before, everything has been said before, everything has been done before. Unless your movie rhymes with Smeeing Smohn Smalkovich, it is going to resemble a story that we've seen several times before.

Like Roger Ebert has said before, a movie is not what it's about, but how it is about. What you say is not as important as how you say it. I received proof of that last night. If you told me a story about both the joys and pains of aging, I would simply nod my head and say, "Oh, yes, I fully agree, I've felt that way for a long time." Unless you happen to be Miranda July, and your story happens to be the Cannes and Sundance award winner "Me and You and Everyone We Know".

This is the funniest, most beautiful, most inventive, most poignant, most honest film that I have seen in a long time. It is a story told through small vignettes, featuring characters that connect in both likely and unlikely ways. The plot develops as easily as unfolding a piece of paper, and yet with each fold comes a surprising development. The dialogue is both very natural and exceedingly funny. The characters are all very human people with thoughts, motivations and feelings, and the actors who portray these characters are pitch-perfect. The photography is so beautiful that often I forgot it was done with a digital camera. The music is unconventional, and yet so strikingly perfect. It is one of the most flawless works of film I've seen.

All I will reveal about the movie is that each of the characters, from the six year-old boy to the elderly man, are dealing with getting older. Each character faces this theme in a different way, and yet they all fit in the same world. To see these characters interact with each other is one of the most profound joys that I've had in a movie theater. That is all that I will say about the plot. The least that you know going into this movie, the better.

Miranda July, the writer/director/star, is 30 or 31 years old (depending on her birthday) and a performance artist who has worked in several different mediums. She is beautiful, funny, fiercely intelligent and above all, an incredible storyteller. This was her first feature-length film, and based on the strength of it, I cannot wait to watch her career.

The amazing thing about the film is not just that it entertained me and moved me like few other films have, but that I left the theater feeling a little changed. Lately, I have been in a funk. I have constantly been tired and exhausted, and have consequently been frustrated. A late night talk with Brey a couple of days prior helped pull me out of that funk, and this movie only enhanced my newfound spunk.

While trying to leave the theater, there were couples blocking me on either side. Instead of pushing my way past them or jumping over a row of seats, like I probably would have done a week ago, I sat it out, taking bets on which one would move first. Then walking with Brey back to the car, we planned and executed a beautiful simultaneous hop on Wilshire Boulevard. The transformation that Brey started and this movie finished is quite amazing.

Right now, I'm listening to clips of the music on the movie's website (www.meandyoumovie.com) and remembering many notable images in the film (a goldfish teetering on the roof of a car, a woman with socks hanging from her ears, the word "fuck" written on the windshield of a car) while turning my latest play "Orange Alert" into a screenplay. On Sunday, I was approached by a woman from a production company who had just seen my adaptation of "Marat.Sade" and expressed interest in any screenplays I had. Looking back at my crappy screenplays, I decided to try to give her something more substantial. I'll keep you updated on how that goes.

2005-05-26T13:29:00.000-07:00

Today I was navigating the website www.homestarrunner.com, as I'm wont to do a few times every week. While watching one particular cartoon, I suddenly realized that the Homestar Runner cartoons capture my generation's voice better than perhaps any other piece of art or entertainment out there.

To explain, Homestar Runner is a web site that premiered in January of 2000 (making it a true product of the 21st century) filled with games and cartoons that center around an unusual cast of characters. There is the dim-witted athlete Homestar, his hippie girlfriend Marzipan, the Mexican wrestler Strong Bad, his brothers Strong Mad and Strong Sad, his furry yellow sidekick The Cheat, the concession stand owner Bubs, the hip-hop loving Coach Z, the obese King of Town and his Poopsmith, and the out-of-left-field Homsar.

So I was watching a cartoon called "Shopping For Danger", which was an obvious spoof of the "G.I. Joe" cartoons from the 1980's (Reagan-era references abound throughout this site, mostly in the form of Atari and NES games. This tells me all I need to know about the site's creators). In the cartoon, a troop of freedom fighters known as the Cheat Commandos find out their archnemesis Blue Laser is shopping at the grocery store on Double Coupon Day.

They decide to check it out, coming up with the reason that "with the money Blue Laser could potentially save from those double coupons they could buy all kinds of super weapons that, like, turn babies into gold or screw with the weather!" Upon investigating, the leader of the troop states, "It looks like Blue Laser's going to take advantage of Price Style's already low, low prices on paper towels and grout cleaner and use all the savings to make a button that will make it snow at the beach!" They swiftly attack, only to find out that Blue Laser is, in fact, just going shopping. Still, they congratulate themselves on a job well done.

I used to simply enjoy the cartoon for its spoof of "G.I. Joe"'s convoluted plots and crass commercialism (they call their headquarters "The Playset" and their theme song ends with "Buy all our playsets and toys!"). But today, I had a revelation that usually comes from smoking copious amounts of pot. That cartoon is about a group of overpatriotic soldiers attacking an evil tyrant based on insufficient evidence and false pretense. Sound familiar?

I suddenly started taking a second look at the characters and plotlines throughout the site, and I realized that Homestar Runner is a sly, clever skewering of 21st century culture (is it just coincidence that these characters live in Freetown, USA?). Underneath the random humor, simple stories and charming music, there is a subtext of satire that I did not catch the first time around. Here are but a few instances:

* Bubs, who owns the local concession stand, sells cheap overpriced junk. He finds any opportunity to charge his customers, going so far as to charge five dollars to wait in line or run into the wall (commercialism is a recurring theme in Homestar Runner).

* The cartoons that the characters watch are either "Sweet Cuppin' Cakes" (a plotless piece of surrealism) or a lame Japanese import set in the year 20X6. This parallels the sorry state of children's television, which is dominated by Teletubbies and Pokemon.

* Coach Z, in an attempt to get the younger members of the community to like him, is constantly reciting old school hip hop lyrics and mangles his voice, perhaps in an attempt to sound more urban. However, the lyrics go over everyone's heads and his voice sounds like a Chicagoan imitating Jerry Lewis. Anyone who has heard a middle-aged person attempt to recite rap lyrics will understand this.

* Strong Bad, the site's most popular character, has an anti-authority attitude. However, he is too lazy to put it to any good use, and so he spends his days checking his e-mail and ordering people to get him things while he watches TV. This is very similar to the college students of today, who grew up in the Me Decade and are not as concerned with non-personal issues as their parents of the '60's.

* Strong Bad's brother Strong Sad is part of the Goth Movement, but about fifteen years too late. As such, he is constantly mocked and teased by his brothers and everyone else in the town. This reflects how the Goth Movement has lost its edge.

* Strong Bad draws a comic called Teen Girl Squad, which consists of poorly drawn teenage girls trying hard to be popular and getting killed in juvenile ways. Strong Bad claims that he is going to sell these comics to "a snoody independent record store". Anybody who has been into a Tower Records lately can attest to the sudden surge in random, simplistic entertainment such as Adult Swim, Red Meat and, yes, Homestar Runner.

To paraphrase Chekhov (sorry, my copy of "The Seagull" is not within my reach): We should not show the world as it is, but the way it is in dreams. Homestar Runner does exactly that. It is very popular with the college-age crowd perhaps not only because it's funny and original, but because what the dim athlete, hippie girl and Mexican wrestler are saying sounds very familiar. This is what I love about art.

The power to entertain someone while holding a mirror up to them is the joy of art. And better than any other piece of art or entertainment that I've seen. So check it out (also, Matt Chapman's voices are some of the finest cartoon voicework this side of "The Simpsons"). www.homestarrunner.com

Oh, and see "Marat.Sade" in its closing weekend, to be entertained by crazy people while shedding a light on the ways of the current administration of our government. Shameless plug.

2005-05-17T14:11:00.000-07:00

Why do people twice my age feel the need to "connect" with me? I find myself to be a pretty easy-going, well-educated guy, and am perfectly able to get along with most people. You want to talk about the music of the '70's, the movies of the '50's, what happened when you were my age in 1943? Sure, I'd be glad to. Just please stay your age.

At my work, I have lunch with a couple of my co-workers. The number and identity of lunchmates changes from day to day, and every so often, I find myself talking to a woman who is old enough to be my mother (I usually eat with women, because with the guys in my office, I find myself constantly having to prove that I'm not gay by talking about professional sports and Jessica Alba. It's just not worth the effort). And these women always feel the need to show me that they're...Well, one of them put it best.

She was talking about a rap artist that her son had her listen to (50 Cent? Nelly? Tupac? Some other incredibly mainstream artist that you don't need a 17 year-old son to have heard of? Get back to me when you have listened to Arcade Fire or Nellie McKay). And she was saying, "I liked him. I don't like a lot of rap, because it's just the same thing over and over. The sex, and the drugs, and the shooting, and the hitting the women. But this guy was cool."

She then turns to me and says, "Bet you didn't think I could like a guy like that, huh? I'm down. I'm down in the diggity!"

Dear God.

Did she really say "down in the diggity" (a phrase that, even if it were correct, would still be outdated by at least fifteen years)? For that matter did she really say that she was "down" in the first place? And was she trying to somehow connect to me and get me to think that she was cool by telling me that she liked 50 Cent? Do I look like the kind of guy that could talk to you about the modern state of hip hop?

She then proceeded to have a conversation with another woman (again, old enough to be Mother Gable) about her sexual practices. Both were peppering their conversation with the exclamation "girl": "Oh, girl, men are just as bad!" "Girl, I'm telling you!" It was really quite unsettling to sit at the cafeteria table and watch these two grown women with middle-class jobs speaking like nineteen year-olds at a mall food court.

Then, I was suddenly struck by a premonition. I saw myself twenty years from now. I was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sandals, and I was talking to my daughter's friends, telling them about how I "appreciate" the crappy mainstream bands that I heard on Top 40 Radio and hearing them snicker as I left her room. Then I retreated to my son's room to try and talk to him about "that cool new video game". And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't possibly connect to them in any way.

I was reminded of the several sad figures that I've seen in my life. The middle-aged D.J. of a Top 40 radio station in Spokane. The high school science teacher that was all too willing to have his crappy oldies band play at a school dance. The kung fu- and porn-obsessed store manager at the local Hollywood Video who would keep customers in the store just so they could listen to him talk about Bruce Lee. It was a scary notion. Someone I know is actually scared of getting older. I didn't really understand her until now. If getting old means desperately trying to prove that you're not old, that's a good argument for the benefits of euthanasia.

I was reminded of one of the most embarrassing things that I have ever seen. I was watching a commercial for Teen Jeopardy, which consisted of several bookish teenagers (including with a cute Asian girl wearing glasses. *Daydreaming sigh*) talking about the virtues of Jeopardy in Smart Kid Speak ("Teen Jeopardy is the paradigm of the entertainment-education coalescence"). Then, in what must be the single most embarrassing moment in his career, Alex Trebek appeared in a leather jacket and sunglasses and said, I swear to god, "Teen Jeopardy is da bomb! See, I'm down!" I know that it was supposed to be a joke, but that went so far into Not Funny Territory that it went back to Funny Territory before finally settling back into Not Funny Territory, Embarrassment Division.

This is not to say that as people get older they should be humorless and mature. I just think that people should act how they feel. Do not try to "connect" to me. Instead of trying to talk to me about 50 Cent (when both of us have only heard the same two songs), show me the dance you took from The Jackson 5 when you watched them on Ed Sullivan. I'll enjoy that much more. Tell me what's interesting to you, not what you think is interesting to me. It is the young that should be following the elder's example, not the other way around.

Just be yourself, girl, even if you're not down in the diggity.

2005-05-10T10:07:00.000-07:00

I knew it was bound to happen. I had managed to wait until video to see "Gladiator", and I had managed to avoid "Troy", "Alexander" and "King Arthur" altogether. But it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to the Costume Epic and found myself sitting in a theater, watching "Kingdom of Heaven".

Roger Ebert, a critic who I have a lot of respect for (and whose taste usually reflect mine) said of the movie, "better than 'Gladiator' -- deeper, more thoughtful, more about human motivation and less about action." Perhaps he accidentally walked into the wrong theater and saw "Million Dollar Baby", because what I saw was an overacted, overwritten, overdirected "epic" that had the most boring action sequences since "Bad Boys II" (and that's saying something).

The movie was made by Ripley Scott, whose known for being one of the most hit-and-miss of current Hollywood directors. Either he shoots a bullseye ("Alien", "Blade Runner", "Black Hawk Down", "Matchstick Men") or he's off-target to a frustrating degree ("Legend", "Hannibal", "Gladiator"). "Kingdom of Heaven" can be put in the latter.

The story is basically "Gladiator: Special Crusades Unit". The slave-turned-celebrity device is now bestowed upon Orlando Bloom, who goes from being a 12th-century French blacksmith to the defender of Jerusalem. All the while, he glances this way and that, fighting for honor and looking pensive. It's Bloom's best performance since that last one where he was holding a sword (I swear, that guy would carry a sword in a romantic comedy).

Bloom, however, did give me an idea. Most of his performance was not based on natural emotion, but more on physical agility (running around, horse riding, swordfighting, etc.), speech-shouting ("We fight for the glory...of JERUSALEM!!! Today we celebrate...our INDEPENDENCE DAY!!! I have always depended on the kindness...of STRANGERS!!!" Okay, I stole those last two lines), and staring off into the distance with a look that says, "God, I'm a sexy bitch!"

It's not really a breathtaking performance. I think that I, along with most of the actors that I know, could have given the same performance with some sword training and a halfway decent director. I decided that I really want to see a director make a movie like this with Pauly Shore in the lead role. I honestly think that he could have given just as good of a performance, and it would make the movie that much better if you were saying, "Wow, Pauly Shore's actually decent" (although I'm sure he would be billed simply as "Paul Shore"). Please, Hollywood, give Pauly a chance!

Otherwise, the film has everything you would expect: A king with leprosy (played in a useless piece of casting by Edward Norton wearing a shiny silver mask), an exotic beauty (though she's no Shannyn Sossamon in "A Knight's Tale"...yes, of course I'm kidding), CGI battle scenes up the yin-yang (did Scott really expect us to go "Ooooh!" every single time he showed us the enormous Muslim army?), a scene with Eva Green cutting her hair with scissors that hadn't been invented yet (hell, even Mulan used a sword and that movie ended with a disco party), and the requisite cheesy dialogue (everybody liked to speak in contradictions, saying things like "No one has claim! All have claim!" and "Jerusalem is worth nothing. Everything").

Two of the best unintentionally funny moments were the Green-Bloom kiss, where what I could only describe as Arabian porn music started playing (and since the film already had an R rating, why didn't they take that scene further?), and a part where Bloom asks, "Old man, can you tell me where Christ was crucified?" and the man points to the large cross on top of the tallest hill in the area. I half expected Bloom to reply with, "Oh, right, the large cross on the hill! Whoops, my goof!"

By the time we get to the big climactic Christian-Muslim fight for Jerusalem, there are swords clashing, arrows flying, fireballs exploding, men shouting, horses neighing, walls tumbling, actors ACTING (what was with Jeremy Irons punctuating his sentences with jerks of his head?)...and all the while, I sat watching with eyes glazing, legs numbing, brain melting, stomach growling. When the movie ended, I had seen a great many things over the course of 150 minutes, and I didn't feel like I watched anything at all.

Hopefully, though, "Kingdom of Heaven" will serve a very useful purpose. It was budgeted around 130 million dollars, and made only 20 million dollars in its opening weekend. Following the disappointing box-office of "Troy" (Budget: $185 million; Gross: $133 million), "Alexander" (Budget: $150 million; Gross: $34 million) and "King Arthur" (Budget: $90 million; Gross: $51 million), this may just be the end of the Costume Epic until its next resurrection in another 30 years.

On a final, completely unrelated note, it's my birthday today, and I keep having to remind myself of this fact (the blue and oddly suggestive purple balloons that the co-workers taped to my desk are making it very easy to remember). I'm hoping that this isn't a sign of my becoming too adult. Aren't I supposed to be excited two weeks before hand that my birthday is coming up? Shouldn't the idea of cake and presents excite me? At least I'm excited about the prospect of going to Disneyland tonight (Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters, here I come!). Maybe hitting the big 2-3 won't be so bad.

2005-05-04T12:19:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I had several moments of clarity. My different moods and emotions were playing tag with each other, and I could only be described as a mess.

