Where have you gone, sun man?

It's dark out today and rainy. I am having depressing thoughts but I blame the weather. It's too dreary and wet. At least Seattle won't be like that, right? We leave early Wed morning. I can't wait. I simply can't wait. They say there's a space needle. I'm not sure what a space needle is for but f*ck, yeah, I want to see one! As part of the magic of taking a plane to the west, we leave at 7am and we ride for 6 hours but when we get there it's only 10am! Can you imagine?!! That's just the beginning, I'm sure of a mystical and surprising ride of delight in the city of ten thousand happinesses.

It makes me uncomfortable--the things I write

Here is a small scene I wrote for the Fridge Fest in Philadelphia in September. Don't know if they'll use it or not. A and B on couch or in any setting, really, doing anything, really, realistically or stylistically, in a fridge, on a chair, in a box with a fox, etc. A You hear about the kid? B What kid? A They picked him up in the street along with a whole lot of other people. Something happened, I guess near there so they grab a bunch of people nearby. Kid's maybe five or six. You know, he's a kid. He's in the street. B Yeah. A They bring him back and they lock him in this fridge. And they got the dial jacked up so it's almost like a freezer. B Huh. A Kid starts pounding his head against the fridge door, trying to get out. Just really bashing his head, you know? B Yeah. A When they found him, he was blue--head cracked open. B Shit. A And the thing was, they all kind of assumed he was innocent. B But they still-- A Yeah. B Huh.

I can't pretend anymore

I have to tell you the truth. Outside maybe I look cool and aloof but really, all I can think about is Juilliard. It consumes my every thought--especially these days when work is slow and monotonous. I'm really excited about this program more than I can express and I hope it lives up to expectations. Oh, September, I cannot wait for you to be here! Bring to me the much heralded weekly workshops and twice monthly readings! I feel like I have won the lotto.

Watch the blogroll

I'm linking to a bunch of new people, many of whom I don't know but whom I've been reading. I don't know what the etiquette is on this but if anyone doesn't want to be blogrolled for any reason, pls let me know.

Anyone?

3 more performances of Nerve Wed the 27th, Thurs Aug 4, and Fri Aug 5th at 7pm. If you miss that, looks like The Relationship Game will be going up for three days in early September--it looks that way, anyway. Perhaps I have spoken too soon. Also in the works a non-public reading of my new play, Pretty Theft in Aug. Let me know if you want to come and I'll try to sneak you in. Next week we will be in beautiful Seattle. I've never been. I'm very excited but mostly I have to get the f*ck out of this place. The city is wearing on me. Don't get me wrong. I love New York. I LOVE New York. But sometimes it gets to be a little much. Question for the playwrights--often at the end of a rehearsal the director will say something like, "Adam did you want to say anything?" Now I'm normally pretty mute at rehearsals--I'll answer questions but I don't like to talk too much and the reason for this is because when I hear my play being read I feel like I am speaking non-stop. Does anyone else feel this way?

When you think of me, think of San Francisco

Pan Theater's first annual San Francisco Ten Minute Play Festival Pan Theater Announces First Annual San Francisco Ten Minute Play Festival to be held at the Blue Bear Theater in San Francisco on July 22nd and 23rd, 2005 San Francisco, CA July 5, 2005 -- Pan Theater, producer of the improv hit Dramedy and Comma, will present its first ever San Francisco Ten Minute Play Festival. The evening will include eight short plays ranging from eight to twenty minutes. Plays were chosen from hundreds of submitted plays. The plays being presented include: How to Ruin Monday Night Football by Aleks Merilo October by Ginger Lazarus Bury Barry by Michael Rubenfeld Ginsburg Fisher of Souls by Paul Kahn Some of All Parts by Mrinalini Kamath Insomnia by Patrick Gabridge High Noon by Adam Szymkowicz The Longest Night by Alina Trowbridge The festival will be held at the intimate Blue Bear Theater, Building D, 2nd floor in beautiful Fort Mason. Performance dates are scheduled for July 22nd and July 23rd starting at 8pm. Tickets at the door are $16 and advance tickets are $15. Students and TBA member tickets are $12 advance or at the door, ID required. For additional information call David Alger at 415.261.1641 or email: pantheater@comcast.net.

