Monkier Business

Next Monday, I will perform in the Paderewski School show with Barrel of Monkeys.*  I'm not sure I've ever been more excited about a performance.  There will be singing, interpretive dance, mimed doors and windows, and a big, big chocolate pie.  The only problem with this show: no one who reads this blog will be allowed in to see it.  It's for "the young."

Yes, unfortunately, "like"-rs, you're going to have to sit this one out.  I know, I know.  Well, okay, fine.  I'll throw you a bone.  Close your eyes and imagine me on stage, and I will share with you  . . .

THE TEN ROLES I AM MOST EXCITED TO PLAY IN THE UPCOMING PADEREWSKI SHOW

10) The back left portion of a tiger cage.  This one makes my arms tired.  Grrr.

9) The back left wing of a witch bird.  Wait a minute.  What is it with putting me in the back left?  

8) The back left singer in the closing song.  But in the end, I wind up downstage center.  Take that, patterns!

7) Carnival Zombie number two.  I enter from stage left.  Incidentally, this is the same kind of role I might end up playing if you help send me to Kansas.

6) Small Brother.  The title of the play is "Brother Give Money to Their Small Brother."  I wonder why I like this role. 

5) Parenthesis.  What is the singular of parenthesis?  I'm that. 

4) Disillusioned broccoli-and-milk-eater in "The King of Lunch."  Three cheers for the King of Lunch.  It's time for candy and fruit punch.  And every day, we'll feast away on Twix and Nestle Crunch.

3) Dwayne, the douchebag in the second episode of the original 90210.  Oh, I'm sorry. That's a different show. 

2) The man who imagines himself a football player.  That's all I'm telling you. 

1) Ashley, the little girl who comes every day into the Lincoln-Belmont branch of the Chicago Public Libraries and who, on this day, is hexed by the librarian, Steve.  Who knew he was a warlock?

I hope that gave all of you "adults" a little perspective into what the Paderewski School is in for on Monday.  If you're tantalized, but not "young," then I suggest getting a good kid costume and heading to South Lawndale around 9:30 AM.  You don't want to miss the pre-show math lesson.

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* Oops.  What have I done?  I must have accidentally linked to the Barrel of Monkeys blog instead of the Barrel of Monkeys main page.  Hey, wait.  Who is this handsome devil blogging over there?  He writes a lot like I do.

Overnight

Have you ever been walking down train tracks through a concrete tunnel when you see a light ahead and hear the sound of compressed air and locomotive wheels rattling on old wooden planks?  And then, the metal tracks begin to shake?  And then, like out of the blue, a train hits you, and you ask yourself, "Where in the hell did that come from?"

Sometimes there's just no way to see it coming.  

I haven't written in this blog for two weeks.  Why?  Well, I've been doing notably un-famous things like watching college basketball, working to pay for food and shelter, and walking down train tracks.  Also, I've been seeing another blog.  These are just excuses.  The truth is, like I've iterated before around this time of year, sometimes life is just boring. 

Not anymore.  After stumbling through darkness for weeks, I can see the light again!

Today, I spent from 10 am to 1 pm rehearsing with Barrel of Monkeys, with whom I volunteer taught this winter.  To say that the room was full of theatrical geniuses might be an overstatement, but it might not.  We're doing amazing work, and I'm beginning to wonder if children shouldn't write all stage plays, soap operas, and daytime television shows. (They've already cornered the market on prime time.)  Chuga chuga.

Then, this evening, I spent three hours under the tutelage of Michael Gellman, former director of Second City Toronto.*  Especially given my enthusiasm for what I'd been experiencing at Second City to this point, the class was a breath of fresh, compressed air (Choo!  Choo!). 

Put all of this together with the fact that I was just asked to donate a copy of Cambridge Street to a local raffle and that I'm seven "chapters" in to Off Track--and it's like life is suddenly interesting again.  I feel healthy.  I feel great.  I feel like--

BAM.

Where the hell did that come from? 

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* Okay, so technically, this class started 2 weeks ago, but you'll have to grant me literary license.

Bad Work

For you Chicago-based "like"-rs who came to see A Crowded House, you've seen me at my best.  For those who have seen me in anything else I've done here, you've seen me at my worst.  My very worst. Why is it that bad things find me and I find bad things?

