Trainwise

Trainwise

[entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

trainwise

[	userinfo	\|	livejournal userinfo	]
[	archive	\|	journal archive	]

Barrymore Begins

[Apr. 14th, 2008|05:07 pm]

[	Tags	\|	barrymore, diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	good	]
[	music	\|	WITH THE DARK by They Might Be Giants	]

Victor and I had a boozy evening on the town last Wednesday night, which ended with an impromptu reading of BARRYMORE, while completely faced, on my subway ride back to Brooklyn. But considering my character’s immortal indulgences, the whole evening can be handily written-off as good research—and taken in that light, I feel very responsible for having been so irresponsible.

Plus, it’s nostalgic.

* * *

Phill has a way of transforming our apartment into a magician’s workshop in preparation for our productions, and BARRYMORE is no different: The living room has already become a Victorian rehearsal hall, and this time, the set of the play comes complete with a working phonograph, on which Phill’s having me casually play the incidental music for the show, as though Barrymore is simply putting on music for pleasure during the course of his reminiscences.

After going through several vintage jazz albums on Saturday to find appropriate selections for the show, Phill let me try out an as-yet-unplayed vinyl edition of Jason Molina’s LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO as a little bit of R&R. It was haunting, incantational…as ghostly as any of the sounds from those older recordings.

I finally “get” the whole vinyl obsession. It’s theatrical and intimate. It’s a sound that gets into the very woodwork.

* * *

Sunday we shopped for BARRYMORE clothing at Goodwill, and found a pinstripe suit in my size for $20.

This would be serendipitous for anyone, but as I’m 6’5” and intensely superstitious, it has lit a cosmic fire under my ass to do the show proud.

Cross all available fingers, toes.

Neverthelessland

[Apr. 14th, 2008|05:03 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary, first novel	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	good	]
[	music	\|	LONESOME VALLEY by Magnolia Electric Co.	]

Well, things have been a tad weird lately, but at least said weirdness is not the sort that necessitates capitalization of the W. Here goes:

- My job is going bye-bye.

- The kids’ book I was working on is very likely going away, too.

- Exposition-be-damned, my character has been cut entirely from the film I shot last year.

These are all pretty lousy breaks. However, none are as bad as they sound (or feel): My office already has other options for me, the eliminated kids’ book may only have been postponed, and the movie has put me on the radar with its production team as an employable film actor—the kind who doesn’t even freak out when you tell him that he’s been cut from your movie. At least, not until he hangs up the phone.

* * *

And now for one piece of very good news, and the probable reason for my continued sanity in the midst of the above ego-bruises:

My own book is going really, really well after five months of constant struggle. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate most of what I’ve written--that goes without saying at this point! Nevertheless, I feel like I’ve finally got a strong idea how the story needs to develop, and even some good leads on how to tell it well.

The book is, at long last, a pleasure to write. And with a little luck (and a lot of tough love) it will soon be a pleasure to read, as well.

It's Over, It's Over, All Over, It's Oh-Whoa-Whoa-Whoa-Ver

[Mar. 27th, 2008|03:24 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	fine	]
[	music	\|	GRAVEYARD GIRL by M83	]

Brooklyn Family Theatre has officially disbanded—but our farewell, held back on the fifteenth, was an unqualified success. (As was Brooklyn Family Theatre, to my mind.)

Jenn hosted the farewell show. Kanova, Dawn, Hector and the BFT kids all sang. Many regulars and parents were in the audience to see us off, only two or so of whom were truly nutjobs. And even the nutjobs cried—everyone cried, in fact, except for me and Phill. (I was too worried that the AV equipment I borrowed from work was going to overheat, whereas Phill doesn’t really cry, he just eats cookies.)

In the middle of the show, Jenn hosted a BFT-themed Who Wants to Be a Millionaire segment, with costumes and props from our shows as prizes. Max was the first contestant, and he gradually incorporated his winnings into his ensemble as he played--by the end of his round, he was sitting on stage in bat wings, a lion robe and a top hat, carrying a stuffed duck.

