Sayonara 2009!

Here's the year in the review. Nah-nah-nah-naah, hey-hey-heey, good-bye, 'Aughts!

January, 2009: Sara moved in, La Jolla Playhouse moved me out. Then was winter of our discontent.

February, 2009: Girlfriend went to Africa, I went to the unemployment office, Katie came to visit SD, and "Love Is For Suckas" gave birth to So Say We All.

March, 2009: Lost myself in the desert, found my family at Passover, and continued to apply for Craigslist jobs, cross my fingers on the video game industry.

April, 2009: Bank account dwindled, MAP hired me, and Scott made me lick whip cream off of a male stripper's chest in Las Vegas.

May, 2009: DAHMER went to Omaha for the GPTC, Sony Online Entertainment called me up, and the census began. Hey, a year ago I was a fresh-faced college graduate, ready for the world to let me live my life.

June, 2009: Best weekend of the summer with Sam's birthday, began working on "Everquest", and tried to keep cool.

July, 2009: Job began to dull my senses, Justin and I celebrated one year of friendship (a milestone), and we left downtown for hire ground.

August, 2009: Moved into North Park house, pushed V.A.M.P. from our creative loins, Gina popped in for a visit, and Sony grew increasingly depressing.

September, 2009: New York, I came back to turn 24; New York, you called me back; New York, you broke my heart on my girlfriend's birthday.

October, 2009: SSWA produces Dahmer, the relationship goes south, New York says keep in touch, SSWA produces V.A.M.P., I leave SOE and go back to SEO for MAP, and Halloween was one to remember in a month to forget.

November, 2009: Thanksgiving at home, old friends, older friends, return to looking forward to work, SSWA produces one show a week and gets named one of the ten best cultural things to do in San Diego (pages 22 and 54).

December, 2009: Jewsgiving 2009 is success, SSWA "Home For The Holidays" is too, Dahmer gets the White Gorilla treatment, "Nick Garland's Last Night In Town" gets finished, and bullshit over friendship almost gets in the way.

Yo, 2010, what you doin' for the next 365 days?

Home For The Holidays

Before we wrap up this crazy, absolutely insane year we call 2009, I can't help but reflect on the recent past much more fondly and clearly than this past year as a whole. So many weirdly delightful and strangely horrific things that have happened that it took me a while to even register that they were happening.

This can't be...can it? That these folks came back, this one left, and another from out of the blue? Can we really laugh this much at something which exists for two minutes and is not on YouTube? Does the Grinch really get to win at the end of it all? I'm still not sure I've taken in everything from the past six weeks, but this is what I do know.

Salt Lake City, Utah -- Thanksgiving

I hadn't been home for nearly a year and a half, but after the hellish month known as October, 2009 came to a close, I was ready for some familiar settings and territory, one where I knew the layout and could put my guard down for a while. San Diego was becoming a war zone and I needed the vanilla civilian lifestyle that was uncomplicated and easily ignored. So, I headed home to Salt Lake City for Turkey Day.

The place I always wanted to leave had, like most cliches about going home, won me over for a number of reasons. My brother Sam, now in high school, finally feels like a teenager and acts like one. Though rarely a night passed where I would go to bed with him playing on his PS2 only to wake up in the morning and find him busily working away at the X, triangle, square, and circle keys. But we talked, which was something that was always sort of lacking in our relationship. We talked about growing up, about school, and about how he wants to play football. I also got to spend some quality time with my mom (my dad, too, but he had to make an unforeseen trip to Virginia during Thanksgiving dinner), who I can tell really misses me and I miss her, but we both know that I'm not coming back home until it is absolutely necessary. St

ill, I got to spend time with them and take them to the movies, which is all any of us could ask for, so I feel great to have kept our traditions alive.