Well, it's happened again.  I barely had a chance to muse (loudly and in front of a local director), "What comes next?  I'm not acting in anything!" when the gates of bad work opened to me once again.  What kind of bad work?  I'm talking Dynasty.  I'm talking Beverly Hills: 90210.  (I'll be playing Steve.  It's too bad I trimmed my curly locks in a fit of insanity.)   I'm talking real shit television, performed as a series of staged readings in front of a masochistic audience.  If that's not what the stage was made for, then I don't know what to do with my life.*

The show is produced by A Reasonable Facsimile Theatre Company and will take place above Hamburger Mary's in Andersonville on Tuesday night, March 20.  Note to the Academy:  Sure, The Descendants was fine, and The Artist probably deserved some awards.  But this . . . this . . . this, you should probably disregard entirely. 

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* I don't know what to do with my life regardless.

A Girl Can Dream

1 pm CST.  Friday, February 24, 2012.  Chicago, IL. 

It has been 49 days since 1 pm CST on January 6, 2012, when the powers-that-be first spoke to me and said this:

"The TC has determined the date for your Level 3 admission audition at the end of this term.  You will be auditioning on Friday, February 24^th from 4:00- 6:00pm in the Skybox Theatre.  There is no alternative audition date."  

The booming e-voice of fate.  This, ladies and gentlemen, is a big, big day. 

For those of you not inclined toward basic math, 4:00 pm is in about 3 hours.  At that time, I will file into a theater on North Wells Street with 60 to 80 other adults.  I will perform one, two-minute three-person improvised scene and take part in a five-minute improvised montage.  Based on my performance during these tasks, I will or will not be offered the opportunity to pay $1200 more of my savings and 120+ more hours of my ever-shrinking life in exchange for these words on my resume:

"is a graduate of the Second City Training Center."

This is exactly what I've been waiting for: the chance to be both busier and poorer in exchange for more meaningless accolades.*  I'm so amped about what this exciting new future may hold that I'm already practicing living in it.  I turned down $100 worth of work to accommodate the opportunity to be at Second City this afternoon.  And if they like me . . . if they really, really like me . . . maybe I'll get to do that every day of my life.    

Oh, boy.  Oh, boy.  Oh, boy.  I hope they like my 3 minutes of stage time.  I really, really do.  My whole present may just hinge on this moment. 
  
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* I wonder where I put that college diploma . . .

Basic Math

Given:  95 people "like" me as an artist.  (4,917 people "like" George Clooney as an artist.)

Given:  I, as an artist, am currently in the State Theatre's production of A Crowded House: An Explosion of The Winter's Tale.

Given:  All 95 of my "like"-rs want to come and support my artistry.  

Given:  There are 16 possible ticket "slots" for the show, and 15 people fit in each slot.

Given: 16 times 15 is 240.  There is room for 240 people to see this show.

Given: There are 80 other artists involved in this show.  I don't know how many of them have facebook "like"-rs, but I'm going to guess "all of them."

Conclusion:  If my 95 "like"-rs don't get cracking, other artists' "like"-rs might buy up all the seats to my show and therefore render it other artists' show.  We can not let this happen.

Solution: As an incentive to my "like"-rs to make sure this is my show, I would like to offer the following kickstarter-esque ticket bonuses.


One ticket: Any "like"-r who buys one ticket will receive an autographed quarter-sheet program with a handwritten thought from yours truly.

Two tickets:  Any "like"-r who buys two tickets will receive two autographed quarter-sheet programs with handwritten thoughts from your truly.

Four tickets:  Any "like"-r who buys four tickets will receive four autographed quarter-sheet programs with handwritten thoughts from yours truly and a lifetime subscription to my blog.

Eight tickets:  Any "like"-r who buys eight tickets will receive eight autographed . . . (you get it) . . . and a lifetime subscription to my blog and a free tour of the "love refrigerator" inside St Paul's Cathedral, Wicker Park.

Twenty tickets:  Any "like"-r who buys twenty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will say my lines twice for you, once in the show and once at the time and place of your choosing.

