In For A Penny: Vices I Admire

Charles Lewis III, on why vice can be nice.

Yes, I own this shirt.

“The cannabis experience has greatly improved my appreciation for art, a subject which I had never much appreciated before. The understanding of the intent of the artist which I can achieve when high sometimes carries over to when I’m down. This is one of many human frontiers which cannabis has helped me traverse. There also have been some art-related insights — I don’t know whether they are true or false, but they were fun to formulate.”
– Carl Sagan, Mr. X (1969)

I never smoked weed until I did theatre. For that matter, I never ate sushi until I did theatre. Yes, I was one of those boring teens who never drank, smoked, or went to parties. (Well, I did try smoking cigarettes several times, but it never caught on.) Part of that was due to just being an awkward teen who never hung with The Cool Kids, but another part was by choice. I studied religion as a kid and took the concept of “pure body, pure mind, pure soul” to heart. And to be honest, I was pretty damn content with myself.

It wasn’t until I was 27 – an age at which I’d put the “pure body, et. al” bullshit behind me – that I’d decided to see what weed was all about. I’d just finished a show with a local theatre company and we were having our closing night celebration. Turns out these folks had a closing night tradition of rechristening the dressing room as “The Green Room” for reasons that should be obvious. After awkwardly making my way in and patiently waiting for the bowl to come around to me, I took my first toke.

Nothing happened, really. It’d be a later incident at 4/20 in Golden Gate Park before I finally actually got high. Still, it worked in as much as being a socially-inclusive gateway to fellow theatre-folk. And even when I was a clean-living teen/upcoming artist, I was always fascinated by the idea of an intoxicating substance enhancing the creative process.

“Write drunk, edit sober” is a phrase we’ve all heard thrown around willy-nilly. (It’s often misattributed to Hemingway when it’s more likely from Peter de Vries.) Both F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda were notorious for it. Mary Shelley got smashed on absinthe with her husband and Lord Byron, then wrote her masterpiece Frankenstein. Hell, scientists believe even Shakespeare may have smoked weed between writing sonnets. It all contributes to the idea that when inspiration is out of reach, it can be found within your poison of choice.

I personally wouldn’t know. I rarely drink outside of social gatherings (I’ve been drunk exactly five times my entire life) and do so as a method of decompression rather than inspiration. The only times I smoke weed are when I’m around someone who prefers not to smoke alone, and it’s never made want to start writing. I’ve never had the chance to do mushrooms, though I’m not opposed to the idea. And despite knowing many people who love it, I will never do cocaine. (Before we found out how terrible he was, Bill Cosby had stand-up routine that sums up my thoughts perfectly: “I said to a guy, ‘Tell me, what is it about cocaine that makes it so wonderful,’ and he said, ‘Because it intensifies your personality.’ I said, ‘Yes, but what if you’re an asshole?’”) I’m not on any moral high horse – I like weed, beer, and the friends who share in them with me – but they’ve never worked for me in terms of electrifying my creativity.

But that’s just me. In addition to the aforementioned authors above, I can cite countless works of art created under the influence which I hold dear: the weed-inspired illustrations Salvador Dalí or Mœbius; the coke-fueled ‘70s films of Martin Scorsese; hell, damn-near anything from the Harlem Renaissance. Without those substances, those great works might never have been possible and I might not have been inspired by them to become an artist.

The real problem is when an artist sees a mind-altering substance as their ONLY form of inspiration; when the supply gets low or empty, working with someone having withdrawal can be annoying, if not dangerous. I don’t even drink coffee, so I can’t really imagine what someone’s head must feel like when they’ve suddenly decided to teetotal.

The reason I bring all this up is because this month’s ‘Pub show, of which I’m a part, is an hilariously over-the-top satire about “the dangers of the demon weed”. Each character is based on a classic horror film trope, but with enough humanity to make them relatable. Incidentally, my character is a collegiate weed dealer, someone who uses the substance as the means to an end in order to do the art he truly loves. Yeah.

