Just when I start to think that James Franco is edging on overexposure, I see something like this and it just makes me root for him all over again.
[From April 2009]
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
feedback
Here's the truth about reviews.
Some of it is actual constructive criticism. Some of it is just pulpy word play. Sometimes, it's based on personal likes/dislikes or preconceived expectations. And sometimes, it's just mean for no good reason.
Here's the truth about theater.
It's a group effort. You need a director with a focus to corral it all, but everyone has to hold onto their length of rope to keep the sail up and the boat headed toward the right destination. That's the actors, writers, technical staff, everybody. Everybody.
Photo by Sarah Jane Rhee
So when a review points out something grand, or less than such...it's a reflection on the whole, no matter which part was held to task.
I've performed in (or worked on) a lot of shows. LOTS. A few were heartbreakingly excellent, a couple were painfully bad and many more than I can count were quite entertaining (which is the very least a show should be at any given time.) All of them share one constant:
Artistic types (on the whole) seek response.
And, let's face it, positive response is 84% sweeter than negative.
We want our work to be appreciated and understood.
Or at least appreciated.
Some years back I was in a really great show. Audiences loved it, critics loved it...well, except for my character. There were seven cast members. One particularly glowing review mentioned how fucking awesome every single actor was by name (and they were)...with the exception of me. I was listed as an "also ran."
Let me tell you, years later, the thought of that review is still like a tiny splinter in my thumb. It doesn't really hurt, unless I jab at it, but it's there, just under my skin. A reminder.
The thing is, I was happy with my work in the show. (Still am.)
And thrilled that we got such a great response.
But actors are, well, we hate admitting it aloud, but we are needy, attention seeking motherfuckers. We play it cool (or learn to), but really, down deep, we just want you to tell us how fucking awesome we are.
24 hours a day.
Of course, that's highly unrealistic.
At some point, we need sleep.
So, I suspect that's why, while we try to ignore bad reviews (but sometimes can't), when we hear words that flatter our giant balloon animal egos (like the ones they use outside of car dealerships), we tend to let them wash all over us.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm super proud of all the work everyone put into this show. More than once,my jaw has hit the floor at the display of talent and professionalism these folks have thrown down.
That said, if anyone could use some air in her giant balloon animal, it's me.
So, for today, I'm going to take it and run with it.
Enjoy it.
Let my brain explode, squeegee it off the wall and let it explode again.
Photo by Sarah Jane Rhee
Sun Times: Several scenes do justice to Hopper's paintings, including the winningly raw and poetic Nelson Algren-like riff that starts the show, and some exchanges of body language that capture hints of longing and disappointment.
DUDE. Nelson Algren is one of my all-time favorite writers and for someone to pick up on that tone and reference makes my brain explode and fills me with an excitement akin to Navin Johnson finding his listing in the phone book.
New City: There are eight million stories in the naked city, and WNEP lets us eavesdrop on a handful of them. Fragments, not full narratives, consistent with the mystique evoked by Hopper, create a mosaic of life. Not surprisingly, there’s a noir tone to it all, with spot-on night and the city costuming by Rebecca Langguth and a cinematic jazz soundtrack.
Although, I believe this reviewer was less keen on my writing "...the writing is spotty, ranging from clever meta-noir tone poems to ineffective melodrama."
I'm the only one (I'm pretty sure) who's pieces could be compared with a meta-noir tone poem. If you've seen the play, you'll find some ironic comedy in my writing being called "clever." Ah...callbacks.
Still, it's awfully nice to get a shout out for all the hours upon hours I spent digging through thrift stores and pulling my hair out when I lost on Ebay auctions.
So there you are.
Or there I am.
My ego. Sated for the moment.
Although...the day? She's still young.
Some of it is actual constructive criticism. Some of it is just pulpy word play. Sometimes, it's based on personal likes/dislikes or preconceived expectations. And sometimes, it's just mean for no good reason.
Here's the truth about theater.
It's a group effort. You need a director with a focus to corral it all, but everyone has to hold onto their length of rope to keep the sail up and the boat headed toward the right destination. That's the actors, writers, technical staff, everybody. Everybody.
Photo by Sarah Jane Rhee
So when a review points out something grand, or less than such...it's a reflection on the whole, no matter which part was held to task.
I've performed in (or worked on) a lot of shows. LOTS. A few were heartbreakingly excellent, a couple were painfully bad and many more than I can count were quite entertaining (which is the very least a show should be at any given time.) All of them share one constant:
Artistic types (on the whole) seek response.
And, let's face it, positive response is 84% sweeter than negative.
We want our work to be appreciated and understood.
Or at least appreciated.
Some years back I was in a really great show. Audiences loved it, critics loved it...well, except for my character. There were seven cast members. One particularly glowing review mentioned how fucking awesome every single actor was by name (and they were)...with the exception of me. I was listed as an "also ran."
Let me tell you, years later, the thought of that review is still like a tiny splinter in my thumb. It doesn't really hurt, unless I jab at it, but it's there, just under my skin. A reminder.
The thing is, I was happy with my work in the show. (Still am.)
And thrilled that we got such a great response.
But actors are, well, we hate admitting it aloud, but we are needy, attention seeking motherfuckers. We play it cool (or learn to), but really, down deep, we just want you to tell us how fucking awesome we are.
24 hours a day.
Of course, that's highly unrealistic.
At some point, we need sleep.
So, I suspect that's why, while we try to ignore bad reviews (but sometimes can't), when we hear words that flatter our giant balloon animal egos (like the ones they use outside of car dealerships), we tend to let them wash all over us.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm super proud of all the work everyone put into this show. More than once,my jaw has hit the floor at the display of talent and professionalism these folks have thrown down.
That said, if anyone could use some air in her giant balloon animal, it's me.
So, for today, I'm going to take it and run with it.
Enjoy it.
