Saturday, 8/18, 11:18 AM Go.
Saturday, 8/18, 11:21 AM Curtain.
Saturday, 8/18, 11:22 AM Feeling. (good)
Saturday, 8/18, 11:23 AM Discussion.
Saturday, 8/18, 12:45 PM Go. (different go)
Saturday, 8/18, 12:46 PM Discussion. (more of the same)
Saturday, 8/18, 1:01 PM Feeling. (bad)
Saturday, 8/18, 1:02 PM Discussion. (more of the same)
Saturday, 8/18, 3:31 PM Arrive.
Saturday, 8/18, 3:32 PM Discussion. (more of the same)
Saturday, 8/18, 3:35 PM Discussion. (same shit different face)
Saturday, 8/18, 3:41 PM Feeling. (bad)
Saturday, 8/18, 4:05 PM Pork. (bad)
Saturday, 8/18, 6:16 PM Smoothie. (good)
Saturday, 8/18, 7:20 PM Gogol. (no visible bordello)
Saturday, 8/18, 8:50 PM Mumford. (no visible children)
Saturday, 8/18, 9:11 PM Feeling. (good)
Sunday, 8/19, 2:22 AM Dinner.
Sunday, 8/19, 12:20 PM Morning. (afternoon)
Sunday, 8/19, 12:21 PM Rest.
Sunday, 8/19, 8:59 PM Nothing.
Sunday, 8/19, 11:48 PM Discussion. (new)
Monday, 8/20, 9:18 AM Nothing.
Monday, 8/20, 11:31 AM Email. (insights)
Monday, 8/20, 5:12 PM Nothing.
Monday, 8/20, 6:06 PM Chat. (insights)
Monday, 8/20, 7:15 PM Nothing.
Monday, 8/20, 8:11 PM Nothing.
Monday, 8/20, 8:50 PM Feeling. (intense)
Tuesday, 8/21, 1:22 AM Nothing.
Tuesday, 8/21, 9:32 AM Email. (insights)
Tuesday, 8/21, 9:33 AM Nothing.
Tuesday, 8/21, 10:25 AM Nothing.
Tuesday, 8/21, 10:47 AM Nothing.
Tuesday, 8/21, 11:17 AM Connection. (insights)
Tuesday, 8/21, 11:24 AM Nothing.
Tuesday, 8/21, 11:28 AM Pork. (good)
Tuesday, 8/21, 1:22 PM Pool. (great)
Tuesday, 8/21, 6:21 PM Rejection. (nothing)
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Out of the Closet
I've been hiding something. During all of this conspicuous silence for the last two weeks, I've been writing non-stop, but not in this blog. Instead, I've been doing some serious soul searching, looking inward for answers about who I am in my deepest parts. I've been making progress in bringing the real me to the surface, but I've kept that progress well under wraps.
Until tonight. Tonight, I was biking through Boystown when I realized I needed to admit my innermost thoughts and feelings to the world. Below is my best attempt to do so, though I must admit, it's all still very unclear to me and may remain so for quite a while. In the simplest possible terms:
I've felt different than everyone else for as long as I can remember--my whole life, I guess. Even when I moved out of the South and into New England, when I started finding people who were "like me," the whole me still just didn't fit somehow. Then I moved to Chicago, and I started noticing people that made me feel, well, funny inside. It wasn't attraction, really, or even kinship, but rather a funny sort of half-belonging, a hunch even, an intuition that perhaps one day, ultimately, I might have a home here.
I guess all of this is to say that I think I might be--or might could be, anyway--a Neo-Futurist. I might in fact already, on the inside, be more Neo-Futurist than non-Neofuturist, anyway. I'm just not sure. I need to do more soul-searching.
Specifically, I need to soul search this Saturday at 11:18 AM CST in front of the current Neo-Futurist ensemble. And then think a little more and maybe panic a little and definitely, like with any situation, hope that it all works out for the best.
Anyway, if I'm writing down what it's like to be "regular," then I have to admit here that I'm, well, I'm in the dark, and I'm scared, I guess. Something like scared. "Scared shitless" is maybe a better term for it. It's a hard feeling to put into words.
Wait. Nope. No, it's not. Scared shitless was just about right.
Until tonight. Tonight, I was biking through Boystown when I realized I needed to admit my innermost thoughts and feelings to the world. Below is my best attempt to do so, though I must admit, it's all still very unclear to me and may remain so for quite a while. In the simplest possible terms:
I've felt different than everyone else for as long as I can remember--my whole life, I guess. Even when I moved out of the South and into New England, when I started finding people who were "like me," the whole me still just didn't fit somehow. Then I moved to Chicago, and I started noticing people that made me feel, well, funny inside. It wasn't attraction, really, or even kinship, but rather a funny sort of half-belonging, a hunch even, an intuition that perhaps one day, ultimately, I might have a home here.