Before anyone asks: No, we don’t perform the show high. I’m sure that’d be hilarious (I’ve done Beer Theatre before and it was a fuckin’ blast), but I assure you that Colin’s script is plenty funny without the actors being baked. Plus, there’s probably some kinda law or somethin’ ‘bout smokin’ weed indoors with the public, right? I dunno…

But as I sit here with my script by my side and my soon-to-be-used typewriter in the corner, I tried to think of what it is that fuels me to write, act, direct, and explore other avenues of creativity. I’m still not really sure, but I hope I don’t run out of it anytime soon.

Charles Lewis III plays the world’s most lovable weed dealer in Colin Johnson’s “Sticky Icky”, starting this coming Monday at PianoFight. Admission is FREE, donations of $10 or more appreciated.

Everything Is Already Something Week 53: Things I Actually Said

Allison Page, daring to look back.

I’ve been writing this blog for two years.

YOWZA.

So I’m saying screw it, and doing my version of a clip show. Here are some of the most and least useful things I’ve ever written here:

On how commercial directors sound to me: “Now do it like your eyelids are on fire and your grandma stole your Chex Mix.”

“It’s okay if you’re tired. You’ll be tired sometimes, but it’s worth it.”

“Do sexy people wear sleeves?”

“I hadn’t been listening. Like, at all. Every one of my lines sounded like I was reading it off of a cue card written in wingdings.”

“When asked, ‘What’s the best role you’ve ever played?’ my impulse is to just respond with whichever was the most grueling.”

“When a show closes, I feel a slump. I always have. Like someone’s carefully lowering an Acme anvil down on top of me, and I’m moving in slow motion to get out of the way.”

“Mensa says you’re a doo-doo head.”

“The grass is always greener on some other asshole’s lawn…take a look at your own damn grass, it’s got things that mine does not and vice versa.”

“Maybe I don’t live on the top of Mt. Crumpit, but I do live on the 11th floor of an apartment building in the tenderloin.”

“Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m the black sheep because I’ve decided I’m the black sheep.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“While she was doing the most adult thing ever, making a commitment to a man for the rest of her life — I was doing a drunken interpretive dance to Katy Perry’s Hot ’n Cold.”

“Truthfully, when it comes to acting or writing or a bunch of other shit, the only person you can control is yourself unless you have access to a lot of booby traps.”

“Any writer will tell you, the most important thing is to write, and if it is the suckiest thing in the world, just toss it in the digital trash. At least you wrote something.”

“In a time when the theater is always striving to bring more people in, to get more butts in the seats, the last thing that would ever help that would be to limit the types of stories we think should be told and poo-poo the everywoman.”

“This is my writing beard. Do I look smart yet?”

“If you’re going to not base your worth on someone’s negative opinions, you shouldn’t base them on their positive opinions, either.”

“Swearing is a creative choice.”

“You’re taking a lot into your own hands if you self produce, and hopefully that means you’ve worked really hard on the material, and that you have people behind you who really believe in it…and hopefully those people are smart.”

“I cannot work without an outline.”

“Nobody noticed the characters going to the bathroom too much.”

“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.”

“It’s fantastic to be a last second replacement. Everybody’s really relieved they got someone on super short notice. They may not be expecting much. I mean, they’ve never heard of me. So that means that if I’m even a little good – I’m a savior!”

“I can’t write it’s cold,
I need a pony to write,
I can’t write it’s hot”

“Oh fuck off, Cathy Rigby. Now you’re just bragging.”

“You can appear to be a great producer, but if you’re stage manager or lighting or sound tech or costume person if a total douchebag — it’s going to reflect poorly on you.”

“I don’t need the rubber chicken. The rubber chicken is within us all.”

“Overall I think it’s a cop-out to say that you can’t write anything unless you’re in the mood or feeling inspired. Maybe I say that so that I can convince myself not to wait for inspiration, knowing that I’m so lazy I might never get around to feeling inspired.”