Let my brain explode, squeegee it off the wall and let it explode again.
Photo by Sarah Jane Rhee
Sun Times: Several scenes do justice to Hopper's paintings, including the winningly raw and poetic Nelson Algren-like riff that starts the show, and some exchanges of body language that capture hints of longing and disappointment.
DUDE. Nelson Algren is one of my all-time favorite writers and for someone to pick up on that tone and reference makes my brain explode and fills me with an excitement akin to Navin Johnson finding his listing in the phone book.
New City: There are eight million stories in the naked city, and WNEP lets us eavesdrop on a handful of them. Fragments, not full narratives, consistent with the mystique evoked by Hopper, create a mosaic of life. Not surprisingly, there’s a noir tone to it all, with spot-on night and the city costuming by Rebecca Langguth and a cinematic jazz soundtrack.
Although, I believe this reviewer was less keen on my writing "...the writing is spotty, ranging from clever meta-noir tone poems to ineffective melodrama."
I'm the only one (I'm pretty sure) who's pieces could be compared with a meta-noir tone poem. If you've seen the play, you'll find some ironic comedy in my writing being called "clever." Ah...callbacks.
Still, it's awfully nice to get a shout out for all the hours upon hours I spent digging through thrift stores and pulling my hair out when I lost on Ebay auctions.
So there you are.
Or there I am.
My ego. Sated for the moment.
Although...the day? She's still young.
Monday, January 18, 2010
It's a Hopper World
The show...she is open.
I'm celebrating my 10th year with WNEP and I have to tell you, I'm very happy that this is the show that marks that anniversary.
- The writing is very much reflective of our company. Dry, smart, funny, dark, and awkward (in the most delicious way.)
- While we normally strive for rather simple set designs (if at all), the set Heath Hays created in tandem with Mike Durst's light design is as lush as the set for "Metaluna" (John Wilson/Sarah Gorsky), with the scale of it amped up times 10.
- The actors have been firing on all cylinders and I love to watch them bring it all into flesh and bone. Best part...they all seem to be enjoying themselves, which makes it even more delightful to watch.
- The crew is just freaking on point. ON. POINT. You wish you had these ladies in your corner. You dream you had Joe Griffin layering your world with sound.
- A special shout-out to Henri Dugas (another company member), who, in the final days of rehearsal, with very little notice, created several key set peices that you would give your eye teeth for.
- Our director, Mr. D-Ray Hall should be very proud of the beautiful and awkward caliope he fostered into being.
I'm very happy with the show.
I'm happy with the writing I put into it. I'm happy with the costuming (although, it will be a while before I costume a show this size again. Woof.) I'm happy for the small pieces of direction here and there that I've was able to offer up as Don's second pair of eyeballs.
Happy. Proud. Satisfied.
With theater, like any art form, what you see is what you want to see. What you get out is often the perspective you walked in with. Maybe you'll see something new, if you're open to it...or maybe something familiar.
For me, this show is about stepping into a painting. Stepping into a world inspired by Edward Hopper. It's likely the most Studs Terkel-esque show I think we've done (since Postmortem.) It's full of small stories about every day folks.
Some funny, some awful, but always honest. Like watching a slice of a city. So much goings on, so many small moments that add up to the bigger picture. Like any other day, it can be filled with the mundane or magic.
Of course, I prefer my magic with a large serving of mundane.
Photo by John Sisson
(by the way...that's not the painting. that's a pix from the show. chew on that.)
I'm celebrating my 10th year with WNEP and I have to tell you, I'm very happy that this is the show that marks that anniversary.
- The writing is very much reflective of our company. Dry, smart, funny, dark, and awkward (in the most delicious way.)
- While we normally strive for rather simple set designs (if at all), the set Heath Hays created in tandem with Mike Durst's light design is as lush as the set for "Metaluna" (John Wilson/Sarah Gorsky), with the scale of it amped up times 10.
- The actors have been firing on all cylinders and I love to watch them bring it all into flesh and bone. Best part...they all seem to be enjoying themselves, which makes it even more delightful to watch.
- The crew is just freaking on point. ON. POINT. You wish you had these ladies in your corner. You dream you had Joe Griffin layering your world with sound.
- A special shout-out to Henri Dugas (another company member), who, in the final days of rehearsal, with very little notice, created several key set peices that you would give your eye teeth for.
- Our director, Mr. D-Ray Hall should be very proud of the beautiful and awkward caliope he fostered into being.
I'm very happy with the show.
I'm happy with the writing I put into it. I'm happy with the costuming (although, it will be a while before I costume a show this size again. Woof.) I'm happy for the small pieces of direction here and there that I've was able to offer up as Don's second pair of eyeballs.
Happy. Proud. Satisfied.
With theater, like any art form, what you see is what you want to see. What you get out is often the perspective you walked in with. Maybe you'll see something new, if you're open to it...or maybe something familiar.
For me, this show is about stepping into a painting. Stepping into a world inspired by Edward Hopper. It's likely the most Studs Terkel-esque show I think we've done (since Postmortem.) It's full of small stories about every day folks.
Some funny, some awful, but always honest. Like watching a slice of a city. So much goings on, so many small moments that add up to the bigger picture. Like any other day, it can be filled with the mundane or magic.
Of course, I prefer my magic with a large serving of mundane.
Photo by John Sisson
(by the way...that's not the painting. that's a pix from the show. chew on that.)
Sunday, January 3, 2010
role models r us
I had such a long day freezing my ass off tromping around this city getting Hopper schtuff done...but, suddenly...not having a car, waiting at the bus stop in 11 degrees of bone chilling cold, with five giant overstuffed bags of sundry costume peices...
It all melts away when I watch this.
Stephen Colbert was one of the folks who taught me about improv, writing and sketch comedy years ago. I continue to learn from his example (and his fine staff of writers) to this day.