Lyle the Future King of the Great Expanding Universe

Lyle, do you see? As cohesive as a newborn that don't need instructing (and all the tots in a line in front and behind) As adhesive as the duct tape wrapped around your torso As peaceful as your breathing when it stops The crack of a crack across your unblinking face like flies circling a mammoth Still Ex-Tinct there's no sense to it and there's no way around it String it up. Freeze it, cook it, and eat it The kid with the spear don't need instructing He took to it like a hammer, like a bridge, like an ant As natural as a killer As quiet underwater aesthetic yet prophetic a beautiful thing But there you stand, royal and aloof sans violence, sans volition toes curled, hands that quiver a mind for dreaming a heart for breaking This is your warning Watch your back cuz the tots have teeth

When you think of me, think of lesbians

Bloody Unicorn Theatre Company in Tucson Arizona LESBIAN SHORTS II Our 2nd annual festival of original one-act plays with a Sapphic slant at the Cabaret Theater, Temple of Music and Art 330 S. Scott Ave., Tucson AZ FRIDAYS, SEPT. 2 and 9, AT 7:30 PM SATURDAYS, SEPT. 3 and 10, AT 2:30 PM & 7:30 PM SUNDAYS, SEPT. 4 and 11, AT 2:30 PM & 7:30 PM FOR RESERVATIONS CONTACT: BLOODYUNICORNTHEATER@YAHOO.COM OR (520) 990-3628 Featuring: WHAT IF I DON'T, by Rebekah Lopata PARIS, by Lyralen Kaye SAVE, by Adam Szymkowicz A LOVER'S QUARREL, A PARENT/CHILD CONFLICT, AND A HIGH SPEED CAR CHASE ALL NEATLY RESOLVED IN UNDER FIFTEEN MINUTES (JUST LIKE IN REAL LIFE), by Matthew Hanson LEMONADE, by Ginger Lazarus PLUS PERFORMANCES BY THE MIDRIFF CRISIS BELLYDANCE TROUPE!

exposure

Travis York wanted to be on my blog. I told him I'd think about it. I'm seeing my show again tonight. Then there will be 5 more performances. I can't stand to watch my own shows. I feel so exposed. www.adamszymkowicz.com

Hillary for President 2008

Compassion and Intelligence in the White House--isn't it about time? NY Times Article

chunk from the play I'm working on--first draft

BARBARA It’s been a year since Father died. When Mother died, I was only seven and three quarters but I had to become the mother to you both as well as your older sister. Did I do right by you? I tried, you know. I had to learn how to be a woman from television. “One Life to Live,” “Days of Our Lives,” “All My Children,” “General Hospital,” “Daylight Menagerie,” “Passionate Embrace,” “Dallas” and the magazines of course. I skipped Seventeen and went straight to Mademoiselle, Ms., Playgirl, Good Housekeeping, Home and Garden, House and Kitchen, Modern Woman, Lady of Leisure. I stayed home like a mother would and studied, catalogued every gesture and practiced practiced to be an adult so that you didn’t have to. Then when you came home I would show you what I had learned and you would smile. Because I had kept you from the pain and from the responsibility of being a woman. Now that Poppa is dead I must learn to be a father to you as well. I watch my husband carefully, copy his gestures, accept his philosophies, religion, thoughts. He will be the new model for our father, the father I will become. Do you remember a year ago today? Father fell asleep watching Fox news and didn’t wake up. There was a panic of course and the shock and the sorrow eventually. ALICE We should bury him. BARBARA What? ALICE The neighbors are beginning to complain about the smell.

Interview with Albee

There is this great interview with Albee you may or may not have seen in the Brooklyn Rail a couple months back. MR. ALBEE I told my playwrighting students, you have to write and not only do you have to see the first play you’ve ever seen, but every time you write a play, you have to write the first play that’s ever been written. How else can you be individual? Also in that issue, an illuminating article about Rinne Groff by Deron Bos (or D. Boss as I like to think of him.)

Is it wrong

to not read someone's blog because you don't like their font?