The day started out well enough. I was spending my morning going through Bob Dylan's canon. I was attempting to take the fifteen albums of his that I own and condense them into a 75-minute mix CD, with emphasis placed on his extremely potent years between 1963 and 1966. The project filled me with excitement, as I got to revisit the music that I have loved for several years.

Suddenly, while swimming in the brilliance of "Subterranean Homesick Blues", I had a sudden attack of what I can only describe as Tech Week Anxiety (it's Tech Week for "Marat/Sade" at Hunger Artists, opening Friday and running through May 29th...shameless plug).

Tech Week Anxiety is not something that I really experience as an actor. My technique during this time is simply to forge through each rehearsal in a busy-but-optimistic state of mind, not giving myself time to complain or get testy. But as a writer, I basically become, in most uncompromising terms, a sniveling, self-absorbed bitch.

I started doubting the script that I had rewritten for the show. I felt that I had destroyed Peter Weiss's original vision while giving the audiences that would come to see the show nothing more than a pretentious, mildly amusing freak show. The show would be, to quote a playwright who knows a thing or two about people ruining his work, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing".

I also started doubting my own performance, which throughout the entire rehearsal process felt stale and wooden. Due to prior commitments, I missed the first two weeks of rehearsal, when all of the tablework was done (tablework is my favorite part of putting up a show). As such, I felt like an outsider, someone who was invited to just tag along with the cool kids, rather than be inducted in their group.

Meanwhile, Mr. Dylan's nasal voice was filling my ears, reminding me that by the end of his 22nd year (I'll be 23 in a week), he had already released three incredible albums and had penned such classics like "Blowin' in the Wind", "Masters of War", "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" and "The Times They Are A-Changin'". And here I was, the same age, and completely incapable of giving a decent performance while acting out my own shoddy material.

I walked into rehearsal with a significant amount of dread. As I donned my costume and grabbed my walking stick, the director gave me a note. Now the notes that I've received have been on a more technical side (increasing volume and enunciation, throwing in a funny bit, etc.). But this note was different and relatively simple: "I'd like to see more at stake for the Herald. We need to see his fear that the show isn't going well. So just higher stakes."

That did it. I went up on stage and immediately connected to the material. Suddenly I felt vibrant and alive, and most of all, I was having a blast. And since I wasn't trying to figure out what I was doing wrong anymore, I was able to focus on other parts of the show. I watched Christopher Spencer running around panic-stricken while reciting dialogue that was written in the 1960's but is especially relevant today. I watched Mike Caban, my new favorite actor, speak his words as if he were tasting a fine wine. I watched as an entire room full of mental patients stood silently transfixed to the two figures that compose the climactic moment. And I realized that perhaps the script isn't all that bad.

Afterward, I received compliments on the improvement in my performance. Then Jessica Beane, one of the greatest people I've ever known, talked to me about how she wanted to do justice to her first monologue, because it was "poetry". Suddenly, all of my Tech Week Anxiety disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

I realized that I'm the kind of actor that needs a director. There are some actors that can simply get by on their own. I am not one of them. This is not a bad thing, just a true thing. I can throw out ideas and add funny bits, but I really need someone to be my eyes and ears toward my performance. The crucial two weeks that I missed meant that I never got to explore my character with the director. But one small note about the core of the character, and I was off.

I also realized that what I said in an earlier post about acting being a chance to escape oneself and try on a new personality is not happening here. I realized that I am, in real life, a less extreme version of the Herald. I have minor compulsions that I choose to indulge rather than correct (label peeling, paper folding, etc.), and this show does indeed have high personal stakes for me (I have not been satisfied with the last three plays of mine that were staged, and I really want this to be a success). So the closer I channel to the character to my own anxieties and compulsions, the more natural and believable my performance will be.

I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't on the fence about this show for a very long time. But now, I can say with the utmost confidence that we have a fantastic show on our hands, and that this is a project that I am extremely proud of.

Now on to another topic. I am getting extremely tired of personal agendas. In the past twenty-four hours, two people that I have great affection for have been driven to the point of exhaustion by other people taking their personal agendas out on them in a theatre environment. This saddens me because they are both extremely hard-working people who only want the best for the respective theatres to which they volunteer their time.

I'm also frustrated because the people treating them cruelly and stabbing them in the back are people that I've called friends. I've worked on shows with them, given them rides, invited them into my homes and now they have shown me a side of them that I never knew existed. I just don't understand why people can't just stop being malicious, jealous, illogical jerks and act like adults.

*PHEW* I'm being really long-winded here, aren't I? I'm sorry. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing.

2005-04-25T08:41:00.000-07:00

Before I relate the story I want to tell this morning, I would like to take this moment to say how proud I am of myself. Each time I strike a set at Hunger Artists, I end up feeling a little bit more like my dad. I did the usual cleaning and painting that I always do, but this time I measured, marked and - without the aid of gloves or safety goggles - cut pieces of wood using a circular saw. I know the old man would be proud. Now I just need to learn how to make the secret family spaghetti sauce.

Anyway, on to The Great Water Cooler Debate! It is, of course, a cliche for office employees to talk around the water cooler. But at my work, one of the hot topics IS the water cooler. In an attempt for our office to "get with the times", they are testing out a new water cooler. Our previous water cooler was of the large bottle variety, which of course requires the constant purchase of new bottles, not to mention the changing of said bottles.

Unbeknownst to many, the changing of the water bottle is a test. A test of one's strength and precision. For after taking the top off of the large bottle, it must be turned over, and the nozzle end of the bottle must be placed within the hole at the top of the cooler, much in the way that you would see in the refueling of an airplane or in a sex ed video in health class. The only trick is to do this all within the course of half a second, since you only have momentum keeping the water from spilling on your "Nightmare Before Christmas" tie.

So, in an attempt to relieve the tension that comes to whoever is bestowed this task, the office purchased a new water cooler that simply connects to the building's water supply, and simply filters it using what they say is a revolutionary ultraviolet purification system. The only problem is...it still tastes like tap water. If this cooler is supposed to sell us on the idea that the same technology used to turn human skin brown is just as effective in eliminating chemicals from our water, it failed.

Well, on top of the cooler is a sheet of paper with two columns: "Good Idea" and "Bad Idea". We have been encouraged to check the column that we feel best represents our thoughts about the new cooler, and have been assured that comments are welcome. So, to get the ball rolling, I checked both sides, just so that no one would have to be scared of being the first.

Later that day, there were three other checkmarks on "Bad Idea", and one of them was accompanied by the message, "There's an aftertaste". So, to make the debate more even, I put another checkmark under "Good Idea" and wrote next to it, "YOU'RE an aftertaste!" The debate was on.

More checkmarks and more comments have been added, with "Bad Idea" getting twice as many votes. And all the time, I've been invisibly helping to fuel the debate, checking both sides and offering comments like "Ewww" and "I can't tell the difference". My favorite moment came when someone wrote "Tastes like well water". Then someone wrote under that "Tastes like tap water". Then someone else wrote under that "Tastes like chicken". So I wrote under that "Smells like Teen Spirit".

Normally, when it comes to the petty subjects that my co-workers are obsessed with (the Michael Jackson trial, the new Pope, what that one girl was wearing), I get livid. However, here I am joining in the banal discussions.

I think the reason for this is my sympathy for the water cooler. It lives its life serving a vital purpose, giving freely without any sort of reward. And yet, it spends its days listening to shirt-and-tie'd yuppies prattle on about Star Wars, weight training routines and the latest reality television episodes. But finally, the water cooler is now the central topic of the Water Cooler Chat. So I want to get the most out of it. Now that people have had the more advance but less fulfilling cooler, they now realize the wonderful things that our Yosemite Water cooler does for our office.

So congratulations, water cooler. Welcome to the world of mainstream conversational topics. You can take a seat right next to Robert Blake and Jamie Foxx.

2005-04-22T14:20:00.000-07:00

Obviously, I do acting so that I can escape myself. This seems to be the motivation behind a lot of my favorite actors. They get to leave themselves for a couple of hours and do things that they would never willingly do in public (because for an actor, the stage is not public. It is a very intimate, private place that allows us to reveal our desires and secrets). One of my favorite local actors has been described as "the kind of guy who gets his face pixelated in 'Cops'."

But then he stands on stage and immediately commands your attention. When he recites Shakespeare, it's like he's been speaking it his entire life. Then he steps on stage and you say to him, "That was really good," and he replies, "Your MOM'S really good!"

Then there's my favorite actress on the local stages, who is a remarkably sweet woman. Her speech is very quiet and her manner is shy and introverted. She constantly doubts herself and kindly apologizes for the smallest things. Then you put the lights on her, and it's a complete transformation. Her voice booms and her eyes are wild, psychotic and near-hypnotic. Then when she exits the stage and you compliment her, she quietly says, "Oh, thanks," then shyly puts a hand to her face and leaves.

That kind of switch does not surprise me. What surprises me is how little it takes at times for the personality to change. Today, I was reading Eric Bogosian's "Talk Radio", a brilliant play from the 1980's about a talk radio host who hates his callers almost as much as he hates himself. The lead character of Barry Champlain is loud, brash, vulgar and unsympathetic.

I was reading this play in ten-minute increments while retreating to the bathroom at my work, and suddenly I found myself returning to the desk, listening to the Sex Pistols and using the phrase that I almost never use: "Whatever." I wouldn't be surprised if one of my supervisors came up to me with a special project and I replied with, "Life's too fucking short, man. We're all gonna die, anyway, so get that shit out of my face. Next caller!" I wanted desperately to be Barry Champlain, telling people off to their faces while giving a hard middle finger to the rest of the world.

But then a few minutes ago, I passed by a window and looked at the reflection of myself. Yes, my hair is a little messy (as per usual), and my shirt is wrinkled, but I have all of my buttons buttoned in the right places. My tie is well-tied and held in place with a tie tack. My slacks are cleaned and pressed. I'm not Barry Champlain. More like Barry Manilow. I pushed my hair down a little and returned to my desk, being good ol' Jeremy again.

Why the obsession for us actors to leave our personalities? Why is it that we do not like to be ourselves, and scoff at those who simply recreate their personalities on the stage? Why do I give the name "Lance" when ordering a Jamba Juice? Why did I used to create fake people on MySpace, then kill them off? Should I just enjoy myself (enter your own masturbation joke here)? Perhaps that's what acting accomplishes. It helps me appreciate my own life. After doing a show, I can say, "Well, thank God I'm not THAT guy," and then enjoy the life in which I lead.

My afternoon break came, and I walked out to my car in the parking lot. I spotted the BMW SUV parked next to me and, for a brief moment, wanted to knock the fucking windows out of that gas-guzzling, abbreviation-heavy monstrosity made by a company that still has yet to apologize for using Jewish slave labor to make their vehicles during World War II. Then I took a breath, went into my car, curled up in the driver's seat and slept for fifteen minutes while listening to public radio.

2005-04-21T11:08:00.000-07:00

While driving to work this morning (which is sort of a lie. You don't really "drive" to work any morning in Orange County. It's more of a slow coasting down the freeway while staring at the lame bumper stickers on the car in front of you), I was listening to the radio, as I am wont to do.

A commercial came on for a guy called "Mr. D.U.I.", an attorney who specializes in drunk driving cases. He was bragging about a recent case in which a man's blood alcohol level was over twice the legal limit, and Mr. D.U.I., in all his glory, was able to clear this man's name in court and return his license to him. He then said, "If you had a blood alcohol test taken against you, if you had your license taken away, or especially if you refused to take a test, I can help you."

Now I know that I should be practicing the Christian laws of forgiveness (although I don't have a religion, but that's another story for another time), but shouldn't we, you know, punish those who, you know, commit crimes? Not to say that I am holier than thou (whoever thou is), but if I was driving under the influence and I was caught, I would expect to get punished, and I would take my punishment with a smile (well, maybe not a smile, but probably at the very least a 50's sitcom "Who me?" kind of shrug).

I'm am getting increasingly tired of this society where people refuse to take responsibility for their actions. A friend of mine recently said, "I can't wait to become famous so I can get away with killing people," and it's sadly true. Robert Blake was acquitted, George W. Bush hasn't been tried as a war criminal (and never will be) and I recently had to turn my back to two former friends of mine who, in what I can only assume is a state of jealousy, have been hurting someone I love through their unfair lies and manipulations.

I think the idea of not owning up to something that you did is absurd. Do these people really want to live in a lawless society, where anyone can sneak their way out of all of their mistakes and mishaps? Do they think that they can get away with this for the rest of their lives? The two aforementioned former friends are in a high school environment, so while they can use their "tee hee, who me" popularity and charm to get what they want now, they are going to have a rude awakening when they get to the real world and find out that their lack of ethics (combined with their poor planning/working skills and their unique ability to burn bridges) will only get them so far (especially if they continue to be in the world of theatre, where reputation and work ethic are huge factors toward success).

I think that the idea of confession is something that should be put in a secular environment. I think that the 21st century should be the Century of Confession. I know that asking for complete honesty is hand-in-hand with asking for world peace, but call me an idealist. I just hate seeing our society go down the toilet.

In other news, me being a Worrying Wally (or Fretting Freddy or Scaredy Sammy, whichever you choose) about "Marat/Sade" turned out to be unfounded. With each rehearsal this week, the show has been getting tighter and more focused. It still needs work, but with two weeks to smooth everything out, I think it will get there. Long live the Revolution!!!

2005-04-19T07:27:00.000-07:00

"...I got the big cups from the other break room because we were out of big cups here, so that should be enough for everyone, and the coffee in that pot is strong because I like it strong, so I made it strong, I don't like seeing transparent coffee, so those Yankees won last night, huh, I couldn't believe it, oh and Sam Mills died, but it's not showing it in the paper, I'm not seeing it so maybe, oh, here it is, Sam Mills, oh, intestinal cancer, that's too bad, that's too bad, so I was at the ninety-nine cent store last night and it was all for Mother's Day, and..."

Being someone who really doesn't need input from a second party to hold a decent conversation, it's really nice when I meet someone who's the same way.

2005-04-15T08:58:00.000-07:00

Just before I left for work this morning, I had the talking picture box tuned in to the morning news so that I could find out the traffic report (not that I can really change my route, but it's just nice to know for once what lies on the road ahead of me).

One of the stories that was reported (after they had already made two bad puns about a lettuce spill on the freeway. That already had me on edge) was a fight in a South L.A. high school that involved over one hundred students (back in my day, we called that a "clusterfuck"). The reporter said, and I quote, "The fight involved over one hundred Latino and African-American students."

Now I have to question why they felt they had to mention that the students were Latino and African-American. Having been a journalist for a brief period, I know that what you report in a story needs to deal directly with the subject at hand. Stating that the students were Latino and African-American gives me no insight into the story, and instead left an uneasy feeling in me.

It irritates me that we still live in a society where we feel we have to make a distinction between the races. I don't remember during Columbine anyone saying, "Two white students opened fire on more white students." And yet they felt the need to tell us that the school fighting was by "Latino and African-American students", and the only reason I can see why is so that those of us watching can go, "Ohhh, so THAT'S why they were unable to arbitrarily resolve their conflict. Splendid!"

Guess what? Kids fight. People kill other people. Cars are stolen. Convenience stores are robbed. And every day all over the country, people of all races are put into prison for these crimes. Murder, theft, rape, assault are not Latino crimes or African-American crimes. They're human crimes. If you're going to point out the ethnicities of those involved, you should also point out other random facts having nothing to do with the subject at hand. I present to you how the story should have gone:

"Violence broke out at a high school in South L.A. yesterday, when over one hundred Latino and African-American students started fighting. Five of them were gay, though two have yet to come out the closet. One student was wearing a really cute top. Cheese squares were on the school's lunch menu that day. I bet Julie Fowler caused some damage, because that girl's nails are sharp! I wonder if this means Robbie isn't going to be available for prom now. I need to do my taxes. Who wants ice cream?"

And now I jump (BOING!) to a new topic, because I have to tell you about "Sin City", which I saw last night. This, my friends, is why both the motion picture and the graphic novel were made. This is an epic story taken to its visual peak. It is a complex web of stories that is visually stunning, dramatically compelling and has an entertainment value rivaling that of the "Kill Bill" films.

