Top 10 Albums of 2008
1) "Jukebox" -- Cat Power
2) "The Cool" -- Lupe Fiasco (okay, it was a 2007 album, but, like 12/31/2007)
3) "Flight of the Conchords" -- Flight of the Conchords
4) "Renaissance" -- Q-Tip
5) "Vampire Weekend" -- Vampire Weekend
6) "Humanimals" -- Grand Ol' Party
7) "Paper Trail" -- T.I.
8) "Pressure" -- Blaze
9) "The Stand-Ins" -- Okkervil River
10)"Volume One" -- She and Him
Top 10 Movies of 2008
1) Wall-E
2) Sychedoche, NY
3) Slumdog Millionaire
4) Frozen River
5) Burn After Reading
6) The Dark Knight
7) The Visitor
8) The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
9) Wire Walker
10)Milk
Top 10 Television Shows of 2008
1) The Wire
2) Friday Night Lights
3) It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
4) The Shield
5) The Office
6) 30 Rock
7) Mad Men
8) The Riches
9) Dexter
10) South Park (fall season)
Top 5 Books of 2008 (or at least the ones I read)
1) Lush Life -- by Richard Price
2) American Pastoral -- by Philip Roth
3) Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Boy on Earth -- by Chris Ware
4) The Emperor's Children -- by Claire Messud
5) On The Road -- by Jack Kerouac as read by Matt Dillon
Top 5 Stage Plays of 2008
1) The American Dream and The Sandbox -- Edward Albee
2) Tobacco Road -- Novel by Erskine Caldwell, Adapted by Jack Kirkland
3) Remains -- Chiara Atik
4) Sundays in the Park with George -- Music and Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, Book by James Lapine
5) U.S. Drag -- Gina Gionfriddo (at the Ion Theatre Co.)
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Post-Holiday Stress Syndrome
In one week we can finally say good-bye to 2008, a year which had some sour (i.e. The MEMPHIS opening-night party) and some sweet (i.e. graduation, job…for the moment) memories. Still, I’ll lean it to the side of sweet only for the fact that I feel like I did what I said I’d do after school: plant seeds for future growing. Now that the seeds are planted, I’ve done an entry level job for close to a year, and we have a President who isn’t a dingus, I look forward to the year of 2009, where I watch a garden bloom.
What always strikes me as being so weird is how stressful the time after the holidays are. I got most people LJP S.W.A.G. this year (because I just looked it up and I am officially living below the poverty level) and got it early, so not really stressed about that. I didn’t travel and working on Christmas wasn’t too bad. By too bad, I mean it was a lot of fun to serve the XANADU cast Christmas dinner and sit around playing Martin’s werewolf game while we all got drunk. But now comes the stressful points: XANADU closes, XANADU leaves, we have a new cast arriving within 3 days of the old one’s departure, Sara’s moving down, Sara’s moving in, SARA’S COMING TO SAN DIEGO (Hooray!), then there is New Year’s Eve, and the BRONX play reading, and then finding a steady support of income.
Charlie Brown, quit hogging all the goddamn paper bags for once and send it my way.
Pre-holidays are nothing; post-holidays are everything. Perhaps I put new much equity into the start of a new year. After all, it’s nothing but a new puppy calendar on my wall, a simple changing of numbers and days. But I do get hopeful…thinking about the possibilities…I always say my life is never truly boring and each year, looking back at the time spent during the last 365 days, that adage always proves true. And like I said, 2009…it’s gonna be fine. Mainly, because when the Chinese New Year starts it’s the year of the Ox. Guess who’s an Ox, bitches?
Right now, the only sad thing I can think of is this picture. After years of hearsay and slander, of papers chanting that “this is Coney Island’s last summer”, and of numerous deus ex machina like saves, Coney Island has closed.
So really, we can’t get worse than that.
(P.S. My Blanket Top 10 List is coming, but I still have to see Benjamin Button and all its glory)
What always strikes me as being so weird is how stressful the time after the holidays are. I got most people LJP S.W.A.G. this year (because I just looked it up and I am officially living below the poverty level) and got it early, so not really stressed about that. I didn’t travel and working on Christmas wasn’t too bad. By too bad, I mean it was a lot of fun to serve the XANADU cast Christmas dinner and sit around playing Martin’s werewolf game while we all got drunk. But now comes the stressful points: XANADU closes, XANADU leaves, we have a new cast arriving within 3 days of the old one’s departure, Sara’s moving down, Sara’s moving in, SARA’S COMING TO SAN DIEGO (Hooray!), then there is New Year’s Eve, and the BRONX play reading, and then finding a steady support of income.
