so here is this thing I enjoy doing

I took the monologue from previous post and I translated it into korean using google. then I cut and pasted translation and translated it back into english. Fun FUN FUN! There is a possibility you seeing and when, as is to be opened the distant COWGIRL the west to be wide. In order to fill other the each one and all and for all your relative the there ' S room for your wild oneself a guard in the emptiness which is legitimate it waits and an ' inside small formation of a cabinet indicates. For the large candle won explaining bite whisky beverage in the actual place bar my boot time it is it for quality of the I horse to peel, as it likes in the morning when it is born. The Wesson It ' S the here which is wild? The I the won ' T comes and it ain ' T, but it ' S from by aim me which am severe the donkey territory which gets wet more does well most anyhow, under wildness but in from Mister and Mister in us the taming el us who get the E for opportunity all and su Miss. And we ' use the em, liberalism. Won person from here selects large candle won dogs ' ll bite ' round. So, the gunslingers is bad more. They die and it kicks hard with the bud payth. For the shootin which most part it spreads out ' seeing at the outside et ess c. Now that time after, don ' T pleasure. When possibility there is you, ci height, it is to live in that lwup remainder of comfort, try the fact that it tries the fact that it defends. And up it already inside the box I didn ' T, ten:00 bedspreads under illusion languages.

new

COWGIRL The west is wide open as far as you can see. Just emptiness waiting to be filled and there’s room for each and everyone and all your kin to ride in an’ stake a little piece for yourselves. I like in the morning how the prairie grass tickles my boots when I horse it to the local saloon for a bite or a whiskey drink. It’s wild here—I won’t pretend it ain’t, but it’s a damn sight better than the wet ass teritory I come from and anyways, it may be wild but we all got us some instruments of taming from mister Smith and mister Wesson. And we use ‘em, liberally. Cause even the prairie dogs’ll bite ‘round here. And the gunslingers is worse. They spit and bite and kick and shoot. You got to watch out for the shootin’ mostly. Now then, don’t fall behind. Try to keep up with the rest of the group and try to keep alive if you can. And in case I didn’t say it already, welcome to town.

go here to see one of my posts someone had translated.

You don’t hear much about the Holy Spirit anymore. God, sure, Jesus, yup, but not much Holy Spirit. At least the whackos on the trains and in the streets shout a lot about God and Jesus but none of them ever mention the Holy Spirit. Why is that? Has the Holy Spirit outlived its usefulness—like the Greek gods? If God is everywhere, what do you need the Holy Ghost for exactly? God and Jesus are much easier to put an image to anyway. The holy spirit is less imagistic. I imagine someday our Judeo Christian God will go the way of the Greek Gods—no one will really believe anymore but there will be a soft spot in everyone’s heart—the “if only” or the nostalgia of a Santa Claus or what leprechauns are in Ireland. Then we’ll all become some sort of Buddhist or earth loving religion or all take on some science-based belief system. Really. That’s what I think will happen in the US. Even in the red states. In like 300 years. Or 2000. How long we gonna be around anyway? I should get around to reading the Bible—bet there’s a lot of stuff in there.

