She looks up from her microscope at the frizzy-haired man in the lab coat beside her. "I'm sorry, Fred, but I already have a date for tonight. If you want to add your name to the chalkboard on the wall, I can try to squeeze you in sometime next month. It's the best I can do." He says nothing. Looks at the chalkboard. She goes back to her microscope.

From Uncle Vanya

SONIA. What can we do? We must live our lives. [A pause] Yes, we shall live, Uncle Vanya. We shall live through the long procession of days before us, and through the long evenings; we shall patiently bear the trials that fate imposes on us; we shall work for others without rest, both now and when we are old; and when our last hour comes we shall meet it humbly, and there, beyond the grave, we shall say that we have suffered and wept, that our life was bitter, and God will have pity on us. Ah, then dear, dear Uncle, we shall see that bright and beautiful life; we shall rejoice and look back upon our sorrow here; a tender smile--and--we shall rest. I have faith, Uncle, fervent, passionate faith. [SONIA kneels down before her uncle and lays her head on his hands. She speaks in a weary voice] We shall rest. [TELEGIN plays softly on the guitar] We shall rest. We shall hear the angels. We shall see heaven shining like a jewel. We shall see all evil and all our pain sink away in the great compassion that shall enfold the world. Our life will be as peaceful and tender and sweet as a caress. I have faith; I have faith. [She wipes away her tears] My poor, poor Uncle Vanya, you are crying! [Weeping] You have never known what happiness was, but wait, Uncle Vanya, wait! We shall rest. [She embraces him] We shall rest. [The WATCHMAN'S rattle is heard in the garden; TELEGIN plays softly; MME. VOITSKAYA writes something on the margin of her pamphlet; MARINA knits her stocking] We shall rest. It's a good way to end a play or maybe this: SHAMRAEFF. Here is the stuffed sea-gull I was telling you about. [He takes the sea-gull out of the cupboard] You told me to have it done. TRIGORIN. [looking at the bird] I don't remember a thing about it, not a thing. [A shot is heard. Every one jumps.] ARKADINA. [Frightened] What was that? DORN. Nothing at all; probably one of my medicine bottles has blown up. Don't worry. [He goes out through the door on the right, and comes back in a few moments] It is as I thought, a flask of ether has exploded. [He sings] "Spellbound once more I stand before thee." ARKADINA. [Sitting down at the table] Heavens! I was really frightened. That noise reminded me of-- [She covers her face with her hands] Everything is black before my eyes. DORN. [Looking through the pages of a magazine, to TRIGORIN] There was an article from America in this magazine about two months ago that I wanted to ask you about, among other things. [He leads TRIGORIN to the front of the stage] I am very much interested in this question. [He lowers his voice and whispers] You must take Madame Arkadina away from here; what I wanted to say was, that Constantine has shot himself. The curtain falls. The tone of it. I love the tone.

Friday Everyone is Disgruntled

Tap tap at me with your negativity. Spread it thick over the place you imagine my face to be. It's not my problem, this thing you wrestle. Don't make me soak it in. I will skid over the wet place you made, skate by it, float over it, walk around it. When I was little, I was angry like you. I had little fists that wanted to hurt. I had a heart that cried when my fists made contact. I had lungs that heaved with my child tears. Now I am old and I am disgruntled. I don't need your grunting to fill up my misery. ---------------------------------- I have no idea how I will manage to see all the fringe shows I plan to/want to see. It is almost entirely impossible. Please know if I don't get to your show, I tried. Oh God how I tried.

Google and Orgasms

See recent Mike Daisey Posts about the potential power of google and the actual power of orgasms.

A reading (not my own)

Where will you be this August 17th? I have many eyewitness accounts of what I was doing 28 years ago on August 17th. But this year I will be here. Hope you will be here too. New Georges presents a mini-workshop of... ALL THE GIRLS LOVE BOBBY KENNEDY a new play by Kristen Palmer directed by Sarah Cameron Sunde featuring: Elizabeth Tidy Amelia Zirin-Brown Travis York Todd D'amour Deron Bos Matthew Knowland Gracie has been dreaming of Bobby and he's been dreaming back to her while the world changes around them on a college campus in rural Missouri in the spring of 1968. A play about young love, idealism and Robert F. Kennedy. Wednesday, August 17 7pm New Georges' The Room 520 8th Ave. 3rd floor (between 36 & 37th)

Class is in Session (but not for me yet)

School has started up again and all the fresh faced youths are intent on becoming newly minted journalists. I watch throngs of them stream up the steps chatting and effusing as I wait silently for the elevator to carry me to my wall-less cubicle on the 7th floor of this ivory tower. I am old and bearded and can only watch their excitement with nostalgia. I almost forget that I will attend an ivory tower of my own soon. Albeit part-time. I will still come here every day and the fresh faced interviewers-to-be will see me as an office drone. Which is, of course, what I am.

