While my pop tart gently sweats...

OK, what the heck is up with my poptart? It's sweaty...or something. There must be a sniglet for this.

Stuff-date

-So 2009 will mark my return to the director’s chair. I haven’t tried to direct something since…hmmm, 1997 I guess. I’m a little overdue, don’t ya think?

Yeah, I just agreed to direct next summer. I’m not sure I’m at liberty to give details yet, as I don’t think the season has been announced yet, but let’s say I’m excited. Let’s say that this project gives a lot of wiggle room and coolness for the rag-tag band that is being thrown together. I’ll tell you more as I know more, but yeah, I’m jazzed.

-Oh yeah, I just signed on to do a show (as an actor) that I have loved since the late 90s called Mojo. It’s credited with inspiring Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch, so that can’t be bad, right? That’s in 2009 as well. So for those keeping score, it’s Dracula up next, then Mojo, then directing, I think. I’m trying to only do shows with one word titles. So far, so good.

-My wife is now an RN. Officially. So that means I can f’ myself all up and she can patch me up. Or if you have a friend who is OD’ing, heck, bring ‘em on over. She’s on the job market now, searching for nursey-type jobs. This is quite similar to my job search of early in the year, except that she actually has a useful skill and is very smart. I was a guy with a wrinkled shirt and 9 years experience in a field he didn’t want.

Cross your fingers that everything quickly falls into place and my little world suddenly turns into a happy place. Hey, maybe Hayder will suddenly become very happy.

-Last weekend for the show. It’s been a good run, actually. I’m not always excited about seeing the cast and doing the show but I love being around these dudes. I actually look forward to it. And the show clocks in at an hour which gives me time to go home and watch the Simpsons, drink a cold drink, pet the dogs and kiss the wife.

-Many thanks to pal Cesar for suggesting a character for Hayder. I, at first, couldn’t think of what I would really use the character for but then I drew it yesterday and fell in love. Silly stuff. He’ll debut very soon, Ces.

Boiler Room

Playback in the day

Just had the 1 year anniversary of this little nugget. I haven't wrestled since January when I f'ed up my eye, but I miss it more than Sandy Duncan misses her eyeball. Ah well...

More Fwd stuffing

Well, we're 1-1 on the reviews thus far and only six more shows. Check the Creative Loafing review and check out the horrible face I'm making. Also, CL has some stuff about us on their podcast dealie.

Little experiment

Hey kids. Inspired by Jeffrey Brown, I pulled a comic from my journal and scanned it in. It's not an exact science (yet) but I figured I'd give it a go. Please forgive the shodiness.

Good News/Bad news

Today we’ll play a little game I call Good News/Bad News.

Good News: The National Black Arts Festival is going strong in the ATL right now.
Bad News: It had nothing to do with Harry Potter or Snape or any sort of evil magic at all.













Good News: I ate at Checkers the other day and it was delicious as fast food with no actual dining area can be.
Bad News: Several teenagers thought I was someone called ‘Tisler’, which turned about to be a teacher of theirs. This has shown me that I apparently look like a teacher now and, even weirder, one who is off work.
Better News: Apparently ‘Tisler’ was one of their coaches, so at least if I’m going to look like a school teacher, it’s the coach.

Good News: My old middle school PE coach, on rainy days, would let us watch the Planet of the Apes movies. He was a huge fan of the movies (also a championship bull-rodeo rider guy) and so we’d go to a classroom and watch ape movies.
Bad News: As fun as those movies are, I watched them at least 50 times and now have absolutely no interest in watching them again.


















Good News: A reviewer from the AJC came and reviewed our show.
Bad News: They tore us a new asshole.
Good News: I now have two assholes.

Good News: One of the playwrights of the show got some more press for us with this super swanky interview in Creative Loafing.
Bad News: The article is accompanied by a picture of said playwright with his shirt off and a horrible mustache.