As time evolves, the comic book is becoming more and more accepted as a legitimate form of storytelling. Surprisingly, for something commonly associated with children, the modern comic book is gory, sexy and often unsettling. Recent film adaptations of comic books ("Daredevil", "The Hulk", "Elektra", "The Punisher", etc.) have failed to capture the edginess of a drawn image on a glossy page (the differences between the film and the book of "The Mask" are staggering). Previously, the only movie to faithfully adapt the tone of its graphic novel source was "Ghost World", which introduced its audience to a very low-key kind of humor. However, "Sin City" is extremely faithful to the original Frank Miller books, and nothing is lost in the translation. This is how a graphic novel would look on film, and it is truly glorious.

Plus, you've got Rosario Dawson firing an automatic weapon, Alexis Bledel looking really cute (as Alexis Bledel is wont to do), Devon Aoki wielding samurai swords, Mickey Rourke giving Hellboy a run for his money, Elijah Wood as one of the creepiest characters I've ever seen in a movie, and at the top of the heap, Jessica Alba looking hotter than hot can be. I don't care what gender you are, that shot of her on stage, dancing and twirling a lasso, makes you go "Whoa!" Oh, and I feel obliged to state that the director is Latino, and one of the actors, Michael Clarke Duncan, is African-American.

And now if you will excuse me, I'm going to retreat to the bathroom and read the script to "Thom Pain (based on nothing)" for a second time. Damn, that's some good stuff.

2005-04-13T15:56:00.000-07:00

Last night, coming out of a rehearsal of "Marat/Sade" (with a new adaptation, premiering at the Hunger Artists Theatre in Fullerton, CA on May 6th...shameless plug), I was drained. The character that I play has an obsessive-compulsive disorder, and as such spends the entire show making sure everything is in order. And since we have still have three weeks until the show opens to refine and focus all of its many moments (and the director has been giving the actors a great deal of freedom to explore their characters), it is at the moment a chaotic mess.

This causes a problem on two levels for me, as both my OCD-suffering character and the real life me who provided the adaptation of the piece (did I forget to mention that earlier? Yeah, I wrote it) are freaking out. I have no doubt that the director (who I know to be quite understanding of both the piece at hand and the rules of theatre in general) will be able to tone down the more distracting elements of the play. But at the moment, there is a severe lack of focus going on.

So anyway, the point is, I was physically and emotionally exhausted coming off of rehearsal (not in a bad way, just in a factual way). And I decided to, for once, actually get to bed early. As I went to bed, the numbers "9:32" were staring at me in red LCD display (which was freaky. I haven't seen anything close to that time when going to bed for many a month). I went to sleep and proceeded to have a dream that I actually remembered (dreams worth remembering do not often happen to me, and when they do, I still forget them).

In the dream, I was in a one-man show (I have developed an unhealthy obsession with one-man shows since doing "The Gog/Magog Project" last fall. Now I constantly immerse myself in the world of Spalding Gray, Eric Bogosian and Will Eno) that was being directed by my friend Darcy (whose play "The Land Southward" is currently having its world premiere at Hunger Artists Theatre...second shameless plug).

However, it wasn't really a show. It was taking place out in the woods, the only people present were myself, Darcy, Brey, and Darcy's fiancee Jason, and it was more of an endurance test that had me completing various physical and spiritual challenges.

I don't remember most of them (see, even the really interesting dreams I have trouble remembering), but the two that I do remember are "Take a long, slow walk" (which I had decided to save for last) and the most difficult of all of the challenges.

It involved me standing in the middle of a humongous abandoned shed, and my challenge was to not only have "an eternal death of the soul" (whatever that means. Maybe that's what happens when you watch too much Fox News), but to somehow get my soul back (which defeats the purpose of an "eternal death", but never mind).

Now again, I'm fuzzy on the details, but I remember my having to battle a kind of spirit that was not entirely good, but definitely not evil. I lost my soul and gained it back, and the experience was both physically and emotionally grueling (uh-oh! Similarities abounding!). The spirit left, the wind stopped blowing, the ground stopped rumbling and I found myself standing in the middle of the shed exhausted and naked (apparently in our society, losing your clothes goes hand-in-hand with losing your soul. Sounds about right).

So I step out of the shed, and I just start walking. I plod past Darcy who says to me, "You're taking The Walk?" And I reply, as if it were the last line of the greatest cinematic epic ever filmed, "I'm taking The Walk." And I begin to slowly drift toward the horizon.

And........SCENE! I wake up. I asked Darcy about it, and she said, "I guess there must be some big changes in store for you."

I always hate when I get a dream that "means" something. I prefer not to know the future. I just like to let the future happen, and that my reaction to it be spontaneous and unplanned. So when I get a dream that could potentially be telling me the future, I get worried. I start overanalyzing everything in my life that could possibly be an explanation for my premonition. Am I going to lose my job? Am I going to finally gain success in the entertainment industry? Is that Ben Affleck film going to suck (actually, that one's a given)?

So to get my mind on other matters, I'm distracting myself. I'm writing a new play (and I might actually finish this one), I'm reading Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" (I can only imagine the dreams that he has...but then again, he can only imagine them, too), and I'm listening to The Arcade Fire's album "Funeral" (which balances its musical complexity and edginess with a beauty that calms me without being sleep-inducing or intelligence-draining).

Perhaps these will help me in the battle for my soul. I'll keep you updated on how that goes.

2005-04-11T14:39:00.000-07:00

I have to question my own artistic integrity. Yesterday, I was at Disneyland, celebrating a friend's birthday and testing out the new Buzz Lightyear ride at Tomorrowland (it's an amusing interactive ride that distracts you from the unoriginality of its content by having you shoot various targets placed throughout. It's pretty fun and warrants repeat rides).

While walking by one section of a park, they had a band performing. They weren't famous, nor did they seem like the type of band that ever will be. I immediately had my usual thought when seeing a band performing at a theme park or for a commercial: "Way to go on selling out! Who needs artistic integrity, huh?"

But then another thought popped into my head. What if, as an aspiring playwright who works an office job to support himself, the Disney Corporation came up to me and said, "We'll pay you various moneys to write the book for the next unbelievably cheesy musical that we're going to put up at the Hyperion Theatre in California Adventure. What do you say?" The first thing I would say would be, "Did you just say 'various moneys'?" Then my next reply would probably be, "Where do I sign?"

At what point does one "sell out"? Does it count if you're unknown to begin with? I know several serious actors who started off performing at Disneyland (I don't mean to say that I "know" them, but know of their existence. I don't have Steve Martin's home phone...so stop asking). If you don't really have a celebrity status to sell, wouldn't those early transgressions count as just a job, especially if you were fully aware of their creatively-draining capabilities and made an effort to rise above such projects?

After all, Lawrence Fishburne was Cowboy Carl in "Pee Wee's Playhouse". And George Clooney was in "Return of the Killer Tomatoes". And Leonardo DiCaprio did what I can only imagine was fine work in "Critters 3". I don't hear anyone complain about those actors taking those roles, because they have done better work since.

So where does one lose their artistic integrity? When they become the spokesman for shampoo in Japan? When they phone in their supporting role in "Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous"? When they do (gasp! shudder!) network television?

I think of the people and places that I know of that have held a firm grasp on their artistic integrity, only seeking out the best projects to lend their name to. The Hunger Artists Theatre Company, David O. Russell, Rufus Wainwright, etc. These are only a few examples of artists who have a vision that they hold on to, and it has paid off for them. However, will I be able to make that balance between fiscal responsibility and artistic quality? Only time will tell...

2005-04-06T12:21:00.000-07:00

I haven't had much in the way of subjects to write about (I could write about the overexposure of Terry Schiavo and the Pope in the media, overshadowing news in Iraq, but any discussion beyond that statement is simply just blowing hot air), because life is generally good (when you've got rhythm, music and your girl, who could ask for anything more?). So, what do you do when you can't come up with a topic to talk about? That's right, boys and girls, you make a list!

See, currently at Hunger Artists, I am involved in two incredible productions, one that opened and one that is to open.

One of these shows I am very proud to be a part of, as it is the world premiere of what I feel is an important work, one that is destined to go far. I have no doubt that it will go to other theatres and be seen by a lot more people than are seeing it now. But in a small 40-seat theatre, people are witnessing its greatness for the first time.

The other is "Marat/Sade", a familiar show (it won the Tony for Best New Play in the 1960's), but completely reimagined, and has been an absolute blast to rehearse. It is a remarkably inventive, original show that in this reincarnation has become more concise, more concentrated and much, much funnier. It is a production that has never been seen before, and will probably never be seen again.

These two shows got me thinking about productions that I will never get to see. Having heard of their greatness, I can only imagine what it must have been like (that is until I get the flux capacitor working on my DeLorean). Any description I give of the production is merely from what I've heard. So without further ado...

THE TEN PRODUCTIONS I WISH I COULD GO BACK IN TIME TO SEE:

1). "Angels in America" - Mark Taper Forum - Los Angeles (1992). George C. Wolfe's inaugural production of what is my favorite play (written by Tony Kushner) was an epic piece of art: funny, moving and utterly original. Both parts of the play were seen here before moving to Broadway.

2). "A Midsummer Night's Dream" - Royal Shakespeare Theatre - Stratford-upon-Avon, England (1970). Clive Barnes of the New York Times had this to say about Peter Brook's circus-like production of Shakespeare's brilliant comedy (which featured Ben Kingsley and Mary Rutherford): "This is without any equivocation whatsoever the greatest production of Shakespeare I have ever seen in my life-and for my joys and my sins I have seen literally hundreds."

3). "The Importance of Being Earnest" - St. James's Theatre - London, England (1895). This Oscar Wilde play is my favorite comedy, and I would have loved to have seen the premiere production, when it was actually modern and controversial.

4). "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" - Billy Rose Theater - New York City (1962). Edward Albee's masterpiece debuted with Uta Hagen and Arthur Hill in the roles of George and Martha, and caused such a controversy that the Pulitzer committee refused to award it a prize for Drama. How can you not love that?

5). "The Seagull" - Moscow Art Theater - Moscow, Russia (1898). Any production that brings the playwright out of retirement has to have something right about it. That's just what Stanislavsky's production did with Chekhov (who had vowed never to write again after the first production of "Seagull", which was not well-received). Although I wouldn't have understood a word of it, I still would have liked to have seen it.

6). "True West" - Circle in the Square Theatre - New York City (2000). One of my favorite plays is Sam Shepard's tale of feuding brothers, and this production had the highly effective gimmick of employing two phenomenal actors (Philip Seymour Hoffman and John C. Reilly) who would switch roles from night to night. It made for two completely different productions, both equally good.

7). "Sweeney Todd" - Hunger Artists - Fullerton, California (2003). While I was doing a mediocre production of "Into the Woods", the theater company I would later go on to fall in love with was doing a much-better production of a much-better show. It was minimal and intense (O.C. Weekly said it was "one of the best-directed plays on a local stage. Ever.") and I constantly kick myself that I was not involved with it.

8). "Rhinoceros" - Longacre Theatre - New York City (1961). Zero Mostel was great in the film version of Eugene Ionesco's brilliant absurd comedy, so I can only imagine what it must have been like to have seen him turn into a rhinoceros live on stage (with Eli Wallach complementing him). Plus, it had to have been an improvement over the film simply because Karen Black wasn't in it (why was she famous? Anyone?).

9). "Hair" - Biltmore Theatre - New York City (1968). This was a show that broke all the rules. A free, energetic musical that actually served as a mirror to the changing current of society. Nowadays it's a period piece, but at the time, it was extremely relevant and much-needed. It was also Diane Keaton's Broadway debut.

10). "The Beauty Queen of Leenane" - Town Hall Theatre - Galway, Ireland (1996). Martin McDonagh is one of the most exciting theatrical voices to emerge in the last ten years, and to see his first play in the country where it takes place would have been quite an experience.

Ahhh, if only...

2005-03-31T10:38:00.000-08:00

I know that my complaints about actors have consumed perhaps too much space on this journal, but the amount of what a friend of mine called "Drama-Queen crap" that even the most humble of actors gives sickens me (and I'm going to go so far as to say "literally", since I am recovering from a cold).

Last night was the final dress rehearsal of "The Land Southward" (playing at the Hunger Artists Theater April 1st through April 24th...shameless plug). Now throughout this week (affectionately known as "tech week"), actors have been replaced, blocking has been refined, and the timing, order and placement of the one hundred-plus light cues has been toyed with several times. As such, our light board operator was not as quick with the cues as I'm sure she will be in performance.

However, one of the actors in the show felt it necessary to, while asking a question to the director, criticize her at length in front of the entire cast and crew. It was biting, insulting and unnecessary (and also surprising, since this actor is usually laid-back and should know better).

I have worked with this lighting person on two prior shows. One was "Madame Guignol's Hellhouse" (which, as a series of one-acts, required multiple light cues) and the other was "The Gog/Magog Project" (which had the most complex and difficult lighting cues of any show that I have ever been a part of). In neither project did she let me down, and I have complete confidence in her with this show. She is one of the hardest workers I have ever known.

Now, egos I can handle. Pretentiousness I can make fun of. But if there's one thing that drives me up the fucking wall, it's actors who are disrespectful to the tech crew of a show. As I constantly say (and should put backstage of every theater I work at), acting is just playing pretend. Even if you're working hard, you're working hard at pretending.

The tech crew, however, actually works. They are usually there before the actors, and usually leave afterward. They're building sets, hanging lights, making sure every costume and prop is in its place, and supervising the entire show. While us actors are sitting around joking and whining, they are working their asses off.

Fortunately, knowing the actor, I think they realized what they did. At least I hope so. We all have our moments of frustration, and I think that's all it was. I just don't appreciate when it's directed at someone who does not deserve it.

So go see "The Land Southward" if you want to see what I'm sure will be excellent light board operation.

2005-03-24T09:46:00.000-08:00

Here are ten reasons to see "Princess Marjorie" at South Coast Repertory, playing through March 27th:

1). It's the best show I've seen in a long time.
2). The two lead actors who carry the show never hit one wrong note.
3). It features a ukelele solo that is alternately hilarious and heartbreaking.
4). It breaks the fourth wall to an extreme I've never seen before (two of the actors go to Burger King midway through Act Two).
5). It's extremely funny, but with subtext and depth infused in the story.
6). Something flies in from the wings at the end (and as anyone who's seen a Broadway musical can tell you recently, you have to have something dropping from the ceiling to have a good show)
7). It's an accessible story to anyone who once fell in and out of obsession with someone else.
8). It was written by Noah Haidle, a 26 year-old playwright who is one of the hottest emerging voices in theater.
9). It's the greatest piece of theatre about the power of imagination since "Fantasmic!" (yes, SCR, you can quote me on that one).
10). It comes at a time when most of the shows that are out there are either morality plays that scream their message to the audience at the end (something "Princess Marjorie" quite literally refuses to do) or are pieces of entertainment with very little meat in the broth, which makes its fusion of art and entertainment all the more refreshing.

And now, here are ten notable things that happened to me while attending the OC Weekly Theater Awards on Monday:

1). Winning a special award for "Best Solo Performance". Let's get that one out of the way now.
2). Performing a monologue from "The Gog/Magog Project" on the "Princess Marjorie" stage in front of 200 representatives from various theaters around the county in which I told them all that theater was dead.
3). Almost falling off the stage while performing the monologue due to my standing on a chair...on a slanted stage...after having a vodka tonic.
4). Seeing Joe Smash enter right at the end of my acceptance speech and go, "What???"
5). Watching Brett Cain perform "Land of Opportunity" (I like that guy)
6). Feeling immense guilt at butting in on a conversation between Kelly Flynn and a very kind elderly woman who ended up getting shut out of the conversation.
7). Running into a couple of people from Laguna Playhouse who saw "American Way" when it went up in L.A. (perhaps because I like to lead a double life, I tend to keep my acting in O.C. and my writing in L.A. So when they converge, it is always a little frightening to me).
8). Seeing one particularly pretentious actor that I've worked with before arrive to the event exceedingly overdressed, complete with bowtie and cane.
9). Steven Lamprinos' grateful face and subsequent speech after deservedly winning Best Supporting Actor for "Roscoe Spitzer is Afraid of Dying"
10). FREE VODKA!!!

And finally, let me just get this out of the way: Terri Schiavo, feeding tube, Supreme Court. Sorry, it's just that being someone who writes for others to see, I am required to say those three key terms, just like anyone else who is halfway connected with the media. All I'm going to say on the matter is, right or wrong, the decision needs to be left out of the hands of Congress. I believe in a separation of feeding tube and state.