It all melts away when I watch this.
Stephen Colbert was one of the folks who taught me about improv, writing and sketch comedy years ago. I continue to learn from his example (and his fine staff of writers) to this day.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
joy is where you find it
There are many Christmas songs.
There are a few I look forward to hearing each season.
But there is only one song that caresses my cheek, pulls my heart out of my chest, sticks it with a needle full of horse, slams it back into my body and then crawls into my lap purring.
And while I LOVE LOVE LOVE the original by the Pogues, I have to say, I really love this version of "Fairytale of New York" by Billy Bragg.
It's beautiful, it's awful, it's desolate, but in the end, it's hopeful.
It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true
They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night
The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you
There are a few I look forward to hearing each season.
But there is only one song that caresses my cheek, pulls my heart out of my chest, sticks it with a needle full of horse, slams it back into my body and then crawls into my lap purring.
And while I LOVE LOVE LOVE the original by the Pogues, I have to say, I really love this version of "Fairytale of New York" by Billy Bragg.
It's beautiful, it's awful, it's desolate, but in the end, it's hopeful.
It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true
They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night
The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day
You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last
I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
traditions
Our grade school had a daily assembly where 7-10 year olds would vie for the chance to fiddle with the giant thermometer and proclaim our high temp for the day while sharing other tidbits of news and delights.
I recall the winter day, in 2nd grade (or maybe it was 3rd grade?) that a brother and a sister, the blondest kids in the room, stood up, pulled out a menorah and told us about the festival of lights.
Mitch Gordon was in my class and I'm sure we played more games of kickball than I can recall. He was like any of the other boys in my class. Usually in my way and looking to get thumped by this tomboy.
But on that sun dappled morn, I looked at him with fresh, new eyes. I can say with 100% certainty, that he was he first boy I ever remember looking at and thinking, "Hmmm...he suddenly looks interesting enough to hold hands with at recess," and, "He's so dreamy."
And thus began my on again, off again lifelong love affair with men of the Jewish faith.
Also, many of them are funny fucking bastards.
I recall the winter day, in 2nd grade (or maybe it was 3rd grade?) that a brother and a sister, the blondest kids in the room, stood up, pulled out a menorah and told us about the festival of lights.
Mitch Gordon was in my class and I'm sure we played more games of kickball than I can recall. He was like any of the other boys in my class. Usually in my way and looking to get thumped by this tomboy.
But on that sun dappled morn, I looked at him with fresh, new eyes. I can say with 100% certainty, that he was he first boy I ever remember looking at and thinking, "Hmmm...he suddenly looks interesting enough to hold hands with at recess," and, "He's so dreamy."
And thus began my on again, off again lifelong love affair with men of the Jewish faith.
Also, many of them are funny fucking bastards.
Monday, December 21, 2009
let it be
Many times I find myself drawing strength from the example of others.
This weekend I was twice reminded that not only are people filled with the brand of humanity, kindness and grace that I aspire to, but that it's real and outreaching...it you let it be.
This weekend I was twice reminded that not only are people filled with the brand of humanity, kindness and grace that I aspire to, but that it's real and outreaching...it you let it be.
Last Saturday, Dec. 5th, something startling and wonderful happened at The Aramingo Diner in Port Richmond.
The manager on duty, Linda, tells me that a couple in their 30s paid their check at the register, then asked the cashier to let them secretly pay the check of another couple in the dining room - a couple they didn't know.
"They just wanted to do it," she said. "They thought it would be a nice thing to do."
When the unsuspecting patrons went to pay their check, they were floored to find out that strangers had picked up their tab. So they asked the cashier to let them pay another table's check, also anonymously.
When that table's patrons approached the register, they, too, decided to pay the favor forward for yet another table of unsuspecting strangers.
For two hours, delighted customer after delighted customer continued to pay the favor forward. And a buzz began to grow. Not among patrons, who had no inkling what was going down at the register, but among the dining-room wait staff - Marvin, Rosie, Jasmine and Lynn - and other Aramingo workers moving in and out of the room.
The impact made an out-sized impression on the staff, who marveled at how that initial, single act of generosity kept repeating itself.
All in all, about 20 checks were "paid forward."
The lovely cycle finally ended, two hours after it began, when a lone diner, clearly unacquainted with the "pay it forward" concept, seemed befuddled that someone had picked up his check. He simply accepted the favor, grunted, and left.
Notes Linda, "He didn't even leave a tip."
So, on the off-chance that the first pay-it-forward couple at the Aramingo Diner is reading this, please know that your gesture of kindness didn't end when you walked out the door.
Friday, November 20, 2009
across 110th street
Friday night.
Looking for a little inspiration from my favorite Tarantino film.
Some days, I wish I had even .0008% of Pam Grier's badassery.
Turn it all the way up...and sing along, my friend.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
and so we begin
Last night was our first rehearsal of The (edward) Hopper Project.
One could feel the collective sigh of relief go up in WNEPland.
What started out as a writing assignment (write a scene inspired by a specific set of Edward Hopper paintings) over 2 years ago, has finally been put into the hands of 17 actors and a band of able-bodied production folk.
I'm a contributing writer and as we went through the reading for the very first time with the cast, the actor playing the character I mainly wrote for was sitting directly beside me.
It's hard to describe listening to someone else read words you put on a page. Overall, I would define it as "quite satisfying."
My job as "writer" is complete.
My job as assistant director is just getting started.
(more on that later.)
My job as costume designer is already in full swing.
I have several goals for the costume design:
- maintaining/representing the fashions of 1952 accurately.
- using the paintings that inspired each scene for some direct/literal design ideas
- other costumes will be influenced more symbolically by Hopper's colors and themes - using colors from the "Hopper palette."
The supra cool part is that I adore his paintings. Getting to study them to find the elements which I think apply to each scene and character is really just a delightful exercise for my brain.
