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!

scene 13 from play in progress

THIRTEEN (SYLVIA in streetlamp.) SYLVIA This is how it was. I decided I would set about to understand him even if he didn’t want to show me the parts of him I wanted to see. The boy had led his life as an enigma, never letting anyone see more than they had to. But I was an investigative reporter. I would crack this wide open. With a sledgehammer if I had to. Something you should know about me if we’re going to continue—sometimes I use a sledgehammer when a hand is all that’s necessary and sometimes I use a hand when maybe a word would do. Tonight was one of these nights. I didn’t know how to choose—what were the rules to this venture? What were the signals? The body language? I tried to pick someone who appealed, who seemed lonely, someone who had shoes I liked and who walked in a way I wished I walked. Someone different, someone better. (SASHA appears in a streetlamp) SYLVIA I saw her and immediately knew she was the one. What did he say? That it must feel right before it feels wrong? It felt right or it felt something—something buzzing and nice and scary all at once. SASHA Excuse me. SYLVIA Huh. SASHA Do you know where there’s a liquor store around here? SYLVIA Ummmm. There might be, uh. (SYLVIA leans forward and kisses her. SASHA backs away and then slaps her.) SASHA Don’t you ever do that! Don’t you ever do that! (SYLVIA crumbles to a heap on the ground.) SYLVIA I’m sorry. I’m sorry. SASHA (backing away.) You just shouldn’t do that. Don’t ever do that. (Exit SASHA.) (SYLVIA sobs.) (On the other side of the stage in another streetlamp, ALICE is walking alone. BOBBIE approaches her. SYLVIA continues to sob.) (BOBBIE and ALICE look at each other. They stop. They continue again towards each other. They stop. It is almost like a dance. Then they are together and they are kissing. ALICE’s eyes are closed. She becomes elated, he, more depressed and then he is gone.) ALICE Oh. Wow. (A loud sob from SYLVIA.)

Bananiaregalia

You may remeber a pst I recently posted about a banana problem. I just got a comment from someone in France who will remain anonymous toting a banana guard. Who knew such a thing existed but more importantly, is it worth the 6 bucks?

PT

I just got an email from a theatre in LA whose work I have seen and enjoyed who is doing a closed reading of my play Pretty Theft next week. If I were rich I would be flying to LA to see this reading. I am not rich.

Just a quick note to say

Congratulations to Sheila and Soph. The wedding was beautiful yet laid-back and we got to make wishes on rocks. The late night party was a super blast function. I wore a hat. Dancing and drinking was performed by all. I'm sure others will be posting pictures soon.

Go Rolin Jones!!

Can I recommend to you New Yorkers The Intelligent Design of Jenny Chow--wonderful. Saw it last night for 10 bucks. The production, direction, score, lighting, set, all top notch. I can't remember the last time I saw such a well produced play. But more than that, it's beautifully touching and funny. It's not the kind of play that teaches you something and makes you rethink the world but the kind you immerse yourself in and are moved by. The humanity of it that Jones is able to illuminate. It's the best thing I've seen in a long time.

Learn from my mistakes or What's that in your pocket?

Bananas do not travel well. You might see a banana on your shelf and think, “hey why don’t I take that to work for lunch.” If you’re like me however, you might be taking the subway which might be cramped and your bag may be jostled. And when you get to work your yellow banana that had only a small brown spot might be completely bruised and brown and you would see what I see now. That bananas do not travel well.

Catholic (not to be confused with Callaholic)

NY Times article about the a Vatican Ban on homosexual priests. As someone who was raised Catholic, I am always a little surprised at how emotional I get still about the stupidity of the Catholic Church. "The irony is, if you look at the exact ages and seminary graduating classes of those priests who were convicted of sexual abuse in the past few years, they were not on the whole people who entered seminaries in the 1980's, when there began to be more openness about homosexuality," he said. "These were people from the old closeted days" "So what the church is doing is repeating, in a weird way, the conditions they had before that gave rise to the abuse crisis." I still don't know why priests are expected to be celibate and also are often expected to give marriage counseling. And why can't women be priests. It's a self destructive thing, limiting even more who the priests will be and part of me wants the Catholic Church to self destruct and another part of me wants them to be benevolent somehow.

