It’s A Suggestion, Not A Review: Thoughts on Garbage and Being Young and Stupid

Dave Sikula, Garbage Aficionado.

One of my many quirks is that I’m a sucker for Garbage Theatre. Pretty much anyone who’s worked with me will know about Garbage Theatre, but I’ll take the liberty of explaining it here.

First some necessary background. In my early 20s, I was part of the company at the Southern California Conservatory Theatre at Cerritos College, down in Norwalk. SCCT (as it was fondly known) began as an experiment in summer theatre and training. The goal was to hire a bunch of young actors, have them attend classes in the morning, rehearse in the afternoon, and perform in the evenings. It seemed workable since we were all young and full of energy (and stupid, probably). While things started off with the best of intentions, young actors being what they are, people started skipping classes to sleep in or screw around, and more time than anticipated was needed to rehearse the shows. The productions turned out pretty well, or at least good enough that the school district ponied up the dough for a second and even a third season, the finale of which was “Fiddler on the Roof.”

Starring in “Fiddler” was Claude File, who was the Tevye of your dreams. Warm, funny, and human, he knocked it out of the park every night. The rest of the show was pretty good, too, in spite of a set that our choreographer (correctly) slammed as “looking like a forest fire” and some bizarre direction. Our director was (and I swear this is his real name) Fred Fate. Fred was brought to the college as a guest director, and through guile, cunning, and his supreme con-man skills, took over the department. He wasn’t a bad director, though; you just had to cut through the bullshit.

Among Fred’s brainstorms was that he wanted “If I Were a Rich Man” to be about Tevye interacting with the whole town, which undercut the purpose of the number. I played Avram, and was blocked to sit on a staircase, reading a newspaper. Well, as Fred saw the number wasn’t working as he’d intended, he cut more and more people from it, until it was down to just Claude performing the number and me sitting there, reading the paper, neither of us reacting to the other. I’m sure the audience was waiting for some payoff – or even some reason – but it never came; to this day, I don’t know why I was in that number. (This also the production that featured Claude substituting a lyric in “Sunrise, Sunset.” In the number, Perchik and Hodel sing the line “Is there a canopy in store for me?” Well, Claude insisted on it being “Is there a can of peas in this store for me?” I was standing way up right on a platform of the forest fire set, and Claude was way down left on the deck, but every night, when we came to that line, we would turn to each other and exchange a knowing, tearful look. (I still sing that lyric today whenever I hear the song.)

The fourth season’s finale was Lerner and Loewe’s “Paint Your Wagon.” In the run-up to that season, Fred Fate (whom I realized I should have described; think of a gymnastic, energetic, and blond Moe Howard) was giving interviews and sending out press releases. One of his selling points was Claude File. Fred said something about the company having brilliant directors, fascinating shows, great designers, and a talented company, including “the actor Claude File.” From that moment, poor Claude was marked. To this day, he is known among our circle as “The Actor Claude File.”

So, we’re beginning rehearsals for “Paint Your Wagon.” The more we got into the nuts and bolts of it, though, the more we realized what a terrible show it was. I’ll admit I’m not the biggest fan of Lerner and Loewe (I think “My Fair Lady” is way overwritten – do we really need all fifteen verses of “Get Me to the Church on Time?” – and at least a half-hour too long; “Camelot” is notoriously unfinished – and it shows; and “Brigadoon” is just a bore), but they’re brand names and “Wagon” is rarely done – for good reasons.

The plot is absurd – and was completely jettisoned for the ill-fated movie version (“I never miss a Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin musical”). It concerns an itinerant gold miner named Ben Rumson. Rumson is a widower with a daughter named Jennifer, and one day, he strikes it rich in the California Gold Rush. He founds a town, and Jennifer soon becomes the only woman in town, a situation that unnerves all 400 of the men who live there. Jennifer falls in love with a Mexican native who is forced to live outside the town because of racial prejudice and plot requirements. Eventually a Mormon with two wives comes into town, and everything devolves into vague plot points about selling wives, native legends, and Rumson being restless and needing to move on. It really is a mess and makes about that much sense.

This was the show, though, that was the ground zero of Garbage Theatre. Garbage Theatre is sort of an offshoot of Coarse Acting. In that summer, many of us were exposed for the first time (by The Actor Claude File, probably) to Michael Green’s book, “The Art of Coarse Acting.” Green describes a coarse actor as “one who can remember his lines, but not the order in which they come … Often the scenery will fall down. Sometimes the (theatre) may fall down. Invariably his tights will fall down. He will usually be playing three parts … His aim is to upstage the rest of the cast. His hope is to be dead by Act II so that he can spend the rest of his time in the bar. His problems? Everyone else connected with the production.” This book became our Bible.

Following Green’s precepts, little bits of business began creeping into rehearsal. This is nothing new; it happens in every show. The wise director will keep the ones that are appropriate and help the show and jettison the ones that do neither. But this show needed all the help it could get, so everything stayed in – and that is Garbage Theatre. As I always explain it, “Garbage Theatre takes its metaphor from Sylvester the cat in “Looney Tunes” and “Merrie Melodies.” Sylvester could frequently be found scrounging through alleys with a garbage-can lid in one hand as he rooted through garbage cans with the other hand. As he went through those cans, he’d pick out little bits of food (fish skeletons, etc.) and place them on the lid. The Garbage Actor does much the same thing. As he or she rehearses, they’ll accumulate gags and little bits of business. If they work, you keep them. If they don’t, you keep them because they might work later.”

To call it “Garbage” Theatre makes it sound like a pejorative, but don’t let that fool you. I love garbage and actors who can pull it off are among my heroes. And it’s not even a matter of “Oh they’re bad actors, but they can do funny things;” no, it’s that they’re skilled and good actors who are capable of genius. Most of them are great clowns – Nathan Lane, Danny Burstein, Bert Lahr, Jennifer Coolidge, Martin Short – but there are plenty of “serious” actors – John Barrymore, Kevin Kline, David Dukes – who are masters of it, too. I love Garbage and only aspire to its heights.

So, garbage started to sneak into rehearsals (I think it started with The Actor Claude File giving his character a completely unnecessary and irrelevant stammer), and soon everyone caught the bug. We were just doing bits and gags that had nothing to do with the plot or story, but had everything to do with keeping ourselves amused. Now, please note, we never got away from telling the story as best as we could; it’s just that the story was so badly told initially that our garbage helped it along.

The most egregious incidents I remember are these (I’m sure others will have competing memories): There was a tech rehearsal in the theatre that was really, really full of garbage. Everyone was hitting on all cylinders, and things were getting more and more out of control. My most vivid memory is of one of the actors standing behind the bar of a Gold Rush saloon making real margaritas in a blender. That’s garbage of a high order.

To be continued next time …

Claire Rice’s Enemy’s List: How To Fix Writer’s Block

Claire Rice invites you to read this list out of order. It may either feel like she’s spiraling out of control or into it.

I am experiencing the most serious writer’s block I’ve ever experienced in my whole life.

There is a large part of me that wants to follow that sentence with a picture of a microphone drop and leave this post just like that. This is because I think that sentence is one of the truest things I’ve written in the last year.

It’s not that I haven’t been actively putting words on pages and forming beginnings, middles and endings. It’s that I’m not sure what I’m writing is true. Or, no, that’s not quite right. I believe that I underneath my writing is a larger hidden truth that is not being said. A confusing and muddled truth that I don’t have the words for yet. Over that truth I’ve written fictions and …

See? I’m doing it again! I’m being purposely vague. Except I’m not, at least I don’t think I am. What is it I’m trying to say? I don’t know. This is the block.

I even started writing “The Enemy’s List” because I wanted to be a truth speaker. I thought to myself “I’m a person who tells it like it is or, at least, I tell it like it is in my mind and I deal with the consequences later.” I imagined “The Enemy’s List” as a truth space. And it is. I don’t think I’ve told lies or said things I didn’t mean or even pandered to anyone. But, still, there is some filter over my writing that feels less than honest. I can feel that there is something underneath the words that is what I should really be saying, but I’m not.

List of Possibilities
In an effort to try and push past this block, I’m going to try and be vulnerable. Honest. Open. Fearless. One of these things might just be the thing I’m trying to say, but I’m not saying.

Enemy’s List
I love it. I love it so much. Also, note, this is not an ongoing list of my enemies. It is an ongoing rant about things that upset me, weird me out, unsettle me, or piss me off. In writing this blog I don’t feel as if I creating my own Nixon style enemies list, but instead adding my own name to other people’s lists. I realize that I might step on toes, upset an apple cart, and may add unwelcome adjectives to my name when I’m spoken about. The thing is, people might say those things about my directing work and my playwriting already. Those things are just as much my truths as the essays I write. I started this because I began to feel as if I was building a reputation as a “shit talker” (well, at the very least rude) or they type of person you go to if you want to bitch about this or that. I’ll lean in and participate. I’ll play devil’s advocate. I’ll nod my head and dig into it with you. I figured I might as well capitalize on it.

I Hate Lists
I love lists. I love Cracked.com and Buzzfeed and AV Club’s Inventory. I hate that it means the only way to write on the internet is through a scan-able, easily digestible, neatly organized list. It makes me feel dumb. It makes me feel like there is no other way to write. It makes me feel like I’m talking down to you. It makes me feel like I’m inviting you to pick and choose from my thoughts like a buffet. That they may be tangentially connected, but that a part could be lifted from them the list will still be intact. Like a mixtape of my thoughts, you can read the first to get the gist and skip to the end to get the most important bit and feel like you’ve taken it all in. I love lists for all the reasons I hate them. I am conflicted as shit about this.