Charlie Brown, quit hogging all the goddamn paper bags for once and send it my way.
Pre-holidays are nothing; post-holidays are everything. Perhaps I put new much equity into the start of a new year. After all, it’s nothing but a new puppy calendar on my wall, a simple changing of numbers and days. But I do get hopeful…thinking about the possibilities…I always say my life is never truly boring and each year, looking back at the time spent during the last 365 days, that adage always proves true. And like I said, 2009…it’s gonna be fine. Mainly, because when the Chinese New Year starts it’s the year of the Ox. Guess who’s an Ox, bitches?
Right now, the only sad thing I can think of is this picture. After years of hearsay and slander, of papers chanting that “this is Coney Island’s last summer”, and of numerous deus ex machina like saves, Coney Island has closed.
So really, we can’t get worse than that.
(P.S. My Blanket Top 10 List is coming, but I still have to see Benjamin Button and all its glory)
Sunday, December 21, 2008
U.S. Drag
The more you know:
U.S. Drag – a term coined by author William S. Burroughs to describe America’s sense of depression and longing
It’s also the name of Gina Gionfriddo’s fantastic 2001 play that was one of the best evenings I’ve seen in theatre all year and perhaps my life. Glenn Paris, the producing artistic director of the Ion Theatre Company in San Diego, works at the Playhouse with me for his day job. He’d put a poster up in the break room for Ion’s production of U.S. Drag and it was the first time I’d realized it was his company he was promoting. Wanting to see if I could get something going with Ion I asked if he’d be willing to read Our Mother and Bronx Got Bombed—then just to throw in some good will I said I come to the show.
What could it hurt to support local arts, especially if you have hopes to work with them some day? I dragged Justin out of his house and together with his pseudo-girlfriend, Mai, we ventured down to Mission Valley. Underneath the trolley station and behind the Christian Fellowship building is a row of storage units, the last row housing the Ion Theatre Company in a small connection of three garage spaces to hold a small dance studio and black box theater. Justin, shaking his head, said to me “what have you gotten us into? We’re going to be killed back here!” I, on the other hand, was getting excited: “This is going to be great!” And I meant it. After all, who am I to judge if not the co-founder of the improv troupe who performed in the tool shed at the LGBT Center on Salt Lake’s west side—I started all my shit in places like these. I know they are dedicated and hard working artists and I was so pumped to see what they had.
Both of our expectations were exceeded. Not only were the production elements to the piece fantastic for being low-budget, but the space was clean and professional, not thinking for a moment that it wasn’t a legitimate performance space. Then the play itself: it was a biting script that I think Justin and I, New Yorkers at heart, were the only ones who could fully appreciate. It was so fucking funny, but even more fucking true. Put a group of talented actors on top of that, with a special consideration for Karson St. John’s magnificently humorous and human portrayal of Allison, and we were rolling on a great night of theater. About 2/3rds of the way into the play the lights started to get wonky…changing in the middle of scenes then going black all together (Justin thought it was an artistic choice about fading morality). The actors persevered until the stage manager apologized and called for an intermission (which was not scheduled for the 95 minute show). That didn’t stop the show: the cast came out, clapped for the audience and kept the spirits of the crowd up. When the stage manager, resigned to the fate of a malfunctioning light board, she asked if we wanted the play to continue using only two fluorescent bulbs as a source of light, Justin and I were not the only ones clapping for the show to go on. And it went just splendidly. The actors picked up right where they left off, not missing a beat, and even joking with the technical difficulties recently presented to them. While the last monologue by an author character and the stage-y curtain call were a little off putting at the end, U.S. Drag became one of the best nights of theater I’ve seen in my life because it proved that love for the theater can carry a show further than any critical or monetary success. Not only did the cast and crew maintain a “show-must-go-on” mentality, but the audience seemed to genuinely find themselves invested in the characters and wanting to know the outcome of the story. I was almost dumbfounded as to why Glenn’s partner and director of the show as offering refunds at the end of the show because I don’t think one person took him up on his offer.
And why the hell should they? Hands down one of my favorite plays of the year.