Perhaps the strangest connection was made yet again through my friend, Scott. Friday night was going to be our guys night -- hitting up a my friend's birthday party downtown before heading to The Avenues for a rowdier crowd of frat boys and gay men playing beer pong. During dinner, Scott kept telling me about his new best friend, Rachel Lazer. He had told her about me and she texted Scott back "Was his dad a sports caster?" Scott and I looked at one another -- another circle of people we thought didn't know each other was now complete. But who was Rachel Lazer from Park City? I couldn't place the name. Then it hit me: not Lazer, but Lasser. She had a twin brother named John and we'd grown up together, going on ski trips and spending afternoons at the swimming pool on the hill. I hadn't seen them in fifteen years, since their parents divorced. Since their dad moved to San Francisco and killed himself. Since their mom moved them to the secluded gated-communities of Park City and they'd all but disappeared from the map. I had always wandered what happened to them, thinking

I'd look up their mother, Jane, in the phone book and track them down. But I never did.

The birthday party went by like a flash in the pan and as we hopped into John's car on the way up to the Avenues, I still couldn't believe that I'd found them. Rachel looked very different than I remember her. If we passed on the street, I would not have recognized her. It was John who looked the same, minus the tallness and the beard. He'd been a drug addict for years, but got clean and was now helping others do the same. Rachel went to American University in D.C. and now worked with homeless youth. Playing round after round of beer pong brought back memory after memory that I'd dwelled over for nearly two decades, but each of them had repressed. "Remember digging up that dead cat and shooting it with the B.B. gun?" "NO!" "Or what about the grease fire at your house and your mom made us stay in the basement until the fire department was done?" "Holy shit!

I hadn't thought about that for years!" We eventually made it back to Scott's apartment complex for some hot tub dipping until the cops came to shut us down. Rachel and I crashed in Scott's living room, talking about all those days we remembered and all the ones we'd tried to forget but couldn't. She told me that she had pushed all of this stuff away because when her dad died, it was too much for her to comprehend, but she knew it was true because I was telling it to her.

And like the days after swimming, where we'd lie down on the porch of their house overlooking the valley storm's approaching, we passed out on colorful towel with candy glued to our faces.

San Diego, California -- Christmas

A.k.a, "Jewsgiving", a.k.a. "The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year", a.k.a. "It Was Just Another One Of Those Days"

I was on my way to the third mall in Mission Valley, but now I was headed to Fashion Valley and I still didn't know the difference. Missy called, but I was afraid to answer the phone behind the wheel. I had a 200 lbs. desk loosely tied in the back of my truck with the best of my dwindling Boy Scout abilities barely keeping it in as I parked the truck in the busy mall, afraid of a lawsuit at any minute, but squeezed in between two cars and ran up to the movie theater. I had gotten another call from Missy, which came just as I ran up the stairs, so I knew it was important. I opened my phone just in time to hear the message replay "...house broken into...laptop missing...Christmas presents gone..." The movie would have to wait. I drove up to Missy and Mindy's house to hear Missy telling her sister to take a shot, it would help. She had just taken one and it had helped her. I hugged them both and tried to offer what little comfort I could. Someone had made their way into the house while the sisters had gone Christmas shopping, taking off with Mindy's portable computer and all of the Christmas gifts set out that Missy had just completed wrapping. All that was left was the Fuck It Bucket, a gift Missy had made for her friend which was a container of candy that said "Fuck It" on the side, sitting where the mountain of presents once took up residence. It was the ultimate middle finger.

The cops came, took a report, and we all tried to suggest what the girls could do next. I had tried to give Mindy my old laptop a month ago, but the thing ran slower than molasses. Maybe I could fix it up, but I wasn't sure. Missy pretty much got over the fact that things had been stolen, but couldn't quite shake the feeling of a stranger coming in the house, violating space and privacy. How safe were they in that place, which, just a week before hand had been the venue to host their Tiny House Party. Now, the Grinch had come and been the worst than the party guest who shows up empty handed only to take a dump on your bed after a few too many Tecates.

Things did get better on Christmas. We all went over to Justin's house for "Jewsgiving", his name for Christmas Eve dinner, because he'd much rather spend the holiday with his mother, his dog, and all of his Jewish friends. We ate to our hearts content, only the best of potluck food, as well as drank. A lot. We recalled embarrassing tales, told the worst kinds of jokes, and had the type of bohemian meal that you are supposed to have when you are young and friends equal family no matter how often you see or do not see them. The next day, it was out to El Cajon for presents and the introduction to the Ugly Step Sister of America's Finest City. I think it was all summed up for me when passing by an old man, half-passed out in a Buick, smoking and listening to gospel R&B with the car door open. It was just another day in the Little Coffin.

