Friday, March 19, 2004

 

"Fall On Your Sword" Award

This post (3/18) by Sherri has made me wonder if anyone ever takes public responsibility for their public mistakes anymore. It seems like the thing to after getting busted is to

1. sue somebody;


2. blame society/government/your mom;


3. go on a string of talk-show appearances where you are comically skewered but show you're really all right;


4. write a book which claims to be a mea culpa but is in fact an everyone-else culpa;


5. find God, which makes it all okay; or


6. all of the above.

The Romans had a better option than these. When faced with public humiliation or defeat, they fell on their sword.

The Japanese also have a long, proud history of blade-to-the-gut before dishonor.

I say, we need to bring back this tradition, in some form.

Therefore, I would like to open the floor to nominations for the Fall On Your Sword Award. This award is to honor people who screw up bad, and then take full responsibility for it, unconditionally. No book tours, no proselytizing, no shifting the blame, no equivocating.

Here are the requirements for a nominee:

• The nominee's misdeed must be public, and certain beyond all reasonable argument;


• the nominee must hold themselves accountable, fully and publicly, for their mistake;


• the nominee must resign their post, surrender to the authorities, give their victims restitution, or whatever other punishment is appropriate to their misdeed;


• the nominee may not benefit financially nor professionally from the prior two requirements; and


• the nominee may not appear in a self-flagellating sketch on SNL, Jay Leno, or other television, film, radio or internet production.

I will determine all winners. Each winner will receive this award, which they may not display on their website, as that would be benefiting from their misdeed:



Nominees are free to fall on a real sword if they so choose, but such an action is not required to win the award. However, I will disqualify nominees if they decide to kill themselves and take some other people with them. I mention this because the only picture I could find of a guy killing himself with a sword was this statue of a Gaul doing the deed after doing in his wife. I think this was to prevent her from falling into Roman enslavement, but I don't want to give any would-be family-murderers any ideas.

posted by Dan 2:15 PM
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RND(5)

Over the past year, these are the different prices the café across the street has charged me for the same medium café au lait:

$2.01
$1.71
$1.67
$1.59
$1.41

There is no trend, no discount, no "Happy Hour" to explain this. I have been charged different amounts by the same employee. When I mention this, they have no recollection of the previous price. I can only assume that their employer has implanted a "random pricelist" chip into their frontal lobe.

posted by Dan 12:54 PM
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Thursday, March 18, 2004

 

How Do I Know?

WARNING: WRITER ENTRY AHEAD

If you come for the lighthearted buffoonery, or my reasonable facsimile thereof, it will be return later. For now, Talkin' the Shop Talk.

A playwright whose opinion I respect threw me a curve the other day. He said that there's a major obstacle keeping me from writing plays of such sublimity that my words will fairly sparkle on the page. Okay, not that last part. But there is an obstacle. He said I had to learn how to know if my work is good before I have it read aloud.

My system has always been to write the play, hear it aloud, make changes, repeat until happy. Or tired. Or both. I never know if it's good or not beforehand, because (a) I fall in love with elements of my work that people couldn't care less about; and (b) I love or hate my writing depending on the day and my blood sugar level.

Part of judging one's work, this writer said, is choosing the right judge. He argues that the writer is the only judge of their work that matters, not the audience. I can see that an audience certainly isn't a trustworthy judge. It's composed of people with opinions so widely diverging that to write according its aesthetic criteria would be to go shopping for Sybil. For sport, I sometimes go to IMDB and read the user reviews, just to wonder at how people can see the same movie, and yet not see the same movie.

So, given that I am the only worthwhile judge of my plays, how do I know if they're good or not, just by reading them? A guy actually asked me something like that at the Asparagus Party the other night. I couldn't really answer. I could only say that I knew the telltale signs of my flaws. (No, I'm not going to list them. That habit ended with high school. Mostly.) I turned the question to his wife, an editor. She said something about following her gut, that it should "feel" ready. I do work like that. Unfortunately, one's feelings are not necessarily an objective judge of the worthiness of ones work. Ed Wood followed his gut. I'm sure Leni Riefenstahl felt very strongly about her magnum opus.

