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.

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.

Everything Is Already Something Week 22: An Artiste’s Guide to Swearing

Allison Page knows this can only end in tears.

Sorry, mom.

Ya know how when you’re a kid and you swear it’s a really big deal? You’re 12, you just came in from playing outside. You still have a lot of energy and you’re running around a little too much. Mom is dusting her collection of trinkets shaped like elephants. Suddenly you stub your toe on the coffee table and yell “SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!” and it’s all over for you. Mom drops the feather duster like it’s 1880 and you’ve just shown your ankles. She gasps in horror. “WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT WORD?!” she shrieks. You don’t give an answer; you know the answer doesn’t matter. You’re gonna get it, my friend. SWEARING IS OFF LIMITS.

That'll take care of those nasty thoughts!

That’ll take care of those nasty thoughts!

Cut to 7 years later. You’re swearing all the time. You’re a regular sailor stereotype. You can do whatever you want. You’re edgy. You’re cool. You and your friends have had some Bacardi, like the rebels you are. You’re young and carefree. No one gives a shit if you say “shit”, stubbed toe or not. SWEARING IS ON, BABY.

Cut to 13 years later. That’s 32 years old, for the non-mathletes. You’re an adult. You’re upwardly mobile. You’re sophisticated. Maybe you wear a tie. Maybe you wear a pantsuit. You can’t swear; you work for The Man. HR says The Man doesn’t like that sort of talk. For shame, young professional…for shame. SWEARING IS OFF LIMITS.

Cut to 47 years later. You’re 79 and you don’t give a fuck. SWEARING IS ON because you’re too old for anyone to tell you what to do.

For most of your life, there are people you can’t use those words around. So those words hold some mysterious meaning for you. They mean you’re throwing caution to the wind. They’re likely to grab someone’s attention. They’re reserved for sudden injury or rage or drunken jokes. But some of us…some of us fucking love to swear. I swear when I’m me, I swear when I’m improvising or acting, I swear in my writing – I swear. If I’m writing a piece of dialogue in a play, and someone is swearing, it can be for any number of reasons. But I’ve never had a character swear because they’re stupid.

Recently a string of comments was filled with people whose opinion is that if you swear, you’re unintelligent. (I’ll mention that the best part of this is that some of their explanations were so poorly spelled and lacked all available rules of grammar that I laughed really, really hard.) One woman even said that people who swear should “Go back to school.” – HA!

To me, swearing is a creative choice. I was in a comedy duo for a couple of years, specifically formulated as a throwback to performance duos of yesteryear, like Nichols and May. (I’m obsessed with Nichols and May – this is important.) We did not swear at all.

Wegent & Page in the glory days. Photo by Irwin Tran.

Wegent & Page in the glory days. Photo by Irwin Tran.

It was an aesthetic choice. We purposely kept ourselves from swearing. We also dressed in snappy 60’s-ish formal attire. It was pretty fabulous. At the same time that Wegent & Page was performing, I was also in an improv troupe called Clean Sanchez. I’m sure you can guess that we didn’t hold back, not with that name. Lots of swearing and general mayhem. They were both wonderful in completely different ways. Neither of them being the last definitive word on my intelligence or lack thereof. And I’ve never viewed characters I’ve played who swear a lot as stupid. That seems…well, stupid. David Mamet’s plays are famously littered with swearing, so much so that he is the user of something called the Cluster F-Bomb. It’s basically just a lot of “fucks”; an entire sentence composed of words with “fuck” shoved in the middle of them. Naturally, Glengarry Glen Ross is not being performed at children’s theaters worldwide.

More like Glengarry Glen Fuck, amiright?

More like Glengarry Glen Fuck, amiright?

But what is it with our desire to shut the words out? George Carlin famously said this about the “7 Words You Can Never Say on Television” –

“Those are the heavy 7. Those are the ones that’ll infect your soul, curve your spine, and keep the country from winning the war. Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits. Wow. And tits doesn’t even belong on the list, ya know? It’s such a friendly sounding word. It sounds like a nickname!”

Can we all just take a second to admit that George Carlin was not stupid? He just wasn’t. He was an intelligent dude. And the fact that he pointed all of that out and freely said those words thereafter doesn’t mean he was unintelligent. That’s pretty absurd. I love comedy for a million reasons, but one of them is that it’s there to point out the eccentricities of humankind; the absurdity of it all. There’s a cool little book called “Holy Sh*t: A Brief History of Swearing” with incredibly interesting tidbits on people’s hang-ups about words over time. It says the ancient Romans laid the groundwork for modern day F-bombs. And in the Middle Ages people thought certain words would actually injure the ascended body of Christ – but those were only phrases like “by God’s bones” or “by God’s nails”, they didn’t give a shit about the actual obscene words, like sexual or “excremental” words. And people in the rising middle class use less profanity in an attempt to class themselves up a notch, even though the people on the top of the ladder (aristocrats and the like) say whatever they want because they have a secure position in society. It’s all a sort of self-imposed issue, of course.