food for fish

scene from Food For Fish--draft

(ALICE and JAMES in the restaurant. ALICE is about to take blood.) ALICE This is going to pinch just a little. JAMES Is that really necessary? I’m not good with needles. ALICE Do you want there to be a second date? JAMES Will there be a second date? ALICE Not if you keep whining. JAMES I’m not whining. ALICE Be a man. JAMES I just don’t want to faint and hit my head again. ALICE Will you stay still so I can find a good vein? JAMES Can we not talk about veins please? ALICE This is going to pinch just a little. JAMES No, no wait. ALICE What? JAMES OK. Go ahead. (ALICE takes blood. JAMES faints.) ALICE Oh, shit. (ALICE picks up a glass of water and throws it in JAMES’s face. JAMES wakes up.) JAMES What? What is it? ALICE You fainted. JAMES Where am I? ALICE You know, James, I’m thinking I may stop dating altogether. JAMES I love you. ALICE It’s not you. Although the needle thing is kind of annoying. JAMES Needle? (JAMES begins to faint again. ALICE slaps him awake.) ALICE Stop that now. OK? You there? What was I saying? Oh yes. So I’m sorry but I don’t think there will be a second date. JAMES Is your name Alice? ALICE Will you focus please? JAMES Everything’s so far away. ALICE I know. That’s always the way it is, isn’t it? The thing we really want is always so far from our grasp. You just really want one thing, right? It’s all you want and no matter what you can never have it. No matter what you do or how cute you dress. It will never happen for you. And you move through every day hoping for a compliment or a smile—some little thing from him—one little crumb or two and you know it’s all you’ll ever get but still you live for it. And then he goes away and won’t answer the phone and you may never see him again and so what’s the point, I ask you? What’s the point of getting through the day if he’s not there at the end of it? Why go on? JAMES Are you talking about suicide? ALICE No. Yes. I don’t know. I mean life is suffering, isn’t it? JAMES That’s what Catholics believe. ALICE Maybe I’m not supposed to be happy. I do have my work, which is I suppose in some ways just a veiled attempt to get what I want or at least deal with it. Maybe it’s not completely hopeless. My sister could die or he could suddenly see he loves me. Maybe you’re right though, maybe if you can’t get what you want in this life you should just kill yourself. JAMES Did I say that? ALICE I don’t know. Maybe I’m not even depressed enough for that. Maybe next week. I just want to go to sleep. JAMES Me too. Hey, why do I feel woozy? ALICE (Holding up vial of blood.) I took some blood. (JAMES faints again.)

List

These are some of the places my Thanksgiving Play for elementary kids has been done. CT, MA, GA, CO, SC, FL, WA, WI, TX, NC, AL, TN, IA, IL, IN, MD, NV, NJ, CA Links don't work on this computer but if you would like to take a look at this play go to: http://www.dramasource.com/cgi-bin/itempage?1=TP

beginning of Ambience Pizza/54th and 9th

(A pizza place. April in an apron. John in street clothes. They are not aware of one another at first.) JOHN. Every day at lunch APRIL. Every day at lunch JOHN. (overlapping) I stop in-- APRIL. (overlapping) He stops in, for a slice, at the pizza place where I work. JOHN. I know she’s beautiful because whenever I think of her, I think of her in black and white. APRIL. When he comes to the counter I give him three napkins although I know I’m only supposed to give two. The pizza is saucy; the pizza is greasy. I don’t want him to be without sufficient surfaces with which to wipe his face and hands. JOHN. I like old movies because of the pacing and the quips—the back and forth. Sometimes I think our conversations will go like that. But they never do. ARIL. They go like this. (They speak to one another now.) JOHN. Hi. APRIL. Hi. JOHN. A slice of cheese. APRIL. Of cheese, right. JOHN. Three twenty five. APRIL. Right. Yes. Three twenty five. (Back to the audience.) JOHN. I always think I will come up with something witty to say. Right there. On the spur of the moment. But I never do. I have nothing witty to say about the price of pizza.

I think the title of my play is "Manifest Western"

It'll be a comedy. You know--like this but funny. and BRIGHT and very dark.

dramaturgical cowboy pix

Today is Monday

Please welcome K to the blog scene.

I feel like my time is not really my own these days. It seems to be slipping away. Here is where I would link to delightful things found on the internet--but you have the internet and perhaps the time to find them yourself. I'll give you a head start--take a look at the great folks on my blogroll to the right. I am told that DPS will be publishing my play Deflowering Waldo--perhaps I have spoken too soon--before the contract is signed. Is that bad luck to speak before all the t's are crossed (or before all the z's are crossed in my case)? However it is, this is exciting me more than anything. Much more than it should, I think. And all I'm really thinking is that now I can prove that I exist--as if that will do it, or as if that's what I'm aiming for, which, unfortunately, I probably am. Gotta write that cowboy play to really prove I exist. That should do it, right?

This is a photo from my play Languages of Love which was recently produced in Philly (although I was unable to travel to see the show). Note the conjoined twins. If I remember correctly that play had to be about death and had to include one man and two women and someone had to be in a school uniform.

mystery of mysterys in the big city of babylon

Read this NY times article about a strange smell in NY. Actually, K and I smelled this in our apt last week. I thought it was the heating system going on for the first time but it smelled very strongly of maple syrup. Then I heard about this article. And then I smelled it again yesterday near Juilliard. It's unsolved. Mr. Padilla was not alone. Reports of the syrupy cloud poured in from across Manhattan after 9 p.m. Some feared that it was something sinister.