How to judge, then, if not by instinct?

After a bad play-reading experience, I implemented a system. I resolved not to show my writing until it met certain specific criteria. For instance, no play went out if I couldn't clearly define what the main character wanted. If I could answer this, and certain other prerequisites, then the play was ready. Unfortunately, after implementing this, I never thought my plays were ready. I couldn't even finish a draft. I felt stifled. On the rare occasion that I did finish a script, and I thought it was ready, it turned out that it wasn't. I couldn't find the heart to rewrite, because it meant abandoning the criteria that I thought made the piece work. It was paralysis from the intellect. I didn't finish a play for years. I'm finally able to again, for a number of reasons, one of them being that I decided to stop being so precious about my material. This blog is a part of that effort. I put material on it that I know is...well, not bad, but certainly rough. I don't wait for it to meet any criteria.

Yet if I don't judge the material according to some kind of criteria, and if I don't judge it by instinct, how do I judge it? Isn't the only thing left an outside opinion? Like an audience?

I've heard writers declare that they write for themselves, that they don't care what anyone else thinks, and I think that 99% of them are lying. As for the other 1%, I'll never achieve that level of self-absorption. For one thing, children don't abide it. I do care what other people think, because I'm trying to communicate with them or entertain them, and if I'm not doing at least one of those, then what the hell am I doing?

I make exceptions, of course. In my last play, I knew that anyone lacking a basic understanding of cyberspace wouldn't understand my show. I was willing to grant that. But I was very interested in, and terrified of, the opinions of those could understand. I hoped they would be engaged by the play, or, at the very least, amused by it. Should I try to disregard these feelings, even though they're wrapped up in the reasons why I write?

So here I am, turning this admonishment over in my head, wondering how I can know if something is good, when all avenues seem potholed.

posted by Dan 1:57 PM
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Wednesday, March 17, 2004

 

A Real Peek Into my Work

So what started yesterday as a comic tangent actually turned into a monologue. To review, I get a lot of hits on my site from search engines with people looking for "angry monologue." I jokingly started one. Last night, though, I was thinking about it while I was shoveling the walk in front of my building, and the following came out. Even though it was born in snide humor, I thought I'd post it anyway.

(TERRY, a man in his 30s)

TERRY:
Oh, I'll shovel the snow off your sidewalk, Steve. For free. And oh I'll go better than the uh the foot-and-a-half tunnel you usually carve. I'll clear your sidewalk of snow. Yeah. Right up to the curb. 'Cause that's the kind of snow-shoveler I am, Steve.

But oh...oh you're gonna pay for it.

READ THE REST

For those of you who don't like reading monologues, enjoy this picture of a festive dog.

posted by Dan 1:36 PM
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Theatre Keeps Coming

Parabasis is a theatre/politics blog by Isaac Butler. He's going to be keeping a rehearsal journal of his production of Danish playwright Line Knutzon's U.S. premiere, First You're Born. I have to see this, because last fall I saw Where We're Born. I shall then produce my part of the unofficial trilogy, Now That's Born!.

(via George Hunka)

posted by Dan 11:23 AM
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OH SWEET TASTE OF FREE THEATER!

My friend and Lil Pervs playwright Kayla Solomon just sent me this invitation to the theatre piece she's dramaturging. She said it's very exciting and interesting, and the performers are all an all-pro squad. Kayla doesn't speak well of every project she dramaturgs, so I'm betting this is a good 'un. I'll be there, so why don't you join us?

* * *

A SPECIAL INVITATION:THE LOWER EAST SIDE PROJECT
directed by Karen Sommers
dramaturged by Kayla Solomon Cagan

Introducing a debut performance weaving together dynamic human stories inspired by the archival recordings of a Jewish Arbitration Court, aired on the first Yiddish radio stations in the 1930s and 40s. Their stories are about the toil of first-generation New York Jews struggling to define themselves, independent of their commitment to their faith, marriage, and country.