2005-03-15T11:14:00.001-08:00

Are there other people out there who get post-anxietal euphoria? That's my sounds-like-an-official-term term for a feeling of an unmotivated happiness proceeding a motivated bout of anger, exhaustion and/or depression. In the case of yesterday, I was feeling all three, and as if to compensate for my previously foul mood, my demeanor today is more happy-go-lucky on the level of a Cockney bum in an English musical.

I found out on Sunday that my great uncle died. The news was surprising, but not really shocking, if that makes any sense. He had been having trouble throughout the past year, but I did not expect his passing to be this soon. He was a really cool guy, and refreshingly low bullshit. If your joke wasn't funny, he wouldn't laugh at it, which made it all the more satisfying when he would laugh. He was easy-going, good-natured and always a joy to be around.

The news of his passing made me unhappy, to be sure. But more than that, it made me frustrated at myself. Everyone else that I was talking to was sounding like one does when a close member of the family has died. And yet, I felt I was only affected mainly because everyone else around me was. Is that heartless of me? Can I possibly justify it by saying that it's simply because I was told of his passing, and that if I had actually been there it would have affected me more?

I can't pinpoint the last time I cried, but I know that it no less than four years ago. The last time that I cried over someone dying was in high school, while attending the funeral of one of my dance teachers (who died in a car accident in her early twenties), and I attribute that mostly to the secret crush that I had on her.

These thoughts came swarming back to me yesterday, and made me feel less than human. Like a zombie, or a robot, possibly a zombie robot (also known as a "zombot"). If the passing of a relative doesn't fill me with sadness, I don't know what will (other than the notion that I never get filled with sadness anymore).

This came at the same time as my mounting frustrations at work (Slow computer + outsourcing of work to India + co-workers who stupidly think that I'm somehow famous = Crumpled soda cans in my trash bin), the exhaustion of working on three shows at the same time (with a few other projects sitting around, coughing politely) and the fact that, through circumstances out of my control, I hadn't been able to shower in 48 hours. Needless to say, I was not in the best of moods.

But this morning, I woke up feeling refreshed. I showered thoroughly, as two days of stink is hard to scrub off (that's a good name for a book. "Two Days of Stink"), and contently drove to work, bouncing my head to the sound of the incredible band The Arcade Fire blaring through my car speakers. I looked at the goals that I need to achieve for my theatrical projects (review lines for "Land Southward", listen to songs for "Rocky Horror Show", rewrite music for "Marat/Sade" and submit "Orange Alert" to South Coast Rep), and realized I am able to achieve these goals with minimal stress. Maybe I should continue my exhausted, bitter mood, but I just can't. I'm truly in a good mood.

That's post-anxietal euphoria. It's my mini-rehab from my mini-breakdowns, and its me at my best.

2005-03-11T13:30:00.000-08:00

Theatre is my number one passion in life, don't get me wrong, but the amount of pretentious bullshit (also known as p.b.s.) that I hear from the mouths of actors that I work with is absolutely staggering.

My sister is currently in a production of "The Diary of Anne Frank", and after opening night, they had a talkback with the audience. Giving actors a chance to speak to an audience after they have just performed a "very important" play like that one is never a good idea. Sure enough, according to my sister, the p.b.s. ran rampant throughout that theatre, to the point where one of the actors said, "I've given up a NORMAL life to do this." Apparently, a "normal life" consists of not being a pretentious dick.

Seriously, what the fuck is so great about actors? Being one myself, I can tell you that we're nothing to give two shits about, and the less praise you can bestow on us, the better. The best actors I know are the ones who don't listen to what people say about them, and who don't take themselves seriously.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Acting is just playing pretend. That's all it is. I hate when I hear actors use the words "technique", "important", "review", "award", "motivation", etc. Every time an actor says that they were "born for this role" or that they are "a serious actor", I want to punch them. Talkbacks, interviews and program bios annoy the shit out of me.

I think the theatre community as a whole would be so much better if the actors involved kept the p.b.s. to a minimum. They need to quit giving a shit about what anyone except for the director thinks of their performance. They need to realize that nobody really cares about them, and that talking about themselves if they weren't asked only puts people off. And most of all, they need to realize that they are playing pretend for people who have enough money to attend theatre, and that there is very little that is noble or important about it. I also have to make sure that I make sure I don't do any of those things, now that I think about.

And then, no less than fifteen minutes after finding out about that talkback, I had one of my co-workers walk up to me. He is one of that select group of people who believe that they know all about theatre because that one person in his family was in a production of "Bye Bye Birdie" at some crappy theatre that has the word "community" in its name (if you haven't read a script or seen a play that was written in the last ten years, then you don't truly know what's going on in the world of theatre. Please stop reading now and pick up a Neil Labute or a Sarah Kane).

This guy comes up to me and tells me that someone at the office has a rubber skull on his desk, and that I should do the soliloquy from "Hamlet". I thought he was joking, but no. He actually wanted to see me perform "Hamlet". Not only is that the most obvious thing to do with a skull (how many "Hamlet" spoofs have we had in our time? And how many, beyond "Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead", are any good? I rest my case), but it's just plain stupid. I said I wouldn't (after all, I'm a serious actor...D'oh!), and he said that he wanted to see what a "professional actor" would do with it.

Okay, now what about me spending my day sitting in an office going through foreclosure reports makes you think that I'm a "professional"? If I were a professional, would I be here? Wouldn't I be snorting coke off some crazed fan's ass next to my pool in Beverly Hills, instead of living in a house with four other middle-class artists in Anaheim? That is exactly the kind of comment that pretentious actors take to heart. That's right, I AM a professional actor...who just doesn't get paid and is seen only by blue-haired subscribers or other members of the theatre community. But I did that Ross commercial and that guest spot on "She-Spies". Yes, I am an ac-tor!

We need to stop praising actors. Instead of giving awards for the best performance, we should give out awards for those who have potential but need improvement. Who knows, if we stop giving recognition to these people, they might actually up their game. We do not learn through praise, but through criticism. Once we start cutting down the egos of the p.b.s. actors out there, then maybe we'll actually start having good theatre on a regular basis. One can only hope...

2005-03-10T11:09:00.000-08:00

Every now and then I have to question just how "adult" I am. Have I lost too much of my childhood innocence? I don't feel that I am as eccentric as I used to be. I used to give absurd fake names when I ordered drinks at Starbucks, and I'd order food from a drive-thru in a foreign accent. I'd dance around in public and pose motionless next to mannequins when my family was trying on clothes at a department store.

I've found that I've either cut down on doing these things, or just stopped doing them altogether. And then I watch Brey, who walks around in a way that is almost balletic in its fluidity and Keatonesque in its innocent humor, and I wonder if I've lost a bit of joy inside. Am I the kind of people that I used to find sad? The people that walk around, trying so hard to be "grown-up"?

Yes, I do crazy things on stage. I swivel my hips and scream Italian and act like a twelve year-old and conduct the audience as a pretend orchestra. But that's all within the context of a piece of art/entertainment. I don't seem to do the weird things for myself anymore. I used to get such enjoyment out of ordering a coffee under the name of Ghris (complete with the sigh of having lived your life with a name that's "Chris but with a G"), but now the thought doesn't cross my mind until after I've ordered, and I feel a pang of disappointment at picking up my drink as plain old Jeremy.

There's still the possibility that I can recover that part of me that I am sorely missing. I still do the Elvis hip swivel when left to my own devices. I still avoid cracks so that I can save my mom a hefty hospital bill (fixing a broken back isn't cheap). I will do the infamous "herky jerky" upon request. Still, I don't feel it's enough. I need to ignore more of my First American self and reconnect with more of my Seltice Elementary School self. Give me my juice box and "Remains of the Day" lunchbox!

*CRAPPY TRANSITION ALERT* Maybe it's because I'm not getting enough sleep. Hey, speaking of which...

I have become horribly addicted to car naps. Being given two fifteen-minute naps at my work, I have found that I make the best use of this time sleeping in my car. This accomplishes two things. First (and most basic), it gives me an extra fifteen minutes of sleep during a time in which I'm averaging only about five hours of sleep (which is not nearly enough for me).

But second, and most importantly, I have the best dreams during this time. I've been notorious for several years for not having interesting dreams. I will actually go and watch a movie in my dream. How absurd is that? During a time in which I am fully at the mercy of my subconscious, and can go anywhere and do anything, I sit on a couch and watch fucking "Moulin Rouge"? Which I've already seen?

However, sleeping in my car in the middle of the day is another matter altogether. Suddenly, my dreams are wild and frantic, filled with recent events and amazing imagery. I think the reason for this could be that, with my very busy schedule, I have several different things on my mind. And while I shut my brain down at night, I am still thinking with all cylinders during the day. So the subconscious, already working overtime, suddenly goes into sixth gear when I abandon the real world.

The most astounding part, however, is that I go on adventures that last several hours, in which many things are seen and done, and then I wake up in my car to find out only ten minutes have passed. Apparently, my mind is packed with so much to think about that it somehow slows down time when I have my naps. It's really quite amazing.

On a somewhat unrelated topic, let me just do a couple of shameless plugs and talk about what could be the best one-two punch of Orange County theatre since "Assassins" and "Gog/Magog Project". The rehearsal process for Darcy Hogan's "The Land Southward" has been among the smoothest of any show I've ever done. The script is fantastic, the cast is really on their game and we could open next week if we wanted to (not that we want to). It's a fascinating piece that definitely should to be seen by anyone and everyone.

Then after that, it's "Marat/Sade", one of the most brilliant 20th century plays ever written in my opinion. Only problem is, it's also talky and rather pretentious. But the Hunger Artists Theatre asked me to rework the script, and I think it's definitely an improvement. Auditions are going to be this Sunday, and you KNOW that I'm gonna be all up on that sucka. Knowing the director and some of the other actors who are planning on auditioning, this is going to be a really great piece of theatre.

So if you're not doing anything from April 1st through May 29th, go see a couple of shows.

2005-03-02T09:08:00.000-08:00

Since I haven't made a list in a while (I keep wanting to talk about "things". What's wrong with me?), here's one just to lighten the mood of this journal (which has been really "the point is..." lately. Sorry about that).

Here are the ten shows that I would go to see if I had a ten-night trip to New York and a buttload of money (New York theatre is expensive, dude!).

DAY 1: MONTY PYTHON'S SPAMALOT - A musical adaptation of "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" starring Tim Curry, David Hyde Pierce and Hank Azaria. I don't really think I need to say anything more than that.

DAY 2: THOM PAIN (BASED ON NOTHING) - What better way to follow up a big Broadway musical comedy than with an off-Broadway one-man show in which an ordinary man muses on life? The writer Will Eno was called "Samuel Beckett for the Jon Stewart generation" by the New York Times and this show - which has been described as stand-up existentialism - is supposed to breathe new life in the fictional one-man show (a genre I've taken great interest in after "I Am My Own Wife" and "The Gog/Magog Project").

DAY 3: SHOCKHEADED PETER - I am not typically one to see a show made for the whole family, but this does not sound like a typical children's show. In Tim Burton/Lemony Snicket manner, this bizarre-sounding show consists of a ghostly-faced M.C. telling us stories of rich Victorians who meet their maker for their sins and crimes. I can see this one getting a "Nightmare Before Christmas"-style cult following.

DAY 4: HURLYBURLY - I only know the bare basics of David Rabe's Hollywood-skewering play, but its incredible amount of acclaim, along with a cast that includes Ethan Hawke, Parker Posey and Wallace Shawn, definitely make me drool theatrical slobber (Note to self: "Theatrical slobber" is a good band name).

DAY 5: DEMOCRACY - If there's anyone who can blend theater and politics, it's Michael Frayn. His follow-up to 2000's "Copenhagen" focuses on the world of 1970's German politics, which is apparently a lot more exciting than any of us ever thought. This was a big hit in London, and is subsequently doing well on Broadway.

DAY 6: THE 25TH ANNUAL PUTNAM COUNTY SPELLING BEE - The latest musical from the creator of "Falsettos" is going to transfer to Broadway later in the year, but I'd rather see it on a more intimate stage. The show, as the title suggests, centers on a children's spelling bee, as we meet the contestants and see what brought them there. It's supposed to be a very funny and very touching look at the need for competition in our lives.

DAY 7: THIS IS HOW IT GOES - Even if his writing is not necessarily up to par (as with "The Mercy Seat"), Neil Labute is great at creating characters who may have money and an optimistic nature, but conceal a real terror that manifests itself in horrifying ways. Plus, Ben Stiller, Marisa Tomei and Jeffrey Wright playing an interracial love triangle sounds intriguing enough as it is.

DAY 8: THE LAST DAYS OF JUDAS ISCARIOT - Stephen Adly Guirgis is one of the most promising emerging voices in theater, and since his latest (about the courtroom trial of God and the Kingdom of Heaven v. Judas Iscariot) stars Sam Rockwell and Eric Bogosian and is directed, as usual, by Philip Seymour Hoffman, this one looks most promising, indeed.

DAY 9: AVENUE Q - Winner of three Tony's, it's a musical comedy that takes the ideas of "Sesame Street" (puppets living with humans in a lower-class neighborhood) and turns it on its head, showing what would really happen. This one has puppet nudity, a song about Internet porn, people killed by falling pennies, closeted homosexuality and Gary Coleman. What more could you want from a show?

DAY 10: DOUBT - I'd round out my trip with what I hear is the strongest piece in the bunch. John Patrick Shanley has been around for a while, winning acclaim for plays like "Danny and the Deep Blue Sea" and Oscar-winning screenplays like "Moonstruck". But many people say this piece, about a nun who suspects the priest at the grade school she heads is molesting a boy, is his best work yet.

This is one of the few times in recent memory that I've actually found ten shows that I'd be enthusiastic about seeing in New York. The place has been dead for a long time (and indeed, normally dependable writers like Donald Marguiles and David Mamet have been giving us less-than-average fare this year), so it's nice to see these shows (along with other promising-looking fare coming up like Martin McDonagh's "The Pillowman", Tom Stoppard's "The Coast of Utopia", Jose Rivera's "Massacre (Sing to Your Children)" and "Jerry Springer - The Opera") trying to bring back the edginess and importance of New York theater.

2005-03-01T09:44:00.000-08:00

Last night, I was browsing the information superhighway, looking for a particular short cartoon that I remember making me laugh. While going through the list of titles on the host website, looking for some keywords to tip me off, one particular piece struck me. It was named "Disney's Hitler".

Being a Disney enthusiast, and a fan of all of the untrue things said about his life (no, he is not cryogenically frozen, despite what Penelope Cruz tells you in "Vanilla Sky"), I thought that it was some piece of propaganda about the rumors that Disney was connected to the Nazi party. Well, it turned out to be propaganda, but of a different sort.

The name of the cartoon is "Education for Death", and it is a ten-minute anti-Nazi cartoon that details the raising of a Hitler Youth from infant into an adult, where he joins the Nazi party. The boy is Hans, a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who is good at heart, until the Nazi regime breaks his kindness and turns him into a goose-stepping soldier who marches, almost literally, into his grave.

There are some of the typical Disney touches. In the middle of the cartoon is a funny but equally chilling section where Hitler, dressed as a screaming, scrawny knight saves "Germany" (who is represented by a Goering-looking woman with a viking hat, like a stereotypical opera singer) from "democracy" (represented by a scraggly witch). But for the most part, it is a detailed, well-researched and very serious look at how the Nazi regime was able to brainwash their youth into following Hitler.

Other moments abound that I think will forever stick in my memory. The choice to have the characters speak entirely in German, with an English translator telling us what they're saying. The line of boys heiling Hitler. The shadowy superman yelling at the kindly German mother trying to protect her sick child.

But one scene in particular struck me. The class of Hitler Youth had just been shown a cartoon on the chalkboard of a fox chasing down, cornering and eating a rabbit. When asked what they learned from the cartoon, Hans shows sympathy for the rabbit. He is given a dunce cap and shoved in the corner. And while the other boys yell about domination and making the enemy submit to your will, Hans watches them, eager to fit in. When the teacher turns back to him, he starts yelling, tears in his eyes, about how he hates the rabbit, and how the fox was right to eat him. I don't know who the animator or the voice actor was for that particular moment, but it is one of the saddest and most haunting pieces of animation I have ever seen.

