Brother's Birthday, Part Two: St. George

Whenever I am asked if it was hell growing up in Utah I generally reply with: “not really”. Salt Lake might have been dullsville after I turned fourteen, but that doesn’t mean that Utah is not without its perks, namely in the Southern region. I prefer Cedar City to St. George, but it’s just as beautiful—with mason-smoothed painted red rock hills and small town charm, it’s hard not to fall in love with it. Also, it’s very religious. And full of drug users. But after Las Vegas it’s a tame animal to view at the zoo of the south-western United States.

Sara and I checked into our lovely Super 8 room and got set making my brother’s birthday (they day we arrived was his 14th, on the dot) a happy occasion after a two-hour car ride that was just enough before we all broke each other’s sense of humor and kindness. Sam wanted laser tag. He got laser tag. Sam wanted go-karts. He got go-karts. Sam wanted to sit in his room and play PS2 all night long. Instead, he got Outback Steakhouse (which is wonderful, don’t knock it) and then got grumpy. He wasn’t grumpy after Sara won the go-kart race, nor was he the least bit peeved when I won both games of laser tag, including the second one which only had me, Sam, and Sara playing and my two loved ones forming an alliance against me. No, Sam got worn down after having too much of a good time. He knew it was coming to an end and my brother has never been good at saying good-bye.



We got up the next morning, saw him and my mother off to Salt Lake, then headed out to Zion National Park. The whole time Sara was having a hard time compromising which natural wonder to gaze at: Zion, Bryce Canyon, or the big one, the one thing I had seen in the world and she had not, world traveler that she is, the Grand Canyon. I was able to talk her down to enjoying the sites of Zion only for the day because it has so much to see and you get pretty run-down. That happened early on, after hiking back to the river bend around the rock and then doing the four mile round trip hike up to see all 3 emerald pools. We were muddy, tired, and happy by the time we returned to our Super 8 base camp and had dinner with my father at Chili’s (it’s okay, but knock it if you must).



It was now time to plan our trip back. Sara stared up at me with puppy dog eyes, pleading with me to dip down into Arizona and do the Grand Canyon. I indulged her and we road tripped it out to the no country terrain of Arizona. It was great because it fulfilled a boyhood fantasy of mine to take a trip through the red rocks with a beautiful girl, hitting the open road and not stopping to look back. We made it. And it was a sight to see. The last time I was there was with my father ten years ago and now to be with Sara overlooking the gorge…was speech defying. I love the Grand Canyon.



We plowed our way home, making it back to San Diego at 2:00 in the morning, and zonked out for nearly ten hours. It was our first official vacation as a couple, our first real break in 2009, and by the end, I can say that we came, we saw, we conquered.

Brother’s Birthday, Part One: Sin City

I went home. Not “home”, exactly, because that place doesn’t exist. And I don’t mean that in the sense that “this house was never a home”, but because we moved around so much growing up that a childhood home is simply a thing of fiction. No, I got in the car early Saturday morning with Sara and, like a good Southern California resident, or for that matter, a good Utahan, drove cross country to Las Vegas.

Normally, I’m not a Vegas guy. I lost five bucks at the slot machine, so I don’t have the magic touch, but I did find a dollar in the parking lot of our hotel/casino/mammoth-sized min-world, so perhaps I’m lucky.

The reason for going to Vegas on sort of a whim has to do with my brother lamenting to me over the phone a few weeks back about how he misses me never being at his birthday parties any more. I’m sucker for birthdays, even if he was turning 14 and should be out of doe-eyed guilt trips by now. Still, I agreed and am glad for it.

Sam is a different kind of kid. He will often be switched fully in the “on” position or completely in the “off”. I was worried to bring Sara into the mix, along with my parents and the road-trip stress, but things went fairly smoothly. Being that it was his birthday Sam only had one melt down and it was at his birthday dinner, but it was his party so…

All in all, we had some of the most eventful days in recent history: driving from San Diego to Las Vegas to stay at the South Pointe (which was a nice choice—off the strip), dipped in the pool, went to the arcade for the first time, ate at the Enough-to-Feed-a-Nation buffet, did the slots perfectly, went to see “Coraline” (best movie of 2009, thus far), went to see the lights on the strip, including the very provocative rooftop show on the old strip that was my parents idea to see (good one, guys) and then rode the New York, New York rollercoaster before taking Sam back to play the three new games Sara and I bought him for his Play Station 2.