Now...finding all these vintage pieces?
That's gonna take some work.
One could feel the collective sigh of relief go up in WNEPland.
What started out as a writing assignment (write a scene inspired by a specific set of Edward Hopper paintings) over 2 years ago, has finally been put into the hands of 17 actors and a band of able-bodied production folk.
I'm a contributing writer and as we went through the reading for the very first time with the cast, the actor playing the character I mainly wrote for was sitting directly beside me.
It's hard to describe listening to someone else read words you put on a page. Overall, I would define it as "quite satisfying."
My job as "writer" is complete.
My job as assistant director is just getting started.
(more on that later.)
My job as costume designer is already in full swing.
I have several goals for the costume design:
- maintaining/representing the fashions of 1952 accurately.
- using the paintings that inspired each scene for some direct/literal design ideas
- other costumes will be influenced more symbolically by Hopper's colors and themes - using colors from the "Hopper palette."
The supra cool part is that I adore his paintings. Getting to study them to find the elements which I think apply to each scene and character is really just a delightful exercise for my brain.
Now...finding all these vintage pieces?
That's gonna take some work.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
jilted
While we have many more weeks of Autumn, it seems like most of the trees are on the tail end of their "beauty of decay" cycle.
There are still a few colorful leaves hanging on for dear life here and there, but instead of a robust array of reds, oranges and golds, it's getting to be pretty much mustard and brown uber alles.
And mostly, it's uber alles the ground.
I'm one of those folks who's mood is very affected by the weather.
When I notice a spectacular blue sky?
My heart will expand three sizes.
When I see the wind move through a tree straight out of a crayola box?
I want to point it out to strangers waiting at the train station with me.
When I feel a breeze (hot or cold) that hits you at just the right time?
I want to pull out a mason jar and chase it around like a firefly.
It's not really Seasonal Affective Disorder...it's not like I'm just happy in the summer (I'm not, I bitch about the humidity non-stop), or sad in the winter (there's nothing I like finer than a snowfall...if I'm stuck at home and not out in it.)
Just call me easily swayed.
I saw this picture over at dooce and got all swoony when I saw this ivy covered fence.
(I encourage you to click it to see the BIG version which is way better than this rinky dink copy.)
See.
Just looking at a picture of autumn in all her colorful regalia makes me go all knocked-kneed. There is no hope for me.
I'm in love with Autumn...and it's totally getting ready to dump me.
There are still a few colorful leaves hanging on for dear life here and there, but instead of a robust array of reds, oranges and golds, it's getting to be pretty much mustard and brown uber alles.
And mostly, it's uber alles the ground.
I'm one of those folks who's mood is very affected by the weather.
When I notice a spectacular blue sky?
My heart will expand three sizes.
When I see the wind move through a tree straight out of a crayola box?
I want to point it out to strangers waiting at the train station with me.
When I feel a breeze (hot or cold) that hits you at just the right time?
I want to pull out a mason jar and chase it around like a firefly.
It's not really Seasonal Affective Disorder...it's not like I'm just happy in the summer (I'm not, I bitch about the humidity non-stop), or sad in the winter (there's nothing I like finer than a snowfall...if I'm stuck at home and not out in it.)
Just call me easily swayed.
I saw this picture over at dooce and got all swoony when I saw this ivy covered fence.
(I encourage you to click it to see the BIG version which is way better than this rinky dink copy.)
See.
Just looking at a picture of autumn in all her colorful regalia makes me go all knocked-kneed. There is no hope for me.
I'm in love with Autumn...and it's totally getting ready to dump me.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
in the hopper
This is a peek at what WNEP's currently working on...
Photography by the excellent John Sisson.
The (edward) Hopper Project
Photography by the excellent John Sisson.
The (edward) Hopper Project
Inspired by the works of American realist painter Edward Hopper, WNEP spends a day in New York, 1952. This production will run Jan 15 - Feb 21 at the DCA Storefront Theater.
This was a group written piece for which I am a contributing writer*.
We have found an amazing cast (of 17! Holy crap, that's a lot of actors!) and rehearsals begin on Tuesday. I'm sure I'll be mentioning it quite a bit, so prepare yourself to OD on Hopper. I'm slapping my veins in anticipation!
*I'm also the assistant director and costume designer for this show.
Monday, November 2, 2009
awol
First I was having issue with my access to the blog. "Gaw! Why can't I load this picture? Damn you to hell, Blogger!"
Then it morphed into, "Everything in my brain is the equivalent to sensational news reports. It's all car accidents, cave-ins and child abductions. I really don't want to blog about that crap today. Or today. Or today. Or ever."
Then I went on vacation thinking, "Okay, I'm ready to write! I'll finally have time and be in a delightful mood!"
Instead I slept and read and procrastinated. A LOT. I was barely online that whole week.
In the midst of all of it, I was working on stuff for WNEP's next project which I'm REALLY EXCITED ABOUT, but that took the remains whatever reserve energy I had left in my back pocket.
Also. I blame Facebook.
Why spend time writing a coherent collection of paragraphs, when a well phrased zinger (not necessarily a complete sentence, even) will do!
When I look back at October, while a bunch of good stuff happened last month, it was the least Rockingest Rocktober in quite a while. Which, to be honest, confused the hell out of me. October was crowned long ago as the Most Awesome Month of the Year. When it failed to meet my usual expectations, I sat in a stunned bubble of "WTF!" for a wee bit longer than I should have.
I'm taking a cue from Fred and Ginger.
I have "Pick Yourself Up" playing in my head on a loop.
Nothing's impossible, I have found.
For when my chin is on the ground,
I pick myself up, dust myself off, start all over again.
Don't lose your confidence if you slip.
Be grateful for the pleasant trip,
And pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again.