I’m Just Bitter
I look at some of the playwrights and directors who are my age and I see them finding a level of success that seems to be just out of my reach and it galls me. What choices have I made in my life that have lead me to this moment? Who’s fault is it that I am not where I want to be? Could it be the overpriced education failed me? Could it be that I didn’t go to a top tier school? That I didn’t come into this independently wealthy? That I’m a woman? That I’m from San Francisco and not New York? That I’m terrible? That I don’t try hard enough? That I’m not good enough? Maybe success is a green light on the other side of a lake. Maybe it doesn’t matter what I do, what accolades I get. Maybe I’ll never feel like I’ve “arrived” or I’ve “broken through”. Maybe I can’t because I’ve chosen theatre and there is no longer any such thing as success in theatre. Maybe I’m so bitter I’m one of those people that lashes out at everything and I blame everyone else and every “system” that is keeping me down.

Fuck You
Sure. Maybe I’m bitter, but that doesn’t mean the Actor’s Equity website doesn’t suck or that I don’t have a right to my opinions.

I’m Not Bitter
I have no doubt in my mind I would have the opinions I have regardless of how “successful” I was or wasn’t. Also, except for this mental block and the existential crisis about truth or whatever, I feel pretty good about where I am. Sure, not great. But what can you do? I’m conflicted as shit about this.

Ugh, This Sucks
Where is the truth? Am I at it yet? Is this even interesting?

Because I Want to Say It, It is Worth Saying
That is tantamount to: Because I have access to the internet I have the right to act like an asshole on message board because you can’t see me. I also have access to a stage and actors who are willing to participate in saying things for me. There’s a lot of power in all those things. Have I fully realized that power and what it means? Have I take the responsibility for it and honestly weighted the impact of my actions? I don’t know. Worse, I honestly don’t know if you are either. I sat through half a show last night and didn’t know why I was there, why anyone else was there or why the show. Why the show? Why the show? So I left at intermission because I didn’t see any reason anyone should have stayed. I didn’t owe anyone my attention or understanding.

When I Say It, You Need to Listen
It hurts my feelings when people walk out of my shows. I want to call them stupid. I do call them stupid. I blame everyone else. I get angry. I am hurt. I gave these people a gift and if they walk out it is because they didn’t try hard enough. I can’t and shouldn’t spoon feed meaning to every audience member.

I Am Conflicted As Shit
Where is the truth? Am I at it yet?

The Story I Want To Write
The circumstances surrounding my sister’s upcoming wedding may just be the plotline of an independent movie or a “white people dinner party” play. This is a truth. I want to write it. It will make a good and entertaining story, one that I’ve already told several close friends. It will be important to me. It will be my truth. It is also not mine. My character would be bystander to the events. I don’t have the “right” to this story, because the story belongs to the living people whom I love who are living through it as we speak. It will also no longer be true the moment it hits the page. It will be edited and finessed for entertainment. People without clear objectives will be given higher stakes. Character types will emerge. Clichés, stereotypes, and my one subjective world view will supplant the real people. It will be work shopped and judged and walked out on and critiqued and rejected. I will write a true story about me and the people I love and it will be rejected. It will be categorized and filed away. It will be made an example of and it will be ignored. And it will be true and it will be false and it will kill me to write it. It will also make me feel better. It will hurt the people I love. It will not be left in a drawer to rot because that isn’t why I write. I write to be heard. This isn’t a fun hobby. This isn’t an addiction. This isn’t an ego boost. This isn’t therapy. It won’t make me feel better to have written it because it will be “out”, but because it is true. It is my truth, even dressed in all the false layers of fiction or memoir or style or form. This is my truth and I can’t bear to have it in your hands and I can’t bear the thought of not giving it to you.

All the Stories I Want To Write
It isn’t just that one. It’s all of them. That one is just a good example. A fresh example. But it’s also true. In the past year I’ve written things that I thought were good, fun, entertaining or any number of things. They did what I wanted them to do, but where they true? Where they my truth? Where they a truth I was willing to stand behind and defend? Where they worth having been said even if they were true? What is my metric here? How were they false? Why am I unsure? I used to say that when art scares you, that is when you should do it the most. But…really? You know…really? I mean. Maybe it means I shouldn’t write it.

Is This Even Interesting?
I am conflicted as shit about this. My heart is racing. My head is light. I’m hiding in my home. I’m sleeping too much. I may be having a medical emergency or I may be having the weirdest longest anxiety attach of my life. This is a lie. This is an exaggeration. This is closer to the truth then you know. This is a play-by-play of my life. Do you deserve to have that information? Do you want it? Should I care about what you say? Am I starting a conversation or am I yelling on a soapbox? Do I have to pick one?

What This Isn’t About
Don’t talk to me about writer’s block. This is a truth block. This is a wall of self. A crisis of voice and intent. This is a self-examination of the worthiness of what I’m putting out into the world. All the things that I am: Bitter. Angry. Confused. Unsatisfied. Argumentative. Contrary. Poetic. Subjective. Delightful. Funny. Insightful. Empty. Damning. Distant. Unsettled. Uneducated. Over-education. Stupid. Intelligent. Conflicted as shit. Fucked. Condescending. Complicated. Defensive. Offensive. And trying to find the moment when it just exists. This voice. This person. The one who is no longer defending my right to say want I feel, but just says it with the authority that I have granted myself.

I Don’t Know
I really don’t.

I Am Conflicted As Shit
Fact.

If you are feeling the need to give me advice on getting over “writer’s block” I want you to know that I’ve googled several advertisement laden lists that are both wonderfully insightful and disturbingly stupid.

This one is good: http://thefuturebuzz.com/2008/12/03/how-to-overcome-writers-block/

This one is great: http://io9.com/5844988/the-10-types-of-writers-block-and-how-to-overcome-them

This list is mostly the same as any other, but the last tip is a so unbelievably weird it had to be reprinted here. No judgment here. Whatever gets you through the day. Thank you Brian Moreland, I look forward to being more hydrated if nothing else. http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/7-ways-to-overcome-writers-block

“If nothing else works, I resort to my number one, lethal weapon to cure writer’s block: the Glass-of-Water Technique. Before bed, fill up a glass of water. Hold it up and speak an intention into the water. (Example: My intent is to tap into my creative source and write brilliantly tomorrow. I choose to be in the flow of my best writing. I am resolving my story’s issues as I sleep and dream). Drink half the water and then set the half-full glass on your nightstand. Go to sleep. When you wake up the next morning, drink the rest of the water immediately. Then go straight to your computer and write at least an hour without distraction. This may seem a bit out there, but give it a try. It works! Do this technique for three nights straight. It gets me out of my writer’s block every time, often the next morning and definitely within 72 hours.”

Everything is Already Something Week 27: Happy Anniversary, I’m Unemployed!

Allison Page, drinking bleach and taking names.

Holy shit, you guys…I’ve been writing Everything is Already Something for a YEAR! (Well, 1 year tomorrow, but I write every other Wednesday, so you’ll have to settle for today.) And a crazy, crazy year it has been. Actually, it’s been a crazy month. I don’t even want to think about 12 of those back to back. That would be awful.

A little over 3 weeks ago, I got laid off. Isn’t that just soooo adult of me? When I think of layoffs, I think of somebody’s dad losing his job at the ceiling-fan-parts manufacturing plant or something. I don’t think about me. And it had never happened before. But here we are. The reactions from other people have been really interesting. Particularly the contrast between my San Francisco friends and my Minnesota friends and family.

Allison: “I got laid off!”

Mom/Aunt/Dad/Girl I Went to College With: “Ohhhh myyyy Goooood! What are you gonna do? Move home! What are you gonna do?! Ohhhhh myyyy Goooood! You’ll be homeless in a month! YOU’LL BE SELLING YOUR BODY ON THE STREET!”

Allison: “I got laid off!”

SF Friends and Acquaintances: “Hell yeah! You’re gonna make so much art now! Let’s drink hella drinks.”

Unemployed breakfast.

The truth, of course, lies somewhere between those two things. Oh, and I’m an aunt now. That just happened a few days ago. I have a tiny nephew named Jacob! It’s…a pretty weird feeling. A combination of feeling very adult and also definitely not adult at all. I’m going through one of those glorious periods of my life where everyone else is having babies and I’m writing a political sex comedy. Deja vu.

I got all pumped up about self producing a play that I’m very passionate about this coming October…and then we had to bump it to 2015. This year is only two months old and it’s already throwing me for a loop in at least 6 different ways. I suppose it’s a good thing that I love change. Generally speaking, I roll with the punches. Mostly because I have the awareness to know that whatever happens, I will most likely be fine. I don’t know if my life could get as chaotic as it used to be even if I tried. Of course, I could be totally wrong about that and end up sleeping on the floors of closets again. I look forward to finding out.

The most surprising and encouraging thing about being unemployed is how bizarrely confident other people seem to be in my potential ability to not need a 9-5 job. As opposed to saying “Oh man, you better apply for this job at a grocery store so you don’t die.” there are people saying things like “Oh! Get a literary agent!” or “Just do more on camera stuff!” or “Write for this magazine or this website!”. I had a conversation with a friend of mine while she gave me a ride home from a reading of a new play the other night, and she expressed happiness about having a feeling that more and more of her theatrical friends and collaborators are transitioning from having to have full time desk jobs to making their real passions their full time endeavors. Like a switch from full time job with art on the side, to full time artist with jobs on the side. That’s a big difference. Often it also comes with a big difference in financial compensation, of course. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with having a job that pays those damned bills, and doing the passionate stuff after. I mean, I’ve been doing that my entire life, so I definitely feel it’s a valid way to create things in this crazy expensive world. But I think we can all agree that if we had the luxury of being able to dedicate more time to the things we love – that would be pretty great. That’s an overly optimistic expectation, obviously. The odds that you’ll find me at a desk in an office, or selling shampoo, or baking fucking peach pies for cash are pretty high.