U.S. Drag – a term coined by author William S. Burroughs to describe America’s sense of depression and longing
It’s also the name of Gina Gionfriddo’s fantastic 2001 play that was one of the best evenings I’ve seen in theatre all year and perhaps my life. Glenn Paris, the producing artistic director of the Ion Theatre Company in San Diego, works at the Playhouse with me for his day job. He’d put a poster up in the break room for Ion’s production of U.S. Drag and it was the first time I’d realized it was his company he was promoting. Wanting to see if I could get something going with Ion I asked if he’d be willing to read Our Mother and Bronx Got Bombed—then just to throw in some good will I said I come to the show.
What could it hurt to support local arts, especially if you have hopes to work with them some day? I dragged Justin out of his house and together with his pseudo-girlfriend, Mai, we ventured down to Mission Valley. Underneath the trolley station and behind the Christian Fellowship building is a row of storage units, the last row housing the Ion Theatre Company in a small connection of three garage spaces to hold a small dance studio and black box theater. Justin, shaking his head, said to me “what have you gotten us into? We’re going to be killed back here!” I, on the other hand, was getting excited: “This is going to be great!” And I meant it. After all, who am I to judge if not the co-founder of the improv troupe who performed in the tool shed at the LGBT Center on Salt Lake’s west side—I started all my shit in places like these. I know they are dedicated and hard working artists and I was so pumped to see what they had.
Both of our expectations were exceeded. Not only were the production elements to the piece fantastic for being low-budget, but the space was clean and professional, not thinking for a moment that it wasn’t a legitimate performance space. Then the play itself: it was a biting script that I think Justin and I, New Yorkers at heart, were the only ones who could fully appreciate. It was so fucking funny, but even more fucking true. Put a group of talented actors on top of that, with a special consideration for Karson St. John’s magnificently humorous and human portrayal of Allison, and we were rolling on a great night of theater. About 2/3rds of the way into the play the lights started to get wonky…changing in the middle of scenes then going black all together (Justin thought it was an artistic choice about fading morality). The actors persevered until the stage manager apologized and called for an intermission (which was not scheduled for the 95 minute show). That didn’t stop the show: the cast came out, clapped for the audience and kept the spirits of the crowd up. When the stage manager, resigned to the fate of a malfunctioning light board, she asked if we wanted the play to continue using only two fluorescent bulbs as a source of light, Justin and I were not the only ones clapping for the show to go on. And it went just splendidly. The actors picked up right where they left off, not missing a beat, and even joking with the technical difficulties recently presented to them. While the last monologue by an author character and the stage-y curtain call were a little off putting at the end, U.S. Drag became one of the best nights of theater I’ve seen in my life because it proved that love for the theater can carry a show further than any critical or monetary success. Not only did the cast and crew maintain a “show-must-go-on” mentality, but the audience seemed to genuinely find themselves invested in the characters and wanting to know the outcome of the story. I was almost dumbfounded as to why Glenn’s partner and director of the show as offering refunds at the end of the show because I don’t think one person took him up on his offer.
And why the hell should they? Hands down one of my favorite plays of the year.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Dick Lit.
There is good news and there is bad news and then there’s just OK news. My good news is that I was hired on as the literary associate at the La Jolla Playhouse, assisting the literary manager with all the incoming material we receive, reviewing it, and writing up a critique of the matter. The bad news is that for the time being they cannot pay me. They thought they could, but times are tough and getting tougher. I thought I could work part time in company management and in literary until this information came up. Then I thought I could take over Johanna’s position in education, but I got the same answer: they’d love to hire me for it…but…uh, they’ve eliminated the position because they have no money to pay for it. So the OK news comes down to this: Steve, the director of education, has told me he wants to have lunch next week to see if there’s any part time work in education I can do now with my hours being reduced in company management…and…I guess I’m first in line in the literary department for when a paying position comes back around.
Really, this is a winning situation with a losing feel. I still don’t know how I’m going to pay my bills. It’s worrying me and that makes me depressed which makes me feel helpless—to quote my SLC Punk brethren: “what do you do when your foundation falls apart? They don’t teach you that kind of thing in school…”—because I had a plan that didn’t come to fruition. Now I don’t even have that. Again, I’m being a mope about getting what I want: I should wait to until lunch with Steve is over, solidify a certain amount of hours with company management, and get crackin’ on the stuff from Gabe the literary director (honestly, it’s going to be a breeze because they want no more than one page of coverage…not the repetitive, 3 page crap I’ve been doing, thank god!).