I guess all of this is to say that I think I might be--or might could be, anyway--a Neo-Futurist. I might in fact already, on the inside, be more Neo-Futurist than non-Neofuturist, anyway. I'm just not sure. I need to do more soul-searching.
Specifically, I need to soul search this Saturday at 11:18 AM CST in front of the current Neo-Futurist ensemble. And then think a little more and maybe panic a little and definitely, like with any situation, hope that it all works out for the best.
Anyway, if I'm writing down what it's like to be "regular," then I have to admit here that I'm, well, I'm in the dark, and I'm scared, I guess. Something like scared. "Scared shitless" is maybe a better term for it. It's a hard feeling to put into words.
Wait. Nope. No, it's not. Scared shitless was just about right.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Adventures in HOLY SH!TTING
HOLY SH!T. I just saw the craziest shit on youtube.
What was it? The greatest card trick ever?
No. Something more pop culture. Remember the year 1987?
Oh. Was it the video of that Whitesnake song?
No. Remember Adventures in Babysitting?
Oh! It must be Elisabeth Shue, naked.
Er. No. Close. Remember Brad from Adventures in Babysitting?
Is he the guy in the horned helmet?
No. That's Thor.
Is he the the jerk who's two-timing Elisabeth Shue?
Nope.
The one she falls in love with?
No! Brad! The one she's babysitting who has a crush on her.
Oh! Brad!
Right. So his real name is Keith Coogan, and he's an award-winning actor.
So? He's on youtube?
He is. For 191 days in 2010, he memorized, performed, and filmed a monologue a day. You can watch him perform work by such wordsmiths as Shakespeare, Sam Shepard, and Rebecca Black.
So?
So I got four monologues published in a monologue collection about 8 years ago.
So?
So look at whose monologue he learned and performed on day 34.
Holy Sh!t!
Now you get it. I have published words that were memorized and publicly performed alongside Shakespeare, Shepard, and Black -- by an award-winning actor whose most famous movie incidentally was filmed in Chicago.
So?
Oh, forget it. I'm going to go have this imaginary conversation with someone who believes in me.
What was it? The greatest card trick ever?
No. Something more pop culture. Remember the year 1987?
Oh. Was it the video of that Whitesnake song?
No. Remember Adventures in Babysitting?
Oh! It must be Elisabeth Shue, naked.
Er. No. Close. Remember Brad from Adventures in Babysitting?
Is he the guy in the horned helmet?
No. That's Thor.
Is he the the jerk who's two-timing Elisabeth Shue?
Nope.
The one she falls in love with?
No! Brad! The one she's babysitting who has a crush on her.
Oh! Brad!
Right. So his real name is Keith Coogan, and he's an award-winning actor.
So? He's on youtube?
He is. For 191 days in 2010, he memorized, performed, and filmed a monologue a day. You can watch him perform work by such wordsmiths as Shakespeare, Sam Shepard, and Rebecca Black.
So?
So I got four monologues published in a monologue collection about 8 years ago.
So?
So look at whose monologue he learned and performed on day 34.
Holy Sh!t!
Now you get it. I have published words that were memorized and publicly performed alongside Shakespeare, Shepard, and Black -- by an award-winning actor whose most famous movie incidentally was filmed in Chicago.
So?
Oh, forget it. I'm going to go have this imaginary conversation with someone who believes in me.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Lights (Down)
When the lights go down for the closing
Of my show about some trains
And I’m not even living there in that city
Ooh, ooh
So you didn’t see it?
Well my friend I missed it, too
‘Cause I no longer live in that city far away,
Ooh, ooh
It's sad, oh I’m in mournin, what will I do without it,
And I’m not even living there in that city
Ooh, ooh
So you didn’t see it?
Well my friend I missed it, too
‘Cause I no longer live in that city far away,
Ooh, ooh
It's sad, oh I’m in mournin, what will I do without it,
I followed it from afar,
Ooh, my, my, my, my, my
When the lights go down for the closing
Of my show about some trains,
I was not even living there in that city,
Ooh, ooh
When the lights go down for the closing
Of my show about some trains,
I felt it in earnest, from my city far away,
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, my, my, my, my, my
When the lights go down for the closing
Of my show about some trains,
I was not even living there in that city,
Ooh, ooh
When the lights go down for the closing
Of my show about some trains,
I felt it in earnest, from my city far away,
Ooh, ooh
Goodnight, sweet T.*
-------
* Ha. Sweet T! Get it?