Later, Max redistributed all the props and costumes to the kids who had worn them in their appropriate shows; the Robin Hood of the BFT costume trunk.

2 comments|post comment

Whatever You Do, Don't Think About Gangsters

[Mar. 14th, 2008|09:46 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diane, diary, first novel	]
[	Current Location	\|	Victorian Splendor, 11215	]
[	mood	\|	good	]
[	music	\|	Air Conditioner	]

I attended a deeply unironic Tupperware Party in The Bronx last Saturday, where I welcomed Diane back from her recent trip abroad; she and The Republican had gone to Hong Kong and Thailand for a couple of weeks. Now she was in a room full of gay men, Italian moms, babies and burpable cocktail shakers--nothing like being reincorporated into your host society at an event that's at least as disorienting as international travel.

* * *

Diane was able to visit Hong Kong Disneyland during her trip, and she tells me that their Space Mountain kicks our Space Mountain's ass. Indeed, the majority of our post-trip discussion related to this portion of her visit.

It's true, in my family we fetishize every potential travel destination in terms of its proximity to theme parks.

* * *

Last week, I had one of those awful days where the book was the only thing in my brain. Story ideas were bouncing around my skull like Lotto balls, but there was no winning number in sight—I finally forced myself to engage in a purgative screening of BLADE RUNNER, and take some time off from writing. Not for long, just a week. Even that was easier said than done: My choice of “leisure reads” included a book about organized crime in Hell's Kitchen, a book about criminal societies in Polish prisons, and a book about an NBA coach...who once worked undercover in the Mafia.

Still, I did what I could to get clear for a few days. I read BARRYMORE. I started reading some social anthropology books that, for once, had nothing to do with gangsters. Thankfully, I also had some brand-new writing assignments at work, not the least among them will become my first published book! Don't get too excited—it's a kids' guidebook to an online community for virtual pets. But it's money.

And if I play my cards right, pretty soon I'll be writing guidebooks for thirtysomething geeks who think they're Orcs.

You know, my people.

* * *

Tomorrow night the Brooklyn Family Theatre closes for good, with a little farewell show that Phill has been putting together. It's going to be serious. If I don't glue my contacts in, they will surely wash away.

Full Moon

[Feb. 24th, 2008|02:00 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	Victorian Splendor, 11215	]
[	mood	\|	chipper	]
[	music	\|	2112, Rush	]

Had a pretty wonderful time on Thursday night at Union Hall. It was a co-birthday celebration with Erin, our third annual.

Josh B and his wife Becca are within days of Daddy and Mommyhood (respectfully), but Josh miraculously made the trek to The Other Brooklyn anyhow.

We talked about marriage and parenthood in our generation, or at least in our particular set of transplants and college buddies. Many of us, we realized, come from broken homes, and absolutely none of us think of marriage or parenthood as "steps" or "inevitabilities"--we really think of them as choices. This can lead to trepidation sometimes, not to mention overthinking. But it can also unlock a real sense of oneself, if taken in the right light. This feeling of looking down the road as far as you're able, and knowing as well as anybody can all the wonderful (and not-so-wonderful) things that the vanishing point might imply, but soldiering on regardless because we know the choice is a part of who we are--being a father, a mother, a husband, a wife, a writer, an actor, a friend.

At any rate, here's to another couple who will shortly be joining The Order of Cool Parents, an offshoot of the tiny cult of sanity that exists, against all odds, in this larger world of madness, perpetuating its traditions through secret handshakes, underground meetings and the occasional brunch.

* * *

At the party, we played WEREWOLVES OF MILLER'S HOLLOW several times, and Erin (who played the role of "Cupido" in the game) saw fit to make Phill and Victor "The Lovers", whose object is to save each other at all costs. Victor turned out to be a werewolf, and the townspeople killed him...at which point, Phill was forced to commit suicide from grief. It's in the rules.