We wrapped up the day with a movie, some Rock Band, and munching on candy, even though our stomachs could not fit another centimeter of food in them. And now, we go into one of my favorite weeks -- the one right before New Year.

I'm so excited, and while I could hide it, I'm going to forgo that part.

Letters From The Monkey House

Y'know, there aren't many letters written these days, in the era of electronic mail, so I feel it is important to save messages you get and then share them with my friends. This is a message from my boss (the names and details have been kept out to save the innocent) to our web guy in Los Angeles, but please keep in mind while you read this: he actually talks and writes all his e-mails as such. This was not a special day, other than the fact that this one takes the cake.

I think my some micro, site views of the the main website and in vice versa. I think it would be helpful for me if you did two things. 1. If there's any articles written about how the to relate to one another and so I can if you could write something on doesn't have to be in perfect and leisure and take a lot of time doing it. Basically, what's the smart way for us to do this. Where is hey, i mean how how that you want to have a our. The married to one another. What sort of factors, Hi. My second way for us to do this meeting should. K and the boys there the going back to doing what they were doing what you have the micro sites up and they can review the blog and in to make them somehow, but I need to know and I think they need to know specifically how is it that the to the general into one another. I mean, it's not gonna be all that often that they're gonna go back and we can every single blanking blog, which is what they're doing now because the Law Center. If you could write something and then send something over at your first convenience that would be appreciated and copy K as well. Obviously that's gonna be the first of i would imagine. Other thoughts on that. I was Week get used to it. Main thing is I don't we connect the arms of the body and except for et cetera. Have a nice evening.

Takers for bets? What drugs was he on? What was going through his head at the moment? Do I work for someone who should be in the third grade?

The Fantastic Mr. Guy Foxx

Remember, remember this is a great November.

You could say that for all the shit that went down in October, November is making up for.

You could say that once MY FRIEND DAHMER was staged, it laid out an artistic pathway for VAMP, a revised New Orleans play that is still missing a title, and the San Diego movie, NICK GARLAND'S LAST NIGHT IN TOWN, to define our lives (all ten of us).

You could say that it was scary for a moment, but Halloween and all it's ghosts packed up for Boca, to join the rest of the living dead.

You could say that blogging is just blogging, but blogging pays the bills, garnishes the thrills, and soothes the ills. You could also say this is the first time any one has ever paid you to take a break.

You could say that taking a break from writing and jumping head on into producing was a bit nerve racking, but the water felt just fine at the after party where you repeatedly got called "White Chocolate Nigga" and helped to compose a song called "Look At That Ass!"

You could say that you do have a lot of outstanding bills, though you are outstanding at staying on top of the middle portion of them.

You could say that it would be easier to stay in Diego, the land you only just really started to love about the time you were going to leave it, but that Salt Lake hasn't seen you in a year and a half, so she gets to spend Thanksgiving with you.

You could say that late night burritos, Tuesday karaoke, s'mores around a beach bond fire, and countless bottles of beers in your fridge are all bad for your health (note: you are wrong).

You could say that feelings still linger though friendship has never been stronger.

You could say anything you want about this month, but it unless you were here, there is no way you could remember how good it felt when it hit you.

Under The Snake

Below is my project for the VAMP "Scared Shitless" show that went really well. You aren't going to see me soak my head in the bucket, something reserved solely for the live performance, but my parents' voices really make the piece what it is.

This is UNDER THE SNAKE:



I finished Nick Garland's Last Night In Town this week, sending it out to only three people, as it is still a rough draft. I feel like I should take a break for a little bit, what, with My Friend Dahmer just being about two weeks ago. But then I make little projects for VAMP or the story slam and it just means that I can't stop with all the projects. Now I've got to go full blast or I'll just drive myself crazy.