Tripped on the rug--Tripped the alarm

It's hard when you're trying to build something from nothing and suddenly alarms go off. I mean, you're already lost...it's dark and you're trying to spill as much light as you can but illumination is hard work. The need for craft will stop you short--will force you to write nothing if you don't let the subconcious lead the thing into chaos but too much chaos will kill the thing too or at least will bring you downtown. Not that there's anything wrong with downtown. Or obscurity. There's an article about me in a Polish Newspaper. I would link to it if it were possible. You'll just have to take my word for it. And I'll have to take their word for it that it says nice things. Cuz I don't speak the language.

Paranoia strikes deep in the Heartland

It's scary and sad in London. I don't want to look at it. And of course something is bound to happen here again. We live with a kind of anxiety that Bush feeds into. I think people that live outside cities may even be more anxious. I don't want to be paranoid. Must resist. Death is in the water! Death is in the sky! Don't walk or breathe or sit anywhere for too long! I don't want to fall into that. I wonder what it must be like to live somewhere that is really constantly under attack. Instead of this fear we have--which is not dissimilar to the fear of the madman with the uzi shooting up a mall. Yes it could happen. It's happened before and will happen again, probably. But we can't be thinking about it all the time. Not if we want to function. I told myself I wasn't going to write about this.

Day of Reckoning

I decided not to have a counter--partially because it seemed hard to install and partially because I know myself and I become obsessive. Consequently, I have no idea how many people read this blog. Consequently when people tell me they read my blog I am surprised (although part of me wonders why everyone isn't reading it.) I guess I'm surprised they're thinking about me when I'm not in the room--and paradoxically I'm also like of course they're thinking about me. I rock. The show opens tonight. I heard yesterday's dress rehearsal was BAD. I hope tonight is much better. It was pretty good when I saw it Wed. I dunno. It's out of my hands. www.adamszymkowicz.com

in SF

In San Francisco, Pan Theatre will be doing my short play, High Noon the 22nd and 23rd of July. Drop in if you can. If you're in NY, you really need to see the Adam Bock play Swimming in the Shallows. Can't recommend it enough. Great script--both light and weighty and amazingly entertaining. Some highly skilled and lively acting by an incredible ensemble cast and Trip Cullman directs as always like a talented motherfucker. And if you're a student, 10 dollar student rush. Who could beat that? Also see my play--look at the post below this.

13th Street Rep presents

Nerve by Adam Szymkowicz Directed by Jennifer Blevins Starring Allie O'Connor and Michael Fritz Passion, puppets and cheap beer help two lonely and socially-awkward people find love on a first date. Thurs, Fri & Sat 7pm Adults $15; Students and Seniors $12 July 7, 8, 9, 14, 15, 16 Call for times for other performances after July 16 TO PURCHASE TICKETS IN ADVANCE: www.TheaterMania.com OR call 212 352-3101 13th Street Repertory Company (new plays for the American theatre) 50 West 13th St, NYC, NY 10011 (212) 675-6677 www.13thStreetRep.org www.adamszymkowicz.com

Day 2 (without K)

She's only been in Seattle for a few hours and already I can't eat and various non-living objects in the office have begun speaking to me. I just finished a fight with a three ring binder. "Are you Ok, Adam?" One of my co-workers asks me. I tell her I'm fine. Then the tape despenser mocks her. No one seems to notice. K, I'm going crazy here literally. HAve fun and all but be back soon, K?

BLOGEYE

I have to wear a patch because of my blogeye. Don't touch me. It's highly contagious.

Day 1

K leaves today for her former theatrical home to spend some quality time by the water and at a wedding. They say the first day is the hardest. I imagine I will cry myself to sleep tonight in that large empty bed.

these timestamps are all a lie.

Everything's a lie. I'm not even who you think I am. I don't really dress this way. I'm not really the age you think I am. And my toenails are painted but they aren't the color you think they are. You can't understand anything I'm trying to say to you. And it's probably my fault. And it's quite possible I was a) abducted by aliens b) molested c) molested by aliens. (Not that I remember these things, mind you. Not vividly anyway) That's probably my fault too. And it's quite possible that I may be a) a midget b) a genius c) an idiot d) autistic e) obsessive-compulsive f) falling apart g) severely flawed--like the kind of flawed that won't fly and must be recalled so that no one gets sued. And yet, I dare you to sue me. Because all of it is a lie.