My standard prescription these days for a night of boozy fun, as per classic rock's instructions, is one bourbon, once scotch and one beer--but thanks to the generosity of my friends, I came close to double-dosing. Afterward, Phill and I walked home, where we ate Stouffer's pizzas in bed, and Statler-and-Waldorfed network television. I avoided hangover completely...but I swear I'm feeling slightly drunk still, though this may only be the bite of that mythical beast from middle school public service announcements, the natural high.

Barrymore, more, more, more, more!

[Feb. 15th, 2008|05:00 pm]

[	Tags	\|	barrymore, diary, first novel	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	okay	]
[	music	\|	Air Conditioner (?!)	]

The books I'm using as research for my novel are waiting at home in a decidedly eclectic pile.  Damon Runyon and Raymond Chandler are represented, as well as lots of nonfiction on the culture of organized crime and imprisonment.

But I'm also researching for an acting role in the Spring, which has necessitated a strategic re-envisioning of the family Netflix queue, and the collection of an entire second mound of material, featuring biographies, Shakespeare plays and lots of audio recordings.

The play is BARRYMORE, and the role is none other than John Barrymore himself.  A bit of a meta-role really; I'm an actor playing an actor who is himself rehearsing a part. Or, more accurately, I'm a fledgling theatre hobbyist playing the greatest American actor who ever walked the stage rehearsing one of his signature Shakespeare performances. No pressure, huh?

At least I'm not expected to portray The Great Profile at the height of his powers; the play takes place at the very end of the actor's life. Remember that montage sequence in THE INCREDIBLES where Mr. Incredible starts powerlifting freight trains to get back in shape and reclaim his position as the world's top superhero? Well, imagine if that didn't work out for the guy. Imagine if Mr. Incredible, long out-of-practice from his many years spent feigning humanity, went to lift those freight trains...and found he couldn't do it anymore. Soon enough he just accepts that his powers are gone for good, that he will never get them back.

So help me, that is what BARRYMORE is about. It's devastating. Thankfully there's also humor, warmth and schmaltz to cut the poison--but under it all, yikes. In a way I'm glad I'm in the thing. Being a part of something, putting any kind of work into it, gives you some distance. But watching it? I'd jump off a fricking cliff.

* * *

I'm sick again, or getting there. That makes three illnesses in less than three months for me, in defiance of daily Airborne.  I'd be creeped out if I didn't know it was my fault--I'm so determined for everything to happen now that it's like I'm perpetually cramming for exams, and often staying up way too late. Even my job's relative (and sometimes absolute) quiet isn't doing much to keep me from stressing myself out. I need to slow down...which seems absurd, considering it's the turtle's pace of everything I'm doing that has driven me to speed up in the first place.

* * *

It's my birthday today, so Phill and I are going to check out XANADU on Broadway. I've been meaning to see it since it opened, the film on which it's based being one of my all-time favorite cinematic disasters. I'm also a huge fan of shows based on cheesy, ubiquitous movies. I count the stage productions KARATE KID: THE MUSICAL and SHOWGIRLS: THE BEST MOVIE EVER, EVER as three of the funniest nights I've ever spent in a theatre. (Yes three: I saw KARATE KID twice.)

Fingers crossed!

In Pictures

[Feb. 8th, 2008|09:29 am]

[	Tags	\|	diary, first novel	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	curious	]
[	music	\|	THE GIRL YOU LOST TO COCAINE by Sia	]

Andrew D has made his big-screen debut, as Pizza Delivery Guy in the THE AIR I BREATHE. I joined him and five rows of his friends on the night it opened, and we cheered the screen every time he appeared--to the befuddlement of the remaining audience members.

I'm certain there wasn't a single lead in that film who had as much fun watching its premiere in Hollywood as we did that night at the 3rd Avenue Loews.

* * *

As for my filmness, yes, I finally got to see my scenes in Keith's movie. The good news? I'm not distractingly awful. The bad news? Apparently I'm the same gawky weirdo on-screen that I see in the mirror every morning--matinee idoldom is not in my future.