April 1st & 2nd at 7PM -- FREE OF CHARGE
Tribeca Performing Arts Center -- Theatre 2
Borough of Manhattan Community College
199 Chambers St. (Between Greenwich St. & the West Side Hwy.)
PLEASE NOTE: THE CHAMBERS STREET RAMP IS CLOSED.
ENTRANCE IS THROUGH WASHINGTON MARKET PARK, CORNER OF
GREENWICH AND DUANNE

posted by Dan 10:50 AM
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Tuesday, March 16, 2004

 

A Peek Into My Work Pt. 3

Still working on this monologue. It might also help if I knew a little more about the character. At least give him a name:

JOHNNY ESKIMO:
Friggin' snow AGAIN?!

Too obvious, maybe. A little closer to my world, perhaps:

THAT BUM GUY I USED TO SEE OUTSIDE THE BODEGA, HAVEN'T SEEN HIM IN A WHILE, I WONDER IF HE'S ALIVE:
Friggin' snow AGAIN?!

I think his name's Mike, but aren't there a million Mikes in the world? Maybe a nickname...

MIKE ESKIMO:
Friggin' snow AGAIN?!

Okay, now I'm not even trying. Clean slate. Word association. First name that comes to mind:

MYRTLE MERTRAIN MALOMAR GARBZZZZING:
Friggin' snow AGAIN?!

Time for a coffee break.

posted by Dan 2:02 PM
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A Peek Into My Work Pt. 2

I decided that the first line of the monologue was a bit too generic. "Through the specific to the universal," as they say. So here's my second attempt.

GUY:
Friggin' snow AGAIN?!

It comes from a place of personal truth.

posted by Dan 1:41 PM
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A Peek Into My Work

I've been getting a lot of hits on my playwright site from people looking for "monologue angry" or "monologue man angry" and such.

Being a savvier businessman is one of my goals, so I'm putting together a monologue, suitable for auditions or classes, which fulfill these keywords.

I'll be posting drafts of the monologue as it develops, so you can see how a playwright works. Here's what I've been working on:

GUY:
Man alive, I'm angry!

That's all I've got so far.

posted by Dan 1:37 PM
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first edition

Dave Moldawer has a new one-act available to read on-line. I'll be reading it on the train ride home from work. Get it now...before all the PDFs are gone.

He's asking for feedback, if you're so inclined.

posted by Dan 1:29 PM
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Monday, March 15, 2004

 

Dahling

Last night my wife and I attended the social event of the season, a simply chahming cocktail party to support my dear friends' Anne de Mare and Kirsten Kelly and their mahvelous documentary, "ASPARAGUS! [Stalking the American Life]".

[/1930s Manhattan snob]

The party was in a sincerely fabulous apartment on the upper west side -- a top-floor duplex with spiral staircases to two(!) lofts, a baby grand piano in the cathedral-ceiling living room, and twelve-foot windows showcasing the city skyline. I comforted myself with the knowledge that I live in the hippest of hip neighborhoods, in a great big space, filled floor-to-ceiling with garbage. But hey, it's free! In contrast, this place was an adult's home, a sophisticated bachelor's pad. I could imagine what masterful seductions occurred within its walls...

SOPHISTICATED BACHELOR
Come, let me take your coat, my sweet. Seat yourself on my leather sofa, and enjoy the view. Did I mention that I happened to acquire a rare vodka on my trip to Moldavia? I usually don't bring it out, but this night is so magical. You will? Wonderful. No, don't even think of getting up to help. I keep it right here on the glass shelves above the bar. Wooden shelves are so clumsy, don't you think? Now where is it...ah, yes, right here next to my prophylactic humidor. Did you notice that? It's Louis VIX.

Those glass shelves above the bar were a great/unfortunate detail.

You see, as is our habit, my wife and I arrived way too early. Even though the invitation clearly said 6:00 pm, and we arrived at 6:15, we were the first guests. So we stood silently for ten minutes, doing our best to pretend not to be there. The crash of shattering glass ended that charade. The left portion of the shelves was now in shards all over the bar. Important Safety Tip: Do not place lit candles on glass, as the heat will make said glass go kaboom. So we were able to make ourselves useful cleaning up and fixing the bar. That's really our comfort zone. Better than watching the hosts set up the buffet.