Weather could also be blamed for the abysmal mood going on around Southern California lately. Three days of rain and I can’t even poo-poo Julia Roberts this time. But today was sunny and temperate as I swam extra laps in the pool to make up for days lost. And today was pay day. And I was able to buy groceries and pay a student loan bill so for the moment my head is above water. Oh, and we got another person on board for the BRONX play reading in a few weeks with our running total somewhere around 4.5 after that one Craigslist guy drop because it “just wasn’t for [him]” and replaced him with someone I’m told is a great, if not flighty, actor. Therefore, one and a half more roles to fill and we’ll be golden.
Prose before ho’s is normally my motto, however, Sara moves down a week from Monday so I guess my pen will just have to wait to make sweet, sweet love to it’s paper dearest.
Really, this is a winning situation with a losing feel. I still don’t know how I’m going to pay my bills. It’s worrying me and that makes me depressed which makes me feel helpless—to quote my SLC Punk brethren: “what do you do when your foundation falls apart? They don’t teach you that kind of thing in school…”—because I had a plan that didn’t come to fruition. Now I don’t even have that. Again, I’m being a mope about getting what I want: I should wait to until lunch with Steve is over, solidify a certain amount of hours with company management, and get crackin’ on the stuff from Gabe the literary director (honestly, it’s going to be a breeze because they want no more than one page of coverage…not the repetitive, 3 page crap I’ve been doing, thank god!).
Weather could also be blamed for the abysmal mood going on around Southern California lately. Three days of rain and I can’t even poo-poo Julia Roberts this time. But today was sunny and temperate as I swam extra laps in the pool to make up for days lost. And today was pay day. And I was able to buy groceries and pay a student loan bill so for the moment my head is above water. Oh, and we got another person on board for the BRONX play reading in a few weeks with our running total somewhere around 4.5 after that one Craigslist guy drop because it “just wasn’t for [him]” and replaced him with someone I’m told is a great, if not flighty, actor. Therefore, one and a half more roles to fill and we’ll be golden.
Prose before ho’s is normally my motto, however, Sara moves down a week from Monday so I guess my pen will just have to wait to make sweet, sweet love to it’s paper dearest.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Writings On The Wall
So you’re sayin’ there’s a chance. – Dumb and Dumber
It became pretty apparent to me early this week that by the end of the fiscal year at work they will no longer need me. Sad fact, but surprisingly enough, I didn’t flinch. Okay, maybe a little. I called up Sara and proposed the idea of staying in Sacramento as opposed to her moving down to San Diego with me. Let’s just say that the idea was less than thrilling to her, sparking an outrage of emotion with a time span that only a woman can dwell on. But she was right in the end. And though doubting the truthfulness to this statement, the night she got mad at me I figured it all out. Maybe it’s not foolproof; maybe it’s not even feasible; but it’s definitely a shot. Basically it came down to them sort of “announcing” the next season. It’s got smaller casts to cut down on paying more people when unnecessary. Smaller casts means reduced people needed for transportation and less of a need for apartments (along with people to maintain those apartments). I saw it and knew I had to make a plan. Shirley still has my writing samples from about six weeks ago, to which she told me at the Christmas party on Monday that I’d have an answer before the holidays. I also came into a bit of information both sweet and sour: my friend Johanna in the education department is leaving for New York to be with her boyfriend and attend the New School. I drop a tear to see her leave yet leap for the opportunity to do her job of education manager. Her boss loves me. There’s more of an artistic component to it. And, despite no one getting raises next year, would be a promotion for me. We talk tomorrow.