The cartoon had a great emotional effect on me in 2005, so I can only imagine how people responded to it in 1943. In a time where most of the studios (including Disney) were putting out pro-war shorts that were meant to unite and inspire, for this one outing Disney decided to inform. To show an unflinching look at the Nazi propaganda machine while remaining understanding and sympathetic to the German people (Hans' parents, just trying to provide their son with a good life, are the only attractive adults in the entire film) while avoiding any sort of "rise up and buy bonds" patriotism was a bold move for the Disney animators.

It is also an indication as to the importance of art in society. I realized that there are several things that I have learned from movies, cartoons, TV shows and plays. Programs like "Schoolhouse Rock" and "Sesame Street" were some of the most effective learning tools that I and other people my age had growing up.

This reliance on the entertainment industry to educate me worked its way into my adulthood as well, I learned about the development of the German nuclear program from Michael Frayn, and the effects of United States nuclear bomb testing from Darcy Hogan. I learned about the massacres in Rwanda from Don Cheadle, and the encampment of Australian Aborigines from Kenneth Branagh. My interest in the Holocaust in junior high can be equally attributed to Art Spiegelman and Steven Spielberg.

So I have great respect for those artists that seek to enlighten the best way they know how. For those of us who don't actually like to read, we salute you.

Speaking of Darcy Hogan, I just want to say how exciting it is to be a part of "The Land Southward" (a new play by Ms. Hogan opening at Hunger Artists on April 1st...Shameless plug). Having seen each member of the cast in action during rehearsal, I can safely say that this is honestly one of the finest casts I've ever been a part of.

We have Abbie, who portrays the strong side of Liz without comprimising her vulnerability. Joyce's May is truly heartbreaking for those on and off-stage. Michael's instincts are almost always dead on for The Man, as are Jason's with the character of Joe. Erin, as Maggie, gets better and better every time I see her, and Cheryl's The Girl never ceases to crack me up. So please, please go see this show in April. Okay, shameless plug done.

2005-02-28T15:26:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, the lack of communication skills that the human beings around me possess are astoundingly primitive. When dealing with this from strangers I pass on the street, it is bearable. However, I just realized I don't usually talk to strangers that I pass on the street. And usually I'm not in a position where I'm passing strangers on the street, as I seldom walk anywhere (this is Southern California, after all).

However, inane chatter becomes truly unbearable when you constantly hear it from those who you see every day. There are various people at the office with whom the mere utterance of their voice sends me into a small rage. Whether it's Guy Who Only Teases Me, Woman Who Gives Me Lame Advice or Clueless Guy, it drives me insane.

Today, all three of them got to converge over one topic: my recent haircut. On Friday night, my hair (which was about shoulder-length) got cropped to a more reasonable and easier-to-shampoo length. Not buzzed, not crew cut, just shorter. And yet this supposedly significant event (which, last I checked, something like 94.3% of the U.S. population does on a regular basis) required a barrage of comments, including the astute "You cut your hair!" and the extremely witty "Hey, Mr. New Hairdo".

Yes, they're just making stupid comments about my hair, but it is simply one of many annoyances that these people have bestowed on me for the past two years. From one person (and the friend that he shares a desk with), I get the endless teasing about my hair (messy), my clothes (unironed), my shoes (holes in them), my workspace (unorganized), my computer (slow), my manner (tired), my eating habits (unhealthy), my weight (thin), my age (young), etc. How do you carry on a conversation with someone whose purpose, as far as you can see, is to endlessly "josh" you about the way you live your life, as if its any business of theirs.

Another person constantly gives me advice on my relationship with my 17 year-old girlfriend, who she has never met. I bring up the age only because she does, as she proceeds to tell me all of the best ways to avoid a situation in which Brey would accuse me of statutory rape. As if the woman that I've been dating for six months is really out to get me, because of the money I don't have or the friend of hers I didn't screw over. Recently, upon learning of a trip I was taking to San Diego with Brey, this woman told me to not let her take her shoes off because "if you get pulled over, she can say you tried to rape her". Okay, three things...

1). Can you show Brey a little bit of fucking respect?
2). Couldn't she accuse me of rape without taking off her shoes? Are the cops really going to say, "I'm sorry, young lady, but we don't believe you. Your shoes are clearly on."
3). What? Did she actually hear what she said?

I believe that's the problem with these people. They aren't listening to what they say. They just let the words flow out, entirely free of conscious thought, like cockroaches with an Associate's Degree. The third person that approached me today asks me several questions about the glamorous and extravagant life that is Orange County theater (warning: Orange County theater is neither glamorous nor extravagant). Despite my confessions about doing theater "for the fun of it" (translation: no pay), my descriptions of the theaters that I work at (usually dirty 50-seat venues that make good use of their shortcomings) and the fact that I'm working a lower-middle class job at a title company, this guy believes that I have a little black book worth millions (when in fact it would probably only get me $37.50 from an rabid Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan). He discussed last night's Oscars with me this morning, and then actually asked me if I received an invitation.

This is the best part, though. When I told him that I don't get invited to things like that, he gave a look of mild disappointment and said, "Golden Globes?" So I proceeded to explain to him that, no, any kind of televised awards ceremony is not something I'm allowed into. The closest things I get invited to are L.A.'s Ovation Awards (which I wasn't this year, because "American Way" understandably got nominated for squat) and the O.C. Weekly Theatre Awards, the only show I could get into. There's nothing to put your life in perspective better than a co-worker who's disappointed in your achievements.

Who are these people? I do not make fun of the first guy's lifestyle, nor advise the woman to avoid contact with her daughter for fear of molestation charges, nor ask the second guy - a golf enthusiast - if he's ever played with Tiger Woods. Why do these people insist on inflicting their ways upon me?

Then later today, I received a rare glimpse at the opposite end of stupid communication. I was told by a member of my staff that the way I had been doing a certain type of file wrong for the last two years (I'll avoid going into the details of title analysis, as is it both hard to understand and unbelievably boring). In disbelief, I asked my manager and found out that it was true. Why no one had ever told me this before, I will never know.

I feel like all of the work done at my job is in vain. If I can do a type of file wrong for two years, letting many different issues go right past me, and no one seems to blink an eye, then why am I even here? Why didn't they send my work to India already?

It has been over two years that I have worked at this particular department, and while I have never been told that one vital piece of information concerning my line of work, I have heard extensive histories of my co-worker's families, various bad/inappropriate jokes, and several cracks about my choice of clothes, my choice of hair, my choice of women and my choice of lifestyle.

We all talk too much. If we stuck to subjects we were passionate about, this would not be a problem. The trouble is that most of what we all say doesn't make any fucking difference. There are several people at this office whom I have never heard say, "I really like to do...", "My plan for tonight is...", "The way I feel about it is...". It's all "So, Thursday, huh?" "Mmm, coffee." "How about that rain?" Idle chatter is the death of us. It accomplishes nothing and only confirms that we are spineless, unintelligent creatures. And I am included in this category. My parents came to visit my sister and I this past weekend. During a silence, I asked my dad, "How was your drive?" and I hated myself for it.

I'm going to try to stay away from mindless chatter from now on. If someone asks how I'm doing, I'm going to tell them honestly. I'll bring up issues, ask about hobbies, try to get people to wake up and stop getting the automated robotic responses that we've been taught to give. ("Fine, and you?...Yes, it IS Friday...Ha ha ha, see ya."). From now on, people should talk for a reason, and if there's no reason, then they should just shut up and enjoy the silence.

2005-02-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Chris Rock. Thank you for taking a lot of the pomp and pretentiousness of an Oscar ceremony plagued with several bad ideas (who was the genius who suggested Beyonce to sing a song from the French film "The Chorus"?) and skewering them.

Rock goes down on my list of one of the all-time great hosts, keeping things snappy and often extremely funny. He started off the ceremony with a hilarious monologue that attacked several celebrities, many of them probably in attendance. The following are paraphrases:

"They say that there are a hundred celebrities here. That's not true. There's only about four stars here. Like Clint Eastwood, he's a star. Tobey Maguire's just a boy in tights...The problem with Hollywood is they make movies too quickly. If you can't get a star, wait. You want Tom Cruise and all you can get is Jude Law? Wait....You want Russell Crowe and all you can get is Colin Farrell? Wait. 'Alexander' is not 'Gladiator'.

Russell Crowe is one of the greatest actors we have. If you're making a movie that takes place in the past, you need to have Russell Crowe in it. Even if it's a movie that takes place three weeks ago, you need to get Russell Crowe to do it. Because he'll do his research. He'll dress like three weeks ago, he'll walk like three weeks ago, he'll talk like three weeks ago. You could close your eyes and say, 'Damn, that sounds like three weeks ago'.

You want Denzel and all you can get is me? Wait. Denzel's a fine actor. He would've never made 'Pootie Tang'...

What I want to see at the Oscars is acting. At the Grammy's, they sing. At the Tony's, they sing and dance...But at the Oscars, I want to see some 'To be or not to be'...The only acting you see at the Oscars is the people from the people who act like they're glad they didn't win. When Halle Berry won, I saw Nicole Kidman doing some fine acting. If she'd acted like that in the movie, she would have won the Oscar."

Introducing Tim Robbins: "When he's not amazing us with his acting, he's boring us with his politics."

Introducing Salma Hayek and Penelope Cruz: "I'd like to welcome our next four presenters."

Regarding the choice to present certain Oscars from the audience: "Next year, they'll be giving out Oscars in the parking lot. They'll have a drive-thru Oscar lane. Get an Oscar and a McFlurry."

Introducing Sean "P. Diddy" Combs: "He hasn't done a lot of movies, but he's been in every music video since 1983."

It was a real breath of fresh air to see someone treat the overdressed, overpaid Hollywood elite as what they really are: people playing pretend. I would not be saddened if Chris Rock was invited back for many more years to come.

Another great statement came with Jorge Drexler, the singer/writer of the Oscar-winning Best Song, gave his speech. Having previously stated in public that he was disappointed at not being asked to perform his song at the Oscars (Antonio Banderas and Santana were asked to slaughter it instead), he went up and sang part of his song. So he really did get to sing at the Oscars. It was short, succinct and made a statement. Just like every good speech should do.

Oh, and some movies won some awards. You know, boxers and aviators and superheroes. Things like that.

2005-02-22T11:03:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder if I don't show as much emotion as I am supposed to. This weekend was the final weekend of "Joseph...", and one of the performances will forever go down in history for me out of the many shows I've done over fifteen years of performing in front of people.

During intermission, I was getting ready to assume the esteemed rollercoaster of a role that is "The Pharaoh". Equipped with costume, makeup, microphone and Elvis sunglasses (if you don't know the show, don't ask), I quickly stepped into the men's room for a brief tinkle before Act Two started (like you do).

Now this is an example of how my life works. I have been in several bathrooms, and most of them have a lock on the door. The door will bolt when I move the lock in one direction and unbolt when I move the lock in the opposite direction. This has been a constant standard in my life. I also used the bathroom in the La Habra Depot Theatre dressing room (which is an old converted Amtrak car) on several occasions, and have never had a problem with the door. Can someone tell me then why the one time that the lock decides to stop working properly is when I am in it and it is five minutes until places for the second act?

Needless to say, the rest of the proceeding twenty minutes or so played like something out of a Christopher Guest movie. There were the questions that I could not believe were being asked ("No, seriously, did you try the lock?" "Why was he in the bathroom?" "Why did he lock the door?"), the constant and deafening pounding of various objects against the door, and from what I could only hear, the general bustle of what sounded like fifty-seven minds all trying to find a solution to the problem.

Meanwhile, what am I doing all this time? Oh, you know, whatever. Checking for possible openings, washing my hands, checking my makeup, thinking of jokes to use on stage regarding the incident, reminding myself to tell Brey all about it when I get out, etc. Looking back over what happened, the most emotion I believe I showed was the initial worry at the start of the problem, which was still moderate at best. The most dominant emotion I had throughout the ordeal was a mixture of boredom and slight annoyance, equivalent to being stuck in a long line at a grocery store.

Now, any logical person would probably have gone into a panic at some point. However, I was confident that I would eventually be released before any loss of oxygen, sanity or body fat would occur. After the door was busted open (which required three strong men and one crowbar) people were commenting on how calm I was during the ordeal, and I realized that even being in an small, enclosed space with no guarantee of immediate or controlled release did not bother me.

The next day was the final performance of a show which broke box-office records for the theatre, got extended and contained a cast that was fun to work with. And at the final cast party, several people were crying and others were saying things of emotional significance, the most popular being "It's been a real pleasure. We have to work together again soon" (why doesn't anyone say at a cast party, "Chickens have feathers, feathers get plucked, the show is now over, looks like we're fucked"?). But then again, there was me, with nary a tear and a few well-wishes to a group of people whose company I genuinely enjoyed.

In the past week, I've been offered a role in a show and had to turn it down. I had a surprising development in the show I'm assistant directing ("Land Southward" at Hunger Artists, throughout the month of April...Shameless Plug), I received a heap of praise on a play of mine from one of the nation's top developers of new plays, I watched Goofy cartoons while sitting between two hot teenage girls and had a serious discussion of another play I'm rewriting ("Marat/Sade" at Hunger Artists throughout the month of May...less shame, more plugging). And yet, it seems as if I've reacted to these situations with a stoicism that would make Ben Stein hang his head in shame.

Is there something wrong with me? Do I need a good shaking and a slap across the noggin? Or maybe just a nice, long uninterrupted sleep?

2005-02-18T11:13:00.000-08:00

72 Hours in Limerick Form:

What a past few days this has been
Filled with movies, food, music and sin
I got lots of sleep
Emotions ran deep
Now all stored in my memory bin

On Tuesday I went off to work
And while channeling my inner perk
I heard lots of crying
My e-mail was trying
To not be an emotionless jerk

Other countries I was asked to go
Disappointment when I replied "No"
They tell me how to escape
Accusations of rape
Their lack of trust fills me with woe.

On Wednesday I got up at four
In twenty minutes out of the door
I was surprisingly rested
And singlehandedly bested
The rest of the colleagues on my floor

To San Diego I went later that night
And saw a truly unbearable sight
With much pretend sobbing
And her blonde hair bobbing
Overacting with all of her might

Then at Carlsbad, I got to see more
of the past of the girl I adore
The school was quite dark
The beach was a lark
And I still love the top that she wore

Now on Thursday, asleep until one
Where can we go to have fun?
Red Robin for lunch
On burgers we munch
Guacamole and bacon on a bun.

Then it's Memory Lane that we pass
Both of us filled with beefy gas
Up to level three,
We sit down and see
Topher Grace act like an ass.

The rest of it becomes a slight blur
I just remember there being me and her
All the while Bright Eyes sings
Fullerton and two rings
And some raised voices did occur

At the end of the night, going back home
Me with sore neck, her in mute tone
My arm round her back
Our feelings intact.
I'm so glad that I'm not alone.

Back at work, my computer is slow
I wish it were two days ago
It had good and bad
It wasn't all glad
But I'd not trade it for anything I know

2005-02-14T12:09:00.000-08:00

I'm really tired (literally) of people thinking that, because I'm a man, I am stronger than women. A few minutes ago, my manager asked all of the guys in the department to help him carry a pile of computers and monitors from the far end of the parking lot, up a flight of stairs and to the other side of the office. I was given two computers, stacked on top of each other, and was teased all the way.

Now, I have this to say about the jests that were made (the two most popular being "too much for you?" and handing me very small objects): Fucking duh! I've been scrawny most of my life, and judging by my family history, I'll be scrawny for the rest of it. Yes, it is hard for me to lift heavy objects, including dance partners. Yes, I can bench about 65 pounds on a good day. Yes, I took a weights class in high school with several women and found out that most of them were stronger than me. Yes, my girlfriend could beat me up if she had the inclination. You know this, and yet you still ask me to carry heavy objects.

It's as obvious as sunlight that there are women in my department that could do a much better job of lifting and carrying objects than I could. And yet, I was asked. Why is that? Two words: Pe nis. There's this unusual belief that testosterone gives you extra strength, when it really just gives you extra appreciation for sexual innuendo, extra attraction to lesbians and extra inclination to go "WOOO!" while pumping your fist in the air.

Now my arms are sore (to add to my already sore neck and back from a "Rocky Horror Show" audition this past weekend that kicked my butt), I want to vomit and my shakiness is making typing, eating and drinking difficult. I know that this is basically a scrawny kid crying, but I just feel that in the 21st century, we should know better than to ask guys to do all the heavy work simply because they're guys. We should ask the strongest people, regardless of gender, to do the hard labor, and leave the wimpy people to do what we do best: simper and whine like the sissies that we are.