Hello, sir! Have you considered switching to…to…I feel nothing. I am a husk.

But for now, I’m going to pretend that I’ll never have to do that, and see just how much cool stuff I can generate. (HINT: probably not as much as I wish I could.) It’s like my own personal forced artistic revolution. I would never have left that job of my own accord. I’d have to be an idiot to do that. Great pay, free food – I mean, I’m not an asshole. But the fact that I got laid off is giving me some weird opportunities to spend some time in my brain and figure out just what it’s capable of. Like when a guy who’s totally into cars gets a new car and says something like “Let’s see what this baby can really do!” and drives it as fast as possible. That’s what I’m going to do with my brain-car.

Right after I get caught up on House of Cards.
And West Wing.
And Downton Abbey.
And Bob’s Burgers.
And Murder, She Wrote.
And every movie starring Cary Grant.
And everything on Hulu.
And everything on Netflix.

Priorities are hard.

TELL ME WHAT TO FEEL!

See Allison live! Tonight 2/26 in a reading of Stuart Bousel’s EVERYBODY HERE SAYS HELLO! at the Exit Theater at 8pm, OR at PANELMONIUM!, 8pm Friday 2/28 at the Dark Room Theater, OR Monday, March 3rd in a reading of Rachel Bublitz’s UNDER THE GODS GOLDEN CLEATS, 8pm at The Tides Theater. More info for the last two events is readily available on Facebook.

Theater Around The Bay: A Blank Page?

A word of inspiration- and invitation- from one of our founding artistic directors, Stuart Bousel.

Yes, it’s true, for the first time in quite a while, we have nothing to run today.

This is partly my fault. I was supposed to have something written for today, but I’ve been interviewing for jobs, helping a company producing a play I wrote find a replacement director, prepping for the production of The Crucible I will be directing this year, promoting the DIVAfest at the EXIT Theatre, and diving into the pre-production process of RAT GIRL. I really wanted to write something about a recent experience I had at a “young theater professionals” night at a major Bay Area Theatre Company, but I kind of burnt out the subject talking about it on Facebook and amongst my friends and now I don’t care anymore either. Additionally, having done something like fifteen job interviews in the last three weeks, I’m reaching a point where my own voice is somewhat irritating to me. To those who find me an objectionable vocal presence- I am, for this exact moment, not entirely unsympathetic to your perspective.

Between the fatigue that comes from juggling many things and the mid-process place I find myself with most of my projects, I’m just not feeling very inspired to write anything, let alone a blog entry about how artistic directors of companies who hold “young theater professional nights” should make it a point to be there and shake each of our hands and introduce themselves- not just rely on the rather irritating but widely held belief that all “young professionals” need is artisanal appetizers and booze- as much as I like both of those things- to qualify an event as “an event.” Please, please, please, Theater Company, I respect your attempt to get with the new culture of engagement that permeates the youth these days but take a cue from other industries and recognize that it only works when the leadership of an organization is on the front line of that engagement endeavor. A room full of people who make theater companies are not showing up to an event to help you play restaurant for a night- they’re there to network and get involved, and your event should find a way to facilitate that if it wants to truly fill a need and not just be a cheap way to package dinner onto a play (which, granted, I appreciated).

Anyway, regarding the lack of inspiration: I’m not worried about it. One of the best things about being 35 is that I no longer worry that my well will run dry, that I won’t ever get around to writing everything I want to write, that my glory days as a writer are done. This is because I know there is no such thing as glory days, or rather that glory days happen all the time, but they definitely come and go. Having a more mature understanding of my own art and ability allows me to create less fear around the “go” and place more emphasis on the “come” (how is that for an art as spooj double entendre? Another great thing about 35 is embracing being 14 at heart!). Having long accepted that I will die with projects unfinished, no matter how many I knock out between now and then, has also relieved that pressure and guilt I used to feel whenever I wasn’t actively pushing forward or marking things off the list of ideas and titles I’ve carried with me for decades. That list is just too long and it keeps growing, because the well will never run dry so long as life continues to be interesting, and I keep being interested in life.

“White. A blank page of canvas. His favorite. So many possibilities,” is the last line of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine’s Sunday In The Park With George, one of my favorite shows ever, and it brings tears to my eyes whenever I hear it on the recording or in performance, and it resonates very deeply inside of me. In Craig Zadan’s book about Sondheim, Sondheim & Co, the final chapter ends with a quote from the man himself, “Probably one of the most frightening things in the world is staring at a blank sheet of paper wondering how you’re going to fill it… but somehow you do.” He’s exactly right, and the reason why you’re able to do it is because there is no such thing as writer’s block- the lack of inspiration- there is just the fear of getting started. True, that can be a daunting hurdle, but the truth is, anyone who knows how to scribble or babble (and we all know how to do both) will stumble their way into coherency someday, and “give us more to see” (that’s a quote from Sunday too). The moment you understand that, and truly understand it, is the moment you are done with writers block forever. It’s also the moment you learn it’s okay to walk away from the blank page for a bit. Not because you’re afraid of it, but because it’s just not all that interesting today. Outside is beckoning, with all its delicious things and experiences to write about… later.

The reason we took this blog to a new level with regular columnists and an on-going series of guest writers was because there was a recognition of how diverse and unique the community here is. Few other major cities can boast such a wealth of micro-theater, indy artists and theater makers, while also having and admirable number of larger houses and a bona-fide regional theater presence. But the diversity of practices and productions in the Bay Area only makes us great if it is putting itself out there and declaring its presence, and creating platforms for that voice and those people has been SF Theater Pub’s goal from the beginning- first with the stage, and now with the page (including, but not limited to, the Allison Page).

In light of that, and looking at our March calendar with the idea of sparing you more meandering entries like these, I once again invite folks to send in proposals for articles, either one shot, or short series (1-4 articles), detailing their experiences in our theater scene, sharing their advice, or profiling elements, places, people, companies, or work that is interesting to them, teaching them something new, or they feel has been ignored or misunderstood by the larger community.

Please submit your proposals to theaterpub@atmostheatre.com. Not all are approved, but all are read and considered.

Give us more to see.

Theatre Around The Bay: From Stage To Screen

Just in time for the Oscars, guest blogger Kirk Shimano muses on the differences between writing for the stage and screen.

Last year, with the help of PlayGround, I had the opportunity to adapt my short play, “Miss Finknagle Succumbs to Chaos,” into a short film. It’s the story of a downtrodden school librarian who changes her life by entrusting all her decisions to the flips of a coin.

Miss Finknagle Succumbs to Chaos at the 16th Annual Best of Playground Festival, with Lisa Morse, Cathleen Riddley, Roselyn Hallett, Michael Asberry, Lauren English and Maryssa Wanlass.

I had written short films before (including my student film opus, “Shoe and Rock: The Adventures of Shoe and Rock,” starring a shoe and a rock), but this was my first experience in adapting a short play. It’s been nearly a year since our film was first shown to audiences, but I still find myself mulling over the experience, so I thought I’d take this opportunity to share four of the most memorable lessons I learned along the way.

1. LOCATION. LOCATION? LOCATION!

If you take a look at any screenplay, you’ll find that the pages are filled with “slug lines” that tell you where and when each scene takes place. A page will start with:

EXT. GOLDEN GATE PARK – MORNING

or…

INT. ABANDONED WALMART – EVENING – FIVE MINUTES AFTER THE RAPTURE

I used to think that the prominence of these slug lines was just an organizational tidbit that helps the assistant director keep on track, but it turns out they can have a big influence on all of the writing that follows.

My original script began Miss Finknagle’s journey in her home (on stage, this amounted to a nondescript table and a chair). My earlier drafts kept the same location for the film, but thankfully our intrepid director, Amy Harrison (more on her later), suggested that we instead move the opening to the school library.

Director Amy Harrison and Production Designer Alex Dixon putting far more thought into the library location than I had.

What I had forgotten was that our movie audience would be seeing more than just a table and a chair. Picking a unique location was the first step to putting the audience in a unique world and got me thinking more about how our characters would interact with the world around them.

2. THINGS SHOULDN’T BE, YOU KNOW, HAND-WAVEY…OR SOMETHING

My stage script opened up with this:

(The stage is divided into two areas. Although MISS FINKNAGLE often enacts the events described by the teens, the two spaces remain distinct throughout the play)

It was intentionally ambiguous, because in the space of ten minutes I didn’t want to spend too much time establishing specific locations.

It turns out, in a movie it’s pretty difficult to keep that level of ambiguity. The actors aren’t walking into a blue-tinged spotlight that represents the outdoors – they’re walking past actual trees and actual cars in actual streets (well, for those of us productions that can’t afford soundstages and green screens, at any rate).

Jessica Hecker and Haley Anderson as BFF’s Kaylee & Tiffany in a real life, non hand-wavey cafeteria. Set photos taken by Leo Robertson

The point is that movies have a certain literal quality to them, which provides the immediate you-are-there magic of omigod-I’m-with-Sandy-Bullock-on-a-space-station but also makes it more difficult to leave amorphous images for the audience to decipher on its own.