Take a lot more than that to get rid of me/See I do what they can’t do/I just do me. – Eve, “Let Me Blow Ya Mind”
Everything I’ve ever wanted to do in my life I have done. That’s not to say I’ve done everything in the world I’ve ever wanted to do (being a gaucho in Argentina’s Las Pampas, you’ve been tapped). Check list, please: performing improv comedy professionally. Check. Living in New York for an extended amount of time (and throw NYU in there for good measure). Check. Working for the Cherry Lane Theater and the La Jolla Playhouse. Check and check. I don’t get everything I want, but once I set my mind to something it’s almost a surefire shot that I’ll get it, with questions ranging only from the when and now, never the if or why. We celebrated Martin’s birthday last week with a bonfire on the sea at night. It was one of my best nights in California thus far. Some of the actor’s came down and one of them, Vince, asked me if I was looking to be a company manager some day. I laughed out loud and replied, “Hell no!” then went on to describe my ambitions for playwriting, how hopefully next season I’d be in literary. I then spent the next 30 minutes helping him out with an idea he’d been tinkering with for a while. “All right…I’d hire you,” said Vince. If only he were in a position to do so. Even more than that I met a guy named Dewey who’d worked at the Playhouse off and on for more than ten years. “I just told them what I wanted to do and they let me do it, “ Dewey explained to me, “at first it was front of house, then box office, then props and shops, back to box office, and then to backstage. I was an actor for a while, but I like backstage the most…so…that’s where I ended up.” And he seemed so confident that whatever came his way he’d be able to do his work. “Plus, when they like someone they don’t lose them without a fight.” That’s how last week started and that’s how this one will have to as well. Comin’ out the doors swingin’…
I wasn’t meant to play the role of the son. – The Wire, “Transitions”
Back in the South Bronx, things have changed and they are looking to go for better days. I have rewritten almost the entire play. It’s still about gang bangers and the emotional ties between them, but now it’s a gay love story between a graffiti artist and a barrio boy who’s on the straight and narrow. I’m going to repost it where I posted the original first act in some of my older posts so look for it soon (sorry to everyone who read the original first act; this one is different, but better, trust me). Jen and I started casting and while last night’s no show effort proved worthless, we Craigslist-ed that bitch to get her fired up for tomorrow. Hopefully someone will bite. I can’t wait to hear it read aloud. I can’t wait to see if the humor and irony and drama all collide like I imagine when I’m writing it in my head. Callan told me to write the play I believed in so I did. Sara made me an awesome t-shirt saying And The Bronx Got Bombed on it so I needed to write an equally awesome play to match it. And Douglas Carter Beane said don’t stop writing so I won’t. Maybe even Chris Ashley will come see it, find it perfect for the last play needed for the season, and I’ll be in business for the rest of my life. Or…perhaps baby steps…baby steps…inch by inch…
It became pretty apparent to me early this week that by the end of the fiscal year at work they will no longer need me. Sad fact, but surprisingly enough, I didn’t flinch. Okay, maybe a little. I called up Sara and proposed the idea of staying in Sacramento as opposed to her moving down to San Diego with me. Let’s just say that the idea was less than thrilling to her, sparking an outrage of emotion with a time span that only a woman can dwell on. But she was right in the end. And though doubting the truthfulness to this statement, the night she got mad at me I figured it all out. Maybe it’s not foolproof; maybe it’s not even feasible; but it’s definitely a shot. Basically it came down to them sort of “announcing” the next season. It’s got smaller casts to cut down on paying more people when unnecessary. Smaller casts means reduced people needed for transportation and less of a need for apartments (along with people to maintain those apartments). I saw it and knew I had to make a plan. Shirley still has my writing samples from about six weeks ago, to which she told me at the Christmas party on Monday that I’d have an answer before the holidays. I also came into a bit of information both sweet and sour: my friend Johanna in the education department is leaving for New York to be with her boyfriend and attend the New School. I drop a tear to see her leave yet leap for the opportunity to do her job of education manager. Her boss loves me. There’s more of an artistic component to it. And, despite no one getting raises next year, would be a promotion for me. We talk tomorrow.