Oh, the buffet. All asparagus dishes. We had to fumigate the bathroom last night, boy. There were asparagus in puffed pastry, asparagus guacamole, asparagus salsa, asparagus quiche, asparagus wrapped in cream cheese and ham ("Polish roses"), pickled asparagus, steamed asparagus in asparagus dip, asparagus pizza, asparagus cookies, asparagus cake...

And the asparagus martini, a treat promised on the invitation. Unfortunately, none of the hosts knew how to -- or had time -- to make the martinis. Lucky for them, my wife is a veteran bartender. I wish that I could time travel back to my awkward, anxiety-ridden teenage self, and tell him, "You'll grow up and still be awkward and anxiety-ridden, but you're also going to marry the girl who mixes a mean drink."

The belle of the ball, however, was the Asparagus Queen, Mrs. December Saucedo-Gonzalez. She was there in gown and tiara, along with a few of the farmers in the film and their families. I didn't get to talk to her. As Anne said afterwards, "It's hard to get close to a Queen," [cue lisping joke from Buddy Cole]. I forgive the snub, though, because she's a constitutional monarch, elected for one one-year term. That's a tiara on her head, but those rhinestones spell democracy, kid!

There were musical performances, of course. Laurena Allen and company sang Mary McBride's song for the film, "(If I Could Be) Asparagus Queen." A true flashback-to-the-1930s moment occurred when Michael Goldstrum, in tux, stood up on the piano and sang, "The White Asparagus Blues," with composer Lance Horne accompanying on the keys. The song was one of those witty, punny songs that Noel Coward used to write five of before his morning bull shot. I started looking around for Kaufman or Parker or Benchley, or at least Alexander Woolcott passed out on the carpet.

An hour later, Anne and Kirsten showed clips from the movie via digital projector. For a brief time beforehand, the projector was just running stills of natural scenes as a screensaver. The detail of the images was enough to turn me into one of those flabbergasted old men who rants about how amazing these newfangled inventions are, the comedy stylings of which I shall spare you.

The documentary uses as its focal point the yearly Asparagus Festival in Oceana County, Michigan. Through this, we hear the history of the town, the peculiarities of the festival, and the troubles the industry faces. Admittedly, I'm partial to these subjects, plus my friends made it, but bearing that in mind, I think the movie's going to be great. It's funny and touching. One part that sticks in my mind is an interview with a Mexican farmer. He has a line of jalapeno-pickled asparagus. The jar features his two year-old son in sombrero on the label. The son is vice-president, and receives 10% of the profits from the company, so someday he can go to college and won't have to be a farmer. It was a reminder to be thankful that my parents and I always expected me to go to college, even though I'm only one generation removed from people that weren't.

After the showing, we made our parental excuses and headed home. A great night, and great to come home to a sleeping baby. If you've ever seen those paintings of the Christ-child in the manger, glowing in the dark, that's what a parent sees when they look at their son or daughter in the crib. They're a wonderful secret as-yet unknown to the world, bright with promise.

Enough of that. Look for the film when it comes to the art-house or film-festival near you. If it becomes available on DVD, I'll post the details here.

posted by Dan 2:24 PM
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This Catch-Phrase Will Sweep the Nation!

One of the joys of being father to a two year old is witnessing the birth of sentences never before uttered in the history of the English Language.

Yesterday's example: "This quarter is Elmo's mommy."

posted by Dan 9:48 AM
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Sunday, March 14, 2004

 

First Pix

Here's some shots from my recent production, Lil Pervs. These are from my play, Nothing To Do Without You, which was developed here on this blog.



Click an image to see a larger version

I'll be posting images from the other playwrights during the next couple of weeks. The actors, by the way, are Alisha McKinney and Craig Waletzko, two intelligent and generous performers. Craig's also a song-and-dance man who's tapped his way through much of Broadway, including "Cats."

I never teased him about that. I deserve a frickin' medal for restraint.

posted by Dan 1:01 AM
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