The scene as shown was A LOT shorter than the scene we shot. Huge sections were cut, including the part that nearly drowned the lead! However, all of the edits made the film move better, and I truly had the sense that I wanted to find out what happened next...which is saying something, considering that I already know.

It was also strangely comforting to have proof that editing out parts of a story you may have sweat blood to get is a cross-disciplinary narrative tradition...

* * *

Ugh, the book. What a nightmare. It's just so slow going, though it's unquestionably getting better. My new motto is, "Write every day...because otherwise this will take you ten years."

Monday night was the worst. I hit a wall, and I didn't even know why--just that I couldn't continue writing no matter how hard I tried. I started picturing my own decapitation as a way of comforting myself. I finally decided to hold my consciousness hostage, refusing to sleep until I could come up with at least one possible solution to the dilemma.

This resulted in my staying awake in bed until 5am, but the book is moving forward again.

Spoon by spoon...

Disconnecticut

[Feb. 1st, 2008|10:52 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	Victorian Splendor, 11215	]
[	mood	\|	good	]
[	music	\|	Air Conditioner	]

I fear Connecticut, but not so much because it's very different from New York State--almost because it's not different enough. Its variances are so subtle that they don't register to my mind as variances, only the imperceptible sense that something is fundamentally wrong. Like some hacker’s been fussing with the level design of my life just enough to let me know he's there.

Nonetheless, I've spent a lot of time there lately:

- For the holidays, Phill and I visited my mother at the Foxwoods Casino. She and her boyfriend had offered to put us up there for the weekend, and Phill surprised me by suggesting that we take them up on the offer. Like any infernal bargain, however, there were unseen catches: Adjoining rooms, and the Mom-enforced requirement that we wear santa hats for the duration of our visit...even during our double-date at the Foxwoods Sports Bar.

- Over Martin Luther King weekend, we went to the Mohegan Sun Casino. Mom and Peter were there, of course, but this time Marie and Brandon came along as well, and they all attended a winefest together. Trouble was, they neglected to take into account what happens to Marie when she drinks the stuff--so my sister spent the evening speaking in an alien tongue, puking into handtowels and sleeping it off in Mom's room. When I texted Diane to tell her about the broad strokes of our sib's condition, she texted: "She didn't drink wine, did she?"

- This past weekend, my sisters and I headed over to our uncles’ triple-birthday in Watertown, bringing along (by popular request) Marie’s animatronic Leatherface—but only after removing the Balinese mask, Mardi Gras beads and bumblebee headband that it normally wears while standing guard in the bedroom. Everybody took turns posing with it:

* * *

We stuck the disembodied foot (pictured above, in my aunt Judi's mouth) out from the window of the car as we drove home, while Brandon screamed for help at the top of his lungs. The people in Connecticut found this pretty funny.

We tried this trick again in Jersey later that evening.

It did not go down so well.

In Sickness...And In Sickness

[Jan. 31st, 2008|02:19 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	complacent	]
[	music	\|	CHIMAYO by Will Kimbrough	]

Phill and I got a preview of “growing old together” this month--he was hit with bronchitis, while I wound up with a stiff neck that made things like sleeping, swallowing and parallel parking into tortures worthy of the auto de fe.

My neckness is thankfully finished now, and to be honest, Phill actually seemed to take some enjoyment in it. “This is what happens when you get older!” Phill said with noticeable glee, while I tried to find a way to lie down that wouldn’t result in expletives. “Everything just stops working!”

* * *

Phill’s problem was far more serious than mine, eventually worsening until the cough began to make his throat close up completely. He’s had this cold since December, so we're both to blame for letting something very serious slide for way too long. I mean, we're trying to save money, but this is ridiculous.

He's on Advair now, and gradually convalescing, though the other evening he got up too fast to have a cough and ended up collapsing, lightheaded, on the floor. I was out when this happened, and he tried real hard to make it sound funny when he told me about it.