Take a lot more than that to get rid of me/See I do what they can’t do/I just do me. – Eve, “Let Me Blow Ya Mind”
Everything I’ve ever wanted to do in my life I have done. That’s not to say I’ve done everything in the world I’ve ever wanted to do (being a gaucho in Argentina’s Las Pampas, you’ve been tapped). Check list, please: performing improv comedy professionally. Check. Living in New York for an extended amount of time (and throw NYU in there for good measure). Check. Working for the Cherry Lane Theater and the La Jolla Playhouse. Check and check. I don’t get everything I want, but once I set my mind to something it’s almost a surefire shot that I’ll get it, with questions ranging only from the when and now, never the if or why. We celebrated Martin’s birthday last week with a bonfire on the sea at night. It was one of my best nights in California thus far. Some of the actor’s came down and one of them, Vince, asked me if I was looking to be a company manager some day. I laughed out loud and replied, “Hell no!” then went on to describe my ambitions for playwriting, how hopefully next season I’d be in literary. I then spent the next 30 minutes helping him out with an idea he’d been tinkering with for a while. “All right…I’d hire you,” said Vince. If only he were in a position to do so. Even more than that I met a guy named Dewey who’d worked at the Playhouse off and on for more than ten years. “I just told them what I wanted to do and they let me do it, “ Dewey explained to me, “at first it was front of house, then box office, then props and shops, back to box office, and then to backstage. I was an actor for a while, but I like backstage the most…so…that’s where I ended up.” And he seemed so confident that whatever came his way he’d be able to do his work. “Plus, when they like someone they don’t lose them without a fight.” That’s how last week started and that’s how this one will have to as well. Comin’ out the doors swingin’…
I wasn’t meant to play the role of the son. – The Wire, “Transitions”
Back in the South Bronx, things have changed and they are looking to go for better days. I have rewritten almost the entire play. It’s still about gang bangers and the emotional ties between them, but now it’s a gay love story between a graffiti artist and a barrio boy who’s on the straight and narrow. I’m going to repost it where I posted the original first act in some of my older posts so look for it soon (sorry to everyone who read the original first act; this one is different, but better, trust me). Jen and I started casting and while last night’s no show effort proved worthless, we Craigslist-ed that bitch to get her fired up for tomorrow. Hopefully someone will bite. I can’t wait to hear it read aloud. I can’t wait to see if the humor and irony and drama all collide like I imagine when I’m writing it in my head. Callan told me to write the play I believed in so I did. Sara made me an awesome t-shirt saying And The Bronx Got Bombed on it so I needed to write an equally awesome play to match it. And Douglas Carter Beane said don’t stop writing so I won’t. Maybe even Chris Ashley will come see it, find it perfect for the last play needed for the season, and I’ll be in business for the rest of my life. Or…perhaps baby steps…baby steps…inch by inch…
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Japanadu
As the week comes to a close I realize that a hell of a lot has happened just in terms of personal growth. It is, after all, nearly the end of the year and I’m reflecting back on just everything that happened in 2008. From watching Sara go to Peru to working on My Friend Dahmer and Our Mother, Staten Island, getting in hot water with the Lafayette higher-ups right before graduation, moving out to San Diego and working on 5 shows in 7 months with all the craziness that surrounded them.
This past week was merely an interesting study about how one community’s pink-striped roller-disco musical is poorly received (sorry, La Jolla, it’s just not your type of show) while in another community it is strictly Japanese.
That’s right, XANADU, in case I haven’t already mentioned is going to Tokyo and I for one think its brilliant. The tour manager for XANADU hired me this week for a nice sum to drive around the Japanese production team and management and I learned a lot. I learned that you should aim for an audience and know where that audience lies otherwise you have a lot of explaining to do when returns are not met. Japan will soak up this show, as I saw from the two women and Mister Shima at the student matinee on Tuesday. That might have been the best audience that XANADU will ever have—the cheers and screams of young theater-geeks getting treated to all the glits and glamour of Broadway. And that probably was a big factor in the Japanese sealing the deal.
I also learned that when in Rome, be like the Romans. When with the Japanese, be attuned to their customs. And when in California, take them to an exotic, fancy restaurant of high cuisine known as P.F. Chang’s. Yes, that’s right. On orders, I took the Japanese for Chinese at P.F. Chang’s. Not only did they insist that I join them (“that way I’ll know where you are!” cooed the one woman who seemed to lead the group) but I force fed myself the leftovers that they had ordered, claiming that I was the growing young man. I felt so flattered and simultaneously awkward because they’d answer my questions in quick, short responses followed by a little laughter and then having two questions for my one thrown back at me. Not intrusive, not invasive, but I wanted to know about them. Not so much an open book.
Anyways, I felt big time, even as I dropped them off and escorted them into the theater for the show that night. I, the lowly little company management assistant had dined on inauthentic Chinese food with some bigwigs at the Tokyo Broadcasting Company. Look out world, here I come…some day…to Japan.
This past week was merely an interesting study about how one community’s pink-striped roller-disco musical is poorly received (sorry, La Jolla, it’s just not your type of show) while in another community it is strictly Japanese.
That’s right, XANADU, in case I haven’t already mentioned is going to Tokyo and I for one think its brilliant. The tour manager for XANADU hired me this week for a nice sum to drive around the Japanese production team and management and I learned a lot. I learned that you should aim for an audience and know where that audience lies otherwise you have a lot of explaining to do when returns are not met. Japan will soak up this show, as I saw from the two women and Mister Shima at the student matinee on Tuesday. That might have been the best audience that XANADU will ever have—the cheers and screams of young theater-geeks getting treated to all the glits and glamour of Broadway. And that probably was a big factor in the Japanese sealing the deal.