On a random topic jump, I cannot wait to get back to working at Hunger Artists Theatre again. Not that I don't like the theatre where I'm at right now, I just want to get back to my family. I saw their amazing production of "Othello" again last night and helped take down their set. The smell of the bathrooms took me back to some wonderful memories of last summer and fall (the five most glorious months I've spent doing theatre), and I was reminded of what great theatre is. I entered the dirty theatre, with ladders propped up against one wall. And for two and a half hours, I was suddenly not in a Fullerton business park with meth labs and loud motorcyclists. I was on the isle of Cyprus, watching the moor of Venice being deceived into killing his wife by his best friend.

It was an exceedingly well-acted, well-lit, well-directed production that completely captivated me and demanded my attention (which is hard to do with me when it comes to Shakespeare). After seeing "The Clean House" at South Coast Rep and doing "Joseph...", I was surrounded by theatre that was awash with decent budgets, great sets and hundred-seat-plus houses. Returning to Hunger reminded me that you can have fifty seats, three flats, two platforms and costumes straight from the actors' wardrobes, and still have phenomenal theatre.

2005-02-09T16:23:00.000-08:00

Why is it that most of the new movies and plays nowadays are so freaking obvious? Whatever happened to ambiguity, one of my favorite of all English words? How come we live in an age where we're just given answers, instead of being asked questions? Why am I asking so many questions?

Last night I went to see Sarah Ruhl's "The Clean House" at South Coast Repertory, the leading developer of new theatrical voices in Orange County. It was a funny play with great characters and a lot of interesting ideas in it. However, the message at the core of the piece (we try to make our lives clean and tidy, but life itself is very messy, so we should just embrace the messiness and die laughing) was revealed in rather obvious ways (a notoriously clean woman going crazy and dirtying up a house; being stricken with cancer; a love triangle; a woman literally dying of laughter).

In the end there is a "happy tragic" death (in which it is sad that the character is dying, but okay because they are cheerful and accepting about it. Very few characters in plays nowadays leave this world screaming and crying), a reconciliation, and a closing line about heaven being "a sea of untranslatable jokes, but everyone is laughing."

The last show that I saw at South Coast Rep was Donald Marguiles' "Brooklyn Boy", which is currently playing on Broadway. It had a somewhat predictable plot, but the characters and dialogue were extremely engaging, and I was hooked wholeheartedly into the story throughout most of the play. At the end of the second act, Adam Arkin sat on an armchair in his recently deceased father's Brooklyn apartment. He is bitter, stressed and, bathed in the glow of the television screen, seems to exude a faint glow of anger, and we realize that he has become the last thing he wants to be: his father's son. I got ready to spring to my feet and give raucous applause to all involved with the show. It was a glorious final image...or so I thought.

All of a sudden, an elderly man strolls into his room. It doesn't take much for the audience to realize that this is the ghost of his father. They proceed to have a conversation in which all loose ends get addressed in orderly fashion. Suddenly, I was disappointed. My applause was not raucous, nor was my standing in a springing manner. After having given me an excusable amount of predictability and a surprising lack of urgency, I'm rewarded for sticking around with a plot device that's been in so many stories from "Hamlet" to, I don't know, "Ghost Dad"?

I compare, perhaps unfairly, all plays I see with the following scripts, which I think, in some way or another, are among the most perfect scripts that I have come across:

- "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" and "The Zoo Story", both by Edward Albee
- "Glengarry Glen Ross" and "Oleanna", both by David Mamet
- "Topdog/Underdog" by Suzan Lori-Parks
- "The Gog/Magog Project" by Jason Lindner
- "Angels in America" by Tony Kushner

These plays have urgency, they have humor, they have sadness and most importantly, they don't have a simple moral. You can't say at the end of these plays, "So this was about...". They explore a variety of themes and ask the audience to pick what they want from the pack. It was as if the author had several personalities that were all fighting to get this story made, and each one is represented in a part of the text.

This is also why I like movies like "Magnolia", "Taxi Driver" and "Pleasantville". These are not movies that can be wrapped up easily in one singular message. They, along with the aforementioned plays, are...let's say it everyone....ambiguous! We need to see more of that. Don't play down to the audience. Don't pound issues into the ground (I can't wait to see the political play that actually serves more as a debate than a lecture).

So where do I go to find ambiguity? You'll never guess.

Today at work, they had a training on sexual harassment. What constitutes as harassment, how to spot it, what to do when it happens, etc. And surprisingly, it wasn't composed entirely of extreme scenarios ("A boss grabs his employee's boobs and says that she got the job because of her 'boner-inducing knockers'. Does this constitute as sexual harassment?"). This training actually covered the ambiguities found in sexual harassment suits, and what can constitute harassment. Good work, Evelyn Eads.

Perhaps part of the reason why I like ambiguity is that I am not very good at discussing a play right after I finished watching it. Last night, several people were discussing whether or not they were liking it at intermission. Not exploring any of the themes presented (since themes were few here), but just whether or not it was amusing him.

I honestly did not know at that point where I stood on the play, as with most plays that I see. It took me a night of thinking for me to come to a conclusion. Maybe it's just me, but I like a play that leaves itself so open that the meaning that I'm able to pull from there would be just as right as a different meaning someone else would pull. Something that promotes discussion, not simply relaying a message.

What do YOU think?

2005-02-07T10:30:00.000-08:00

These are the things that I learned over the past weekend:

* Ninja rolls are funny.

* When auditioning for a theater, it probably isn't best for you to insult those you are auditioning for by saying you hate something they are passionate about (that one's for you, Brandon).

* "Time Crisis III" is a really fun game.

* The only thing I miss about not going to college is hanging out in cramped quarters with several people around my age who share my beliefs. I was in a one-bedroom apartment with several attractive late teen/early twentysomethings, making fun of "Steel Magnolias" and listening to one of them pla Damien Rice on the guitar. It felt wonderful.

* I'm obsessed with the Bobby Darin song "Beyond the Sea". I don't know why. I love that song now.

* "Before Sunrise" is a film that really stays with you long after you've seen it. I can only imagine what "Before Sunset" will be like (that is until I actually see it).

* We could be spies.

* It's becoming a tradition for me to steal a menu from Claim Jumper every time I go now. My count currently stands at two dinner menus and one saloon guide. Someone laid down a challenge for me to walk away with a salad bowl from their buffet. I could very well do it, too.

* "Kafkaesque" is my new favorite adjective.

* Right now, I'm very tired and it feels like my arms are typing these words independent of thought. They feel like they are separate life forms.

And finally...

* I did not watch the Super Bowl. Sorry. I've grown tired of commercials, even good ones, and I've never found a football team to cheer for. I do like that everyone today is talking about how Paul McCartney gave a "safe" halftime show, as if they really expected him to pull a flapper in the middle of his set. There was much made this year about commercials that "pushed the limits of decency". I have not seen any of them, but I can say this: No, they didn't. They really didn't. Unless the commercial featured two people fucking, followed by one of them killing the other and then saying, "THAT'S why you should drink Budweiser", then they didn't push any sort of limit. So chill out.

2005-02-04T13:14:00.000-08:00

- I am addicted to car naps. When I get a break at work, it is usually spent sleeping in my car. I have always disliked naps because time always speeds by when I'm sleeping, and before I know it, I have to leave my subconscious and enter my real life (on weekday mornings, this is particularly disappointing). However, in my car, the time becomes drawn out, so that a fifteen-minute rest feels like an hour. It's glorious and leaves me feeling quite refreshed.

- I get insanely jealous every time someone tells me about the time they spent two months backpacking through Europe. I know that it's cliched, but all of those magical phrases - "hostel", "no money", "didn't speak the language", "spent all night walking around", "an amazing city", "never saw her again" - make me want to indulge in what would probably be my ultimate fantasy.

- Speaking of fantasies, at the moment, I really want to have a "Blue Lagoon"-type scenario right now where I'm marooned on this beautiful island with a beautiful young woman (preferably Brey). I don't know why, but right now, that's where I want to be.

- It annoys me when I really want to listen to an album, but I don't have said album with me at work. I'm hankering big time for a listen to The Clash's "Sandanista!", and yet all with me is "London Calling" (a better album, in my opinion, but not what I want right now). LIFE SUCKS!!! Not really.

- Theater tickets are expensive. I love theater with an unparalleled passion, but if I want to see, let's say, "Golda's Balcony" at the Geffen Playhouse, and I have to pay, let's say, fifty-nine dollars (for a one-woman show, no less), that's just crazy.

- I found out yesterday that on "The O.C." - a show that I've previously avoided watching due to my resistance to shows about rich white people's problems - the rather hot Mischa Barton is starting up a relationship with a new girl played by the slightly-less-hot Olivia Wilde (I don't know if there's any relation to Oscar, but wouldn't that be an interesting homosexual entertainer connection?). As sad as it sounds, this is something that would get me watching the show. Right now, according to my sister, they are only in the furtive-glances-and-sexual-tension stage (a stage I'm quite familiar with), but already much is being made of the coming relationship between these two (and when I found out about the relationship, I was coming, too). Oh, and I apologize for my sudden frat boy-like behavior. I wish I could say that am above the stereotypical male fascination with lesbians, but I am a due-paying member of that juvenile organization.

- It's more difficult than you would think to come up with three jokes that deal with Egypt, corn and/or dreams every weekend.

- It's pretty annoying to listen to people beg for money. NPR is having their pledge drive that they have twice a year, in which they basically ask for a buttload* of money. I gave to them on one of the first days of the drive, and now when I listen to them (which is often), I keep hearing them ask me for money. Although I understand it's not personal, it makes me feel like my donation was in vain. But that doesn't matter, because I have an Eclectic 5-CD pack coming my way, and I get to go to the Matt's Movies preview program. Hell of a lot better than a tote bag!

- Two days ago, "Good Vibrations", a musical based around the songs of the Beach Boys, opened on Broadway. Ben Brantley of the New York Times reviewed it, and it is one of the most scathing pieces written about a musical that I have ever read. Here are the first three paragraphs:

"Even those who believe everything on the planet is here for a purpose may at first have trouble justifying the existence of 'Good Vibrations', the singing headache that opened last night at the Eugene O'Neill Theater.

But audience members strong enough to sit through this rickety jukebox of a show, which manages to purge all catchiness from the surpassingly catchy hits of the Beach Boys, will discover that the production does have a reason to be, and a noble one: 'Good Vibrations' sacrifices itself, night after night and with considerable anguish, to make all other musicals on Broadway look good.

Such virtuous behavior could not come at a more propitious moment. Just think of the roster of dim, dispiriting shows that have opened this season: 'Brooklyn', 'Little Women', the deceased 'Dracula'. Each of these clunkers now feels like a high point of professionalism thanks to 'Good Vibrations', which features a lot of washboard-stomached performers who give the impression of having spent far more time in the gym than in the rehearsal studio. As they smile, wriggle and squeak with the desperation of wet young things hung out to dry, you feel their pain. It is unlikely, however, to be more acute than yours."

- The quote of the week came at a Borders, when an irate customer, threatening legal action and using Law School 101 terms in a bragging manner, said to the abnormally no-nonsense manager as a closing argument, "In the interim...kiss my ass!"

* buttload: equal to four bunches

2005-02-02T11:08:00.000-08:00

Dress us up any way you like, men are still slovenly creatures that are only a few steps away from apes.

I am reminded of this fact every so often. Most often it is when bearing witness to drunken fights or public displays of affection (if there are two animal instincts that have successfully made the transition into civilization, they are anger and lust). But today I was reminded of our connection to less civilized species when I was in the men's room at my work this morning.

I entered one of the stalls to find that there was fecal matter not only in the bowl (something I've talked about in a previous post), but also on the seat, and scattered throughout the floor amidst toilet water. Doubtless the bowl overflowed, most likely due to an overabundance of toilet paper used. Needless to say, the look and the smell hit me like a multi-sensory wall of gross.

Throughout my work place, the men have styled hair, college level vocabularies, silk ties, suit jackets and flossed teeth. And yet in the restroom - a place where the practice of cleanliness should be at its most concentrated - I see paper towels strewn about the floor, soap spilled next to the sink, urine on the toilet seats and floors, unflushed bowls and unwashed hands.

So my question is this: Is it that hard to not be a neanderthal when you go to the bathroom? Having a weak bladder, I use the bathroom rather frequently. It's really not that difficult to stay clean. Wipe up any residue you may get on the toilet seat. Use only enough toilet paper to get the job done, and if you notice that you have to use a lot, flush twice. Wash your hands, cupping your hand under the soap dispenser so that you don't spill any of it. Dispose of paper towels into the proper trash cans.

These rules need to be shown to the seemingly cleancut men in this building. I've always been aware of the difference in how people look and how they act, but rarely has it disgusted me on such a literal level. The professionalism with which they conduct themselves in the workplace, and the primitive way they behave in the bathroom, is as startling of a juxtaposition as I've seen in a while.

This makes me wonder about the women's restroom. Granted, I have no way of knowing short of sneaking in a manner reminiscent of a junior high pervert, but since I have been told that women do not even fart in the bathroom (which I find rather sad. If they can't fart there, then where can they fart?), I doubt that it can possibly be as disgusting of a display as the men's room. Am I right?

2005-01-28T10:33:00.000-08:00

Last night, I watched Terry George's film "Hotel Rwanda". It's a remarkable film of great power and emotion. It centers around the genocide that took place in Kigali in 1994, when the Hutu people, angered at the killing of their president by Tutsi rebels, proceeded to slaughter every Tutsi person they could find, rebel or not.

One Hutu man, who was left in charge of a four-star hotel, used it as a makeshift refugee camp. He used every tactic he could think of to keep the people inside his hotel safe from harm, often putting his own life on the line.

A particularly insightful moment in the film comes when Don Cheadle (who in a long line of great performances, gives his best here) who plays the hotel manager, thanks an American news cameraman (played by Joaquin Phoenix) for the footage that he shot, saying that people will see it around the world and help stop the slaughter. And Phoenix says sadly, "People will see that, and they'll say 'That's horrible', and then go back to eating their breakfast."

I found myself to be a victim of that sentiment as Brey and I left the theater. We had both been rather affected by the film, and looking for something to bring us out of our sadness. It ended up being ice cream that was decided upon.

And as I was sitting there, eating my mint chip gelato, I was embodying the sentiment of that film. The American, seeing these tragic events, saying "That's horrible" and returning to his ice cream. Granted, I had just seen a movie with actors, based on events that happened when I was twelve years old, but I felt that, having been alive during that time, I hadn't done enough to stop the Tutsi massacre.

I started thinking about the tsunami victims and how I didn't offer any help at all. Nor did I give money to 9/11 families. Nor have I helped out the poverty problem in my own country, apart from giving change to those who ask it. I can't give blood because of my time spent in England. I have no charities attached to my name, and the only organization I donate money to are the two theatre companies that I work with the most.

I felt like a horrible. inhumane person. But then again, I'm only a lower-middle class guy, doing theatre for free and trying to manage his wages like any other working man. How could I only give to one charity and deny the others? How could I give to them all without going into poverty myself? There are so many causes to be fighting for in the world, how can I decide which issues get my attention?

And as I later walked through a Borders, listening to the Modest Mouse CD and musing about the store's placing of the Oskar Schindler and Clay Aiken autobiographies next to each other (it amazes me that some people don't see the obvious comic situation in front of them), I wished that I had more influence in the world. If I controlled armies, had immense riches and/or extreme power...well, who knows, I'd probably abuse it like everyone else who has these things does. But I would like to think that I would be the good guy. The calvary that comes in at the end of the film. The guy who gets the Oscar nominated film based on his life.

Until that day comes, if it ever does, I guess I'll just have to keep giving change.