I found that I had to tool my script to make the relationships between the scenes more concrete. Where we used to have two ambiguously connected locations, we now had the teens definitively driving a narrative that had cutaways to support their descriptions. It did mean sacrificing a bit of the fairy tale feel I had liked about the original script, but it made for a much smoother flowing audience experience that I’m glad we adopted.

3. EVERYONE NEEDS TO SHUT UP

Here’s how the original stageplay started:

KAYLEE
So, like, Miss Finknagle was home alone.

TIFFANY
Well, duh, she’s always alone.

KAYLEE
That’s not the point of the story dork-face.

TIFFANY
Does she even have a home? I heard that when all the kids leave school she just stays in the library and sleeps between the computers and the encyclopedias.

Here’s how the screenplay starts:

KAYLEE
Oh. My God.

Kaylee takes something from her purse and SLAMS it on the table. It is a COSMO-LIKE MAGAZINE.

TIFFANY
Omigod Kaylee –

What used to be a few lines of dialogue became just a few words. I think there are a lot of reasons for this. One is that movies provide the ability to replace character-establishing dialogue with a single reaction shot. Another is that stage dialogue has to carry more of the expositional weight, explaining that the nondescript table on stage is supposed to represent a house. I also suspect that audiences in a theater are more willing to listen to long stretches of conversation, because you’re watching two people talk in front of you instead of light flickering on a screen.

But whatever the explanation, I found that long passages of dialogue that used to sound breezy on stage now seemed leaden on film. Of course, it could just be that those lines were always a drag and everyone was too polite to tell me, but I’m choosing to interpret this as a life lesson to keep movie dialogue short and to the point.

4. IT’S THE DIRECTOR’S MOVIE

As a playwright, I can’t help but notice that plays tend to belong to the playwright (as in John Patrick Shanley’s Outside Mullingar) while movies tend to belong to the director (Martin Scorsese’s Wolf of Wall Street). Of course, any production is the result of a collaboration between many people, but screenwriters seem to have less ownership than playwrights.

I can’t speak for every movie, but ours definitely belongs to our director / producer Amy Harrison.

In a small film like this, the director is called upon to do a host of tasks that would be delegated in a Hollywood studio film – things like negotiating for locations or keeping a constant eye on the budget – but even if you remove all of those additional responsibilities the director’s contribution is by far the one that makes the biggest impact.

On stage, the audience watches the actors bring the script to life, giving them a direct line to experiencing what was originally written on the page. But in a movie, every moment is filtered through a thousand more directorial decisions. Do we watch the person speaking or see a reaction shot instead? Does the music quietly underscore the entire scene? Is the entire world viewed through a warm haze of soft focus?

Camera Op. Tyler Cushing readies the shot as Production Designer Alex Dixon and Design Assistant Roary Racquel set the stage

I was amazed at the difference between our first rough cut and our final version and the script didn’t change at all – just the directorial and editorial decisions. I’ve had the privilege of great relationships with directors in theater who have helped to shape the script and bring the cast and crew together, but in a movie every second of the audience’s experience has been crafted by the director.

Of course, that might be undervaluing the contribution of the editor, the sound designer, the cinematographer, or any number of other people I haven’t thought to mention. So maybe trying to figure out who “owns” a film is the wrong approach altogether. What’s important is to appreciate how many collaborators put their stamp on bringing this story to life. The end product was better than what I had initially tried to put on the page. I’m glad I had the chance to be part of a moviemaking team and would recommend it to any playwright given the opportunity.

Lisa Morse as Miss Finknagle, ready for the camera.

‘Miss Finknagle Succumbs to Chaos’ will next be screened at the Portland Oregon’s Women Film Fest, March 6-9, 2014. For all the latest information, follow https://www.facebook.com/missfinknagle

Higher Education: Writing Recovery Party

Barbara Jwanouskos recovers. 

I don’t know what it is about the time period that encompasses late January, pretty much all of February and into early March (oh wait, there’s a word for this… winter) that makes people, or rather, me crazy. Maybe it’s the five minute walk it takes to go around the corner while attempting to walk in the snow/ice to the bus stop every morning… Whatever the case, I think I’ve been overdoing it lately with artistic output and input.

Dear CMU, could you please invent teleportation devices so I can avoid the snow?

We had a weekend here called “Playground” where students put up one man shows, short plays, musicals, dance pieces, installations, and a variety of other performance pieces as well as visual arts. It was two and a half days of theater all day, which was amazing and certain gets your imagination wandering in all sorts of directions. It also can be completely draining. Seeing show after show and interacting with so many people begins to exhaust my resources. I’m like a two-year-old that needs a nap.

This was followed by the first table read of our thesis plays with real actors! (oooh!) And as insightful as it was to hear the words not from your fellow writers, but from people that are highly trained in making bold acting choices, the feedback can be a bit daunting too. You’re hearing a play that has gone through at least eight or more major revisions and it’s hard not to feel as if instead of reaching the crest of the mountain peak, you’ve just reached the fake-out peak. You realize there’s so much you still want to change…

Well, it’s no surprise that things fell apart and I got sick. I mean, isn’t that what always happens when we spread ourselves thin? Our bodies and minds can only take so much, after all before a recovery period is needed. And what happens when we get sick? Our capacity to get things done diminishes even more.

Ummmm… No.

I read an interesting article the other day about how athletes train to become Olympians. Apart from physiological traits or committing to a particular regime, what sets Olympians apart is that they are unwilling to give up. For many of them it takes eight years or training (or more!) to get to the point where they can compete at an Olympic level. But the “aha” moment came when I read that “when they’re not training, they’re often resting and eating for the next session.”

Resting. Oh wait, I don’t think I’m really doing enough of that… I guess many Olympians get ten hours of sleep a night WITH a half-hour to 90-minute nap during the day too! And not that playwriting is like being an Olympic athlete in a physical sense, but I do think you are asking yourself to continually operate at a high level. Writing every day, teaching playwriting, putting up plays, seeing others’ plays, reading others’ plays, formulating thoughts on your work, others’ work and being able to articulate yourself…

A lot of times we get time to leisurely have these thoughts pop up and then dissipate, but sometimes more is demanded of us, which is great and exciting and pushes us to the periphery of where we think our limits are thereby extending them (which is good). It comes with the need to recuperate though. I think that time to become reflective, turn inward and sit in quiet is important too. It’s such a rough transition to going from “full speed ahead!” to sitting in your deep dark inmost cave and hibernating.

If, as artists, we could take a page from the Olympians and possibly give ourselves the time to sleep, dream, and not plow through every single project back to back, but at some point say, “hey, I’m going to sit this one out,” and be okay with that, perhaps we could go further and we’d last longer. I know for myself I want to be a long-burning flame, not one that flickers out with a gust of winter wind.

So, rest up friends! Join me in my Writing Recovery Party, which involves each attendee sitting separately and silently in their own homes. Perhaps with lots of cozy blankets, fuzzy socks, dim lighting, warm herbal tea and little to no stimuli for a while.

At least until the snow starts to melt…

…which will be any day now…

How do you take care of yourself when you’ve pushed yourself too far artistically? Share with us!

Hi-Ho, the Glamorous Life: Chestnut Tea with the Other Me

Marissa Skudlarek rebuts Peter Hsieh in a move we shall call, from this moment on, “The Double Skudlarek.”

The Palm Court of the Palace Hotel, downtown San Francisco. Marissa and Other Marissa sit at a table drinking tea. They are wearing beautiful floral-print sundresses and really fantastic hats.

MARISSA: So, Other Marissa. Thanks for joining me.

OTHER MARISSA: My pleasure!

MARISSA: It’s nice to be able to argue with myself out in the open.

OTHER MARISSA: Indeed, because as Tom Stoppard once said—

MARISSA & OTHER MARISSA (simultaneously): “I write plays because dialogue is the most respectable way of contradicting myself.”

MARISSA: Of course we would both know that quote.

OTHER MARISSA: Of course. After all, I’m you.

MARISSA: But, like, the other me.

OTHER MARISSA: Yeah. So, whatcha drinkin’?

MARISSA: Earl Grey – my usual. And yourself?

OTHER MARISSA: Chestnut tea!

MARISSA: Chestnut tea?

OTHER MARISSA: No really you have to try it, it’s amazing.

Marissa takes a sip of Other Marissa’s tea.

MARISSA: It’s good!

OTHER MARISSA: I know, right?

MARISSA: So this means that this is a scene with “two women having tea and talking.”

OTHER MARISSA: OH NO SOMEONE ALERT PETER HSIEH.

MARISSA: But that’s why I invited you here today, Other Marissa. If Peter can have drinks with his doppelganger, why can’t I?

OTHER MARISSA: Why not, indeed?

MARISSA: I read Peter’s article on Monday and I thought he made some good points, but they got buried under a lot of, um, how to put this—

OTHER MARISSA: Macho posturing?

MARISSA: You don’t mince words, Other Marissa; I like that about you.

OTHER MARISSA: I do my best.

MARISSA: But, anyway, I liked what Peter had to say about producibility and how much we should – or shouldn’t – take it into account when writing.

OTHER MARISSA: Yeah, I feel like if you and I sat down with Peter and Other Peter, we’d all pretty much agree about that. It’s deadly to theater, as an art form, if every newbie playwright feels like the only thing she can write is short plays with small cast sizes and simple sets. Where’s the fun in that?

MARISSA: Although I’d probably interject that some constraints and limits can actually spur creativity. A blank page can be daunting, and you don’t always have to color outside the lines to make great art.

OTHER MARISSA: Also, Marissa, I’ve noticed that you strive for balance in your craftsmanship – a play of yours might contain one “unproducible” element, but not four or five.