Hard to think that I would undergo some process of enlightenment in the City of Sin, but I came to several conclusions over the two day trip. The first being that my brother, for all of his antics and headaches, is a fairly good kid to have as a sibling. Yes, he bends the truth far to often and yes, it is ironic that he still orders way to much food so that he can only take one or two bites of it (he comes from India, where there is no food and he’s starving, to America where there is plenty and chooses to be full after one fork of prime rib). But I love him nonetheless and hope we can come back to Vegas when he’s older to be…well, goddamnit, bro’s. Which leads me to my other revelation: I don’t know what I was so blah on Las Vegas for prior to the trip. Dirty, flashy, and unclassy—sure. And in a way, it’s heaven. People shoveling their plates with food and imbibing much alcohol while they play fun money games with flashing lights in a hotel that includes a bowling alley and movie theater. Plus, down the road is a roller coaster.

Up next: the party moves east to St. George, Utah.

Wasteland Valentine

Most of the time I think that the Atlantic Ocean is the end of the world. Going out to Coney Island and Far Rockaway Beach in New York always felt as though I was looking for the cliff of the earth, that mythical point that has been embedded in my mind since first hearing about Columbus trying to prove we were on a sphere. I know that point does not exist, but I felt that each and every time I dipped my feet into the East Coast beaches. Now I have that on the West Coast.

I took my Valentine to Coronado Island to go biking (per special request), but instead of hanging around the hotel and main drag, we went south to Imperial Beach. Stripped of all its glory and prestige was the main tip of the island right off the coast of Northern Mexico. The main drag was lined with nearly empty shops, beach bums and local vagabonds puttering around, looking for nothing to do in the midst of more nothing. And at the very end, when we had rode our bikes all the way to where the sidewalk lived up to Shel Silverstein’s poem, we came to the sewage contaminated beach (of course, the sign read anything south, towards Mexico, was contaminated and don’t go in). We parked our bikes, dodged swarms of flies leeching off of dead kelp, and walked along the wasteland of a paradise.

Truly lovely.

In the wreckage of something nice and pristine and clean was a barren landscape where two people walked hand-in-hand. Having nothing and everything all at the same time. The night was fantastic as well, but it was nothing compared to the day. We had a fantastic dinner, went to meet up with some friends, smoked some hookah, drank some wine…but the day was ours for each other.

Extremely sappy, yes, but I know I’ll never have another Valentine’s Day like it.

Cigarette Stories

The Extraordinarily Tortured Writers’ Guild of Literary Intent (aka, our writers’ group) are just about damn near solidifying the production of putting stories on stage from our raconteurs revolving around the theme of “Love Sucks”. Justin and I put the notion in each other’s heads over some beers at Hamilton’s by reminiscing about our long lost performance days (maybe not so lost after all, eh?) and before you know it we were getting down to business of making a night of live storytelling to an audience.

This past Sunday we had a great rehearsal from the five writers/storytellers that we have from the ETWGLI thus far: me, Justin, Sam, Melissa, and our newbie, April. Each had their unique voice, each had their own perspective, and each was a story that sounded like it would come from a professional, on stage with a mike and beer in hand to tell you about “that one time”.

While not the official name, I’d like to call this night “Cigarette Stories”--ones that can be told in the time it takes for any hipster to suck down a cancer stick. Really, that’s about as much time as you have for anyone these days. Don’t know quite how movies are getting away with being longer, as are a lot of popular books, but you don’t need me rehashing my thoughts about theatre on its deathbed. This is not theater, but it’s not that far off either.