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Tenth Omen: Friggatriskaidekaphobia
Superstitious? You should be. The world is full of strange happenings and uncanny coincidences. You meet someone as an adult that you grew up a block away from--but never met as a child. You miss a train, then meet the love of your life while waiting for the next one. You bump into someone on the street the day they post on your facebook wall.* I'm told that in Jamaica, a man on a moped was struck and killed by a taxi driver at a certain intersection. The next year, his brother was struck and killed on his moped at the same intersection . . . by the same taxi driver . . . carrying the same passenger. How many black cats do you have to kick to earn that kind of car-ma?
Maybe these things have nothing to do with whether you walk under ladders, break mirrors, or always set your television to channel 3 before turning it off . . . but then again, maybe they do. With that in mind, is it coincidence that this Friday, the 13th, marks the final performance of "T: An MBTA Musical" at OBERON?
Unlikely.
The origins of the Friday the 13th superstition are unclear. Since the 14th century in Europe, Friday has been considered an unlucky day; the number 13 has been considered unlucky since Jesus chose twelve apostles and sat down to dinner with them.^ On Friday, October 13, 1307, hundreds of members of the Knights Templar were arrested in France, but only Dan Brown, who is still outselling me on amazon.com, thinks this incident was the origin of the superstition.
Wherever the superstition comes from, Friday the 13th is still a real head-turner, and closing our show that day is, without a doubt, the tenth omen in a long series of signs foretelling my future fame. Is it a good omen? Who knows. Is Fame good? Let's say, "yes."
But what if ticket sales plummet, lights fall from the grid, and actors get stomach viruses? Well, then we'll take fate into our own hands. If things are looking dreary for this weekend's show, if we can't overcome centuries of bad luck, divine misfortune, and Pech, then we'll just cancel the performance, take what actors we have left, and put on a different show 10:30 this Friday at OBERON.
As a back-up, we're already in rehearsals for Macbeth.
You can get tickets here**, but only if you promise not to step on any cracks en route to the theater.
The omens so far:
1. My Zeitgeist Stage check
2. I Burned My Face
3. A Book
4. I'm on National Television!
5. I'm an inspiration to the young!
6. Prophecy!
7.The T Pays Off
8. OGACIHC
9. Like New!
10. Friggatriskaidekaphobia
11. ??
12. ??
13. probably a giant check
-------------------
* This, the most uncanny of all.
^ Also, how many letters are in the names of famed serial killers "Albert DeSalvo," "Charles Manson," "John Wayne Gacy," and "Jeffrey Dahmer?"
** For "T," not Macbeth.
Maybe these things have nothing to do with whether you walk under ladders, break mirrors, or always set your television to channel 3 before turning it off . . . but then again, maybe they do. With that in mind, is it coincidence that this Friday, the 13th, marks the final performance of "T: An MBTA Musical" at OBERON?
Unlikely.
The origins of the Friday the 13th superstition are unclear. Since the 14th century in Europe, Friday has been considered an unlucky day; the number 13 has been considered unlucky since Jesus chose twelve apostles and sat down to dinner with them.^ On Friday, October 13, 1307, hundreds of members of the Knights Templar were arrested in France, but only Dan Brown, who is still outselling me on amazon.com, thinks this incident was the origin of the superstition.
Wherever the superstition comes from, Friday the 13th is still a real head-turner, and closing our show that day is, without a doubt, the tenth omen in a long series of signs foretelling my future fame. Is it a good omen? Who knows. Is Fame good? Let's say, "yes."
But what if ticket sales plummet, lights fall from the grid, and actors get stomach viruses? Well, then we'll take fate into our own hands. If things are looking dreary for this weekend's show, if we can't overcome centuries of bad luck, divine misfortune, and Pech, then we'll just cancel the performance, take what actors we have left, and put on a different show 10:30 this Friday at OBERON.
As a back-up, we're already in rehearsals for Macbeth.
You can get tickets here**, but only if you promise not to step on any cracks en route to the theater.
The omens so far:
1. My Zeitgeist Stage check
2. I Burned My Face
3. A Book
4. I'm on National Television!
5. I'm an inspiration to the young!
6. Prophecy!
7.The T Pays Off
8. OGACIHC
9. Like New!
10. Friggatriskaidekaphobia
11. ??
12. ??
13. probably a giant check
-------------------
* This, the most uncanny of all.
^ Also, how many letters are in the names of famed serial killers "Albert DeSalvo," "Charles Manson," "John Wayne Gacy," and "Jeffrey Dahmer?"