Hardy-fricking-har.

2 comments|post comment

Stax of Wax

[Jan. 30th, 2008|04:23 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	content	]
[	music	\|	SKELETON SONG by Kate Nash	]

A brief footnote about the utter weirdness of shooting comedy sketches after-hours at a wax museum, which I did last night with Jenn and Mike’s group. Even if the near-overlap of hilariously incongruent “theme environments” doesn’t disorient you (a Manhattan kitchenette around the corner from the chamber of horrors being my favorite juxtaposition of the evening), you’re sure to be freaked-out by having to spend the night surrounded by petrified celebrities.

And for the record, the dummies do, indeed, have nipples. Though there’s no need for me to single out which of the guys in the comedy group was responsible for that particular fact-check—-because it was all of them.

The First Day Of The Rest Of The "First Days Of The Rest Of Your Life"

[Jan. 7th, 2008|04:43 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary, first novel	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	good	]
[	music	\|	I STARTED SOMETHING I COULDN'T FINISH by The Smiths (Not Even Kidding!)	]

My former boss and I were recently bonding about how nuts we get without structure, and though I enjoyed the holiday season's long stretches of HALF LIFE 2 at home with Phill and Rufus, the long stretches at the office between Christmas and New Year’s were maddening. Nobody was here, and productivity itself started to feel pretty counterproductive around all the silence.

Contrariwise, the streets of New York City were crammed with out-of-towners. (You could tell they were out-of-towners because they actually looked up when they walked around; the gazes of the indigenous tend slightly pavementward.) While driving to The Throgg on Christmas, Phill and I whizzed by a group of them, stranded on the East River side of the FDR, trying to collectively manage six lanes of traffic and the divider.

I took this as a kind of compliment, that these people just assume your average New Yorker does crazy shit like that on a routine basis. "Of course they just walk across the highway, Harold! They're New Yorkers!"

* * *

I called a “family meeting” with Phill last week to talk about our finances, our plans for the house, and all manner of subjects that make happy couples tear each other’s throats out.

We did what we could to keep it civil: Wine for me, gin-and-tonic for him, and Spoon’s GA GA GA GA GA on the CD player…an album that starts, appropriately enough, with the song “Don’t Make Me A Target”.

One of Phill's teaching jobs fell through, so the long and the short of it is, we’ve got to pool our money and live cheaply. Meanwhile, Phill is going to do his best to supplement by selling scarves. (Don’t laugh…he’s really selling a lot of scarves. Phill knits to stick.) I'll do my part by pretending we don't live in a city full of expensive cultural facilities and live music for as long as I can.

This is not necessarily awful news, since the spend-a-thon represented by the holidays has made me sick to death of shopping, or at least of actual buying. And I have work to do, besides: The book I'm writing continues apace, night after night.

* * *

The book is like writing my way through a maze, and checking every corridor for egress, only to find that most are dead ends. But when you finally head through to the next section of the labyrinth, it's wonderful, because you know you're finally getting somewhere.

So yes, it's moving along more slowly than I'd hoped (the holidays brought it to a crawl--I only managed to write for thirty of the last sixty days) but I've still made much progress, and I'm now at the magical point where writing the book is what I want to do more than anything. I even turned down an offer to visit the Garden State Plaza this weekend: I SAID NO TO A MALL, PEOPLE!

As for my snail's pace, I just keep thinking of the protagonist in King's SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION.

Spoon by spoon, folks. Spoon by spoon.

Four Christmas Gifts

[Jan. 1st, 2008|09:06 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	Victorian Splendor, 11215	]
[	mood	\|	awake	]
[	music	\|	Air Conditioner	]

One-of-a-kind pirate/seer voodoo doll:

Transforming Lycanthrope Lumberjack Doll:

Official Carol Channing Ventriloquist's Dummy from JC Penney's:

And finally, here's a gift that wasn't mine per say, but which went from me to my Goddaughter. You may want to click on the picture itself to view it larger, as there is a familiar figure hidden rather insidiously under the hayloft...