Dear Blog, Don't doubt for an instant that I've stopped loving you. It's just that work has been really stressful lately and so has school, in a different way. And I have to get a draft of this cowboy play written before Jan 1 and a revision of FFF by Dec 10. And K and I are trying to see more of each other--now, don't be jealous of K. You know you're important to me too. I've just been distracted recently. You know I love your sleek dark look, your long blogroll, the way your links automatically highlight as if to say "look at me." I do look at you, every chance I get. It's just that I'm entering a new phase in my life and things are going to change in our relationship and I want you to be aware of it and be understanding and supportive the way a Blog like you should. Right? Let's have a smile. Oh, Blog, when things slow down you and I will be like conjoined twins again, linked by an important organ no doubt, but for now . . . well, you understand. Yours, Adam

Fake article from my friend Larry, guest blogger

ELTON JOHN TO RE-RECORD 'CANDLE IN THE WIND' IN HONOR OF NOT-FAMOUS DEAD WOMAN -Steve Klapman, 42, was unsure of what music to use for his late wife's memorial service until he learned that Elton John already had his demo in the mail. "I was too upset to think what she'd have wanted,"Klapman, an IT Provider, told reporters earlier today,"But then my friend Todd brought a tape of Elton John singing about her, and so now I guess I don't have to wonder any more. I'm still upset, though." The tape in question was a demo of Elton John's latest single, John's second remake of the popular dirge"Candle In The Wind," which was made possible through the thoughtfulness of a friend of the widower. "It's a good thing this bloke Todd came up with the idea for his mate Steve," phoned John from acrystal-sculpture-purchasing spree in Aspen, "I felt it was time. Time to to sing the world to tears again. Only no one famous had died lately." The tape was unofficially commissioned by Todd Gakk,who has worked closely with Klapman in several IT departents of several mid-level companies, after Gakk sent the idea to John to help Klapman with his loss. "Steve's a pretty ugly guy, like me," Gakk, dressed in a "No Fat Chicks!" t-shirt, said during a lunch breakat his office, "and ugly guys usually don't have a lot of friends, it's a scientific fact. Steve's my only friend, and the only one I know who's ever had a girl, so I couldn't let this whole memorial thing go by without getting Elton John involved. If his chick were here, she'd probably dig that. Steve's chick. Not Elton's. Steve's chick's the one who died. At least according to Steve. Elton's pretty much a fag." Upon learning of Klapman's loss through a note from Gakk, the "Rocketman" wasted no time in composing - or re-composing - his original song. "I used to think if there were one bird I'd've liked to know, it were Marilyn, but I was just a kid," John waxed nostalgic upon his original inspiration, "and that got me to think, 'There's A Song In There,Guv'nor,' and then when Lady Di died, I thought, 'if Iwere just a kid, I wouldn't have known her, either, just like with Marilyn.' And with this other bird, I mean, unless I'd have paid her to clean me house or somefing, I'd have never known her at all, which I didn't. It makes you think." "Yankee Lass," John's remake of "English Rose," a remake of "Candle in The Wind," speaks of saying goodbye to a young woman who will go down in history as not having a role in history." Well it seems to me you lived your life like a Yankee Lass who wasn't famous Always working in an office married to a guy from Tech And I would have liked to've known you but I'm too rich to work Your Yankee Lass-ness faded far too soon in this world filled with Mets fans The memorial service, planned for this evening, faced two obstacles. The first was Klappman's ambivalence. "I guess I thought it was cool when Elton was writing about famous dead chicks," the widower confessed, "but Stacey didn't have much of a following. She just answered the phones. Plus before she was all mine. And now she's the world's. I guess I know how Arthur Miller feels. Or felt." The second complication arose when a court order the service, attended by Klapman and Gakk, to cease and desist. The court order was written in the name of Stacey Klappman. "First of all, Steve and I are not married," Ms. Klappman, who is also not dead, informed well-wishers,"we just have the same last name. But we had the same last name before we met. Second, we never even went out. I just smiled at him in the elevator once. And third, I'm not dead. I just changed jobs." "Well she's dead to me," an embarrassed Mr. Klapman replied to the announcement, "and mourning's not forthe dead or the claimed-to-be-dead, it's for the living. Or the living who's doing the dead-claiming." "This figures," Mr. Gakk replied, "Steve's always doing stuff like this. He's a douche." Ms. Klappman's legal intervention has stopped the service, but the orders do not extend to Mr. John's use of the song." I actually think the song's kind of awesome," Ms. Klappman told VH1, " and I'm hoping they'll put old footage of me in the video with Nat King Cole." And so the song still resonates, with both the living, and the assumed dead.

