The past week has been an active one for me: I have flitted about like an exquisite barbarian hummingbird, glittering beautifully as I darted from theater to theatre attempting to support the dramatic arts in as many ways as my broke and uneducated mind can conceive of.
Last week, I gave you a video of a show I helped to mount at Orange Coast College over the weekend. I used to appear regularly on that stage, long ago when most of the current crop of students were not yet even teenagers. As such it was a joy to return there once again, having done something much the same a year prior and having rehearsed and performed a show in the space of 24 hours. The young lads and lasses of the “Orange Coast College Theater Repertory” were quite welcoming and few, if any, hesitated in mounting discourse about oft-taboo subjects such as ‘vaginas’ and ‘poop.’ It was like going home.
This past weekend has been no less active for me, for I have found myself in no less than four different theaters indulging in my passion for the continued presence of William Shakespeare’s words on all the world’s stages. Continue reading →
Soulmationships: Phoebe Buffay and David
Phoebe is a character who lives in the moment. In The One Where Phoebe Runs, she summarizes this perfectly, “[Y]ou don’t care if people are staring, because it’s just for a second cause then you’re gone!”
That’s her life philosophy and it’s why her “memory sucks” (The One with the Chick and a Duck)and why she gives people second chances, because she wants to believe them as they are now; in the present; in the moment.
No doubt, if she dwelled on the past’s tragedies, or the bleak future, then she wouldn’t have the sunny disposition she does now.
Plus, with the amount of death, discomfort, and abandonment Phoebe has had to endure, it makes sense that the most important thing in her life is the people she connects with. Continue reading →
My poop smiled at me this morning…
Not from the toilet bowl but from the few squares of paper I held, post-wipe. Not all of it was poop. The off-center smile consisted a piece of cotton that managed to hang on. Regardless of the crude happy-face’s make-up the origin was from the lower disposal unit of my body.
I did not contemplate what had occurred. I just continued to wipe as I was not finished. But my day went on — seemingly normal — and carried with it a stain of happiness. It haunted me. The image looking up at me with no issues, no problems. And my mirrored self looking down at this paper, this face, with a complex uncertainty. Continue reading →
To set the stage, my wife and I were watching Gone Girl for the second time (first time with the in-laws). I was in hot anticipation of seeing Ben Affleck’s penis as I had not on the first viewing, but evidently it was front and center like a page 6 spread because it was all my fellow critics seemed to talk about. In general, this film was more gratuitous than I remember.
However, when Nick Dunne’s extra-marital affair goes public, we noticed another small detail previously glossed over — though equally voluptuous. Andie donned the last name, Fitzgerald.
Now both characters are writers, both well-read, and Gillian Flynn makes no attempt to mask the meta-narrative. Characters leave each other clues in the murder mystery and Amy literally writes a compelling 300 page thriller full of truths and fictions that are — oddly enough — normaler than fiction since she paints the picture of an abusive and violent husband as opposed to revealing the inner workings of a manipulative, suicidal psychopath. Continue reading →