2 comments|post comment

Enforced Nothing

[Dec. 16th, 2007|03:33 pm]

[	Tags	\|	ben, diary, garen, jenn, mike s, phill, ramona, victor	]
[	Current Location	\|	Victorian Splendor, 11215	]
[	mood	\|	relieved	]
[	music	\|	SYSTEM by Simian Mobile Disco	]

The season has been in full swing. Its greatest hits for me (so far) include:

- Ramona's 1930s-themed 30th for Ben, at their flat in Fort Greene. The period look was pulled off with no shortage of class by their dedicated guests, and the brownstone's architecture sealed the deal--it actually seemed less like a costumed event and more like a rift in the time/space continuum. Or maybe that was just the Aberlour A'bunadh?

- Dinner-and-a-show with Garen, which became dinner-and-half-a-show since neither of us could manage to stay awake through The Wooster Group's HAMLET. We got coffee at intermission and never came back. (Running into a friend who was operating the sound while on our way out, but he allowed us to escape...)

- My second consecutive visit (and her fiance Mike's first) to The Italian-American Christmas Social with Jenn's family on Long Island. Jenn and Mike's impending nupts were a major subject of conversation, as was the fact that I will be performing them. (It's true! I got one-click-ordained for the purpose just Friday. Jenn's father kept calling me 'Monsignor' all day.) There was no caffeine in the house, not even in the coffee, so Jenn, Mike and I got a dose of java during our drive home...and soon found ourselves unexpectedly wired. We went to a Long Island mall to compliment our hopped-up nerves by knocking elbows with scores of shop-crazy American consumers.

- An electronic/classical music "fusion" recital at a beautiful Victorian home in the Hudson River Valley, featuring Eric Satie songs set to new Radioheadian arrangements...with deliciouscalista as vocalist! She's got a beautiful classical voice, and it was complimented perfectly by the "star music" take on the tunes. Transcendent and slightly hallucinatory, I want to tell deliciouscalista the next time I see her, "I had the coolest dream...and you were there!"

* * *

Victor actually joined me for the recital, which happened to be in the same town where his family once kept their yacht, no kidding. We went down to the water after the show and looked at the on-water "parking spot" where it used to live. Victor may be from Holland, but his personal history always tends to overlap weirdly with mine. I remember back when we were dating, his former mother-in-law turned out to live a few doors down from my actual mother. But after this latest coinkydink, he's really beginning to feel like the roommate in A BEAUTIFUL MIND.

We drove through the high-end housing, then went for drinks at a bar that had a symbiotic relationship with the Hackensack HOOTERS--an open door policy existed between the two, and workyday misogynists (if not hot-panted servers) freely wandered back and forth between the establishments. We watched a football game and Victor bellowed along with all the cheering heteros...but neither of us had any idea what the hell was going on.

* * *

Phill has started a neat homegrown business. I may have mentioned that our recent visit to New Jersey saw him procuring a loom, and knitting up a storm in parking lots and food courts throughout Bergen County. Well, he's been making some highly attractive scarves, and selling them at this link. Check it out if you're looking for a last-minute gift idea. Like everything else Phill does, it's quality.

Another recent project of Phill's has been the remixing of our friend Jim's audio-taped Story of Christmas (originally recorded when Jim was circa six years old) into an Avalanches-esque novelty song for the unsuspecting fellow's surprise 40th-birthday shindig. When they put the track on over the sound system at the party, where buttons of Jim's 80s-mulleted silhouette were handed out as souvenirs, the other guests thought it was just random electronica--until we pointed out the samples, and Jim got this look on his face like he was having a hallucination.

Local Beck-meets-Baptist sensation Tim Fite played a special "birthday set" at the party, accompanied by his brother and, as usual, a projected image of Fite himself playing back-up. Loopy, passionate, funkified. And, I now realize, the second concert Phill has attended with me. Huzzah!