I also learned that when in Rome, be like the Romans. When with the Japanese, be attuned to their customs. And when in California, take them to an exotic, fancy restaurant of high cuisine known as P.F. Chang’s. Yes, that’s right. On orders, I took the Japanese for Chinese at P.F. Chang’s. Not only did they insist that I join them (“that way I’ll know where you are!” cooed the one woman who seemed to lead the group) but I force fed myself the leftovers that they had ordered, claiming that I was the growing young man. I felt so flattered and simultaneously awkward because they’d answer my questions in quick, short responses followed by a little laughter and then having two questions for my one thrown back at me. Not intrusive, not invasive, but I wanted to know about them. Not so much an open book.
Anyways, I felt big time, even as I dropped them off and escorted them into the theater for the show that night. I, the lowly little company management assistant had dined on inauthentic Chinese food with some bigwigs at the Tokyo Broadcasting Company. Look out world, here I come…some day…to Japan.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Words of a Mad Man
I usually don’t have full scale mental-crisis about what I’m doing with my life, but several factors in the past week have led to me questioning “just what the hell am I doing with myself?” There was:
1. The rejection letter. “So many wonderful plays pass through our office that it is almost impossible to choose.”
2. The actress with a statement. “XANADU just isn’t artistically fulfilling.”
3. Justin’s keen observation. “Aren’t you laid off at the end of the year?”
4. Justin being in New York and working with agents and…hustling his shit.
5. A plain and simple over-all self doubt that comes with being in your early 20’s.
But might I suggest to you, if you find yourself in this position, with writing or whatever it is you do, have an excellent girlfriend who can talk some sense in you. Have a group of friends you trust give you honest feedback on your work. And read about how Matthew Weiner, the 43-year-old exec producer of Mad Men got smart in five easy steps:
1. He realized he wasn't smart — yet. ''I started looking at people whose careers I wanted — David Chase, Woody Allen — and saw that I was not on that path.''
2. He said no. ''I turned down a contract at [Ted Danson's sitcom]] Becker even though I had no other job. It proved that I was uncompromising. Or crazy.''
3. He made stuff. ''I wrote the Mad Men script to show what I could do.''
4. He never gave up. ''It takes hundreds of no's to get a yes. How many networks are there? That's how many no's I got.''
5. He played nice with everyone. ''My Mad Men script was given to AMC by my manager's former assistant. Taking your aggression out on anyone will always come back to bite you. Sometimes in the parking lot after the meeting.''
1. The rejection letter. “So many wonderful plays pass through our office that it is almost impossible to choose.”
2. The actress with a statement. “XANADU just isn’t artistically fulfilling.”
3. Justin’s keen observation. “Aren’t you laid off at the end of the year?”
4. Justin being in New York and working with agents and…hustling his shit.
5. A plain and simple over-all self doubt that comes with being in your early 20’s.
But might I suggest to you, if you find yourself in this position, with writing or whatever it is you do, have an excellent girlfriend who can talk some sense in you. Have a group of friends you trust give you honest feedback on your work. And read about how Matthew Weiner, the 43-year-old exec producer of Mad Men got smart in five easy steps:
1. He realized he wasn't smart — yet. ''I started looking at people whose careers I wanted — David Chase, Woody Allen — and saw that I was not on that path.''
2. He said no. ''I turned down a contract at [Ted Danson's sitcom]] Becker even though I had no other job. It proved that I was uncompromising. Or crazy.''
3. He made stuff. ''I wrote the Mad Men script to show what I could do.''
4. He never gave up. ''It takes hundreds of no's to get a yes. How many networks are there? That's how many no's I got.''
5. He played nice with everyone. ''My Mad Men script was given to AMC by my manager's former assistant. Taking your aggression out on anyone will always come back to bite you. Sometimes in the parking lot after the meeting.''