Good News: It occurred to me the other day that, as I age, I may be able to be in Krapp’s Last Tape one day in the future. I had the offer last year to be in it and I just felt waaaayyyy too young to do it. After doing Waiting for Godot, I’ve been creamy to more Beckett stuff, and hey, if I keep it in mind, maybe one day I will.
Bad News: Most older male actors I know have horrible HORRIBLE memories, which means, by the time I’m actually convincingly old enough to play Krapp, I probably won’t be able to keep the lines straight.
Worse News: When I do play it, I’ll probably look like a gym teacher.

Good News: Started listening to World War Z on audio book.
Bad News: Nothing big. But someone has a terrible fake Asian accent. But the audio is awesome, otherwise.

Hayder's battle

Thursday ketchup

-In an attempt to make my cube less cube-esque, I have begun growing chives. Why, you may ask. I’m not really sure honestly. A few months ago, I started trying to fill my cube up with plants in the hopes that they would produce a lot of oxygen and I would be light-headed through the day. So far, I feel no more light or heavy-headed. Still, having little plants to water is often enough to lure me into coming to work. Money is nice too, but to know my plants may die, well that pushes me over the edge to come in.

Not sure what I’m going to do with the chives when and if they survive. I may start growing potatoes, get a couple of cows and start making sour cream and chives potato chips right at my desk. I wonder if they’ll let me put a stove in the breakroom. Perhaps I’ll also put a little hand painted sign outside of my cube to advertise them. “Unkle m’s olde time Kuntry Kubicle.”

-Found this little pic while rummaging through other people’s flickr site. Are you there, God? It’s me, John Ritter.

-So I have a little dog named Penelope. She was a rescue dog taken from the mouth of Hell. Apparently she got out of Hell and went to my friend’s Matt and Stacey’s house. Then they gave her to us. Anyway, now she’s mine. She’s an OK dog, I guess, but she hasn’t gotten with the program of the other dogs yet and that program is ‘sleep until I get up’. Instead she’s on her own schedule. So after 6 AM, if I roll over or make a noise, she’s ready to go. She’ll jump on and off the bed until I get up. Usually I roll on my stomach and put my pillow over my head and try to ignore her. Today she upped the game by ‘fisting’ me. I was on my stomach and she totally pawed me in the ass. If I wasn’t awake before that, I can assure you I was very awake after that (yes, I had boxers on but the only thing keeping me from having a paw square in my ass was a thin layer of plaid cotton). I may have to start sleeping in a chastity belt.

-It seems my life is dominated by office crap lately. The day job, doing a play about an office at night, reading the book ‘Company’ while on the treadmill (recommended by pal Andrew, good read thus far but it’s still ‘office’ related), I’ve decided to make my nightstand/before bed book ‘Little things’ by Jeffrey Brown.

If you’re not familiar with him, he’s a comic book writer/artist on Top Shelf. His stuff is very personal, almost embarrassingly so. It’s basically an illustrated diary. I wouldn’t say his style of art is complex by any means by it is very…I dunno, evocative, maybe. He does a lot with a little. Simple line structure but very busy backgrounds. And his writing style is very jumpy. Time passes in huge jumps one second and tiny ticks the next.

To be frank, this is the third book of his I’ve read and I’m still not sure I like his stuff. Of course I keep coming back so I must. It’s almost too personal at times, like he’ll focus a bit too much on the tedious moments of his life. Maybe I dig that he’s so brutally honest about himself. He doesn’t come across as the conventional ‘hero’ type. Actually, he comes off very needy and starved for affection, and yet it’s him who’s putting it out there.

Here’s a video he did for Death Cab for Cutie.

Well scratch that. Couldn't find it.