Work like a soul inspired 'til the battle of the day is won
You may be sick and tired, but you'll be a man, my son.
Will you remember the famous men who had to fall to rise again?
So take a deep breath,
Pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
Start all over again.
- Swing Time, 1936
I've decided to give November a shot at the title.
Then it morphed into, "Everything in my brain is the equivalent to sensational news reports. It's all car accidents, cave-ins and child abductions. I really don't want to blog about that crap today. Or today. Or today. Or ever."
Then I went on vacation thinking, "Okay, I'm ready to write! I'll finally have time and be in a delightful mood!"
Instead I slept and read and procrastinated. A LOT. I was barely online that whole week.
In the midst of all of it, I was working on stuff for WNEP's next project which I'm REALLY EXCITED ABOUT, but that took the remains whatever reserve energy I had left in my back pocket.
Also. I blame Facebook.
Why spend time writing a coherent collection of paragraphs, when a well phrased zinger (not necessarily a complete sentence, even) will do!
When I look back at October, while a bunch of good stuff happened last month, it was the least Rockingest Rocktober in quite a while. Which, to be honest, confused the hell out of me. October was crowned long ago as the Most Awesome Month of the Year. When it failed to meet my usual expectations, I sat in a stunned bubble of "WTF!" for a wee bit longer than I should have.
I'm taking a cue from Fred and Ginger.
I have "Pick Yourself Up" playing in my head on a loop.
Nothing's impossible, I have found.
For when my chin is on the ground,
I pick myself up, dust myself off, start all over again.
Don't lose your confidence if you slip.
Be grateful for the pleasant trip,
And pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again.
Work like a soul inspired 'til the battle of the day is won
You may be sick and tired, but you'll be a man, my son.
Will you remember the famous men who had to fall to rise again?
So take a deep breath,
Pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
Start all over again.
- Swing Time, 1936
I've decided to give November a shot at the title.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
WNEP Theater Auditon: The (edward) Hopper Project
WNEP Theater is holding General Auditions for the World Premiere of "The (edward) Hopper Project," an original two-act play scheduled for production January 15 - February 21 (Thu-Sun) at the Storefront Theater on Randolph.
Auditions are SATURDAY, OCTOBER 24 and SUNDAY, OCTOBER 25 from Noon - 5pm at the DCA Studio Theater, 77 E Randolph (located inside the Cultural Center.) Must be available for callbacks on Monday, October 26 from 7pm - 10pm.
To schedule a 5 minute audtion, please email Don hall at hall@wneptheater.org. Include your full name, email address, and contact phone number.
We will schedule a slot for you and contact you with audition requirements. There is minimal pay.
Dude. You should totally audition for this.
Auditions are SATURDAY, OCTOBER 24 and SUNDAY, OCTOBER 25 from Noon - 5pm at the DCA Studio Theater, 77 E Randolph (located inside the Cultural Center.) Must be available for callbacks on Monday, October 26 from 7pm - 10pm.
To schedule a 5 minute audtion, please email Don hall at hall@wneptheater.org. Include your full name, email address, and contact phone number.
We will schedule a slot for you and contact you with audition requirements. There is minimal pay.
Dude. You should totally audition for this.
Friday, October 2, 2009
backing the wrong horse
Note: I started this post last week and got sidetracked. I'm having a "finish what you start" kind of day, so I'm gonna post it even though I'm coming late to the table.
I thought I could be quiet about the Polanski arrest.
Folks more versed than myself, were saying what I would, but more concisely.
Honestly, in this day and age, can anyone defend a 40 yr old who had sex with a 13 yr old? Really?
But then a small contingent of "artists" had to put their .02 down on the wrong horse. Here is a list of folks I really lost respect for today:
Pedro Almodovar
Wes Anderson
Darren Aronofsky
Gael Garcia Bernal
Adrian Brody
Jonathan Demme
Penelope Cruz
Alfonso Cuaron*
Guillermo del Toro
Stephen Frears
Terry Gilliam*
Buck Henry (which makes his SNL character "Uncle Roy" really really gross.)
John Landis
David Lynch
Michael Mann
Jeanne Moreau
Richard Pena
Martin Scorcese
Tilda Swinton
Tom Tykwer*
Wim Wenders
This is not about a crime against artistic freedom or expression.
This is not a criticism of a man's creative work.
This is not about political persecution of an artist.
This is literally about the fact that after admitting to giving a 13 yr old girl alcohol/drugs and having unconsensual sex with her (read the grand jury testimony) and pleading down to lesser charges...after spending 45 days in jail and taking to a psychiatrist, Polanski jumped bail and left the country.
Period.
It's so overwhelmingly disappointing that these folks can't separate Polanski the filmmaker from Polanski the fugitive child rapist (because no matter what he pleaded down to? He raped that girl, folks.)
Some of these folk - their work - mi dios! It's had a big impact on the kind of stories I want to tell. So much so that I want to find an excuse for them for signing this petition. That they were in a rush when someone stuck a petition under their nose and they didn't really think about it and just signed.
But, I'm making excuses.
They signed it. And they're wrong. Period.
I'd add Woody Allen to the list...but honestly, I lost all respect for him in the mid-90's. Also, the complete lack of irony in Allen's support? Unfathomable.
I thought I could be quiet about the Polanski arrest.
Folks more versed than myself, were saying what I would, but more concisely.
Honestly, in this day and age, can anyone defend a 40 yr old who had sex with a 13 yr old? Really?
But then a small contingent of "artists" had to put their .02 down on the wrong horse. Here is a list of folks I really lost respect for today:
Pedro Almodovar
Wes Anderson
Darren Aronofsky
Gael Garcia Bernal
Adrian Brody
Jonathan Demme
Penelope Cruz
Alfonso Cuaron*
Guillermo del Toro
Stephen Frears
Terry Gilliam*
Buck Henry (which makes his SNL character "Uncle Roy" really really gross.)