Monday, December 1, 2008
Gertrudestein-ing It
I wasn’t planning for such an interesting Sunday and last night completed the yet-another-strange outting for my record books. It was nice to have the day off, y’know, like many other Americans during this weekend. I read for about three hours, created one of the best soup/grilled cheese combos I’ve ever made, and had an easy-going Domingo for the most part. But at night, it was time for the craziness. Jen had asked me a few days before if I wanted to join her at her brother’s concert with his band. I said “sure”, not expecting much, but would have been let down had I been given too much. So last night we pre-gamed at my apartment, drinking the most vaginal looking bottle of vodka ever (oh “Veev”!) before hitting the 8 East into San Diego’s ugly step-sister: East County. Now, this wouldn’t have been bad on a regular basis; unfortunately, last night it was incredibly foggy. Like, there wasn’t this much fog in the movie “The Fog” type of fog. It engulfed us in that yellow-tint glow from the street lights and it was like living in a smoke stack. Crazy, but cool, and would have been cooler had Jen and I not needed to pee like racehorses after chucking a gallon of water between us to counter-act the alcohol in our system so we could drive. Luckily, we found the place after only three bad turns and came upon the night’s domain: The Second Wind.
The Second Wind is a bar in one of the Meth Capitols of America (again, East County…however, I still think Ogden, UT holds the record for Crystal Meth users in the country) and sure enough, there were some tweekers outside. Now, to set the scene: we walk in through the exit to the bathrooms, into the extra classy strip-mall-outlet-turned-bar with a low stucco ceiling wearing a classy, blue tinsel hanging off of it, and an amoeba shaped bar leading to the panel wood dance floor in front of the half-foot high stage. It’s dark, except for the three televisions and the backlight glow against the liquor bottles making them up like Philip 20 Watts. Yep, this was definitely was a great joint. I actually really liked the band. Maybe it was because Jen’s brother, Matt, hugged me before dawning a Joker mask and taking the stage with his bass guitar. Maybe it was the crazy film playing against the band, going by the moniker of Gertrudestein (one word), and the only source of light on stage. Maybe it was because I never listen to Goth Metal, where you can’t hear a thing but noise and that’s a good thing. Maybe it just reminded me that fifteen wasn’t so long ago…and, while I’d not like to revert back to that age, realized how great it was.
This morning I awoke and felt young. I’m not kidding—the night had been a fountain of youth. Ponce de Leon must be spinning in his grave! I went to work, feeling great—after all, it was just another day at the office for me; for everyone else, it was “back from vacation”—and set out to greet the Japanese producers looking to take XANADU to Tokyo in May. They were great! Happy, if not exhausted, to be here and looking forward to seeing the shows tomorrow. It had been awhile since I’d seen someone so genuinely excited to see a theatrical piece—not phoning it in or being nice, but truly grateful to have the opportunity. I got them set up with food and in their lavish hotel (“No play, only business”, said one of the producers) and was tipped a handsome Lincoln.
Domo Arigato indeed!
The Second Wind is a bar in one of the Meth Capitols of America (again, East County…however, I still think Ogden, UT holds the record for Crystal Meth users in the country) and sure enough, there were some tweekers outside. Now, to set the scene: we walk in through the exit to the bathrooms, into the extra classy strip-mall-outlet-turned-bar with a low stucco ceiling wearing a classy, blue tinsel hanging off of it, and an amoeba shaped bar leading to the panel wood dance floor in front of the half-foot high stage. It’s dark, except for the three televisions and the backlight glow against the liquor bottles making them up like Philip 20 Watts. Yep, this was definitely was a great joint. I actually really liked the band. Maybe it was because Jen’s brother, Matt, hugged me before dawning a Joker mask and taking the stage with his bass guitar. Maybe it was the crazy film playing against the band, going by the moniker of Gertrudestein (one word), and the only source of light on stage. Maybe it was because I never listen to Goth Metal, where you can’t hear a thing but noise and that’s a good thing. Maybe it just reminded me that fifteen wasn’t so long ago…and, while I’d not like to revert back to that age, realized how great it was.
This morning I awoke and felt young. I’m not kidding—the night had been a fountain of youth. Ponce de Leon must be spinning in his grave! I went to work, feeling great—after all, it was just another day at the office for me; for everyone else, it was “back from vacation”—and set out to greet the Japanese producers looking to take XANADU to Tokyo in May. They were great! Happy, if not exhausted, to be here and looking forward to seeing the shows tomorrow. It had been awhile since I’d seen someone so genuinely excited to see a theatrical piece—not phoning it in or being nice, but truly grateful to have the opportunity. I got them set up with food and in their lavish hotel (“No play, only business”, said one of the producers) and was tipped a handsome Lincoln.
Domo Arigato indeed!
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