A thing I must share

Just a quick thing from yesterday. A friend of mine sent me and a couple other guys a message saying that *names deleted to protect the innocent* needed actors for a restaurant party tonight. The theme was Bastille Day and they were looking to fill slots. I thought, "well, it's my night off but I could stand to earn some extra bucks" so I read through the forwarded email (from a local talent agency). They needed someone to dress up as Louis XVI. OK, odd but I'll play along. Then at the bottom of the email, without the least sense of irony, it said, "Must have own Louis XVI costume."

Dude, I laughed for a good ten minutes. Actually, I'm not sure I could call it a laugh as much as a 'bumhhhh' that developed into hysterical laughter. It was so specific. The sad part was that I have a Louis XIV costume but not a XVIth. Hey, you play the market...

More Fwd stuff

A nice little shout out from Creative Loafing for the new show (complete with a nice little compliment for the kid).

Also, a nice unused promotional shot from the show.

Hayder-busters

More Hayder. Have a good weekend.

mmyers

The Tony Shalhoub story (by popular demand)

I had signed on to do this show. I knew everyone in it in some fashion and was jazzed. However, one of the guys who had agreed to do it got a lead role in Final Destination 4 (which I think is awesome and can’t wait to see). So a replacement was brought in. I had seen the guy in a couple of shows and he was very good. I had met him once, briefly. His name was Tony.

Anywho, during rehearsals, I make some joke about Tony Shalhoub (nothing hurtful, because I’m a huge fan of Mr. Shalhoub dating back to the movie QuickChange. He had a small role as a cabby in it but I remember being really impressed with him and I’ll often imitate his word for ‘bus’ in that film, ‘blufftonay’). So the director of the play says, “Better not say that around Tony because Tony Shalhoub is his uncle.” I figured the director was messing with me, but then one day in conversation Tony confirmed that yes, Mr. Shalhoub is his uncle.

Flashforward and the show is up and running and Tony comes to us in the dressing room and says his uncle may come see our show and asks if that is cool with everyone. I have to say Tony is a super, super nice person, on stage and off. And he was worried that it may freak us out or something. Apparently that had happened before and some actor had flipped out about it. Anyway, I was all for it. As mentioned, I’m a big fan of Mr. Shalhoub’s work.

So at the top of the show a week or two later (by which time I had pretty much forgotten about the Shalhoub conversation), I’m asleep in the audience, lying on the floor in the aisle. It was a gimmick as my character starts the show drunk. And I hear a voice. I heard lots of voices while laying there. Folks chatting about the show or making comments about me or whatever. But one voice sticks out. And I realize that Tony Shalhoub is in the audience and he’s in the seat beside where I’m laying. I mean, RIGHT BESIDE me. So the show starts and I stagger on stage and I have a good 5-8 minute monologue right off the bat. And it’s fast. I’m shucking and jiving, trying to make a sale. But I glance and I see that yep, he’s there. He’s sitting very low in his seat. He’s using both armrests but his hands are meeting in front of his face in a sort of ‘hmm, very interesting’ posture. It’s obvious he is giving his full attention to the show and he’s maintaining a low profile. He’s there to enjoy his nephew on stage (who was great, bytheway).

Fortunately, the show goes well over all and for me. Then comes the moment of truth. He’s in the lobby. I went ahead and made an agreement with myself that I wasn’t going to bother him. He probably gets bothered all the time and I didn’t want him to feel obligated to say ‘good show’ or whatever else folks feel obligated to say to actors after plays. So I walked right past him in the lobby. It’s swamped with people. He has a group of folks around him chatting. I use my high school cloaking device, my ‘please don’t beat me up’ posture that I used in high school to avoid confrontation (slouched shoulders, head down, hands in pockets). I scooted past. Would I regret not speaking to him? Maybe. But I tend to gush on folks I respect when I meet them. Better to maintain my dignity (see: the time I met musician Freedy Johnston and started telling him my life story and how influential he is to me and he scuttled away).