I like the art of swearing. I use it in my dialogue and am happy with it. It also leads to more creativity on my part when I can combine things to make up a new word. My favorite example is “giggityfuck”, which I wrote into a monologue a few months ago. It was used in this sentence: “What the giggityfuck am I going to do with a boat, anyway?” Naturally, it got a pretty big laugh. That’s a silly word. But the real issue, to me, is that I don’t like to limit my ideas.

This is a real cross-stitched piece of genius made for me by Tonya Narvaez. It now sits on my writing desk as inspiration.

This is a real cross-stitched piece of genius made for me by Tonya Narvaez. It now sits on my writing desk as inspiration.

That’s not to say that everything I write is obscene, sometimes it isn’t at all, but I like to make that decision myself. I like to have every word in the world available to me and then pick and choose what to use and what’s appropriate for that particular piece of work. In my real life, I don’t like to swear in order to hurt people. When I have a conflict with someone, I stop swearing. It has a tendency to spark emotions, and when there’s a conflict I like to lean on the side of logic. But that’s exactly it – it DOES spark emotions. That’s why swearing works its way into dialogue – because it sparks emotions. Both negative and positive. Swear words have history behind them. They have cultural and historical stigma. They have feeling and gusto. They’re used by smart people and by people who might not be so smart. They’re common. They’re blue collar and white collar. They’re not to be over-used, either. It’s not like using “the” too many times in a play will ever get noticed. But drop a lot of F-bombs and people will remember. You have to use them like you use salt – to get the flavor you want. Don’t overdo it, unless you’re trying to get the feeling that delivers. Sometimes I don’t want a lot of salt, and sometimes I want my theatrical stew to be really damned salty. Swearing is fucking awesome sometimes…but you still don’t get to do it when you’re 12. Sorry, kid.

You can catch Allison next with Killing My Lobster in Sketchfest February 3rd. There will probably be swearing.

Theater Conservatory Confidential: Practical Aesthetics

NYU freshman Elijah Diamond continues to chronicle his first year away from the Bay Area, learning the tricks of the industry actor trade.

To put it bluntly, studio has ruined my social life. With nonstop classes from 8:30 to 6:30 on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, I have literally no time to do anything except wake up, eat, and sleep. The rest of my day, as you may expect, is devoted to the Studio. Most of “my friends”, the people I met during the first week, have all but dropped off the face of the earth save for two notable exceptions. They’ve been replaced, slowly but surely, by people from my studio, a ragtag group of people, most notable of which being my scene partner, Reina.

That’s right, I said “Scene partner”. Not even four weeks in and already I’m supposed to be performing two scenes. I hoped to have some interesting details on what it was like working on this scene in class, but unfortunately, our scenes been postponed til next Thursday. So if you want to hear interesting details on how Atlantic runs scene-work, or my scene, from Oleanna, you’re out of luck. For now however, I think it’s time for me to describe Practical Aesthetics, the technique Mamet runs.

Practical Aesthetics runs off of one key principle “Think before you act, so you can act before you think”. There are other anecdotes that influence the technique, such as “You are what you are, and that’s all you need to be”. Most of the technique revolves around you being the most “you” that you can be. The technique does not want you to give anything more than yourself; no faked emotions here. In order to fulfill both of these statements, the technique has four major steps.

Literal: What is the character literally doing in the scene? Figure out what he’s doing without any form of interpretation whatsoever. An example: in Harold Pinter’s Betrayal, there’s a conversation about selling the flat which really represents the relationship. You would not talk about the relationship, just that they were talking about selling the flat.

Want: What does the the character want? What does the character desire? And what is his goal? This delves more into the subtext of the scene, and less on the literal.

Action: What is the essential nature of the scene to you? Note that we’ are not talking about the character anymore. The focus of the scene instead has turned to you as a person. Actions include “To put someone in their place”, “to wake someone up to reality”, etc. The only rules for the action is that it has to be something you want the other person to do, it has to be specific, and it has to have a “cap”, an endpoint.

As-if: Here’s where Practical Aesthetics really shines for me. You apply the action to your own life, find something that you want/need to do in your regular life, and use it to stir up your viscera to reach the emotional level you need to be at for the scene. The as-if helps make the scene spontaneous, helping to fight off any possible tedium that may eventually occur in the scene.

So yeah, that’s Practical Aesthetics, a technique created by David Mamet and William H. Macy. Hopefully next time, I’ll be able to tell you what it’s like to work on a scene in this environment.

Check back in two weeks for the latest on Elijah Diamond’s navigation of the Atlantic. Get it? 

Theater Around The Bay: Lisa and Nick Gentile Discuss Writing as a Couple

We recently got a great submission from Nick and Lisa Gentile, a husband/wife writing team from the East Bay who have been participants and supporters of Theater Pub for years. Here in all its glory, is their funny and insightful look into life as an artistic duo. Enjoy!