MARISSA: You know me so well. Yes, I did that on purpose in my play Pleiades. I realized that it required a large cast, nine actors – and I wasn’t going to compromise on that. But I could make sure that the technical aspects of it were as simple as possible. There are only two sets, the costumes and lights don’t need to be complicated, there aren’t any crazy special effects… and I still told the story I wanted to tell.

OTHER MARISSA: That’s the play you’re producing this summer, right?

MARISSA: You are such a shill. But yes, I’m producing it this summer. It doesn’t have two women drinking tea, it has eight women drinking tea! And it’s fucking awesome.

OTHER MARISSA: And then a tennis ball bounces onstage and smashes into the tea service.

MARISSA: Yeah – I still don’t know how we’re going to stage that, night after night.

OTHER MARISSA: But didn’t you say that you “kept the technical aspects as simple as possible”…?

MARISSA: Anyway, the reason I keep harping on the “women drinking tea” phrase from Peter’s article is that, when I read it, it felt like a subtly gendered insult. Why women drinking tea? Why couldn’t he have said “people drinking tea”?

OTHER MARISSA: Or “bros drinking brews”! Those kinds of plays can be just as boring.

MARISSA: Right! But they never come in for the same criticism. Guys with beers are “cool”; women with tea are “boring.”

OTHER MARISSA: And that wasn’t the only weird gender issue at play in Peter’s article. For instance, he tried to start a dick-measuring contest with himself—

MARISSA: Which is not something I would ever do with you, Other Marissa—

OTHER MARISSA: —and not just because we don’t have dicks—

MARISSA: Or, how he has the “hot twins” walk into the cafe at the end of the scene – that is such a male fantasy…

OTHER MARISSA: Oh come on, everyone likes hot twins!

MARISSA: Do they?

OTHER MARISSA: Admit it, you wouldn’t mind if the Winklevoss twins walked in here right now.

MARISSA: Yes I would. The Winklevosses are doofuses.

OTHER MARISSA: Don’t you mean “the Winklevii are doofii”?

MARISSA: And then I worry that complaining about Peter’s article makes me seem like a humorless feminist scold.

OTHER MARISSA: I think that we are being rather humorous scolds.

MARISSA: I worry sometimes that I’m uptight and no fun. I worry that Other Peter’s drink of choice, the “Pink Panty Dropper,” is a date-rape reference, and then I worry that I’m being silly and overanalyzing things. I worry that my drinking Earl Grey tea is racist, colonialist, patriarchal, classist, and Anglophilic; and that I ought to be drinking fair-trade shade-grown coffee. I worry that the setting I’ve chosen for this imaginary conversation, the Palace Hotel, marks me as an inveterate elitist. I worry that at this very moment, buildings are burning and people are dying in the streets of Kiev and Caracas, while you and I drink tea and chat about art. I worry—

OTHER MARISSA: Marissa. Marissa. Calm down.

MARISSA: I’m sorry.

OTHER MARISSA: It’s OK.

MARISSA: I can get into these moods of spiraling anxiety—

OTHER MARISSA: I know. I know.

Pause. Marissa takes some deep breaths. Sips her tea.

MARISSA: If I prefer to write from a female perspective, or discuss women’s lives, or whatever—

OTHER MARISSA: —and maybe you do, and that’s fine—

MARISSA: –then why am I annoyed when Peter prefers to write from a masculine perspective? I mean, he’s entitled to write what he wants to write. He said it himself, and I agree.

OTHER MARISSA: Because there has never been an era in Western history that privileged female perspectives over male ones? Because you’re worried that other people, dudes particularly, will find Peter’s style more attractive than yours? Because you know how important it is, in this culture, to be perceived as cool, and you feel like you’ve never been cool?

MARISSA: Yeah, I feel like, if you’re a dude who says that plays about female things turn you off, people say “Oh, that’s fine, that’s understandable,” but if you’re a woman who admits that plays about dudely things turn you off, people are like “You should try to be more open-minded, flamethrowers are awesome!”

OTHER MARISSA: Aren’t they kind of awesome?

MARISSA: See? Proves my point.

OTHER MARISSA: Marissa, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I’m going to tell you the real reason I drink chestnut tea.

MARISSA: OK. Why are you drinking chestnut tea?

OTHER MARISSA: Because great writing requires you to write both from your chest and from your nuts. OK, so the stereotype is that female writers are tender-hearted, compassionate, their pillowy breasts overflowing with the milk of human kindness. And male writers are bold, ballsy, Bukowskian bad boys. But truly great writing will combine those two modes. It will be compassionate but not cloying; courageous but not callous. It will speak truth to power, but it will do so from a place of empathy.

MARISSA: That was… really beautiful, Other Marissa. But I think you forgot something. A good writer doesn’t just need a big chest and big nuts. She also needs a gimlet eye.

OTHER MARISSA: I think I know what that means.

MARISSA: You’re damn right you do.

Marissa and Other Marissa get up and walk from the Palm Court to the Pied Piper Bar. Marissa catches the bartender’s eye.

MARISSA: A gin gimlet, please.

OTHER MARISSA: Make that two.

End of play.

Marissa Skudlarek is a San Francisco-based playwright and arts writer. There aren’t actually two of her, but if there were, she could get a lot more stuff done. For more, visit marissabidilla.blogspot.com or Twitter @MarissaSkud.

Cowan Palace: A Story, a Stab, a Mess and a Yes

This week Ashley confronts demons from the past in the name of yes.

Yes. It’s a simple word, isn’t it? But it sure can pack a punch. And this week it beat my head in with a bat.

When I moved to San Francisco six years ago to act in Tony n’ Tina’s Wedding, I had no friends and spent all my free time alone reading and walking through the city. After a string of failed romantic endeavors, the solitude was refreshing but soon became achingly lonely and I wondered if I had made a huge mistake leaving the comfort of friends and family 3,000 miles away.

Here I am in my first month of TNTing. Hang in there, kid.

While rehearsing TNT, a show heavily rooted in improvisation, we kept focusing on the infamous “yes, and” practice. There were no such things as negated choices; we were left only to contribute to moment. So to inspire a bit more courage and to push myself to be braver in my personal life, I challenged myself to experience “a month of yes”. Meaning, if given the choice, I couldn’t run from opportunity. Instead, I would be forced to embrace it.

Now before you jump in that this concept is dated, I’ll have you know it was before Yes Man came out or It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia structured an episode around same idea. Throw a girl a bone, huh?

Yeah, I got it, Jim. You beat me to it. Enjoy that yes!

And honestly, it wasn’t a hugely dramatic month. Jim Carrey couldn’t have cared less. Mainly, it helped encourage me to socialize with my cast more than I would have done. But it certainly built new friendships with many people who are still in my life today. One is even a bridesmaid in my nonfictional upcoming wedding (holla, Allison Page!) and many others will be guests.

The month and the relationships formed in it gave me another idea though. I started to write a short web series entitled “Month of Yes” and took inspiration from the assumed character traits we had developed in our show and I created characters that were a combination of them and us. It was absolutely a reflection of my soul at the time and a genuine piece from my heart. But I was still scared. I was terrified that my words weren’t funny enough, or clever, or interesting, or anything worth trusting. And I allowed that fear to be seen and ultimately, taken advantage of.

I welcomed a collaborator who I believed could enhance my vision and strengthen it. Someone I could hide behind. And at times, the push was helpful. It got me in a creative mindset and the excitement for a joint project with someone I considered a true friend was inspiring and fun. But it also slowed my natural process, made me continue to question my abilities, and lose the grip of something that was once very personal and important to me.

Ultimately, the passion dimmed. It became something else. The title was dropped and replaced with something that never quite fit. New elements were introduced that constantly made me question the integrity. The heart of the project took on a different beat. The partnership suffered. The working relationship struggled. No one seemed happy. I didn’t say no.

Until I let go of my hold so I could grab onto other opportunities that satisfied my creative needs. I lived out a dream of playing Viola in Twelfth Night, I fell in love, I went skydiving, I traveled to Europe with my siblings, and I grew stronger.

Since then, I’ve attacked my fear of sharing my written work with new weapons. It’s still very scary but being able to writing for this column and having other works showcased proved to be an incredible tool to finally start trusting my own instincts and stop caring as much about getting things out there. I felt ready to be heard.

But over the weekend, I came across an online trailer for a project that mirrored my “Month of Yes” in one too many ways. Posted by my past collaborator. Suddenly, the familiar concept and ideas from my experience were being displayed in someone else’s voice. Was it a coincidence? Perhaps. It was a fairly basic idea, after all. But yet, I don’t believe that to be the complete truth.

My heart breaks to see something that was once so close to me, now feel so far away. I can’t help but cry for the girl who poured her feelings out into pages only to have them put into new hands. I mourn for her and her dream.

This is the industry, right? I shouldn’t be so surprised. Or naive. This is what happens all the time in the entertainment business. When you share your story with someone, you risk them taking it. And what can be done?

If I could do it differently, would I? I’d love to say yes. But I don’t know if that’s fair. I’ve always valued collaboration. I’ve always believed the project is more than the individual. And I’ve always trusted in the greater good of the art, even if it means forfeiting the credit. And I don’t want to lose that earnest belief because it’s a part of me.

But what I would suggest is learning to say yes to yourself. Be your own best friend. Tell the story you have to tell. Don’t let anyone stop you. Try not to endlessly question it. Or it may slip away from you.