2005-01-25T10:14:00.000-08:00

Oh, did you think I wasn't going to talk about Oscar nominations today? Do you think that I really have a choice? I couldn't stop myself if I tried. Anyway, here are the nominations for the major awards:

BEST PICTURE:
"The Aviator"
"Finding Neverland"
"Million Dollar Baby"
"Ray"
"Sideways"

BEST DIRECTOR:
Clint Eastwood - "Million Dollar Baby"
Taylor Hackford - "Ray"
Mike Leigh - "Vera Drake"
Alexander Payne - "Sideways"
Martin Scorsese - "The Aviator"

BEST ACTOR:
Don Cheadle - "Hotel Rwanda"
Johnny Depp - "Finding Neverland"
Leonardo DiCaprio - "The Aviator"
Clint Eastwood - "Million Dollar Baby"
Jamie Foxx - "Ray"

BEST ACTRESS:
Annette Bening - "Being Julia"
Catalina Sandino Moreno - "Maria Full of Grace"
Imelda Staunton - "Vera Drake"
Hilary Swank - "Million Dollar Baby"
Kate Winslet - "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:
Alan Alda - "The Aviator"
Thomas Haden Church - "Sideways"
Jamie Foxx - "Collateral"
Morgan Freeman - "Million Dollar Baby"
Clive Owen - "Closer"

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS:
Cate Blanchett - "The Aviator"
Laura Linney - "Kinsey"
Virginia Madsen - "Sideways"
Sophie Okonedo - "Hotel Rwanda"
Natalie Portman - "Closer"

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY:
"The Aviator"
"Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"
"Hotel Rwanda"
"The Incredibles"
"Vera Drake"

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY:
"Before Sunset"
"Finding Neverland"
"Million Dollar Baby"
"The Motorcycle Diaries"
"Sideways"

BEST FOREIGN LANGUAGE FILM:
"As It Is In Heaven"
"The Chorus"
"Downfall"
"The Sea Inside"
"Yesterday"

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE FILM:
"The Incredibles"
"Shark Tale"
"Shrek 2"

I correctly predicted all of the Best Picture nominees (Biography pictures, blind pianists, boyish playwrights, babbling pilots), which makes me happy, since I didn't I got thrown for a loop in nearly every other category. The best surprise was Catalina Sandino Moreno getting nominated for her amazing work in "Maria Full of Grace". The worst surprise was Paul Giamatti getting snubbed for a second time in a row for Best Actor, being replaced by the good-but-not-as-good Clint Eastwood. The most surprising surprise was Alan Alda nominated for Best Supporting Actor (I had my money on Peter Sarsgaard filling that fifth spot).

Other shocks were the Best Foreign Film category (which was missing "Bad Education", "Maria Full of Grace", "A Very Long Engagement" and "House of Flying Daggers"), the snubbing of "Kinsey" (nary a Liam Neeson, Peter Sarsgaard or screenplay nomination) and Mike Leigh getting a Best Director nomination (could it possibly have been better than Michel Gondry's work in "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"?).

My bets for the awards are going to be "The Aviator" getting Best Picture, Scorsese walking away with Director, Jamie Foxx snagging Best Actor, and wins for Hilary Swank, Thomas Haden Church and Cate Blanchett. "Eternal Sunshine" and "Sideways" will get the screenplay awards, "The Sea Inside" will be the Best Foreign Film, and "The Incredibles" is going to be the Best Animated Film.

Anyway, yeah. I blew my wad in the Profound Thought Department on last night's post, so I'll leave you with this thought:

Now that he's officially an Oscar-nominated screenwriter, do you think Jose Rivera's wonderful plays will get more recognition? And does anyone beside me care?

2005-01-25T01:06:00.000-08:00

Theatre is not a disposable camera, and therefore should not be developed.

I have been trying to put my finger on why the world of theatre seems to be on an artistic decline. The number of really great plays (and really great playwrights) seems to be deflating at a rather steady rate.

I believe the problem is that we overdevelop our theatre. I just came back from a reading (where the actors sit and read the script out loud to an audience rather than stage it) that included a post-show talkback (where the audience gets to discuss the work). At the talkback, I heard several people tell the playwright what they felt the play should be, and what he should do to change it to their liking. And in that moment, I suddenly realized that I am not a big fan of readings, and that I really do not like talkbacks.

I understand that a reading is so that the material can be tested in front of a crowd before officially releasing it in front of an audience. And that's precisely my problem with it. Our theatre is too safe. We no longer just take a script and say, "Hey, this is a cool piece of writing. Let's do it." Now it's all about testing and surveys, just to make sure that people will like it. And in the process of inviting all of these cooks in the kitchen, I believe we lose both the adventurous aspect of live performance, the writer's original voice (having been at the receiving end of talkbacks, the immediate mental response to any sort of criticism is "Hmm, maybe they're right"), and the main reason that I love seeing great theatre.

After seeing a show like "Oleanna", "Topdog/Underdog" or "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf", the audience response afterward is great. No two people see the exact same show. Everyone walks away with something different. That is what makes great plays great. Those shows do not strive to appeal to us. Instead, we are allowed to pull what we want from the material, positive or otherwise. Allowing the audience to try and change the play to their liking is destructive to the process of creating theatre.

When my play "American Way" was produced at The Blank Theatre, it received a reading 18 months beforehand (at which time I switched cars, lifestyles and became of drinking age). And The Blank was seen by many as making a speedy decision (another theatre company was still nowhere near deciding on whether or not to produce it, even after having been read by several company members). There are several examples of plays that are kicked around for years before getting a production.

We need to stop this. We need to stop playing it safe. We need to stop letting people tell us what our theatre should be. We need to stick with our own voices, tell our own stories, and just let the audience members tell each other what they came away with. Leave audience participation to the murder mysteries. I'm here to tell stories to people, and whether or not they like it is their business from now on.

2005-01-19T08:56:00.000-08:00

Sure, it may seem on the surface that Andrew Lloyd Webber's first musical "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" is all sugary sweet and family-friendly. Everything thinks of children's choruses, calypsoes (or would that be calypsi?) and Donny Osmond. But have you ever really looked at the show? Not just watched it, but really looked at it? There are several things that strike me as quite queer (and I mean in the olden days way):

- What sets the plot in motion is that Joseph's brothers are jealous, because their father Jacob obviously loves Joseph more than any of his other sons. So much more, in fact, that he buys him new clothes that, while garish (29 different colors, INCLUDING azure and russet) are rather thoughtful. Is favoritism really good parenting? Should we sympathize with Jacob at the end, when all this time he is neglectful toward his own children? This move typically turns Joseph's brothers against him. Any older sibling can sympathize when the brothers say "Being told we're alsorans/Does not make us Joseph fans".

- Joseph also is constantly telling his brothers about dreams that he's had in which their eleven small sheaves of corn turn to bow to his enormous sheaf (from what the ladies say, I hear his sheaf ain't the only thing that's enormous...and by that I mean his penis). This bowing theme is repeated again in that eleven stars bow before his (quite the feat considering that most stars I've seen don't have waists). Am I the only one that sees Joseph as kind of a cocky bastard? If my nonexistent brother started telling me that I was going to spend the rest of my life bowing to him, I'd sell his ass to a hairy bunch of Ishmaelites in a second.

- Joseph the Ishmaelite Slave is later bought by a captain named Potiphar. Joseph is a devoted slave and is promoted to Leader of the Household (a maximum promotion!). Joseph then goes and celebrates by screwing Potiphar's wife. Potiphar, understandably, goes into a rage and throws Joseph in jail, where he sings a sad but empowering song. And yet, I cannot help but go, "Hey, you fuck the master's wife, you pay the price." (Also, am I the only one who finds it weird that, beyond the paper-thin narrator, the only other significant female character in the entire show is a total slut?)

- While we're on the subject of female characters, why is it that in every production the wives are the same age as the brothers? Was it a case of babies making babies in the land of Israel? And how come Jacob's daughter Dinah, who is clearly mentioned in the Bible, is never referenced here? To busy cooking dinner and getting married off, I suppose?

- The brothers, after selling Joseph off, lie to their neglect-my-sons-and-deny-my-daughter's-existence father, telling him that Joseph died trying to wrestle a goat that threatened their lives. Now remember, they all live in the Middle East. That's the best they could come up with? A killer goat? Especially since they attack a goat earlier in the show, we learn that the Israeli goats are not that tough. Couldn't they say a car bomb or a kimono dragon or Red Buttons? Any one of those makes more sense than a freaking goat.

- In the typical Act One closer "Go Go Go Joseph", has anyone else noticed that the point where everyone starts celebrating comes when Joseph tells the Baker that he's going to die? Is the Baker that much of a bastard?

- The Pharaoh (which, after checking the Merriam Webster website, I found out I've been spelling wrong all this time. Oops. Apparently it's "o" before "a" except after "r") has the following dream that he needs Joseph to interpret: He sees seven fat cows, followed by seven thin cows, who eat the fat cows but stay thin. He then sees seven good ears of corn, followed by seven bad ears of corn, who eat the good corn but continue to be bad. Joseph predicts that there will be seven years of plentiful food, followed by seven years of famine. I'm sorry, but was Joseph really the only one who could figure that one out?

- After interpreting the dream, the Pharaoh decides that Joseph is going to be his right hand man to help his country through the famine. This raises two questions. First off, what is the link between a person's skills at dream interpretation and their skills at economic planning? Second, do you think the Egyptian people had a problem with the Pharaoh assigning someone to that Cheney-like position?

- When we go back to the brothers in Canaan, they are starving victims of the famine. They note, "It's funny, but since we lost Joseph, we've gone to the other extreme." Again, there is the belief that dream interpretation can affect the economy. Even in these days of a faith-based presidency, that's just absurd. I know a woman who can interpret my dreams, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to blame her if I'm going blame her for the national debt.

- The brothers go to Egypt, where they meet an unrecognizable Joseph. Seeing that his brothers don't know who he is, he proceeds to screw with their heads. First he accuses them of being spies, and then he frames the youngest brother Benjamin for stealing a golden cup and throws him into jail. Again, for a title character in a feel-good musical, he's a bit of a dick.

- After finding out that it has been Joseph all this time (in a song called, oddly enough, "Joseph All The Time"), the brothers show no anger, but only happiness. Again, if my nonexistent brother acted like a dick toward me and threw another of my nonexistent brothers in jail, I'd be pissed. But then again, I'm not part of that dream interpretation-economy conspiracy.

- "So Jacob came to Egypt/No longer feeling old/And Joseph came to meet him/In his chariot of gold". Maybe just a tad ostentatious?

- The last song in the show is called "Any Dream Will Do". I'm still trying to figure out this song's effect on the Middle Eastern economy.

- The last line that is sung in the show is when the entire cast (brothers, wives, kids, etc.) sing "Give me my colored coat, my amazing colored coat". Isn't this what sets the plot in motion? The fact that only Joseph was given a colored coat, and everyone else was left out in the dust (literally. We are in the desert here)? Does this mean that nothing was accomplished in the show, and that the brothers still feel like they're playing second fiddle to an pompous, dream-interpretating ass?

So go see the La Habra Depot Theater production of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" (opening Friday and playing through February 13th) to see these irregularities and more!!!

P.S. After doing some research, I found that the brother Simeon, the character that I play in this fine show, has a sorded history. He is originally the brother held prisoner by Joseph in exchange for Benjamin (more reason to hate the guy). He also, along with Levi, massacred the Shechemites for raping his sister Dinah, who he later married. Um......eww. This is one screwed up family.

2005-01-13T09:58:00.000-08:00

The power of emotions and words will never cease to astound me. Recently, I witnessed a couple of relationships where problems stemmed from either words that were used, or the inflection of said words.

As a writer, I understand the power of words. A combination of words, when put together in the right way at just the right time, can inspire us, devastate us, anger us, make us laugh, make us cry, start wars, make peace, bring us love, or bring us death. Words are my favorite playground.

However, I also understand that words are intangible and lifeless. That is what fascinates me. It is not the speaker that inspires, angers, hurts, etc. It is the interpretation that the listener takes that is what gives the words life.

Let's take the "vulgar" words that we know: Fuck, shit, asshole, bitch, piss, slut, cock, pussy, fag, nigger, cunt. These are words that can get someone into serious trouble (not to mention some huge FCC fines). But if we wanted to, we as a society could make these words obsolete. All we'd need to do is say, "Abracadabra! Those words aren't offensive anymore." If we wanted to, we could say that the new vulgar words are "banana" and "scat", and then characters in movies would be saying, "You're a scatting banana, and I'll put a scatting bullet in your scatting head!"

I was inspired recently by a good friend of mine who was angered at what their significant other had said about them. Then after telling me about it, they suddenly said, "You know what? I'm over it. I'm not mad anymore." It really is as easy as that. They understood, as I do, that words are only as strong as you make them.

So I send a message to everyone out there who find themselves easily offended or hurt by what those around them may say (a group of which I have been an occasional member of): You don't have to listen to everything that is said to you. If you don't like what someone says, ignore the words. Resist the human temptation to indulge in our immediate emotions. Just say, "Whatever" and move on. In that one move, you will have killed those words. Think of what would have happened if millions of Germans simply said, "Don't listen to that nutty Hitler guy," or if people stopped analyzing Oscar speeches. A dismissal is more effective than a rebuttal.

Just remember, it's not the speaking that causes the problem. It's the listening.

2005-01-12T10:08:00.000-08:00

These are my favorite quotes from the past year in film. Try and see how many of these you know (It's fun AND educational...except for the educational part...and the fun part):

"I'm a hedonist. That means we like to have fun. I read it in an encyclopedia."

"You're not a bad person. You're a terrific person. You're my favorite person. But every once in a while, you can be a real cunt."

"No, if anyone orders Merlot, I'm leaving. I am NOT drinking any fucking Merlot!"

"So now I'm in deep trouble. I mean, one more jolt of this death ray and I'm an epitaph. Somehow I manage to find cover and what does Baron von Ruthless do? He starts monologuing! He starts this, like, prepared speech about how 'feeble' I am compared to him, how 'inevitable' my defeat is, how 'the world will soon be his', yadda yadda yadda. Yammering! I mean, the guy has me on a platter and he won't shut up!"

"Boom, boom, boom, boom. What film?"

"Doggie fart, gladdens my heart."

"I invented masturbation."

"Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher for many years, has decided to retire in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs."

"She's drunk!"

"Behave yourself, will ya? Go find real work."

"No, I shot him. The bullets and the fall killed him."

"Thank you, thank you for honesty. Now fuck off and die, you miserable old slag!"

"Yeah, it's kind of itchy. And it rides up in the crotch a little bit, too."

"That's why whenever I drive by McDonald's with my kid, I'm gonna punch him in the face."

"I heard their period attracts bears. They can smell the menstruation."

"By the way, it says 'balls' on your face."

"Cat nip."

"...and yes, I will dance with you on your wedding day."

"She's right next to you."

"Don't have sex, because you will get pregnant and die! Don't have sex in the missionary position, don't have sex standing up, just don't do it, ok, promise? OK, now everybody take some rubbers."

"Your MOM goes to college!"

"I am scared of...ghosts."

"Can I say no?"

"Oh, crap."

"They'll be performing what I can only assume is a hymn. From the show 'Sweeney Todd', 'God, That's Good'."

"I'm making a birdhouse."

"Please be cancer, please be cancer, please be cancer..."

"I'm in my tree, I'm talking to the Dixie Chicks and they're making me feel better."

And my favorite quote of 2004...

"Show me all the blueprints show me all the blueprints show me all the blueprints show me all the blueprints show me all the blueprints show me all the blueprints show me all the blueprints show me all the blueprints..."

2005-01-10T10:37:00.000-08:00

A few points...

- Don't watch "Collateral" just before going to bed. You'll have dreams about men in nice suits trying to kill you.

- Why is it that I cannot seem to get to sleep before midnight anymore? I cannot remember the last time I went to bed in the P.M. It's becoming habit for me. You shouldn't be able to watch Conan O'Brien when you have to get up at 5:45 in the morning.

- "The Aviator". Pros: Great direction, awesome cast, compelling story. Con: Long-ass running time. Result: Best Picture Oscar nomination. Just wait and see.

- I'm glad that I have NPR in my life. I watch the morning news, which lately seems to have a central message: "The top story is all the rain in Southern California. Then we'll go to Weather to talk about all the rain. Then we'll go to Traffic to talk about how the rain will affect your drive. But first, rain!" Then I listen to NPR, whose central message is this: "People have been dying by the thousands halfway across the world because of a huge-ass tsunami that turned a whole section of the world into something worse than a war zone. Oh, and California's been getting a little bit of rain." World news really puts things in perspective.

- Brey, discussing the opening credits of "Bad Education": "It reminded me of a Hitchcock movie, with how it looked and the music and everything." One of the many reasons why I adore this woman. The movie is also just as good on a second viewing. I'm telling you, if you want a film that will completely knock you on your ass, this is the one.