* * *

I made it a point to get an early start on organizing my team's holiday events at work, and that's thankfully led to an early finish.

So, as of Friday, I'm home-free from major gift-giving, event-organizing duties. I'm looking forward to enjoying the holiday as an "end user".

I'm celebrating with a day of enforced nothing.

The Seat of Power

[Dec. 5th, 2007|05:00 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	calm	]
[	music	\|	LULL by Andrew Bird	]

Anytime you need to buy holiday gifts for more than 20 people, the fun starts to leak out of the experience. Make that more than 50 people, and it’s only just barely enjoyable.

By the time you’re into the triple-digits, it’s no longer a matter of the fun leaking out—that’s already long gone. It's now more a matter of something else leaking in, namely a newfound hatred for every living thing on earth, particularly anyone who is receiving your holiday gift.

At work, we’ve got to buy and distribute roughly 800 gifts—for authors, staff, accounts, etc. The process is too full of annoyances to go into here, but one way that we save time and money (and brain cells) during this boredeal is by choosing a gift that will be appropriate for all our recipients. So, this year we got everybody something called a stadium seat, which is a very corporate gift, but nonetheless useful if you frequent sporting events, or even local parks. It looks something like this:

Okay, now you’re laughing. I know, I know, it’s basically a stiffer version of seat cushion, but mark my words, this is the sort of crap you start to value when your body stumbles into the thirtysomething jungle. One of the other things that makes the gift so funny, other than actually imagining some codger using it, is that you necessarily wind up discussing posteriors when you talk about the stadium seat.

Take my recent conversation with the sales department, for instance. I showed the item to one of their managers, and told her how many we were giving her.

“My accounts are too big for that,” she said. I replied that we could get her accounts a higher quantity of the gift easily if they needed one. “No,” she explained, “I mean the representatives of the accounts. The people. They’re just too big.”

See what I mean? We had started a conversation talking about her quantity of corporate gift, and finished it by talking about America’s Brobdignagian asses.

I offered to give her a seat for each of her reps’ butt cheeks, incidentally. She declined.

It's A Whole New Jersey

[Nov. 22nd, 2007|01:55 am]

[	Tags	\|	diary, jenn, mike s, phill, victor	]
[	Current Location	\|	Victorian Splendor, 11215	]
[	mood	\|	calm	]
[	music	\|	LONESOME VALLEY by Magnolia Electric Company	]

Jenn and Mike had their engagement party at Union Hall last week, on what turned out to be tubed meat appreciation night. A man in a pig suit passed out sausage:

Meanwhile, on the dais, I drank Boddington's and read futures with the Housewives' Tarot:

* * *

Victor recently took a real estate class that taught him how to sell property to gays and lesbians. He showed me the booklet for the class, and I thought it was so funny that I xeroxed it for my friends at work. Good thing, too: Victor called me at my desk for reminders while he was taking the assessment exam at the end of the course.

According to the manual, which makes gays sound like some rare species of bird, here's what you need to know in order to sell homes to homos:

- Never say homosexual!
- Never say lifestyle!

There you have it. Now go forth and harness the babyless buying power of the gay homeowner, and may Joan Crawford drive your closing to completion with a wire-hanger riding-crop.

* * *

Incidentally, Victor and I had lunch in Hoboken on Friday and he told me that he's thinking of getting a second job, going into sales--probably furniture sales.

His other options include continued dependency on his father, or dependency on Pesky...neither of which are really options at this point.

Victor's also considering taking a job at a hotel for a while. "I wasn't going to tell you about the hotel idea because I thought you might think it was weird," he said. "What would be weird about it?" "Well, the hotel's in South Africa..."

Turns out a couple of Victor's friends own it. He thought it might be a good idea to go there and work for a while, if only to get away from Pesky, whose life and his continue to intertwine despite their regular breakups.

Victor also said that he needs to exercise and lose weight, and he's been doing more manual labor lately...like helping out at a friend's horse farm this past weekend...to burn calories.