John Landis
David Lynch
Michael Mann
Jeanne Moreau
Richard Pena
Martin Scorcese
Tilda Swinton
Tom Tykwer*
Wim Wenders
This is not about a crime against artistic freedom or expression.
This is not a criticism of a man's creative work.
This is not about political persecution of an artist.
This is literally about the fact that after admitting to giving a 13 yr old girl alcohol/drugs and having unconsensual sex with her (read the grand jury testimony) and pleading down to lesser charges...after spending 45 days in jail and taking to a psychiatrist, Polanski jumped bail and left the country.
Period.
It's so overwhelmingly disappointing that these folks can't separate Polanski the filmmaker from Polanski the fugitive child rapist (because no matter what he pleaded down to? He raped that girl, folks.)
Some of these folk - their work - mi dios! It's had a big impact on the kind of stories I want to tell. So much so that I want to find an excuse for them for signing this petition. That they were in a rush when someone stuck a petition under their nose and they didn't really think about it and just signed.
But, I'm making excuses.
They signed it. And they're wrong. Period.
I'd add Woody Allen to the list...but honestly, I lost all respect for him in the mid-90's. Also, the complete lack of irony in Allen's support? Unfathomable.
Friday, September 4, 2009
the lost footage
If you missed it on FB, John put together this "trailer" for our show, which if very helpful, when you're trying to describe a live, sci-fi, improv show and folks look at you funny.
For those folks in town who haven't seen THEMS, hopefully this might tempt you into coming out...there are just a few more weeks to catch it.
For those of you who have seen it, the video below is a completely different perspective on the show.
Last week, the fantastic Kevin Reome came in as "Jack Bannion." Think something along the lines of a documentary/reality show in the vein of "Dirty Jobs" or "Man vs. Wild." As the host of "Space Danger," Jack is following the the EHT crew and documenting life aboard a mining class ship.
It's like seeing the show thru entirely new eyes. I adore it.
It's very Blair Witchy - in the best sense.
This is actual footage Kevin shot while performing live during the show, in front of an audience.
None of this is scripted, none of it rehearsed.
THEMS is...
Jarrad Apperson
Chris Biddle
Jamie Buell
John Eiberger
Glenn Fancher
Ross Foti
Sabrina Harper
Lisa Linke
For those folks in town who haven't seen THEMS, hopefully this might tempt you into coming out...there are just a few more weeks to catch it.
For those of you who have seen it, the video below is a completely different perspective on the show.
Last week, the fantastic Kevin Reome came in as "Jack Bannion." Think something along the lines of a documentary/reality show in the vein of "Dirty Jobs" or "Man vs. Wild." As the host of "Space Danger," Jack is following the the EHT crew and documenting life aboard a mining class ship.
It's like seeing the show thru entirely new eyes. I adore it.
It's very Blair Witchy - in the best sense.
This is actual footage Kevin shot while performing live during the show, in front of an audience.
None of this is scripted, none of it rehearsed.
THEMS is...
Jarrad Apperson
Chris Biddle
Jamie Buell
John Eiberger
Glenn Fancher
Ross Foti
Sabrina Harper
Lisa Linke
Thursday, August 13, 2009
swagger
When I blow my candles out on my birthday cake...my wish will be to acquire some "swagger." I'm in short supply of it these days.
If I need a little inspiration...I know where to go.
This one's not shabby either.
Go on, kid. Show 'em how to work it.
If I need a little inspiration...I know where to go.
This one's not shabby either.
Go on, kid. Show 'em how to work it.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
give me these moments back
So, I'm thinking you might have heard by now.
Whether you were a fan or not matters little - if you were a teen (or pre-teen) in the mid-80's, the influence of John Hughes' movies likely impacted you on some level.
I was 14 and a freshman the spring "16 Candles" came out.
And like so many girls that age, it didn't take long for me to idolize Molly Ringwald and her characters - her cool, her clothes, her car, the fantasy of the cute boy throwing over the prom queen for you and "getting you" even though you were six kinds of awkward misfit.
And after getting her boobies fondled by grandma, she developed a backbone and retorts and, while still agnsty, she stood tall in her "apartness" and was true to herself.
But more than the stories or characters on screen, what I really connected with was Hughes ear for soundtracks. He put songs my friends and I listened to on screen. Artists that probably didn't get much radio play in the days of Madonna and Whitney, but folks we worshipped on our headphones and dance floors.
His soundtracks were freakish mirrors of the mix-tapes we would make and pass around to each other.
English Beat
OMD
Everything But the Girl
Tears for Fears
Sigue Sigue Sputnik
Joe Jackson
Love and Rockets
Gene Loves Jezebel
Oingo Boingo
Jesus and the Mary Chain
General Public
Killing Joke
The Pyschedelic Furs
Wall of Voodoo
Big Audio Dynamite
New Order
Echo & the Bunnyman
The Smiths
XTC
I had "Pretty in Pink" on vinyl.
I had "Some Kind of Wonderful" on cassette.
I still have "She's Having a Baby" on CD around here somewhere.
I said it.
I own a copy of that soundtrack.
Jealous?
Admittedly, while not the greatest of his many hits, "She's Having a Baby" is still one of my favorites for three reasons. The soundtrack was hawesome. The silly outro of folks coming up with a baby name during the credits still makes me grin. Last, but not least, it was the first time I heard this song...
I can't embed it her version of the actual music video...so you have to go elsewhere to watch it. Trust me, it's worth the click. (It's worth noting that Bush directed that video.)
I already knew Kate Bush.
Loved "Running Up That Hill."
But, this song.
If you ever want to see me cry like a little girl, put this song on and turn it up.
20+ years later and I still think it's one of the most beautiful songs. Ever.