Take feedback from others with a grain of salt… rimmed on a margarita. Sometimes other opinions can make or break how you feel about your own work; be brave to put it out there and strong enough to hold it tight in the process. Be careful with seeking an artistic partner. It’s almost never going to be an equal balance. Don’t go into it unless you’re fully prepared to let go of your vision. There’s a reason people say you shouldn’t go into business with friends. You have to be willing to risk the relationship and your work. Be open to yes. But don’t be afraid to say no.

Well, that’s my two cents, anyway. Anyone out there ever experience a similar tale? Did you lose your work to another? And how do you bounce back from it?

As always, I want you all to know how greatly I appreciate having the chance to be here. Writing and experiencing something with you. Conquering emotions one word at a time. And I’d love to continue this conversation in hope we can keep pushing each other to be stronger and to say yes to all the positive things that make the artistic community we’ve created continue to thrive.

And so with that and as an attempt to move forward, my first step was writing out some of my feelings in this blog. My second step is to share a piece from my original draft of the “Month of Yes” pilot episode. A script I was way too scared to share or work on alone. So here it is in total draft form. And golly, it’s dated now. Again, forgive the super “draftiness” of it, I haven’t touched this version since 2008!

A redhead, a brunette, and a blonde walk into a webseries. The original ladies who inspired Month of Yes.

Scene Three: Shot of Haley texting her love interest; waiting a beat. She gets a text back and shock fills her face.

Haley: Whoa, that’s really dirty. (Thinks a moment and then gives a smile and continues walking. She passes a coffee shop where she runs into a friend who is texting. The friend sees her and waves and Haley walks over.)

Friend: I’m sorry, just a little text sex to get the morning going.

Haley: You do that in public?

Friend (makes a confused face and then grabs her phone): Check out what he wrote.

Haley: (checks out the text and her face crumbles) Whoa. That’s really dirty.

Friend: I know, right?

Cuts to Haley with her friends (Scene Four)

Haley: He was texting us the same things.

Alexis: Horrible! (looking through the phone at the messages)

Haley: I know! I really liked him… I seriously thought he would make a great boyfriend. I just feel like such a fool.

Alexis: No, I mean these texts suck. They’re not even that sexy.

Haley: Really? I thought it was pretty dirty-

Alexis: Whatever. He was lame. There are plenty of other guys.

Haley: I guess… I mean, it would be nice to find a guy who could communicate with me by doing something other than just texting.

Katie: Yeah, phone sex can be way hotter. (catches the eye of a cute boy nearby and gives him a smile… within a few moments she gets up and goes to talk to him.)

Alexis: Way hotter.

Haley: Uh-huh. (notices that Katie is now talking to the guy
Alexis: What’s up, Haley? You still seem sad… and that’s really not good for your skin… you’re already so pale –

Haley: Oh, well, I posted a blog last night and it didn’t get that many views. I guess that kind of bummed me out.

Alexis: You’re not going to be the next Carrie Bradshaw if you don’t find more interesting things to write about. No one wants to hear about your allergies.

Haley: This has been a really tough season for-

Alexis: Just think like Carrie, okay? It’s not so hard.

Haley: But I’m not trying to be-

Alexis: Are you still going to be my bridesmaid?

Haley: Um, yeah of course.

Alexis: Great. I have some ideas for the dress.

Haley: Wait. Already? You don’t want to wait until you’re engaged to think about that?

Alexis: Duh, I am engaged.

Haley: What?! I didn’t know that! Tom asked you?!

Alexis: Oh, yeah, last night. You didn’t get my mass text?

Haley: No. Stupid Text Sex. My box must have been full last night.

Alexis: Oh, now THAT sounds dirty.

Haley: I can’t believe you’re engaged! Where’s the ring?

Alexis: On a chain around my neck.

Haley: Oh.

Alexis: Closer to my heart that way.

Haley: Oh. (beat) Oh, wait, are you quoting “Sex and the City” again?

Alexis: That’s what Carrie did with Aidan’s ring.

Haley: But she didn’t end up actually marrying him.

Alexis: Aidan is so hot.

Haley: Yeah.

Alexis: And so good with his hands. (she starts rubbing her neck)

Haley: Okay.

Alexis: And those –

Haley: So who else is going to be a bridesmaid?

Alexis: Well, Katie obvi (shoot to her flirting with the guy) Though, I don’t want that biatch stealing the show and looking hotter than me at my wedding. We’re going to have to make the dresses plain. And she can’t wear her hair all curly and beautiful, it’ll steal focus. Oh, and my sister Liz is going to be my maid of honor.

Haley: Great.

Alexis: But she’s really hoping you’ll want to do all the planning for like the showers and the bachelorette party. OMG, Haley, can we please go to Vegas?! Please! We could all get so f-ed up there and –

Haley: Wait, why would she think I would want to do all the planning? I mean isn’t that the part of the maid of honor stuff to do –

Alexis: I don’t know. She doesn’t want to do it.

Haley: Okay, but –

Alexis: You know you’re good at that party planning stuff. Look, I thought it would make you happy. I can’t believe you’re not more grateful about this-

Haley: I am happy! I’m so happy for you! And um, okay, if she needs help planning, I would love to do it-

Alexis: Just make it classy, okay? I don’t want any like pretzels around… that’s crap. I want like good stuff. Like dip. Chips with different kinds of dips. Did you get that? Dips. Maybe you could start writing this down.

Haley: I have a memory like an elephant.

Alexis: What’s that supposed to mean?

Haley: It’s an expression.

Alexis: You know I hate animals.

Haley: I’m sorry. I’ll start looking up dip.

Alexis: Thanks Hales. Oh hey, I’ll even let you make those cupcakes I like.

Haley: Thanks?

Alexis: No prob, sweetie. Just keep it moist.

Haley: Keep it moist?

Alexis: That’s what she said!

Haley: Oh. Gross.

Alexis: Hot. Anyway. I’m going to go meet the BF… aw, I guess I should just call him the F now, huh?

Haley: I guess.

Alexis: Well, I’ll talk to you later. Remember – dip! Oh, and don’t worry about that jerk… we’ll find you a hot date for the wedding. Hot! (She leaves; Haley makes the realization that she now needs a date.)

Haley: Ugh. A date. (She looks at Katie who is now making out with the guy in kind of an outlandish and ridiculous way considering they are still in public. Perhaps Katie’s legs are positioned above the table.)

(END OF SCENE/ Next Scene opens at Haley’s apartment)

Haley: Okay, so I color coded the list. The green tabs are the recipes that I think you’re really going to like, you know, like “green for go” (Shot of Alexis mouthing something like “loser” or “dork” to Katie) Um, yellow for the ones I wasn’t positive about – your opinions on garlic keep changing so (Alexis makes a disgusted face and then Haley continues) well, and the red ones… the red ones are the recipes that were really fancy but had at least one ingredient that I know you don’t like… but I just wanted you to read them anyway…

Alexis: Haley, what are you talking about? Recipes for what?

Haley: Dip.

Alexis: Dip?

Haley: Yeah… you know, the fancy dips you wanted for your party…

Alexis: Eh, I don’t know if I want them anymore. Maybe we should make it like Hawaii themed and serve margaritas.

Haley: Margaritas are more for a Mexican style party… and if you didn’t want dip, why did you make such a fuss about it?

Alexis: I didn’t!

Haley: You texted me three times… sent me an email… and then wrote “you biach, you better have some good dip recipes for me!” on my Facebook wall.

Alexis: Oh. Well, whatever. Let’s do something more fun. What do you think, Katie?

Katie: I like the margarita idea. I don’t want salt on my glass though, Hales.

Haley: Yeah. Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.

Alexis: Speaking of salt on your glass (Haley makes a confused face), who was that guy at breakfast today, Katie? He was kind of hot.

Haley: Is “salt on your glass” a phrase people say?

Katie: Yeah, he was hot, I guess. He had really small hands though.

Alexis: Oh, weird.

Katie: Yeah.

Alexis: Did you feel like you were getting with a carnee?

Katie: No… I’ve done that before. This was a little different. His hands were like pretty and small-

Alexis: Are you going to go out again?

Katie: Maybe.

Alexis: Haley, I’m hungry. What do you have?

Haley: What kind of food do you want, my fridge is pretty stocked, I think. Plus, I made all these brownies… remember when you also asked me to bake brownies earlier today so that you could “test drive them”? Well, I have like three different types in the kitchen, so-

Alexis: Om.

Haley: What?

Alexis: Om. I want an om.

Haley: I don’t even know what that means.

Katie: An omlette, Haley.

Haley: Sometimes your shortening of words confuses me-

Alexis: An OMLETTE then; that’s what I want.

Katie: Me too.

Haley: Yeah, I don’t have any of those just lying around-

Alexis: Duh, can’t you just whip one up-

Haley: I used all the eggs to make brownies-

Alexis: I really want an om… could you go pick some eggs up? Please, Hales? An om for your favorite bride to be?

Haley: Seriously?

Katie: And we need more Vitamin Water.

Alexis: Oh, totally. Please, Hales? You’re so sweet.

Haley: Yeah… I guess so.

Shoots to Haley outside with a grocery bag. She passes by a couple kissing and rolls her eyes; she passes by a girl on the phone (perhaps it was her “friend” in the first shot) saying something into a phone like “yeah, I know, Mom… I didn’t even really want to be a writer, but they picked up my blog and they’re going to turn it into a Lifetime movie, Haley makes a hurt face, she then passes some guys on the street with scratch tickets, one looks at her and smiles and says something like “Hey baby, you wanna scratch this?” She shakes her head, a moment later he takes a penny scratches it and screams out “OMG! I just won. I won! I won forty bucks! Forty bucks!! You missed out, babe! I could have taken you to dinner somewhere with this! Like down in Fisherman’s Wharf!” Haley keeps walking close to her apartment looking more and more upset. Suddenly her grocery bag rips and she tries to carry everything herself. She walks struggling and then trips on something dropping the items and the eggs shatter everywhere. She bursts into tears.