** For "T," not Macbeth.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Summer Reruns
It's July!* Do you know what that means? Do you remember?
July is the month of my birth . . . into Chicago. Do you remember that?
It's the month of successful musicals about the T. Do you remember that?
It's the month in which I perform at the Neofuturarium. Remember?
The month in which I begin to volunteer my ass off?
In which Second City and I flirt but go our separate ways?
You don't remember much, do you? C'mon. It's only been a year.
That's okay. You can catch it this time around. Life is a big fat rerun.
Last year, Chicago welcomed me with fireworks and wild celebration. This year, the city went all out. On the day of my one-year anniversary, I was invited to a mysterious building in Wicker Park (a neighborhood I can now find "all on my ownsies"). I followed signs to the top floor, then to the roof. I was handed a beer and engaged in pleasant conversation under a full moon that I'm pretty sure was fake. Then, Rahm Emmanuel personally entertained me all evening with a fireworks display in four dimensions.
Is this a sign of things to come . . . er, that is, things to repeat? If you don't think so, have a look at some other omens.^
- This month, I will again be performing at the Neofuturarium. Sure, it'll be as part of a class, "Intro to TML," but performance is performance, and I intend to call a cigar a cigar.
- Yesterday, I volunteered with Second City. I washed dogs. I did not dress up like one.
- Speaking of Second City, after a year on the "in," I am once again, like last summer, "on the out." Was it my overuse of quotation marks? Or was a year just enough?
- As I write this, I'm listening to "Living on Prayer" on repeat. I'm pretty sure I also listened to that song sometime last July, too. Weird.
- And that musical? Well, it seems to be speaking for itself again over in Beantown.
Yes, any way you slice it, July is (give or take) the third most exciting month of the year. And it's a great time to start all over again.
"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." - TS Eliot
I first learned that quotation in July.
Weird. Again.
----------------------------------------------
July is the month of my birth . . . into Chicago. Do you remember that?
It's the month of successful musicals about the T. Do you remember that?
It's the month in which I perform at the Neofuturarium. Remember?
The month in which I begin to volunteer my ass off?
In which Second City and I flirt but go our separate ways?
You don't remember much, do you? C'mon. It's only been a year.
That's okay. You can catch it this time around. Life is a big fat rerun.
Last year, Chicago welcomed me with fireworks and wild celebration. This year, the city went all out. On the day of my one-year anniversary, I was invited to a mysterious building in Wicker Park (a neighborhood I can now find "all on my ownsies"). I followed signs to the top floor, then to the roof. I was handed a beer and engaged in pleasant conversation under a full moon that I'm pretty sure was fake. Then, Rahm Emmanuel personally entertained me all evening with a fireworks display in four dimensions.
Is this a sign of things to come . . . er, that is, things to repeat? If you don't think so, have a look at some other omens.^
- This month, I will again be performing at the Neofuturarium. Sure, it'll be as part of a class, "Intro to TML," but performance is performance, and I intend to call a cigar a cigar.
- Yesterday, I volunteered with Second City. I washed dogs. I did not dress up like one.
- Speaking of Second City, after a year on the "in," I am once again, like last summer, "on the out." Was it my overuse of quotation marks? Or was a year just enough?
- As I write this, I'm listening to "Living on Prayer" on repeat. I'm pretty sure I also listened to that song sometime last July, too. Weird.
- And that musical? Well, it seems to be speaking for itself again over in Beantown.
Yes, any way you slice it, July is (give or take) the third most exciting month of the year. And it's a great time to start all over again.
"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." - TS Eliot
I first learned that quotation in July.
Weird. Again.
----------------------------------------------
Friday, June 22, 2012
Pheasant Run Is Not What It Seems
Earlier this week, I wrote the following:
"I can imagine myself playing [Homer Zuckerman] in the children's classic, Charlotte's Web, this Thursday at around 9:30 AM in the metropolis of Pheasant Run, Illinois."
When I wrote that, I was clearly under the impression that on the Thursday in question, I'd be performing in Charlotte's Web at a school in Pheasant Run, Illinois. Those of you familiar with Illinois are snickering. Those of you who aren't have no idea why those other people are snickering. I will enlighten you as I was recently enlightened:
Pheasant Run is not a city in Illinois. Pheasant Run is the name of a theater in the city of St Charles, Illinois. What a fool I've been! How close I came to ruining my career! How little I knew of the snakepit I was stepping into! Do you understand? Let me explain for you non-soon-to-be-Famous people.