My only gripe is that in '89, it wasn't nominated for an Oscar* - hey, it might have still been beat out by Carly Simon's "Let the River Run," but we'll never know because it was never nominated. Idiots. Hell, I'm still shocked that the woman was only nominated for a Grammy one time. Once. Arg.
But, this isn't about awards and accolades, it's about memories and influences and those things hardwired into your brain.
I will always think of John Hughes when I hear this song and I will always think of this song when someone mentions John Hughes.
Thank you for putting this in my head John Hughes.
And thank you for embracing a music culture apart from the mainstream.
Rest in peace.
*indeed, Bush wrote this song specifically for the film and then released it the following year on her album, "The Sensual World."
Whether you were a fan or not matters little - if you were a teen (or pre-teen) in the mid-80's, the influence of John Hughes' movies likely impacted you on some level.
I was 14 and a freshman the spring "16 Candles" came out.
And like so many girls that age, it didn't take long for me to idolize Molly Ringwald and her characters - her cool, her clothes, her car, the fantasy of the cute boy throwing over the prom queen for you and "getting you" even though you were six kinds of awkward misfit.
And after getting her boobies fondled by grandma, she developed a backbone and retorts and, while still agnsty, she stood tall in her "apartness" and was true to herself.
But more than the stories or characters on screen, what I really connected with was Hughes ear for soundtracks. He put songs my friends and I listened to on screen. Artists that probably didn't get much radio play in the days of Madonna and Whitney, but folks we worshipped on our headphones and dance floors.
His soundtracks were freakish mirrors of the mix-tapes we would make and pass around to each other.
English Beat
OMD
Everything But the Girl
Tears for Fears
Sigue Sigue Sputnik
Joe Jackson
Love and Rockets
Gene Loves Jezebel
Oingo Boingo
Jesus and the Mary Chain
General Public
Killing Joke
The Pyschedelic Furs
Wall of Voodoo
Big Audio Dynamite
New Order
Echo & the Bunnyman
The Smiths
XTC
I had "Pretty in Pink" on vinyl.
I had "Some Kind of Wonderful" on cassette.
I still have "She's Having a Baby" on CD around here somewhere.
I said it.
I own a copy of that soundtrack.
Jealous?
Admittedly, while not the greatest of his many hits, "She's Having a Baby" is still one of my favorites for three reasons. The soundtrack was hawesome. The silly outro of folks coming up with a baby name during the credits still makes me grin. Last, but not least, it was the first time I heard this song...
I can't embed it her version of the actual music video...so you have to go elsewhere to watch it. Trust me, it's worth the click. (It's worth noting that Bush directed that video.)
I already knew Kate Bush.
Loved "Running Up That Hill."
But, this song.
If you ever want to see me cry like a little girl, put this song on and turn it up.
20+ years later and I still think it's one of the most beautiful songs. Ever.
My only gripe is that in '89, it wasn't nominated for an Oscar* - hey, it might have still been beat out by Carly Simon's "Let the River Run," but we'll never know because it was never nominated. Idiots. Hell, I'm still shocked that the woman was only nominated for a Grammy one time. Once. Arg.
But, this isn't about awards and accolades, it's about memories and influences and those things hardwired into your brain.
I will always think of John Hughes when I hear this song and I will always think of this song when someone mentions John Hughes.
Thank you for putting this in my head John Hughes.
And thank you for embracing a music culture apart from the mainstream.
Rest in peace.
*indeed, Bush wrote this song specifically for the film and then released it the following year on her album, "The Sensual World."
Sunday, July 26, 2009
better angels
Recently, I've been thinking about the nature of friendship.
On what kind of friend I've been (sometimes good, sometimes not so good), what friendships I've fostered or been fostered by, the different types of friends that float in and out of my life and the ones that have been stalwart and sure for decades.
A big part of my identity has always been based in my self perception of "friend."
Much of what I consider to be good in my life is based not on my intelligence, experience or humor...but in the intelligence, experience and humor shared and discovered with my friends.
Tonight, as I kicked back with a group of folks I would likely go to the ends of the earth for, I told an old chestnut of a long-running joke about one of my oldest and dearest friends who was present. After the laughter died down and most of the crowd left us alone, I asked him if he ever got mad at me for some stupid thing I say or did. He thought about it for a moment and said no. (Which I think has a little more to do with him being such a laid back and easy going fella and less to do with my loud mouth.)
It made me consider the times I've been a good friend and other times when I've been kind of a louse and my very good fortune of having friends willing to put up with the louse-y parts of my personality to enjoy what might be my better angels.
Then I saw this video and I'm amazed by how much it says (and so simply) how much I wish I could go back and undo all the silly, stupid things I may have done or said to my friends (and even folks that just crossed my path at the wrong moment) who I might have injured - even on the smallest level.
I suppose this is an unofficial declaration of my rededication to the friendships in my world - of all shapes and sizes.
On what kind of friend I've been (sometimes good, sometimes not so good), what friendships I've fostered or been fostered by, the different types of friends that float in and out of my life and the ones that have been stalwart and sure for decades.
A big part of my identity has always been based in my self perception of "friend."
Much of what I consider to be good in my life is based not on my intelligence, experience or humor...but in the intelligence, experience and humor shared and discovered with my friends.
Tonight, as I kicked back with a group of folks I would likely go to the ends of the earth for, I told an old chestnut of a long-running joke about one of my oldest and dearest friends who was present. After the laughter died down and most of the crowd left us alone, I asked him if he ever got mad at me for some stupid thing I say or did. He thought about it for a moment and said no. (Which I think has a little more to do with him being such a laid back and easy going fella and less to do with my loud mouth.)
It made me consider the times I've been a good friend and other times when I've been kind of a louse and my very good fortune of having friends willing to put up with the louse-y parts of my personality to enjoy what might be my better angels.