An Open Letter to a Stranger

Why are you trying to do my play without asking me first? What's wrong with you? Don't you think I can use google too? I will get you. Watch out.

I'm burnt out

I'm watching too many plays--writing too much. Working too of course. I'm totally burnt out and need to work on the screenplay more and rewrite Pretty Theft and also find a time to have my life and think and talk about things that aren't theatre related. Everything in my life is all scheduled out and all takes place after work. My week fills up and then my writing and living time is swallowed up too. How do other people do it? Do they not have a day job? And huge loans to pay back from school?

piece from play in progress

(BOBBIE finishes typing and takes the paper out of the typewriter. He hands it to SYLVIA who reads it silently.) SYLVIA This is what I remember from the page he handed me. “Where were you?” it said. BOBBIE (Quoting from the page) Have you been here the whole time in the corner in the shadows sipping your lager? Me, all I feel are clusters of light, the rat a tat rumble of oncoming headlights, fireworks, bonfires, incredible stabs of concentrated heat hurtling towards my eyes. “Even death can’t find me here,” I think, as your stale breath seeps deeply into my lungs. You are no beauty or at least open-handed I can count twelve or more with tauter looks whose tongues I’ve touched. And you, steeped in the corner for five minutes, seven hours, ten years, who can say how long? How long? Your angles, curves, brush of lash, stiff lip on edge of glass. When did you sneak in under the line of mine to flip the switch? Don’t know how you did it. Didn’t know it was there but it’s like an extra sense opened up or a new way of living like learning you can breathe underwater or understand binary code. All the ones and zeros suddenly crystal. It’s dim here but my irises are jagged, prickly, straining to make sense of the oncoming flood. The flood envelops me if I chance to let a glance graze you so I try to look at you only when you’re distracted and looking far away from me. It hurts less that way. SYLVIA Then he took the page from me. And from nowhere produced an empty wine bottle, and rolling the page up, slipped it, smooth as can be, into the bottle and corked it.

Projectile

What I didn't tell you was about my first day of class. I left work early so I could get my required Tetnus shot before class. Now I'm not good with needles and have a history of sometimes fainting. This time I didn't faint. However, I did projectile vomit all over my pants, all over the floor in the heath center, probably all over the nurses (or are they doctors?). They were very nice about it and lent me scrubs to wear to class--or the pants anyway. I had some bright blue pants for my first day of playwriting class. Because of my vomiting they decided I didn't have to have the hep b shot, explaining to me I could only get it from blood. "Like from sharing heroin needles?" I said. "You may have noticed I don't like needles." They also reminded me that I wouldn't have to get another tetnus shot for 10 years. I plan to spend the next 10 years being bitten by dogs and stepping on rusty nails. Hell, what do I have to worry about?

Plot and Story for Film and TV

For you screenwriters or TV writers, an interesting blog post about plot and story from Kung Fu Monkey aka John Rogers. Thanks to Ripley for pointing this out.

type failure into google and see what's the no 1 hit. Thanks to mike daisey for this.

So Teri Parker who I went to Columbia with has asked me to be one of 7 artists to correspond with some kids she's teaching about theatre--in theory they will ask questions and I will know the answers or I will ask you, the blogosphere and you will tell me. Anyway, I am mailing off a packet of info now to the good kids of Greenville, SC. Leave me a comment when you get it, kids. Adam

Grrr.

She was the kind of girl who would make a plaster mask of a tiger to practice her mask work but when it was formed and painted it would simply sit on her bedside table. Beside it you might find a book of untouched Mac Wellman plays. At three in the morning on the day before a big audition, she would get inspired, perhaps, and she would put on the mask and growl while reading Albanian Softshoe or Cellophane. Sometimes this girl seems more productive than me.