Justin told me today that our second venue choice (okay, more like third) has been confirmed. Right location, right price for sure. What worries me is the venue itself has a kind of…oh, I don’t know…amateur aspect to it. And not in the filthy, grimy way that something like a CBGBs would have. More like a room with some half-assed efforts of art and little-to-no lighting. It resurrects worries about the days Scott and I housed 3.2 Improv shows at the local LGBT Center in Salt Lake where their “theater” was more like a “garage” that you could do “nothing” with all the time. We had a couple of good shows, but getting that thing prepped was a massive effort and rarely worth the manpower when our till would ring up empty by the nights end.

I really want this to work.

More so, I want it to work for our friends, family, and the guy on the street. I want this thing to be THE thing and not a one-night wonder for people to vaguely recall in drinking stories down the line…though there is a bit of irony to that. I think we can blow the roof off this thing and really make it succeed because it’s an honest to god good way to feel alive and vibrant…as an artist, as a writer, and as a performer.

More details to come.

Say, Here Are 25 Things. How Random!

1. Every book I get from the library I never return. No one has ever noticed.

2. In junior high I got braces put on my teeth strictly to fit in with the rest of my friends at the time. They were always a cosmetic addition, not a necessity.

3. Once ate 22 sticks of string cheese in one day to get a shirt with a string cheese superhero on it.

4. I didn’t vote for President Obama; I simply jumped on the train of popularity to hide the fact that I’m a Green Party member

5. Every other a month I get published by Post Secret in an ongoing series to reach one specific person with a message. That person has yet to notice.

6. Spent a night in the San Diego County jail after punching a drunk co-worker in a fight. All charges were dropped.

7. Occasionally I pretend to lose something to gain attention to my problems. Other times I hide other people’s personal items to watch them cause a scene.

8. Don’t like rap or hip-hop, but I don’t know how to connect to black or Latino culture any other way.

9. Had an affair with an engaged woman in Israel. She still writes me letters to this day.

10. The concave shape in my chest could have been fixed before I turned 18, but I decided to keep it. Every doctor I’ve consulted with has said that it will reduce my life expectancy by at least 10 years.

11. Mr. Gregory Nobel: I’m sorry, but I’m the one who knocked down the fence that one night. I turned too late.

12. I have been in three Disney movies shot in Salt Lake City and was first offered a part as the main character in “Almost Famous”, but turned it down to focus on school.

13. The one and only man I ever kissed was named Tomas Ubrecht and it was on a lay over in Riga, Lativa.

14. The movie “Idle Hands” is based on an idea my best friend and I came up with when we were 11 years old. His brother took the idea and wrote a script for the movie. Since then I’ve wanted to write a better screenplay to get my revenge.

15. Since losing my job I’ve reduced my diet to a can of tuna, some baby carrots, and three Pabst Blue Ribbons a day.

16. Before entering into my current relationship, I placed three personal ads on Craigslist. The same person answered it each and every time.

17. For two years in New York City I was a drug-runner known as “El Gordo” because I could always carry my weight around with me and there was a lot of it.

18. Never have paid taxes. Don’t ever plan on doing so.

19. Two summers ago I walked from Battery Park to Yonkers in a day.

20. Freaks me out to have the colors green, brown, and white all together in one space. That’s why I hate it snow on Evergreen trees.

21. Was a member of AEPhi in college, but had to keep it a secret because otherwise I would not have been able to take the job of RA in my building.

22. Nights when I get lonely I run the bath tub water all night long to fall asleep. I hate to waste that much water, but it is the only thing that puts me to bed.

23. Smoke a pack of American Spirits a day and constantly feel like I’m going to be caught in the act, which stresses me out because I spend so much time covering up the fact that I smoke at all.

24. My bar mitzvah was drastically reduced in terms of the amount of work I had to complete due to one specific reason: Hebrew kicks my dyslexia in and I get very confused.

25. Nine toes.

The Beggar’s Choices

On the job front, things are looking weird. Okay, they have been weird for some time now, but good things are in the works and disappointments are afoot, so it’s a coin toss at this point. Wait, no, I don’t have a coin to toss.