Then I saw this video and I'm amazed by how much it says (and so simply) how much I wish I could go back and undo all the silly, stupid things I may have done or said to my friends (and even folks that just crossed my path at the wrong moment) who I might have injured - even on the smallest level.
I suppose this is an unofficial declaration of my rededication to the friendships in my world - of all shapes and sizes.
Monday, July 6, 2009
taking the Bee back
As a post-modern-modern woman, I'm a big believer that there are some things worth "taking back." Not only to honor what they historically represent, but embracing what those representations mean today and applying them to our everyday lives.
In days of olde, women gathered for quilting bees and sewing bees - ever the productive and efficient gender.
When reviewing our skill sets and our need to take a break from both bringing home the bacon and also frying it up in a pan, our ladies auxiliary went for an event more social than utilitarian.
We decided to hold a Tequila Bee.
I'm not a big drinker these days.
I'm what you would call the "occasional imbiber."
It should be stated that, more times than not, if I feel like putting my drinking cap on or attempt to relive my rowdy 20's, I normally have to Plan. That. Shit. Out.
I believe the equation is that for every 1 hour I drink, I need 5 hours of recovery time.
Even after doing the math, I was highly anticipating the chance to throw a few back with friends and letting my brain float away on a wash of fermentation, come what may. Friday was such a day.
A few of the ladies gathered on a friend's back porch. Reminiscent of a pot-luck, we each brought something to the table.
I showed up with the Tequila (two kinds), limes and a double batch of fresh guacamole. B picked up the chips, salsa, fancy cookies and the Triple Sec. J brought some tasty mini-tacos a la Trader Joe's (damn. TJ's has some tasty hors devours!) And K made some of her home brewed sour mix especially for the occasion.
It was the perfect weather to just sit on the porch and swim around in Margaritaville. We people watched (the porch has a bird's eye view of an el platform), regaled each other with saucy tales and just plain relaxed our minds and bodies.
While we didn't walk away with a Friendship Ring quilt or husk any corn, I think that we lived up to the true nature of a "bee" and accomplished a productive task that drew us together as friends and neighbors.
We got stewed.
In fact, we had such a delightful time, we're already planning another for later this summer...and I wouldn't be surprised if a Martini Bee doesn't pop up in the fall.
While a huge party of friendly folk is nice, a small cadre of companions is sometimes a better balm to soothe the beastie within.
My recommendation to you (whether or not you have alcohol on hand) is an afternoon spent on a back porch with a small group of friends telling stories and making each other laugh.
Although, I really would recommend the liquor.
On a specific note, while the standard José Cuervo Gold is fine for mixing, do yourself a proper and get a better quality tequila for doing shots. We went with José Cuervo Black Medallion (aged for more than one year in oak casks) and baby, that was some smooth agave for anyone on a budget.
In days of olde, women gathered for quilting bees and sewing bees - ever the productive and efficient gender.
When reviewing our skill sets and our need to take a break from both bringing home the bacon and also frying it up in a pan, our ladies auxiliary went for an event more social than utilitarian.
We decided to hold a Tequila Bee.
I'm not a big drinker these days.
I'm what you would call the "occasional imbiber."
It should be stated that, more times than not, if I feel like putting my drinking cap on or attempt to relive my rowdy 20's, I normally have to Plan. That. Shit. Out.
I believe the equation is that for every 1 hour I drink, I need 5 hours of recovery time.
Even after doing the math, I was highly anticipating the chance to throw a few back with friends and letting my brain float away on a wash of fermentation, come what may. Friday was such a day.
A few of the ladies gathered on a friend's back porch. Reminiscent of a pot-luck, we each brought something to the table.
I showed up with the Tequila (two kinds), limes and a double batch of fresh guacamole. B picked up the chips, salsa, fancy cookies and the Triple Sec. J brought some tasty mini-tacos a la Trader Joe's (damn. TJ's has some tasty hors devours!) And K made some of her home brewed sour mix especially for the occasion.
It was the perfect weather to just sit on the porch and swim around in Margaritaville. We people watched (the porch has a bird's eye view of an el platform), regaled each other with saucy tales and just plain relaxed our minds and bodies.
While we didn't walk away with a Friendship Ring quilt or husk any corn, I think that we lived up to the true nature of a "bee" and accomplished a productive task that drew us together as friends and neighbors.
We got stewed.
In fact, we had such a delightful time, we're already planning another for later this summer...and I wouldn't be surprised if a Martini Bee doesn't pop up in the fall.
While a huge party of friendly folk is nice, a small cadre of companions is sometimes a better balm to soothe the beastie within.
My recommendation to you (whether or not you have alcohol on hand) is an afternoon spent on a back porch with a small group of friends telling stories and making each other laugh.
Although, I really would recommend the liquor.
On a specific note, while the standard José Cuervo Gold is fine for mixing, do yourself a proper and get a better quality tequila for doing shots. We went with José Cuervo Black Medallion (aged for more than one year in oak casks) and baby, that was some smooth agave for anyone on a budget.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
slowly i turn
Yeah. I've been gone.
Yeah. I'm back.
Yeah. My brain is slowly recovering from a slight bout of heat stroke.
Until I'm back in the proverbial saddle, I'll give you this...which puts a smile on my face and makes me dance in my seat until I get up and shake what my mama gave me.
Enjoy.
The gentleman in the video is Jim Slonina, currently a clown with Cirque du Soleil and former member of the brilliant (now defunct) Defiant Theater company here in Chicago.
Yeah. I'm back.
Yeah. My brain is slowly recovering from a slight bout of heat stroke.
Until I'm back in the proverbial saddle, I'll give you this...which puts a smile on my face and makes me dance in my seat until I get up and shake what my mama gave me.
Enjoy.
The gentleman in the video is Jim Slonina, currently a clown with Cirque du Soleil and former member of the brilliant (now defunct) Defiant Theater company here in Chicago.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