- It astounds me how well-educated people can be Bush supporters. When I talk to them, they seem to agree with me on most of the issues. And yet, they voted for Bush. I think the reason is that, like Bush, they only care about specific factions of the country, rather than looking at the whole picture. So they overlook issues like free speech, foreign relations and environmentalism, and focus on national security. They don't seem to understand that neglecting those aforementioned issues threatens the national security.

- I procrastinate way too much. I'm going to work on it...starting tomorrow (yes, I'm aware that's the oldest joke in the Procrastination Joke book, but I still like it).

- You would think that after years of dance training I would be able to do a freaking double pirouette. But no amount of teaching has ever been able to get me to do more than 1 1/2. It's extremely frustrating.

- I realized this post sounds very negative. I'm actually quite happy right now. Please ignore everything I said here.

2005-01-04T10:21:00.000-08:00

Happy sixth year of the decade, everyone! My resolutions this year are to be more involved backstage in theater, to have a piece that I wrote performed on stage (as is my resolution every year) and to stop investing in the tired tradition of making resolutions at New Year's. Anyway, on to business...

* Did you know that there's an Idaho Anti-Wolf Coalition? Oh, yeah, it exists. Apparently, the Federal Government is considering taking wolves off the Endangered Species List, which has several environmentalists and animal rights advocates worried that they (the wolves, not the environmentalists) will soon be wiped out, since their numbers are still rather small.

However, one group that is excited about this is, that's right, the Idaho Anti-Wolf Coalition, who do not like seeing wolves eat deer and livestock (apparently, we're the only species that is allowed to eat other animals). Ron Gillett, who heads the coalition gave this quote to NPR regarding the environmentalists who oppose the killing of wolves: "We've had it. We don't put up with these people anymore. And anybody that gets in our way, we'll leave footprints up and down their back, and you can take that any way you want."

Okay, there's three jokes that immediately come to mind for this coalition. Take your pick which one you like...

1). Do you think the wolves have an Idaho Anti-Redneck Bastard Coalition?
2). Is "Little Red Riding Hood" the Coalition's Book of Genesis?
3). Does their anti-wolf credo extend to Lon Chaney, Jr.?

* It was decided that the Anaheim Angels, World Series champions and the pride and joy of my little town (300,000 population), are going to be renamed the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. This is being done in an effort to attract more Los Angeles fans to the team.

This is one of those examples where a moron is surrounded by more morons, and somehow a really absurd idea manages to come to fruition. The name is awkward and clumsy (try saying "The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim" three times fast). It is untrue, since the Angels have nothing to do with Los Angeles (for those who don't know, Anaheim is part of "the O.C.", and is separated from Los Angeles by about 25 miles and a county line). And most of all, LOS ANGELES ALREADY HAS A FRICKIN' BASEBALL TEAM!!! Have you already forgotten about the Dodgers? I know you want to deny their existence (who can blame you), but how selfish can you get? You already have two basketball teams, now you need two baseball teams? Are you really that greedy?

I think we should do this to everything now. Don't forget that we have a hockey team. They could be the San Fernando Valley Mighty Ducks of Anaheim. We should also have the Albany Yankees of New York and the Oakland Giants of San Francisco.

I'm not even a big fan of the Angels (except for when they're winning, which is not often), but it is a source of pride for me to live in a city that has, amongst its many offerings, World Series champions and Stanley Cup finalists. And I don't like a city that already has its fair share of sports teams (not to mention almost the entire motion picture industry, Theater Row and several wonderful concert venues) trying to lay claim on it.

* I saw Pedro Almodovar's "Bad Education" a couple of days ago. It is definitely one of the best films that I have seen in the past year. It is a funny, painful and brutal look at the reunion of two men who were in love with each other when they went to the same boys school, and how an affair with a priest at the school changed their lives. It features a genuinely surprising plot, assured and stylish direction from Almodovar, and a great central performance from Gael Garcia Bernal (who looks great in drag, by the way).

The film - along with almost all of Almodovar's films - reminded me that, although I am a straight man, I have an obsession with gay culture. Growing up in a drama background, I have had several gay friends since I was very young. Upon getting to know them, I started becoming fascinated with their culture, which has faced a great deal of persecution and discrimination over the years.

It is a world of sad, beautiful women. Chisel-bodied men. Special clubs. Weepy ballads. Footlights and makeup. Living fast and dying young. Confused childhoods and disappointed parents. It is a world that I am familiar with, though only as an observer. Nevertheless, it's a culture with phenomenally good taste, and I have no qualms educating myself in it.

I was never "One of the Guys" at my school, and though I have always liked women, I've never had a masculine nature (five years of jazz dance training and a couple of Sondheim albums will do that to you). Fortunately, my gay friends, without them even knowing it, showed me that I shouldn't try to change what other people will think of me.

Now I am secure in the fact that I am thinner than most women that I meet. That I tour jete better than I can bench press. That before I could name five famous athletes from any one sport, I could name every Oscar winner for Best Picture (from "Wings" to "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King"), five famous Broadway musical actors (Bernadette Peters, Harvey Fierstein, Susan Egan, Roger Bart and Idina Menzel) and AT LEAST ten shows currently playing on Broadway ("Avenue Q", "Democracy", "Phantom of the Opera", "Rent", "Twelve Angry Men", "The Producers", "La Cage Aux Folles", "Hairspray", "Wicked", "The Lion King").

I always look up to these guys who from minute one of meeting them I know are gay. They didn't just come out of the closet, they leapt out. I'll meet them while doing shows, and during downtime they'll practice their pirouettes and stand on their toes. Nearly everything they say is funny, and they always look stylish. I'm extremely happy with who I turned out to be, but just for a moment, I want to be in their dance shoes.

But I guess the next best thing is to watch my copy of "Cabaret" and listen to Rufus Wainwright's "Want Two". Oh, and wait for the next film from Almodovar.

2004-12-29T11:14:00.000-08:00

While there are other, more tragic matters happening in the world, such as the recovery from this week's tsunami in Southeast Asia. But with a body count at 77,000 and rising, I can't even handle statistics that staggering (that's the entire population of my hometown times five). So instead I focus on smaller, more personal tragedies.

And one emerged yesterday as John Beane, the artistic director of Fullerton's Insurgo Theater Movement, announced that the company is taking a six-month sabbatical while they find a new performance space. While I do not doubt that they will be able to secure a new location, the tone of the announcement was rather somber.

Insurgo is a truly wonderful theater company. They had a variety of tastes in their projects, from lesser-known shows ("This Is Our Youth", "Jack and Jill") to reworkings of Shakespeare ("R3", "H", "Taming of the Shrew"), to stagings of popular literary works ("Dracula", "Wuthering Heights"), to original pieces ("Loaded", "Heaven's Cafe"). It is probably the most eclectic company in Orange County, and whether their hiatus be for six-months or longer, they will be sorely missed.

Orange County theater is a difficult thing to maintain. The O.C. is a conservative spot in the normally liberal Southern California area, and most of the theaters that make money in this county produce easy, mainstream shows (Neil Simon and Andrew Lloyd Webber are the saints of these companies). Even edgier big theaters like Laguna Playhouse and South Coast Repertory are still pretty tame when compared to the theatre communities in Los Angeles, Chicago and Seattle.

Those truly liberal, edgy theaters - run by working class citizens with limited budgets - deal with original or lesser-known works, and several of the theater owners have trouble promoting these projects. As such, the audience turnout is generally low.

The problem is, those audiences that clamor for the mainstream do not realize that they are being robbed. They give those theaters their money to see something that they have seen before. It does not challenge them, it does not make them think. It just flashes shiny things in front of their eyes.

I beg you, all of you, go see some theater. Some GOOD theater. Stay away from theaters that have the word "Community" in their name. Renounce the outdated bilge that is Neil Simon. There are several small theaters in Orange County that are producing unconventional shows that will excite and stimulate you in ways that you never thought possible. Here are four such companies:

Hunger Artists - I know I talk endlessly about this company, but it is for a reason. In my opinion, no other company in this county comes up with as good of theatre, has more interesting fundraiser or is able to juggle the balance between the original and the accessible like they do. This past year, they produced "How I Learned to Drive", "Assassins", an updating of the "Medea" tale and the West Coast premiere of "The Gog/Magog Project".

Maverick Theater - The tragedy of Maverick was the predecessor to that of Insurgo. They had a lush location at an outdoor mall in Orange, which was great for selling tickets. Meanwhile, they could vary crowd-pleasers and classics like "Romeo & Juliet" and "The Compleat Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged)" with more original works like "The King" and a Nazi Germany adaptation of "Frankenstein".

Rude Guerrilla - No other theater in Orange County is more consistently shocking than these guys. No subject is taboo, and no social abnormality has gone unexamined. They are known for their quality productions of Mark Ravenhill and Sarah Kane works, and actually broke into the Los Angeles theatre scene this past year.

STAGEStheatre - Stages does lesser-known plays, like their stellar production of "Red Noses", and originals, including the works of Joel Beers, and they know how to make a show look good. Good casts, good directors, great sets. They know how to make a show look as professional as small theater can get.

So go see a show. See several of them for 2005. Find a theater that you like and donate to them. Audition for a show. Help build sets. Do something to help what is the greatest and fastest-dying art form known to man. It will change your life, I promise you.

2004-12-27T14:52:00.000-08:00

I wanted to write about my holidays, and how much nicer it is being in a relationship during the season. I also wanted to write about how I always seem to hate what they're writing while I'm writing it. But I realized I had nothing much to say about either of these subjects (both are simple facts that don't call for much exploration...at least not on Monday morning).

So instead, here are a couple of end-of-the-year lists (I'm sorry for all of the lists lately. When I'm writing a play, I tend to use all of my creative muscle on that. Maybe I'll abandon the project soon and get back to what I do best, mildly amusing blogs):

TEN BEST MOVIES OF 2004 (of the ones I've seen so far)...

1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)

- Rarely is a film this original while being this accessible. It's hard to find someone who DOESN'T like this funny, emotional piece about the compromises we make for love.

2. Kill Bill, Vol. 2 (Quentin Tarantino)

- The stylish conclusion to Tarantino's epic not only neatly ties up all loose ends, but elevates the quality of Vol. 1 so that the two volumes put together equal the best film of the last five years.

3. Sideways (Alexander Payne)

- It's hard to find a flaw in this subtle, heartbreaking comedy about the time in your life when, like wine, you plateau and all shreds of reckless youth abandon you.

4. The Incredibles (Brad Bird)

- It's surprising just how delightful this latest Pixar offering is. From the animation to the voicework to the script to the musical score, everything is top-notch in this production.

5. The Dreamers (Bernardo Bertolucci)

- There was no movie this year sexier than Bertolucci's snapshot of 1960's Paris, as a naive American tourist falls in love with an incestuous pair of twins. Any proud film fanatic needs to see this one.

6. Maria Full of Grace (Joshua Marston)

- Catalina Sandino Moreno gave this year's most notable breakthrough performance as a 17 year-old Colombian drug mule in Marston's arresting, brutal allegory, which was so convincing that I stopped thinking of it as a movie.

7. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring (Kim Ki-Duk)

- An underappreciated gem. Ki-Duk's film is slow and meditative, its scenery lush, its ideas displayed in front of us, rather than shoved in our face. Because of that, it involved me more than most films are capable of doing.

8. Kinsey (Bill Condon)

- Not just a fascinating and revealing look at a controversial 20th century figure, but an interesting examination at the fine line between the excesses of conservatism and liberalism.

9. Fahrenheit 9/11 (Michael Moore)

- Strip away all of the controversies, all of the publicity and all of Michael Moore's ego, and you get a funny and astounding document revealing a presidential administration built almost entirely on secrets and lies.

10. Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright)

- In terms of pure entertainment, "Shaun of the Dead" delivered better than any other film this year. Turning the zombie movie on its head, it was alternately touching, scary, and very, very funny.

TEN BEST ALBUMS OF 2004:

1. Nellie McKay - "Get Away From Me"

- The most astounding debut in a long time. McKay's eclectic, insanely catchy mix of songs - each infused with equal parts rage and wit - only get better with each subsequent listening.

2. Rufus Wainwright - "Want Two"

- Wainwright's opera-influenced melodies and lazy pronunciation reached its artistic peak with his fourth album, a beautiful, funny and haunting collection of heartbreaking tunes.

3. Brian Wilson - "SMiLE"

- Fans waiting over 35 years for this "Pet Sounds" follow-up were not disappointed. While keeping the "Good Vibrations" catchiness that made the Beach Boys famous, Wilson added several layers to this album that would have made it groundbreaking then, and still accessible now.

4. The Streets - "A Grand Don't Come For Free"

- Mike Skinner's brilliant second album centers around 1000 quid that has gone missing. In the process of finding it, he questions his friendships, his lifestyle and himself.

5. Bjork - "Medulla"

- While not as satisfying as "Homogenic" or "Vespertine", Bjork's latest - composed almost entirely with human voices - stands tall above most of the year's offerings.

6. Beastie Boys - "To the 5 Burroughs"

- In this amazing album, the Beastie Boys return to their "Licensed to Ill" roots while infusing their songs with the maturity that comes with age. It's a potent combination.

7. Modest Mouse - "Good News For Those Who Love Bad News"

- Modest Mouse's wild, yelling vocals are more focused and musical in this justly celebrated, instantly catchy album.

8. The Mooney Suzuki - "Alive & Amplified"

- The friend who recommended this to me said simply, "This really rocks", and how right he was. The album contains a sound that is simultaneously familiar and original, and "Alive & Amplified" is one of the year's best songs.

9. Loretta Lynn - "Van Lear Rose"

- Lynn was wise in hiring Jack White as her latest producer. He dusted her off and dressed her up in an album that is both appealing to older fans and newer listeners.

10. Franz Ferdinand - "Franz Ferdinand"

- In terms of sheer catchiness, Franz Ferdinand's first CD has it in spades. This is an album that begs to be listened to repeatedly and sung along with.

TEN BEST LOCAL THEATRICAL PRODUCTIONS OF 2004 (of all the productions that I saw, which honestly weren't many):

1). "Topdog/Underdog" (Mark Taper Forum, Los Angeles) - Under George C. Wolfe's direction and a stellar two-man cast, Suzan Lori-Parks' numerous themes shone brighter than any other theatrical production I had ever seen.

2). "The Sandwich Conscience" (12th Annual Young Playwrights Festival at The Blank Theatre, Los Angeles) - 19 year-old Yelena Moskovich's script, a one-man show about a Vietnam vet fighting for sanity while making a sandwich, is a brutal, original signal of a new theatrical voice that is destined for greatness.

3). "Mr. Marmalade" (South Coast Repertory, Costa Mesa) - Another interesting new voice is Noah Haidle, whose play, involving a four year-old girl who takes her imaginary relationship much too far, boasted moments both funny and chilling and the year's best performance from Eliza Pryor Nagel.

4). "Cold/Tender" (Theatre @ Boston Court, Pasadena) - A play filled with big ideas, Cody Henderson's piece, revolving around three different couples all linked by political intrigue, is a funny and fascinating look at the consequences of being in a certain place at a certain time.

5). "Red Noses" (StagesTheatre, Fullerton) - More than the solid ensemble cast, tight direction or excellent lead performance from Mark Palkoner, this production boasted something I didn't see from any other small theatre show this year: Everyone involved seemed to really believe in the themes of the piece they were a part of.

6). "Roscoe Spitzer Is Afraid of Dying" (StagesTheatre, Fullerton) - Joel Beers' twist on the selling the soul to the devil for fame says a lot of interesting things about the state of modern music, the pharmaceutical industry and theatre in general.

7). "Brooklyn Boy" (South Coast Repertory) - Despite some predictability, and a less-than-great lead performance by Adam Arkin, this was still an engaging show that showed off Donald Marguiles' talent for writing incredible dialogue.

8). "The Importance of Being Earnest" (Hunger Artists, Fullerton) - Director Kelly Flynn took one of the greatest English comedies ever written, boiled it down to a nice, tight 90 minutes, and set it in 1960's London, turning the overproduced Wilde play into something new and fresh.

9). "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" (Old Globe Theatre, San Diego) - This show exists for no other reason than to be a lot of fun. So it's a fortunate thing that it is. A game cast and a lively score make it a good (though not great) musical comedy.

10). "Heathen Valley" (Elephant Asylum, Los Angeles) - A mostly-solid cast and astounding direction from Darin Anthony elevates this mediocre play about the attempt to reform a town of sinners into an exciting campfire story.