Blogging is like theatre

Because you never know who will see what you put up. Because anyone could see it, but probably only a few people actually will. That's all I got. Anyone else?

Blogroll Please

Please welcome Bog Face and the Palace of the Spitting Frog to the blogroll. The Palace is a wonderful place to stay and a Jenn is a really good person and host. If you ever get an opportunity to stay at the Palace of the Spitting Frog(s), I highly recommend it. Bog Face kicked my ass at basketball yesterday. As did FW and T-Dawg. I suck at basketball. But I am relatively good at drinking PBR at the Yacht Club which was where we headed when we got tired of the baseball players trying to hit us out of the basketball court. Gary met us not at the court but at the club. Many people did not make either the club or the court. You know who you are, you non-participators and giver-uppers. Hope you can make it next time.

Blogging For the Sake of the Children

BOBBIE Good fiction is no different than non-fiction. It’s just a shift of the adjectives, a replacement of the specifics. You put a tarp over something and when you take it off, it has changed. It’s not magic. It’s just that you notice what you didn’t notice before. With that in mind, please know that I’m telling you the truth. The man clears his head on the subway. He lets himself be rocked by the motion, goes slack in the lurches. He is a spectator. Attracted by this color, struck dumb by this shape, astounded by this shade of skin. The man doesn’t speak but sometimes there is excessive eye contact and a lot of looking at the ground. The man never follows through. He always slinks away when the doors open. He is nursing a depression. (Taking out a handgun, looking down the barrel.) I clear my head by looking down the barrel of a forty-five. It used to be a flare gun, then a bee bee gun. Then it was this but unloaded. Now I have to load it or the mind won’t clear. I’m afraid of what the next step might be. I am terribly good at following through. You might say, that like the man, I am depressed. If you had no sense of proportion, you might say we are the same. School starts up a month (or so) from now. I'm so excited I can hardly stay upright. Tonight is the last night of Nerve at 13th Street Rep. I'm sure I'll see you all there. www.adamszymkowicz.com

So I have this short play Soup I wrote when I was 21 during winter break basically in one sitting. It's been online for years. So far it has been produced in London at a college and in Lithuania at a college. Some high school in Australia wanted to do it but one of the parents got ahold of the script and made a fuss and the show was shut down. Someone from the Netherlands recently contacted me asking to translate the play and perform it. And now some kids in Romania want to do a short film version. In some ways this is my most successful short play beacause it gets done with no effort on my part (although I haven't made a dime on it). Now I ask you, why can't I get a production in the U.S.? Am I just not trying hard enough? But more importantly, why is it only Soup that gets attention from college students in far flung countries? I have other plays online. Better plays (in my opinion). Why don't they want to do one of them? I'm speaking to you now all you college kids in Bulgaria and France and Nepal and Luxembourg. Go here. Read something other than Soup. I'll pretend like I'm not secretly thrilled when I receive your request in broken English to do said play for free. And we'll all be happy.

STRESSED

At work they gave me a stack of projects upon my return. Gone are the good old days when I could relax. Starting to write a new play tentatively titled Food for Fish: A Novel in a Bottle. It's about men and women and how they are different and the same and how they get along. Maybe there should be something about that in the title. It was nice and cool in seattle. Seventy, eighty degrees. Sunny almost the whole time--which they say is rare. And mountains. I didn't grow up around mountains or water but I could see how they could be missed. P.S. Can anyone recommend a good novella or two written in first person?--I'm studying to write a one-person show. www.adamszymkowicz.com

Jetlag and Duck Itch

I may be too tired to say anything intelligent yet. I am still in Seattle and there are many wonderful things here. The Seattle folks are great. The wedding was great. The views here are spectacular although it is touristy down by the waterfront and there are lots of homeless people here--a disproportionate amount it seems. And there are a lot of nice fountains and seagulls but it still smells like piss or fish sometimes. And I saw a couple of bums beating each other up on the pavement yesterday. In short--it's still a city, though really a nice city to live in. If NY theatre wasn't such a beacon . . . but alas. The mountains. I could look for hours at the snow-capped mountains over the water. Anyone ever hear of duck itch before? Apparently I narrowly escaped it.

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.