Sorry, STRESSED--no write right now

read my plays.

the evil of submission fees

There has been a discussion on the big cheap list about the practice of charging playwrights to read their scripts, something I regularly rail against. Not only do I find it unethical but…well Jason says it best below. Jason Grote on submission fees: Well, I can say that there was a time in my life when I literally had to choose between play submission fees and rent, or feeding myself, sothere are cases when it does happen. Today, I can afford the fees, but I usually don't pay them (with the exception of Sundance, the O'Neill, and the occasional screenplay contest). My decision is not entirely based on principle, butbecause, in my experience, the theaters charging the fees usually suck. Based mostly on having seen their work, reading their mission statements and other items on their websites, or on occasion having read the winning plays in their contests, I feel comfortable saying that a reader's fee is almost always a sign of unprofessionalism. When I think of all the financially strapped small theater groups I know who do quality work, none of them charge submission fees. It might take them a year to get to your script, but that's the way it goes... Footnote(Since posting this on the Big Cheap list, I have since discovered that Moving Arts, a small company that I have heard good things about, charges fees for their one-act contest. I guess they're the exception that makes the rule.)

Women and Men

I am looking for quotations about men and women… and how they see one another. For example A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. And Do you not know I am a woman? When I think I must speak. Etc. Anyone have any good ones? It’s for a play I’m writing.

l

Hey everyone who reads my blog! Hey! Are you listening? My friend, Larry Kunofsky, new york playwright extroadinarie wrote a tremendously good 10 minute play. Who wants to produce it? I will not get an agent's fee for each production, but I will get me some articles for you dear blog readers. See below --- Larry Kunofsky wrote: > > > > > maybe if you tell people on your blog that i wrote > a > > really good ten minute play, people will come > after > > me > > and produce it. > > > > then i'll be a regular guest-blogger for you. > > > > oh, the essays I will give you! > > l

Thanksgiving Play

Come on, people! This thanksgiving play is not going to buy itself. So far we're looking at shows in Chicago, IL and Graysville, IN this year. That is if the kids can learn their lines. I've got confidence in them. But still, that's only two schools. And I'm sure there are a few illegal showings as well, but still. People need to learn about Thanksgiving. From my play. Don't you think your elementary school should do this play too? Remember, kids who love theatre become adults who love theatre. And kids who love turkey...well I don't know about that. I'm allergic, myself.

Also

There was (I hear) a homecoming rally at Juilliard. What sort of game do they have at Juilliard, you may ask? Why dodgeball of course! I missed the event but below is the email I received. Don't ask me what Guilliard is because I don't know. Reminder! Juilliard’s First Homecoming Game is this Saturday (tomorrow) on the Plaza! Don’t let the rain discourage you. All weather reports state that it will stop by noon. 6pm Tailgating 7pm Pep Rally 7:30pm Dodgeball begins Come witness Juilliard BEAT Guilliard!

So last week I helped oraginze this event at Columbia--screening of Good Night and Good Luck which was written by George Clooney and Grant Heslov and directed by Clooney. I was quite impressed with the film. There was a panel discussion afterwards and I was surprised how smart, funny and charismatic Clooney was. The film was obviously a labor of love. link to interview with clooney and heslov. K and I were talking about it after--in theatre you forget that there are other groups of people who are concerned about other things that aren't theatre. All over the city (and the world) are passionate intelligent people interested in say journalism or sculpture or architecture and have interesting and illuminating things to say about such things. Normally I just hear the people who are speaking about theatre. I hear a little bit about Journalism for my job and have become more interested in where Journalism is headed since working here and I know K talks a lot and reads a lot about educational theory, but mostly I read and talk to people constantly about writing theatre about what it is to be a theatre person (poor and underappreciated usually) and how theatre should best be made. Anyway I got off the topic which was that Good Night & Good Luck was inspirational. The thing I came away with most is the idea that both Murrow and McCarthy were each other's downfall. The reward for rocking the boat is sometimes that you don't get your mainstream audience. And sometimes someone makes a film about you. Either way I wanted to be murrow--the guy who was saying--no this is not right and we should do something about it despite this pressure. The press is feeling this pressure right now in perhaps a more subtle and insidious way. --- I was thrilled to see, Pete and Carolyn, although only briefly, as they made their NY tour. Had a few beers and a lot of Chinese food. Good to see you two.