Performing a show at a school for school children is simple. The students, just happy to be out of class, are hardly a discerning audience. Their attention is split between the stage and their teacher crush, and most of them, should you fall on your face, would thank you silently for momentarily refocusing the elitism of the local bully. There is very little risk involved in performing for kids at a school, and I'm happy to step into such a situation having only rehearsed in my living room with a script and a DVD.
A theater, however--now, that's an altogether different beast. Had I known I'd be performing at a theater, for a cultured audience of youths, I'd have insisted on a full two weeks of rehearsal. I'd have demanded previews and an understudy. I'd have negotiated for a program, complete with a full page "bio."
I didn't get those opportunities. The truth about Pheasant Run was sprung on me only as our tour van passed into its parking lot. An hour later, I found myself in front of an army of educated theater goers--young, sure, maybe 8 years of age on average, but they may as well have been wearing tuxedos and taking critical notes on their ipads.
The heat was, as Glenn Fry best put it, "on."
Lucky for me, I continued my lifelong trend of living up to high expectations. I danced almost flawlessy, barely bumping into anyone at all. I remembered most of my lines and lyrics, only paraphrasing or lip-humming when I couldn't remember what came next. I performed unprecedented physical comedy that elicited genuine laughter from the Ivy-League-caliber audience, and I even took an unplanned turn along the theater aisles in the process.
If all of this weren't enough, I put the proverbial cherry on my performance when I was personally plucked to shoulder-lift the show's star, Wilbur, in the closing number, "Some Pig." Then, when it was all over, I knew I'd made a impression, because in the post-show Q&A, one student, playing innocent, raised his hand and asked:
"Are any of you famous?"
I smiled and didn't say a word.
In the aforementioned entry from earlier this week, I also wrote this:
"If at least one kid doesn't cry when Charlotte dies, I'm going to have words with a Pheasant Run principal about raising a generation of insensitive, boorish children who don't appreciate 'the theater.'"
It looks like that won't be necessary.
"I can imagine myself playing [Homer Zuckerman] in the children's classic, Charlotte's Web, this Thursday at around 9:30 AM in the metropolis of Pheasant Run, Illinois."
When I wrote that, I was clearly under the impression that on the Thursday in question, I'd be performing in Charlotte's Web at a school in Pheasant Run, Illinois. Those of you familiar with Illinois are snickering. Those of you who aren't have no idea why those other people are snickering. I will enlighten you as I was recently enlightened:
Pheasant Run is not a city in Illinois. Pheasant Run is the name of a theater in the city of St Charles, Illinois. What a fool I've been! How close I came to ruining my career! How little I knew of the snakepit I was stepping into! Do you understand? Let me explain for you non-soon-to-be-Famous people.
Performing a show at a school for school children is simple. The students, just happy to be out of class, are hardly a discerning audience. Their attention is split between the stage and their teacher crush, and most of them, should you fall on your face, would thank you silently for momentarily refocusing the elitism of the local bully. There is very little risk involved in performing for kids at a school, and I'm happy to step into such a situation having only rehearsed in my living room with a script and a DVD.
A theater, however--now, that's an altogether different beast. Had I known I'd be performing at a theater, for a cultured audience of youths, I'd have insisted on a full two weeks of rehearsal. I'd have demanded previews and an understudy. I'd have negotiated for a program, complete with a full page "bio."
I didn't get those opportunities. The truth about Pheasant Run was sprung on me only as our tour van passed into its parking lot. An hour later, I found myself in front of an army of educated theater goers--young, sure, maybe 8 years of age on average, but they may as well have been wearing tuxedos and taking critical notes on their ipads.
The heat was, as Glenn Fry best put it, "on."
Lucky for me, I continued my lifelong trend of living up to high expectations. I danced almost flawlessy, barely bumping into anyone at all. I remembered most of my lines and lyrics, only paraphrasing or lip-humming when I couldn't remember what came next. I performed unprecedented physical comedy that elicited genuine laughter from the Ivy-League-caliber audience, and I even took an unplanned turn along the theater aisles in the process.
If all of this weren't enough, I put the proverbial cherry on my performance when I was personally plucked to shoulder-lift the show's star, Wilbur, in the closing number, "Some Pig." Then, when it was all over, I knew I'd made a impression, because in the post-show Q&A, one student, playing innocent, raised his hand and asked:
"Are any of you famous?"
I smiled and didn't say a word.
In the aforementioned entry from earlier this week, I also wrote this:
"If at least one kid doesn't cry when Charlotte dies, I'm going to have words with a Pheasant Run principal about raising a generation of insensitive, boorish children who don't appreciate 'the theater.'"
It looks like that won't be necessary.
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