Forty tickets:  Any "like"-r who buys forty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus free admission to my Story Lab performance on February 15, 2012 at the Black Rock Pub and a signed nude photo of George Clooney.  (I'm sure I can scrounge one up.)

Eighty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys eighty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will personally add his or her name to my lines. ("I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: in every one of these, NAME OF LIKE-R."  That sounds good.)

One hundred tickets: Any "like"-r who buys one hundred tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will let him or her play my part and wear my costume for one of the sixteen repetitions of my performance. 

One hundred fifty tickets:  Any "like"-r who buys one hundred fifty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will rename The Winter's Tale to a new title of his or her choosing.  

Two hundred tickets: Any "like"-r who buys two hundred tickets will receive a personal reprimand from your truly, because you have now prevented some of my other "like"-rs from attending my show.  If you choose to purchase 100 tickets, you had best be the hottest, kindest, and most charismatic of my "like"-rs.  I'm looking at you, "like"-r number 77.*

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* "Like"-r 77, please call.  I'll give you my digits.

Oh Clooney, Where Art Thou?

What do you do each morning?  What's your routine? 

What?  You defer to me to answer first?  What a polite conversationalist you are!

What?  You think my answer is probably more interesting that yours anyway?  How humble of you to say!

Wait a minute.  Who am I talking to here?  George Clooney?  But George . . . why the modesty? 

Okay, well, to answer my own question (if you insist), I get up just long enough to retrieve my laptop from the cold bedroom floor and bring it to bed with me.  I open it to facebook, and I check how many "like"-rs I have.  Then, I check how many "like"-rs George Clooney has. (This requires only a cursory glance, as my internet browser is always open to George's fan page.)  I calculate and recalculate the date when I will catch George in the facebook "like"-r competition he started with me some years ago.  I plan my social and financial life accordingly, then I get out of bed, put on clothes, and have some Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

This morning was particularly special.  Would you like to hear about it?  You would?!  Ah, George, you are such a polite human being.  I hope one day we'll be friends and not enemies.*

Well, it was special because the usual "fan" page I look at for research purposes appears to be gone!  All I can find of your face-presence, George, is an artist page and a band page.  By the way, you're more popular as a band.  And as an artist, only 4,917 people "like" you.

Did you hear that, George?!  Only 4,917 appreciate you as an artist.  Sure, that's still a lot more than the 95 who appreciate me, but in this pissing contest, your shrinkage means my growth.  And mine isn't the only fan page nipping at your heels.  How are we supposed to take you seriously when only 170 more people appreciate you as an artist than as an attractive backdrop for little canines?

I'm sorry, George.  I didn't mean to get belligerent.  You've obviously hit a tough stretch here.  I'll leave you alone to your thoughts and your new-found modesty. 

Oh, by the way, are you planning to do any shows in Chicago soon?  Are you part of any film shoots in Kansas?  No?  Oh.  That's too bad.  I am.

I am, George.  I am. 

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* I  really shouldn't have said that "out loud"^

^ I didn't.

No Place Like Home

Well, I conquered a city.  I got big in Canada.  Now, I'm going to the country. 
Kansas.  What will I do in Kansas for a week?

Day One) Film zombie movie with Chris Meister and Corn Bred films. 

Day Two) Build an outhouse--for filming purposes (also for peeing purposes). 

Day Three) Burn down outhouse--for filming purposes (also after discovering it is unnecessary for peeing purposes)

Day Four) Get swept away by a tornado and land on a wicked witch, only to return by clicking my little dog together.*

Day Five) Play some hooooops. 

Day Six) Hate gays and teach Creationism.

Day Seven) Rest as the Lord intended. 

Day Eight) Write "thank you" cards to everyone who supported the zombie movie project from the beginning.  Tell them how much I enjoyed Kansas.  Remind them that I will be Famous soon (very soon), and they were smart to get in good now. 

Speaking of getting in good now, if you want a $5 download of the completed film, go give us that cash here.  (Now.)  You can also see my mooseknuckle at that link, as my overalls are a wee bit small. 

That's right.  I'm too big for my britches.  What are you gonna do about it?  Send me to Kansas?

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* Right?  I don't remember much of this movie, except that part where "who knows which is which" plays right when the two witches appear and where it goes to color during Money.