Then my director saw me sneaking by (to go see my wife and friends who were there, by the way, and were waiting outside) and turned me around and marched me to Mr. Shalhoub. And he was awesome. The super nicest guy that he could possibly be. Zero, I repeat, ZERO ego or attitude. And he said, “You were on fire.” I felt myself well-up, in two ways actually. It was awesome that an actor of his level said I did a good job and I had enormous pride in that, and it made me a little misty eyed. But I was also welling up in that a litany of nerdy things were bubbling to the top of my brain, most of them starting with the phrase ‘I loved you in…’. It was a compulsion to say that to him. So I ran away. I said, “Thank you for coming here, Mr. Shalhoub”, shook his hand and got out of Dodge.

Then I went on the front porch of the theatre and reenacted it all for my wife and friends. I’m sure my reenactment took about 5 times longer than the actual event did.

On the way back to the back to grab my bag, Mr. Shalhoub was still there and I looked at him as I went by and he said again, “On fire.”

And that was it. The Tony Shalhoub story.

I’d like to say that I completely maintained and never entered the nerdy exploration of info about Mr. S, but that would be a lie. I bombarded his nephew with questions the next day, and Nephew Tony (polite like his uncle) kindly obliged. Did you know that John Tuturro and Stanley Tucci and Mr. Shalhoub are all great friends and went to school together? I guessed they were and they are.

To put this all in perspective, I called my mom the next day to tell her what had happened. The first thing she wanted to know was if I had written the show. “Was this one of your shows? One that you had written?” I told her ‘no.’ “Oh,” she said and her voice became kind of wistfully distant. To add insult to injury she added, “Well, it would have been neat if it was.”

Gonna get on the microphone down at Wal-Mart

I've been sorely neglecting my comic stripping duties as of late and although I have a ton of strips written in my little notebook, I haven't had time to draw them. Thought I'd put this little picture up. See my pal Andrew was doing this thing where this artist draws a picture for you from 3 adjectives describing yourself. Actually, he'd either draw a monster or a robot for you, with the proceeds going to some charity. Anyway, I attempted to write down three adjectives describing myself and then draw a picture regarding whatever they inspired me to do. This is what I came up with.Apparently I view myself, adjectively speaking, as some kind of turd-beast with pockets. And I was too lazy to finish the legs. Nice package, tho.

Fwd march...

Provided that I didn't screw this up, above these words should be the trailer for that play Fwd that I told you about. Tom "Powerhouse" Rittenhouse along with Clunky "Robot" Robot did most of the work, with our pretty little faces and voices rounding it out. Check it, yo.

Five dollar...five dollar footlongs

The title has nothing to do with the post, but dang that new Subway song is in my head like a mug.

Well here's the moving banner dealie for my show that's coming up. Well, I'm in it. Don't want to give myself more credit than I deserve. I did write the commercial for it, tho. I'll put that up when it's available on the internets. I enjoy the picture with the puppets where I'm screaming.

-Speaking of which, I guess I should mention that I got an acting award dealie for a show called Indulgences I did a little while ago (remind me to tell you the story of Tony Shaloub coming to see that show, in glorious Embellishment-vision).

Here's the funny thing about awards: as a performer, you make a deal with yourself that reviews and awards mean nothing. Can't have one without the other and one can't be important without the other being important, so you nuke them both and render them both useless. They're just some jerk's opinion.

OK, so what do these words mean to you? "He sounded like he was reading off the script while on stage. Flat and monotone." Nothing? How about "Clunky and unnatural"? Or "Lackluster for a guy who usually has a lot of energy"? Well these have all been written about your's truly. And they rattle around in my brain along with a few other possibly true hurtful phrases. So, if I'm going to carry those around, I guess I can accept the award gracefully and shut up. Yeah award.

-Saw Tom Waits this weekend. It was phenominal. Possibly the best show I've ever seen. It was much more theatrical than the other time I've seen him and exactly what I wanted. Some great images in that show.