This is going to follow me all the way through next week, when I go home for Thanksgiving. I haven't been back to Salt Lake City in over a year (let alone seen the Greatest Snow on Earth in two years) and while I anticipate it being relaxing, I also can feel the itch to use most of that time for writing. I'll have to balance it somehow.

In other news, blogging is going well, despite the fact that last week a plastic surgeon who was written about when I had left for the summer is suing our offices. He won't win and we have nothing to worry about, but it is fun to be a part of something that is coming under fire. I mean, it is either that or spend the time talking about how many people in the office know the paralegal got a breast augmentation. Honestly, that only passes an hour or two.

Power Of The Dark Side

From staged readings to original plays about Jeffrey Dahmer, three drama geeks are exposing the hidden underbelly of San Diego’s cultural scene
By Sarah Nardi



There’s a reason we picture artists in garrets, forlorn and smoking, staring out at the rain. In our collective imagination, misery and creation are inextricably linked. Art is something that comes from the depths—from the stormy, windswept corners of our soul. It comes from New York, London, Berlin—places where the physical environment matches the turmoil within.

It doesn’t come from San Diego.

“This city is good at promoting three things,” says Justin Hudnall. “Weather, fish and football. But if you want to be an artist, you almost have to go somewhere else.”

Entangled in the ideal of “America’s Finest City” is the notion that the angst and suffering upon which we believe all art must feed simply doesn’t exist here. Baudelaire wasn’t writing on a beach, after all.

“To that I would say that there is a dark side of paradise,” Hudnall says. “There’s an underbelly here—it’s just untapped. People in San Diego do have stories to tell. All they need is a stage.”

A stage is precisely what Hudnall, along with his partners Jake Arky and Jessica Gillette, are trying to provide. So Say We All, a kind of incubator for writers, musicians, artists and actors, was formed in February 2009, after NYU grads and self-described “drama fags” Hudnall and Arky had finally had enough.

The two met while working at the La Jolla Playhouse. Hudnall, a writer, was born and raised in San Diego and began to grow frustrated with the city’s attitude toward its artists as productions at the Playhouse were regularly manned with talent shipped in at exorbitant costs from New York, L.A.—anywhere but here.

“Meanwhile, all these local artists are screaming, ‘I’m here and I want to work!’” Hudnall explains.

“There’s this idea that art and artists couldn’t possibly come from San Diego,” Arky adds. “The city has a real inferiority complex, and that’s what we’re trying to overcome.”

Arky and Hudnall were convinced that San Diego was teetering on a cultural tipping point—all it needed was a push. So, together with Gillette, they conceived an idea for a story slam to showcase the talents of local writers. After the first event, for which six writers showed up, interest snowballed—so much so that So Say We All is in danger of becoming its founders’ full-time job.

The concept is disarmingly simple: Offer an underserved, underappreciated community of artists a stage, a microphone and an audience—and watch what they can do. Each event is organized around a theme, and participants submit their stories and materials to SSWA for feedback beforehand. Prior to being staged, each event is rehearsed. (“It’s important for people to understand that,” interjects Arky. “This is not an open-mic thing. Open-mic sucks.”) Past themes have included “Caught in the Act,” during which a performer described how coming out in southern Minnesota made him somewhat of a collector’s item, and “Scared Shitless,” when El Cajon native Missy Solis recounted a violent childhood tragedy that unfolded against the mock-horror of Halloween.

SSWA events have proved a haven for writers like Rob Williams, who moved with his husband from Brooklyn four years ago. “It was tough, at first, finding other creative types in San Diego,” he says. “Four years ago you really had to go searching for them. It’s not like New York City, where you bump into them with every step you take.”

The group is expanding on its original story slam concept to include a variety of different media. They staged “My Friend Dahmer,” a play adapted by Arky and produced by Hudnall on Halloween. SSWA has also introduced VAMP, events that include elements of visual art, music and performance. Musician Rob Deez, who describes his sound as an amalgam of acoustic, hip-hop and comedy that he has yet to christen with a clever name, remembers playing the show titled “When Poverty Strikes” at Cream coffeehouse back in August.