Shoots back to her inside with the girls

Alexis: I’m sorry, sweetie. That was really nice of you to go out for us… now, were any of the eggs okay?

Katie: You should have scratched that ticket!

Alexis: Yeah, next time you know, just take the scratch ticket, we could have used that money, you know?

Haley: I’m sorry you guys, I’m just not in a great mood. It’s been a long day… could we maybe just talk about this tomorrow? I’m going to go to bed.

Alexis: Are you sure?

Haley: Yeah. Congratulations, Alexis. I am really happy for you. (Haley is still weepy and she walks away)

Alexis: I really wanted an om.

The next day. Haley is on the couch watching TV and Alexis walks in.

Alexis: You haven’t moved all day.

Haley: I’m tired.

Alexis: Well, you should at least put on some real clothes. Oh, and some make-up. You could really use some make-up.

Haley: Why? There’s no reason, I’m not going out.

Alexis: Haley, you can’t stay here all night watching more of this Next Top Model Marathon.

Haley: I like it.

Alexis: Who doesn’t? But seriously, we’ve seen this season like three times. You need to go out. I thought you were going out with Katie tonight.

Katie: (comes out from a bathroom looking beautiful) She said she didn’t feel like it.

Alexis: Lame sauce. Haley, you’ve been a downer for too long now.

Haley: What do you mean? It’s been like one day.

Alexis: Too long! You need to go out. You need to start like getting out there. You need to get over stupid text boy by meeting a new guy… to text.

Haley: I just don’t feel like it.

Alexis: Stop saying no all the time.

Haley: What do you mean? I pretty much do whatever you need, Alexis. Don’t say that to me.

Alexis: But you’re saying ‘no’ to every potentially cool thing. Don’t you think so, Katie?

Katie: You don’t go out with me much, Hales. And you DID say no to that scratch ticket.

Alexis: Exactly!

Haley: Fine. Next time a scratch ticket is involved, I’ll say yes.

Alexis: What about going out?

Haley: Eh.

Alexis: Not an answer. Just say yes. (Haley just shrugs). I think we should make a bet. You need to say ‘yes’ to everything for a whole week.

Haley: What’s the prize?

Alexis: I don’t know. Who cares?

Haley: Then what’s the point of the bet?

Alexis: No, make it a month. Tomorrow’s the first anyway.

Haley: What do you mean, a month?

Alexis: Look, just do it. I saw it on TV or something, where this girl tried to just say yes to opportunity in her life.

Haley: What happened?

Alexis: I don’t know.

Haley: Nice case.

Alexis: It was probably on Oprah.

Katie: Hales, you got to do it. Ops knows what she’s talking about.

Alexis: Look, this is the perfect time. You’ve been bummed about so many lame guys lately… and you haven’t been writing a lot of sexy stuff in your blog, maybe this could help that too. Make you more interesting.

Haley: Yes to everything?

Alexis: When you want to say no to something… you should say yes. Like going out with Katie tonight.

Katie: Yeah, come on Haley, it could be fun.

Haley: I still don’t get what I win…

Alexis: It’s going to be awesome. It’s just a month. (Haley thinks about it)

Shot to Haley and Katie going out

Katie: See, aren’t you glad you went out?

Haley: I don’t know. I can’t believe Alexis just stayed home to watch America’s Next Top Model.

Katie: Well, I’m glad.

Haley: You’ve already been hit on by three different guys, of course you’re glad.

Katie: Well, none of them were cute.

Haley: Then why did you kiss one, agree to go out with one, and then talk to that other one’s mom on the phone about spending Thanksgiving in New England? (Katie shrugs)

Katie: His mom had an interesting recipe for stuffing.

Haley: I think if I have to have an entire month of ‘yes’, you need a month of ‘no’, Katie. (Katie contemplates it).

Katie: Has there been anything you’ve said ‘yes’ to that you normally would have said ‘no’ too?

Haley: Not really. I only agreed to this silly idea so that Alexis would leave me alone… I don’t think it’s going to have that much of an influence on me.

Katie: Come on Hales, it’s not a bad idea, this month could be great. Just open yourself up for new possibilities.

Haley: Yeah, yeah. We’ll see. (a couple of guys pass by and then stop, one looks at Katie and starts talking to her and another looks to Haley)

Guy #2: Hey.

Haley: Hi.

Guy #2: Want to make out?

Haley: Oh! You’re forward, huh?

Guy: Well, then can I just touch your boob? (Katie looks to her and smiles and shakes her head; Haley looks horrified)

Haley: Oh. God. (another look of horror and a close up of her face)

###END###

Working Title: Lost in Transition

This week Will takes a look at Custom Made Theatre’s free reading series showcasing Dealing Dreams, a new play by Jeffrey Lo.

Transition. We all take notice of the big shifts like graduating college or getting a big job but the micro shifts (or lack of shift) in our daily lives comes to define who we will be. A work in progress, we all are. Anyone familiar with the creative process knows how integral change and refinement are to creating something of value. Custom Made Theatre is inviting you to a part of that process. Their Free Reading Series continues this month by showcasing a new work by local playwright Jeffrey Lo. Lo’s new play, Dealing Dreams, concerns itself with the myriad transitions that mark the lives of many modern mid-twenty-somethings.

These characters are smart, talented and college educated. Yet, they can’t quite shift away from the trapping nest of youth adulthood. Some cannot fly off to adult jobs, some cannot fly to adult relationships, some just cannot fly. It’s about many things: technology, adulthood, self identity (who am I without a job…who am I out of school…what’s my purpose…I was supposed to take over the world), who grows up, who needs to take steps back wards to step forwards.

The play reminds me of a thematic mash-up between Noah Baumbach’s 1995’s meandering college wit-fest Kicking and Screaming and David Fincher’s brooding, gaze into social alienation, The Social Network, (the best film of 2010, in my opinion). The former follows a group of friends who are about the leave college. They are smart, educated, and possibly terrified at the thought of life after college. They are witty enough to sharpen their tongues around campus circles but will that help post graduation? Is that a useful life skill or academic party trick? Which of them will be set adrift without class to attend? Kicking and Screaming spoke to me at a time when I was about to leave college unfinished and drift around my home town for a few years without purpose. You bet I identified with these intellectual loafers.

The Social Network is less about purpose and more about our place in the world. These characters do not loaf about parading out their witty words around for kicks. The characters in The Social Network wield their intelligence like a weapon and purposefully lash out with it to gain an upper hand, what they perceive as an upper hand at least. Though social warfare has consequences. The Kicking and Screaming crowd have a strong circle of friends with romantic possibilities but no where to go. As The Social Network fades to black our antihero has built the most far reaching and influential social site to date yet looks upon the vastness of it alone. Was it worth the cost?

Dealing Dreams lives around this playground; the youthful playground of purposeful ambitions, social fissures and ambling self-development. Like all good pieces surrounding technology, Jeffrey Lo’s new work also reminds us that these plays are not about technology; they are about how we use modern tools (social networking, online dating, genius playlists, etc) to navigate our world and how those tools affect how we define ourselves and relate to one another. Only when we look back can we see what was lost in transition.

Custom Made’s new free reading series piece will be directed by Christine Keating and will show Tuesday, Feburary 25th. For more information check the facebook event page, Free Reading Series – Jeffrey Lo’s “Dealing Dreams” http://www.facebook.com/events/253231238191609

Sources:

Kicking and Screaming (1995). N.d. Photograph. IMDB.comWeb. 18 Feb 2014.

The Social Network (2010). N.d. Photograph. IMDB.comWeb. 18 Feb 2014.

Theater Around The Bay: Mischief. Mayhem. Playwriting.

Peter Hsieh brings us this theater/alcoholism as blog entry as part of our ongoing series of guest bloggers. Enjoy!

It’s a warm, windy Saturday night. Downtown Campbell. Girls in black dresses with guys in candy colored button ups, walking around in groups of four and five. Playwright Peter Hsieh sits down with Other Peter Hsieh to talk playwriting and writing producible plays over a few rounds of drinks.

There are two of me. I am not Special. I am not a beautiful and unique snowflake.

Round One: Peter – Long Island Iced Tea. Other Peter – Jack and Coke.

Other Peter: How’ve you been?

Peter: Great.

OP: Keepin’ busy then? Got any plays opening?

P: Yeah I got a few, one in Ohio and two in New York.

OP: No Bay Area productions?

P: No.

OP: That’s because everyone hates you here.

P: What?

OP: You’re on the ‘do not work with list’.

P: Says who?

OP: Everybody.

Peter laughs and rolls his eyes.

P: Whatever. Aren’t you supposed to talk to me about probability or something?

OP: Producibility.

P: Producibility? Is that even a word.

OP: I think so, and if it isn’t it should be…what?

P: Nothing. Just go on with the thing.

OP: Alright but first I gotta tell you this funny story.

Round Two: Peter – Long Island Iced Tea. Other Peter – Margarita

OP: Bro, another Long Island?

P: I need to wash the taste of that story out of my mouth.

OP: C’mon, it was funny.

P: Not really.

OP: To each his own. Anyway, I want to talk to you about writing “producible” plays. For emerging playwrights there is sort of a, uh…pressure I guess to have your plays produced, and to have more plays produced.