Dragging 10 or 11

I should be writing a play, should be tap tapping at the keys in creation of something big or at least big enough like the play that's untitled and won't come out. I should be trying to forge this world that refuses to be completely visible instead of going back to kiss bloggie over and over with the tips of my finger. Feed me, bloggie says. Feed me. And I do. But fast am I losing all my blood.

It's just a theory but . . .

J.D. Salinger is a blogging fool who posts twenty times a day but he doesn't want people to know so he pretends to be a 13 year old girl in Omaha named Amber.

mandatory fiction--the joy of wind and self propelled motion

In pursuit of flight, she purchased in the thrift shop a pair of well-worn roller skates. They were size three, no key required, lace up electric-blue with tazer-purple wheels. They matched perfectly her pink-ridged skirt, her favorite red t-shirt, her pom-pom hat. As she tied on the skates, she felt an immense sense that she was starting a venture that would lead to distinction, awards, and greatness. This sense only increased as she got to her wheeled feet and started down the sloping asphalt driveway. She skated tentatively at first. Then faster and faster, sometimes in loops or close circles. Then in a particularly tight turn, she lost her balance and fell, her hands taking the asphalt brunt of it. But the stinging didn't stop her from getting up again. Or from falling again after a few more minutes of asphalt-zooming. She fell and fell and fell and fell and fell. She gradually realized she was not going to be in the driveway-skating Olympics. Not this year anyway. www.adamszymkowicz.com

wall-less cubicle adrift

Let me tell you about my job. My desk floats on an island of paper. I sit at my computer and type up missives, emails, manifestos, notes to be sent by carrier pigeon. The island of paper grows each day. My boss comes, huffing with the weight, and drops stacks of white papers into my inbox. They pour over the sides and the volcano of pulp erupts onto the floor. I am falling behind in my filing. My other boss comes, huffing with another stack. "I need these photocopied," she says. I don't look up. I say "I'm in the middle of a manifesto. Can it wait?" She says, "How's the filing coming?" "Great," I say. She grins thinly and walks away. I resent having to do work at my job. www.adamszymkowicz.com

blogshares

Have you seen this? It didn't take long to make blogging into a commercial enterprise--even if it is fake. I have a strange need to try and make my blog worth much much more which is of course a waste of my time. I may do it anyway.

Beginning of 3 sisters--with helpful links to update stuffy old Chekhov

OLGA. Father died just a year ago, on this very day -- the fifth of May, your name-day, Irina. It was very cold, snow was falling. I felt as though I should not live through it; you lay fainting as though you were dead. But now a year has passed and we can think of it calmly; you are already in a white dress, your face is radiant. [The clock strikes twelve.] The clock was striking then too [a pause]. I remember the band playing and the firing at the cemetery as they carried the coffin. Though he was a general in command of a brigade, yet there weren't many people there. It was raining, though. Heavy rain and snow. IRINA. Why recall it! [BARON TUZENBAKH, CHEBUTYKIN and SOLYONY appear near the table in the dining-room, beyond the columns.] OLGA. It is warm today, we can have the windows open, but the birches are not in leaf yet. Father was given his brigade and came here with us from Moscow eleven years ago and I remember distinctly that in Moscow at this time, at the beginning of May, everything was already in flower; it was warm, and everything was bathed in sunshine. It's eleven years ago, and yet I remember it all as though we had left it yesterday. Oh, dear! I woke up this morning, I saw a blaze of sunshine. I saw the spring, and joy stirred in my heart. I had a passionate longing to be back at home again! CHEBUTYKIN. The devil it is!

Thank you, Sheila!

I got an email this morning about sneaker chocolate. (apparently the world's first.) I would show you but according to the email "these exclusive images are highly confidential and are only for your viewing pleasure." (read as my viewing pleasure) I read Noah Haidle's Mr. Marmalade this morning in American Theatre magazine. (pretty great) Larry and I saw Doubt last night (truly great, but left me a little cold) K didn't believe me when I told her Heidi was still in our apt this morning. Why would I lie about that? I felt like Big Bird trying to convince everyone Snuffalufagous was real. I hope I didn't offend Heidi too much when I told her she was like Snuffalufagous. She did leave soon after.

I like to pound the colored keys of the bloomberg with my fists.

I like to snap chopsticks in half. I like a good beef burrito, a mediocre bottle of red wine. I like the acidic shivering taste in my mouth when I think of something sour. I like to not explain things.