“When I got to the show, I was blown away by the turnout,” he recalls. “I asked Justin what his secret was because I’ve played many a show to an empty room.”

Deez went on to perform at the “Scared Shitless” event, where “Justin told me that there was a 55-year-old evangelical Christian mother in the audience and she said I was the funniest thing she’d seen in a long time. I think that’s awesome seeing how most of my songs are not very”—he pauses, searching for the right words—“55-year-old-evangelical-Christian-mother-friendly.”

The range of personalities participating in events is one thing Hudnall and Arky pride themselves on. “We had a senior citizen step up to the mic not long ago and totally school the hipster who came on before,” Hudnall laughs.

“It’s just amazing what people can do if you give them an audience and take them seriously.” SSWA also maintains a website (www.sosayweallonline.com), where past shows are archived and new material is regularly added.

The group is staging weekly events in November (“VAMP” on Nov. 9 at Whistle Stop Bar, “Living Room Heroes” on Nov. 21 at Cream and “Story Slam” on Nov. 28 at Lestat’s West) and hopes to become a consistent and influential presence in the local arts scene—a kind of This American Life for San Diego.

“Not that we’re trying to emulate something else,” Hudnall cautions. “But we were watching a VHS tape of Ira Glass and Dan Savage from the early ’90s, way before they became who they are now. It’s encouraging to know that something as pervasive as that started small. It gives us hope.”

Hudnall and Arky begin to jokingly argue over which of them is Savage and which is Glass.

“OK, Jake,” Hudnall finally laughs, “you can be Ira because you have glasses.

“And because you’re the Jew.”

Thanks to everyone at Citybeat for your love and support of So Say We All. The only editorial I have to add in is that while her new nickname is going to be "Mach 3", Jess' last name is spelled "Jollett".

Chumbawumba's Motto

I got knocked down.
But I'll get up again.
You're never gonna keep me down.

That said, I'm sure I'll still be pissin' the night away sometime in the near future.

As it happens, life has taken a jackhammer to my plans and a lot of things are changing. It's funny, because fall is always a time of year that I feel things are pretty solid and unmoving. Now, the ground shakes like a fat man's burping belly, smelling equally as foul and pungent. Smell that? It's the smell of transitions.

The life jukebox spins another record I didn't see coming. What's up on the playlist?

New York: Thought I was moving back to New York. Thought I had a job in the city, doing theater professionally again. Thought too soon and now I have to wait. I'm told the job is still out there and that management is simply looking for a way I can fit in, financially and in what capacity my work will be focused on. But I'm not sitting around waiting; if it comes, great. If not, life to be lived.

Jobs: Don't think just because I didn't get the NY job doesn't mean that I'm staying with SOE (or as we've come to call it "It SO Easy!) for the hours and pay they are asking. I'm actually trading in SOE for SEO, heading back to the Law Offices of MAP. This makes me happy, truth be told. I'll be writing most of the day, hanging out with Kevin and crew, and getting paid more which always makes my life easier. Come Tuesday of next week, it is back to the bloggosphere of personal injury.

Girls, ETC: Sara and I are going are separate ways next week. When New York was put into the question -- and even after it never came to fruition -- she had made up her mind to move home. I can honestly say that, yes, I'm truly sad she is leaving. On the other hand, it feels nice to not be bitter at someone with whom you've shared a relationship with for two plus years. She's going to be with her family, happy, and kept in a realm of comfort I can only dream of. There's a life out there that she wants to live and I'll be damned if I stand in the way.

So Say We All: Aside from being broke, SSWA is going really well. Our last show, Scared Shitless, brought in a huge crowd and we delivered on the content side. It really came together and I've enjoyed doing the shows more lately. Especially looking forward to My Friend Dahmer getting the SSWA treatment. I'm playing Derf, Jen is directing, and Justin is taking producer/tech coordinator on this one. Lots of memorizing -- that's the only rub. Other than that, looking forward to soiling your pants come Halloween.



And that's the news. Oh, Danny boy!