P: Yeah, of course, and I’d say that pressure exists for all playwrights though it’s probably easier for David Mamet to be produced than…

OP: Everyone else.

P: Basically.

OP: So for all the emerging and indie playwrights out there with less swag than Mamet, I’d imagine that production opportunities are harder to come by and in order to get their plays produced they write more producible plays.

P: One of the things I’ve noticed when looking through play submission opportunities is that a lot of them are looking for world premiere plays with small casts, simple staging, easy technical demands, unit sets, etc.

OP: For sure.

P: Length is a big one too. There are a lot more opportunities for shorter plays to be produced, for obvious reasons, so that’s definitely a factor in uh, in determining what kinds of plays people write. And I understand that it’s a time and money issue for most theaters and that for a theater, especially a smaller theater, to be producing new works is definitely a risk. The fact that there are so many theaters out there putting out calls for new works is something to be really happy about.

OP: I’ll drink to that.

P: Cheers.

They clink drinks and drink to that.

P: I guess the problem comes from the idea that if your plays are getting produced, you’re a good writer and that the more productions you have the more successful you are, so in order to get more productions they write those plays with the small casts, simple sets, and what not.

OP: So basically a fuck load of plays featuring two women having tea and talking.

P: I guess.

OP: Good grief.

Round Three: Peter – Vodka Redbull. Other Peter – Pink Panty Dropper

Peter smiles at Other Peter and shakes his head.

OP: What?

P: You know, instead of ordering a pink lemonade with double shots of Everclear and Tequila with a Corona on the side you could’ve just had them bring you a pink panty dropper, because that is exactly the same thing.

OP: I know, I just…

P: Couldn’t bring yourself to order that.

OP: So what are your thoughts on playwrights writing more “producible” plays in order to get more productions?

P: Personally I’m kinda against it. I mean, I would never hold it against anyone for doing so and I’ve done it too but it feels a little bit like selling out. People should write what they want to write and encourage others to do the same. They shouldn’t worry about whether or not it’s going to get produced a bunch. You are not your plays. You are not the number of times you get produced. You are not the length of your resume. And you are not the reviews you get for your plays. You wanna write a play about time traveling dinosaur hunters, go for it. You wanna write a play featuring trendy vampires and a toy bunny rabbit come to life, go wild because there is somebody, some director or theatre company that will love it and produce it and they are gonna do it right. You might not get a whole lotta productions, you might just get the one, and it might take years but that’s all you need.

OP: I like how you referenced one of your own plays. That’s very Tarantino of you.

P: What is?

OP: To reference yourself. Anyway back to- Peter interrupts Other Peter

P: Hang on. I gotta use the restroom. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

Peter smiles and finishes the rest of his beer before getting up and walking over to the restroom. He returns a few minutes later with a toothpick in his mouth.

OP: Where did you get the toothpick?

P: I carry them, around. They are green tea flavored. But after ten seconds they just taste like regular toothpicks. So what were you going to ask me?

OP: So you are part of two different playwriting groups, Asian American Theater Company’s New Works Incubator and City Light Source New Play Development Series, and within those groups playwrights give feedback on each other’s plays.

P: Yeah.

OP: Based on your experiences within those groups and outside, do you think that playwrights are being told to write more producible plays and do you think that is a prevalent problem?

P: No I don’t think it’s a prevalent problem, but here and there people will give feedback in regards to producibility rather than content or quality of writing. I personally find the latter more helpful but I understand that producibility is very important to a lot of playwrights and that they would like to know if people did not think that their play was producible and what they can do to change that.

OP: Right, who wants to spend time writing a play that never sees the light of stage?

P: Exactly. Feedback is there to help you and you take what you can from it.

Round Four: Peter – Gin & Tonic. Other Peter – Diet Coke.

P: Throwing in the towel already?

OP: Taking a break. The Pink Panty Dropper is really hittin’ me.

P: So I had my full length play Super Turbo Overdrive read at Incubator back in October and it’s got flamethrowers, gatling guns, fast cars, and stuff. And the story itself is pretty out there too, it’s a coming of age dark comedy about two high school friends and the trouble that ensues when one tries to take the other’s mom out on a date because of a video game based wager.

OP: Really?

P: Yeah.

OP: And does he?

P: Take her out on a date? Yeah, and part of the play is set in the future and it follows a bounty hunter driving around through the desert.

OP: You just don’t give a fuck about producibility do you?

P: I guess not. I mean I do but I really love flamethrowers and fast cars, and I feel that theatre can benefit from having more of that.

OP: What you just described to me sounds more like it’d work better as a film.

P: If I got a nickel every time I heard someone say one of my plays would work better as a film I’d have a stack of nickels tall as my dick.

OP: So how many nickels is that?

P: A lot.

OP: Let me rephrase that. How tall is your dick?

Round Five: Peter – Blue Moon. Other Peter – Shock Top.

P: The message I’m trying to get across is to write what is in your heart and don’t be afraid to go against convention. Try to have fun with it, otherwise what’s the point. Especially if you’re an emerging playwright. And all that stuff I said earlier about the flamethrowers and stuff, that’s just me – that’s just what I am into, find what inspires you to write and go for it. At the end of the day it’s good writing that counts. Does your story move people? Does it feature complex and well developed characters? Is it interesting? Does it have good dialogue? No amount of explosions, werewolves, and high tech weaponry will save a bad story. I would take ‘Before Sunrise’ any day over The Avengers or any of the fuckin’ Marvel movies.

OP: Scarlett Johansson though.

P: Good dialogue and dynamic characters though.

OP: And that’s why you don’t have a girlfriend.

P: Currently. But when I find one she will be smart and beautiful and fun and we’d stay up late drinking wine, talking about movies, planning weekend trips, while listening to Francoise Hardy on repeat.

OP: That’s weirdly specific.

P: I have insomnia so I find the time to be weirdly specific.

OP: Insomnia actually explains a lot about you…who are you texting?

P: This girl I know.

OP: Yeah?

P: I’m trying to see if she wants to come have a drink or something.

OP: What did she say?

P: Nothing yet, I just texted her.

OP: Does she also like ‘Before Sunrise’?

P: Yeah, actually she does.

OP: I am Jack’s complete lack of surprise.

Round Six: Peter: Trenta Iced Green tea with 2 pumps classic. Other Peter – Venti Coffee.

Peter and Other Peter decide to go to a Starbucks, because the caffeine in Peter’s system is running low.

P: I’d like to give a shout out to some really great work I saw recently that I feel exemplifies what I’ve been talking about.

OP: Cool. P: My favorite show that I saw during the 2012-2013 season was Spacebar: A Broadway Play by Kyle Sugarman by Michael Mitnick at City Lights Theater Company. Lisa Mallette directed it, it was a world premiere and it’s got jet packs, futuristic stuff, outer space, drunk Keith Marshall in outer space, Morgan Voellger on rollerblades, and at the center of it all, it was a very beautiful written play about a teenager with big dreams trying to reconcile and make peace with the things in the life that aren’t going so well. And like…it was so good. Just fucking excellent like…I dunno.

OP: I know. I saw it. It was excellent.

P: Right? Another awesome play was Stuart Bousel’s play for this past year’s Olympians festival See Also All, which covered like the entire Trojan War like some sort of magnum opus compendium, it’s got a big cast and more characters than the fuckin’ Simpsons and it’s violent and sexy and funny and like there was this game show section too. And it’s not grandeur for grandeur’s sake either, it made sense and it was good story telling. I brought my buddy Pastor Fred Gilham to the show and we were talking about it on the way back, and about how refreshing it was you know? Most of the time when you see a bigger show it’s usually like a kid’s play or musical so it’s good to have something like this. Something with teeth. And balls.

OP: There were balls? At a staged reading?

P: I’m talking figuratively. And on the topic of big casts I gotta give one last shout of to my friend Steve Boyle and the work he’s done with San Jose Rep’s Emerging Artist Lab. He’s worked with big casts, brought out dry ice and buckets of water, had live musicians and stuff. One of my favorite shows he put on was a modern retelling of Macbeth set amidst the Arab Spring conflicts and he beautifully blends the two to create something fresh, new, and edgy. The adaptation he did was definitely not playing it safe and being the director, he brought out the big guns and killed it – which just goes to show, that if you write it, there will be someone out there to direct it.

OP: Dude, hot twins just walked in.

Peter turns to see that indeed hot twins have walk in.

P: Nice.

OP: Do you think we should see if they wanna sit with us?

P: Sure, if you want to.

OP: Did that girl text back?

P: Yeah, she’s busy.

OP: For sure. So anything you’d like to say in closing?

P: Yeah. I’d like to share a quote from one of my favorite authors of all time, Mr. Chuck Palahniuk. He said “The first step – especially for young people with energy and drive and talent, but not money – the first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in. To write the books. Make the music. Shoot the films. Paint the art.”, and this is something I believe in strongly and with every beat of my heart.

OP: That was the smartest thing you said all night.

P: What about all that stuff on producibility?

OP: Anyway, the twins are looking this way, I’m gonna go ask them to come over. They can be our Marla Singers.

P: Why, cause you’re my Tyler Durden?

OP: That’s funny because I always thought you were my Tyler Durden.

P: Conceited much?

OP: Oh, the irony of that statement.

P: Just go.

OP: Let’s get together yeah yeah yeah…

Other Peter gets up and walks over to the twins while Peter smiles and shakes his head.

Peter Hsieh is a playwright from San Jose, California. Like him on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/peterhsiehplaywright. Other Peter Hsieh is a soap salesman.