Sea World, Actor—a few weeks ago I participated in the mass cattle-call for Sea World performers, musicians, dancers, technical people, and costume characters. The auditions were from 10 AM to 4 PM. I arrived at quarter of 10 and saw a line over a mile long of people waiting to get in. Shaking my head, I took my place for what turned out to be a long day. I filled out the paper work. Then I filled out more paper work before completing yet even more paper work. They took my picture with a Polaroid camera, gave me a number (“XXX”, lucky me), and had us wait in the blistering hot sun. That wasn’t the bad part. The bad part was a girl named Sunshine—a morbidly obese teenaged theater geek with stringy blonde hair who wanted to be everyone’s friend and play Zip-Zap-Zup until the cow’s came home. Other typical auditioning types were around, but none was worse than Sunshine, who couldn’t get over the fact that her number was “KKK”. Scary, I know. Luckily, Sunshine wore herself out and exclaimed, exiting the audition room less than a minute after she entered it, “hey guys, I didn’t get it!” And the crowd of make-believe friends wrapped her up in hugs. I had a better audition than I expected, reading the script they gave me and then performing Dan’s monologue from Horror Festival two years ago. The producers were laughing and told me to move to round two…of dance auditions. Basically, I had to learn a little dance and they were fully aware that I was not looking for a dancer position. “Just make it sassy and full of character,” were the instructions given. Done and done. Three days later I sat down for an interview—more of a formal type of interview process—for what was a good meet-‘n-greet type of process. They said they would call me in two weeks. Two weeks was yesterday. I hate the waiting game.

Double Deuce, Mechanical Bull Operator—on one of my late night searches across the barren canvas of Craigslist I found “Mechanical Bull Operator Wanted at the Double Deuce”, a Texas themed bar only a few blocks away from my apartment. Having had a drink or four, I applied in the voice of a young buck-a-roo who liked to listen to the best music in all history (Styx) and make the girls dance. Yessir, I was their cowboy. Once they had reviewed my resume and photograph, I was invited to the establishment to check it out. Definitely crazy, definitely not my type of bar, but definitely a place I could work if need be. The search for the talent managers was a bust, but I dropped my name to the assistant manager who I found upstairs. Today, my inbox received a message saying that we were all a lot of fun, but there could only be one. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Not the job I was necessarily crossing my fingers for and they at least told me “no”, so I consider that a win.

7-Eleven, Sales Clerk—several times I have walked by my local Oh-Thank-Heaven chain and seen a sign for “Now Hiring: Apply Within” and thought it wouldn’t be such a bad job to be the Jewish version of Apu Nahasapeemapetilon Ph.D. But every time I finally got around to applying, the sign was taken down. Who knew that this time around it would be such a hassle to even apply for the job. I went in and asked for an application. There were none, I was told, so try another 7-Eleven and bring it back here. No, none of the other four I stopped by had any. Finally, a guy told me to apply online and that was the way to go. Let me say a word for all the downtrodden who have to apply to jobs online: it stinks. Setting up an account, navigating the site, and then not having any clue as to when you’ll be contacted. And guess what? I caught the manager today and he asked if I had a hardcopy of my resume. Apparently, the electronic application process is for…I don’t know, upper management…making me run home and grab a printed out version of my employment history. The manager told me to wait for the owner. By the time I had waited for 30 minutes, the manger said just to give him a call. Starting to think Keanu Reeve’s advice for all the kids in “Hardball”, y’know, about how showing up is half the battle, is a load of badnews bears.

American Theater, Playwright—at this point in time, this actually looks to be the most promising outlook. Sorta. I finally got in touch with Kevin’s old boss from Junior Theater and we’ve set up an interview time, so I’m incredibly stoked for that. Antonio Johnson, who I met at the Patte Awards two weeks ago wants to have coffee next week after he’s read THE BRONX and STATEN ISLAND. Coffee now, but that’s how things get started. And while it might not be a paying gig, MY FRIEND DAHMER has made it into the Great Plains Theater Conference in Nebraska. I’ve submitted two times before and this is the first time I’ve gotten my stuff in the door. Will have to notify Derf is I choose to attend (I would like to, but it is a little pricey for three days). Still, my play is getting read. Theresa Rebeck is there as a panelist and being given some award. It would be good to go, so hopefully my other playwriting opportunities can fund the trip.