“When you include a bio about yourself, maybe don’t make it a novella.”

“Everything’s a nightmare.”

“It’s okay to laugh.”

“I’d love to fill a yacht with caramel sauce — who wouldn’t?”

“Be the Lisa Loopner you wish to see in the world.”

Allison Page is a writer/actor/person. You can catch her first produced full length play HILARITY at the EXIT Theatre through March 28th.

The Real World, Theater Edition: There’s a Peacock in the Backyard

Barbara Jwanouskos continues her re-adjustment to citizen life.

I’ve been steadily applying to jobs around the Bay Area since a week before graduation. I’ve tweaked, reassembled, reworded, and rebranded myself in blogs and on resumes so that I’m putting my best foot forward. I’ve strategically hunted down the jobs that I, not only feel I’m qualified to do, but am passionate about and have speculated that I would have a blast doing. I’ve written cover letter after cover letter confidently giving my case on why I would be the best fit for a particular company.

And…

Needless to say, the lack of response has left me feeling a little disappointed and a lot discouraged. It’s not that I expected to land a job straight away after graduating, but, as I mentioned last week, it’s been a while since I’ve been in the job market. I forgot how easy it is to get wrapped up in the job search day in and day out. Not to mention that the very real feeling of rejection is almost constant.

I came down with a little bit of PLOM syndrome recently. That’s Poor Little Ole Me, in case you’re not one of my Midwestern relatives that uses this term all the time. I went back to a standby explanation for why I don’t have a job. When times get rough and unexplainable, it’s usually the first thing I go to – It must be my fault.

If you think about what “it must be my fault” inherently means, however, it’s that the situation is in your control. It’s the idea that whatever is happening right now is the result of your own failures to act. I guess the idea my brain had was that I certainly can edit my resumes, cover letters, blogs, online presence, etc., so why not something I have completely no control over? Simple!

Of course, trying to control something you have no influence over becomes even more frustrating and depressing. I see this firsthand when I train in kung fu and tai chi. You spar with someone and he keeps trying a technique that simply does not work, but he does it anyway and focuses even more attention on it so that he’s leaving something else wide open. It becomes easier to take advantage of the fact that they are not paying attention and their attacks have become predictable.

So, here’s me getting frustrated, down on myself, and depressed…

Then, I encountered a peacock in the backyard.

Yes, a peacock. Apparently, there are wild peacocks in suburban neighborhoods all throughout California.

Call me crazy, but sometimes when I have an encouter with wildlife, I get really hippie dippie and I feel that it must be a sign from the universe to “take note”. So, I do a little google fu and end up back at the spirit animals guide, where it tells me:

The peacock is the closest in description to the mythical Phoenix, which rises, reborn, from the flames and ashes of its funeral pyre. The eyes on the peacock’s feathers represent their ability to see into the past, present and future and can teach those with this power animal how to stir their clairvoyant gifts. The cycle of birth, death and resurrection (rebirth) is a whole. This relates to valuing all aspects of this cycle, and to have faith that we never truly die.

Well, I needed a kick in the pants to come from somewhere and what an inspiration to be about three feet away from a peacock! I remember being a kid and walking by the flock of peacocks outside the zoo. They’ve always seemed so otherworldly, almost mythical. It took everything I had been dealing with and completely turned it upside down. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes to start anew, I felt as though I needed to approach my life with a clean slate.

I named him “Petey”. Then tried to get him to eat some peanuts, but he just sort of bobbled away, out the hole in the fence and down the street, casually walking as if to give someone else a touch of beauty, inspiration and creativity in her otherwise lackluster life.

I’m taking Petey’s emergence as sign to stop, slow down, and be reminded of what’s beautiful in my life. He reminds me why I decided to focus on creative writing to begin with and the mythical nature of an encounter with something so rare in the real world.