Congrats to Pinter

Read T-dawg's post about the man and legend or the ny times article.

I am currently in a state of limbo--not working on a show--overworked at work, have finished a draft of a new play which will neeed revising and want to start a new play but don't know enough about it yet to start writing. I was very sick yesterday and slept most of the day. I wish I could go back to the good-old columbia days when I was writing all the time and was only working part time. of course part of the reason I have to work full time now is the incredible debt I've managed to accumulate. I wish it would stop raining.

Quote I've been looking for

Thanks to Dorothy for this "There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not yours to determine how good it is; nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is ever pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others." --Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille

I got nothing to say at the moment. But won't you read my plays?

Howdy

This morning I put the finishing touches on my first draft of the new play, and yes, just as I suspected, I am a bit depressed. It looks as though my play Nerve is going to be done in Dallas, TX this March. Now I’m going to start writing a large cast cowboy play. Everyone loves a large cast cowboy play, right?

Postpartum

I'm trying to understand why when I finish a play I don't really feel a sense of elation but instead always feel a little depressed. Maybe it's because the possibilities are over--it still doesn't have the potential to be everything because now it's something and people can start judging it. Maybe it's because I'm leaving that world of the play behind and for a while, especially if it was going well, it was a place I could be in. It was fun. It was colorful and thrilled me in a way real life rarely does. And now that's over and there are fewer discoveries to make--(for me anyway)--ideally it will have a life and someone else will be making discoveries soon in a theatre or in a room not in my head. I'm at that place now where I'm finishing something and haven't started something else. It's a sad place sometimes. Maybe it's also because every finished piece is a kind of failure. There are things of course that I was unable to do. There are things I hoped my subconscious would create that I wouldn't know about and sometimes that happens but it's never as brilliant as I had hoped possible. Also I came into this playwriting thing at the age of 18 or so and I saw it as a way to understand the world. I thought if I studied Waiting for Godot and began to write I would discover the truth about the world and about the existence or non-existence of God. I thought I would understand how to live correctly. It's trite, I know but I was looking for the meaning of life. And part of me is a little disappointed each time I finish a play and I haven't been able to learn the secrets of the universe. At the same time I don't think I'm just writing stories. Not that there is anything wrong with a good story but I honestly think I'm trying to illuminate something--to figure out something about people. To make the world better. To help somehow--to uphold truth--to touch people emotionally--make them laugh, sure. Laugh as much as possible. To skewer with satire, sure although I don't know that satire is a tool of change--it may just be a tool of wit. I dunno. Am I getting anywhere at all? Is this a pointless pursuit. Who can say really? All I know is that as soon as possible I'm going to dive into writing something else so I don't have to think about how pointless the writing is or how more pointless and often fruitless the post creation work can be.

Call me Nomad

IT is like this. I am very close to finishing this play. so close I can see it but then maybe I have to fill in another 5 to 10 pages here and there. I will bring it to class, I will bring it to my writer's group. But I must finish it--today perhaps tomorrow perhaps monday but I must do it soon and maybe I should stop bloggin and get to it. I've got this flashdrive which allows me to be the computer nomad I am--hopping from Columbia computer to Juilliard dorm computer to my own computer no matter what is apple and what PC. They all answer to that which is the flashdrive. If you are a nomad like me, I reccomend them. It's like a disk. Right now I am in a small computer room in a Juilliard dorm with a bunch of 17 year olds who are all prodigys at something I'm sure. I went to some Prelude fest and will attend more later. And then the party where Sheila and Soph will play music apparently. I love parties with music and theatre people and alcohol. I hope alcohol. Hmm...I semm to still be posting and not writing this play. Damn you highspeed free internet! Damn you!