People often ask us what it’s like writing as a couple. We usually give a glib answer, because we haven’t really thought about it. We thought we could try to answer the question by interviewing each other.

Nick: So, Lisa, when did we first start writing?

Lisa: 2004. Your birthday. I took you to see 8 Tens at 8 in Santa Cruz. Remember that?

Nick: I remember we both thought that some were good and some were . . . not inimitable. I never thought that I could write a full-length play, but after that we both thought that we could do ten minutes. I didn’t realize before then that there was an entry-level length. I thought you had to write this big honking thing like Long Days Journey into Night right off the bat. Do you remember where the idea for our first play, Ten Minutes to Burn, came from? Or anything about its origins? Because, to tell you the truth, I don’t remember any of it.

Lisa: We were at that little surf film fest at the Roxy and we ran to Arinell Pizza during intermission. We had only a few minutes and I complained that I knew the dude behind the counter was going to say, “this is all I have for ten minutes.” And he did! And that other guy came in and went on and on about death metal versus black metal. Funny how people never ask us whether that play is autobiographical.

Nick: Probably because the characters are all dead. Now our second play, Russian Roulette for Lovers – I know where that came from. Our only real argument as a couple, about the philosophical meaning of The Godfather. I was going on and on about it, and you thought I was ignoring your opinion due to a sexist belief that women cannot truly understand the movie due to its hyper-masculine subject matter. I’m glad you realized that wasn’t true. I was just in some strange oblivious testosterone-fueled movie-analyzing reverie.

Lisa: Yeah, once I gave up interrupting you to defend the position that I actually had a position I just watched, stunned, as you lectured the imaginary crowd.

Nick: You yelled, “Who are you having this conversation with?” which became a line in the play.

Lisa: Then I saw potential, both for our relationship to continue and for the new play. How would you describe our writing process?

Nick: Well, what I think goes on is we both throw out half-baked ideas, and we both try not to say anything critical until it becomes too painful to bite back our sarcasm. Then we try to come up with some plot that threads together the ideas or bits of dialog we really like, even if that plot doesn’t contain the other person’s ideas. And finally we both try to come up with something that melds both sets of ideas into something semi-coherent. So what does it look like from your perspective?

Lisa: So I’m not far off when I tell people that we take turns assuming the fetal position under the desk. One of us is usually willing to carry on the work if the other has fallen into the pit of despair. I know I whine a lot over story arcs. But I think it’s your way with dialogue, your inner Mamet or Stoppard, that really gets us through.

Nick: Stop. I should rend my garments. Nobody gets compared to Tom Stoppard. Now, the Mamet comparison I can live with, because I share one thing in particular with him, which is observing the way people express ideas in the vernacular. I mean the way that people express complex ideas and emotions with ungrammatically correct phrases and metaphors. And by swearing. Who influences you?

Lisa: Chekhov. And it’s not just about the gun, seriously. I think his work shows the tension and suspense that are inherent in relationship. I love how the service of tea can be wrought with anguish.

Nick: Is that grammatically correct? What do you mean “relationship”?

Lisa: It’s a poet thing. To explain it would kill it. What’s your favorite idea that we developed?

Nick: When our friend Kate Owen said to us, “You should write a play about mumble-mumble”, and we both though she said “maggots.” I don’t remember what she really said, but I remember talking about it on our drive home, trying to figure out what kind of play you could write about maggots. We decided that they should be philosophers, because they have mouths but no limbs.

Lisa: Metamorphosize, mon Amour sent us back to the college textbooks night after night. Remember that big chart that we made to outline coherent arguments for the three characters?

Nick: I think that chart shows how you take the lead role in providing the structure for our works, while I concern myself with coming up with amusing lines. Our different strengths merge synergistically. Or something. I’m getting points for saying this stuff, right? Pookie, would you say that playwriting together has been an extension of our love? I sure hope so, because this Fringe Festival show is going to be stressful. We’ll need all our love to make it through.

Lisa:
That’s sweet. But I have to confess something. I needed that chart because around that time I started spiking my mochas with rum. Speaking of booze (hint, hint), what’s your favorite production so far?

Nick: Why, God, Satan Beer, of course, at San Francisco Theater Pub’s Pint-Sized Plays in August 2011. It’s obligatory that we mention that this was a great opportunity to get involved with a bunch of talented people through that production. And it’s also true, because we are working with some those people at the SF Fringe.

Lisa: I wouldn’t change a thing about Pint-Sized. Warden Lawlor, Dan Kurtz, and Ashley Cowan made the crowd laugh. That’s what it’s all about.

Nick and Lisa Gentile’s show “Weird Romance” will be performed at the SF Fringe Festival on September 8, 9, 11, and 14. http://www.sffringe.org/wordpress/