I used to have a picture of Mr. Waits running down the street with a bass drum like he stole it sitting at my cubical. When I switched jobs, I put it up in my office at home and haven't brought it back. It was supposed to inspire me, show me that there's really good art in the world and life doesn't end in a cube. But then it started feeling bitterly ironic. Like having a picture of your favorite cow at your desk at a meat packing plant. So now I don't cross my chocolate and my peanut butter. The office is for the office and inspiring art is for some place far, far from cubical walls.

Happy belated Birthday to me

I’m having problems figuring out where to begin this. Let’s start with:

I just had my birthday. How’s that? Yep, I’m another year older. I’m not all that impressed with this particular birthday. I’ve been happy to keep it on the down-low for the most part. But something has been nagging at me about it.

First off, I wanted to have a 33 1/3 birthday party on my 33rd and 1/3rd birthday, wherein we’d all sit around and listen to my favorite records at my favorite speed, 33 1/3. I did not do this. This was an oversight on my part and, as I began to fee the full ramifications of the aging process, one I cannot correct. That time is gone. And it’s weird to acknowledge that. I cannot go back and do something I wanted to do. Or I could but it would lack the same charm. I’d be faking it. And that’s just cheap. So no 33 1/3 birthday party for me.

However, that’s just a minor thing, comparatively. See, I’m not what you’d call a deeply religious person. I have some superstitions and some rituals and some quiet beliefs but for the most part of me, when I envision ‘Life’, I see that guy at the end of the A-Team sitting at his typewriter banging away and then he grabs the paper from the machine and flings it over his shoulder and it turns all animated and lands on a pile of animated papers and then there’s that weird guitar. Do you know what I’m talking about? Like where the “Sit, Ubu, sit…good dog (woof, woof)” thing used to be. Or that cat that meowed at the end of WKRP in Cincinatti. Anyway, that guy. I picture him writing out my life.

I think the reason I picture a writer over some deity watching and judging me is because I can relate to a writer more than I can a deity. Writers have ups and downs, and lulls. And horrible habits like smoking and drinking. Also, life seems so rich with recurring themes and heavy handed symbolism that it often seems like a badly written story more than anything else. Or at least mine does. I don’t want to speak for the person writing your story.


But here’s the thing: I feel like little ‘prompts’ are given to us when things are going the way they should. I’d compare it to when people say ‘everything is falling into place.’ Of course it is, because you’re following the course that that writer at the end of A-Team wants you to go in, so now he’s banging away all this crap on the typewriter to happen. He’s inspired. Or she is. Whomever is at your typewriter. I think the prompts also come in the form of de ja vu, just to say ‘hey, here’s a preview of the next episode of Hunter’. Everything picks up and starts hopping in a positive, often overwhelming, way.

All of this to say, for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m waaaayyyyy off course. And that, my friends, is a horrible feeling. I feel so far off from where I’m supposed to be that I’ve stopped getting any sorts of prompts. I think that guy may have stopped typing and Ubu may be typing now instead of sitting like a good dog. And other than a dog trying to type, I can’t justify how I got into this position, how I got this far off course. To be truthful, it’s probably my own fault because at some point, I stopped plotting a course and rather started sailing for the horizon.

On a good note, we as people have given ourselves all sorts of opportunities for getting a fresh start. We have whole new years to focus on every 365 days (2008 has been sort of a shit year anyway and I’m ready for it to be over, and by coincidence today is EXACTLY the halfway point). We have beginnings of the week every 7 days (I was out of work on Monday). Heck, we have a new day everyday, whether we want it or not, and that gives us the opportunity to fix things and have a fresh start. And we have birthdays. I don’t see myself as the ‘drastic change’ type, but I am going to make a conscious effort to get on some sort of track and get that guy typing again. Or get that cat meowing and Ubu sitting. And that lion roaring.

As for the birthday party thing, well, in another 11 years, I can have my 45 rpm party, and that’s plenty of time to get together a bunch of 45s. Besides, that party will probably go a lot faster at that speed and give me more time to get some sleep.