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?
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, November 6, 2009
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".
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".
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