Who is this man and what has he done with Victor?

* * *

After the lunch, I took the World Trade Center PATH train, which I've never been on before. I was surprised to discover that it finishes its journey by swinging around the edge of ground zero, at the very bottom of that pit that all the tourists stare into. I had never seen ground zero up close before, never thought I would. My head darted around like a hand puppet.

Nobody else did anything. They see this shit on their way to work every day.

* * *

Phill and I rented a car and did some shopping in Jersey on Saturday, our first visit during peak hours. We had a wonderful time, despite my near-nuclear road rage. Early in the trip, Phill got a knitting rack, and every time we parked or got back in the car or sat down in a food court he would just...start knitting.

We saw, as usual, some strange and terrifying things. A furniture store sold a couch that was made to feel like the seats on an SUV, complete with cupholders and stainguard upholstery. One mall had a grove of fake trees that were so ugly, I can barely hold onto their details in my mind: They rose up out of red mosaic hills and ended in neon yarnballs flanked by leaves suspended in smoked-glass boxes. "Picture yourself in a boat on a river..."

The Man Who Knew Too Much

[Nov. 16th, 2007|04:34 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	fine	]
[	music	\|	Clickety-Clack	]

I took a car service to my boss’ building in Brooklyn the other night to return some of her stuff, and I got into a chat with the driver along the way. We both bitched innocently enough at first, about how Murray Hill is the most boring neighborhood in Manhattan, and how (of course) the rest of New York City will gradually wind up just like it. Then we talked about the peculiar phenomena of NYC housing soaring in the years after 9/11, and that’s when the fun really started. The driver, an Arab-American New Yorker named Mustafah, basically pulled car over at this point, and I more-or-less passed the mike to him...

Of the 9/11 attacks, he said: “New York is the center of the universe now! You people should be kissing our asses!” He told me what a nightmare it is for him to go anywhere in the Middle-East as an Arab-American, how he was afraid to stay in Dubai because he feared being jumped for his presumed allegiance to Bush. “I am Muslim! I am Arab! I am American! These are the three worst things you can be right now!” The subject turned to the way we both regard 9/11 as a local issue, and despise how it’s been co-opted by the rest of the nation, who supposedly know “where we’re coming from”, and will use “where we’re coming from” as an excuse to do any fucked-up thing they want. Mustafah talked about how he can’t stand the insincerity of liberals, either, who are all-of-a-sudden eager to know about his Muslim faith for what amount to political reasons.

And then the subject of gayness in the Arab world came up; don’t ask me how. I think Mustafah might be gay himself—partly because of the way he dug into this issue with such fervor. His theory is that homosexuality only has appeal because it’s forbidden, that we would probably lose interest in it if people weren’t so worked-up. “It’s because it’s rare,” he said. “Like a diamond.” He talked about the Arab world’s closeted attitude toward gayness, which is more prevalent in that culture, he said, than anybody is willing to admit. “You say you’re straight, you say you have a wife and kids…how come you like sucking my dick so much? You say, if you take it in the ass it means you’re gay, but if you’re giving it you’re straight…this isn’t baseball!”

I brought up Oman, with its famously gay sultan who gave his bodyguard/consorts pink Audis as gifts. “What about Kuwait?” he asked. “In Kuwait, everyone is bisexual! They are bisexual like they’re buying a bagel!”

I put my two cents in now and then, but most of my responses were the equivalent of a Baptist congregation's "Amens". Finally, we parted. He was thrilled to have an eager audience, I was just plain invigorated. It was a distinctly New York City experience—two people with so many things that make them different, so much to keep them apart, united by the fact that they are both pissed off at everyone on earth.

Mustafah said that he once had a priest in his car, with whom he got into a terrible argument. Eventually, the priest dismissed Mustafah’s tirade by telling him he knew "too much”. I assume the priest meant this sarcastically, but he tells me it’s since become a watchword among his friends, who repeat it like the catch phrase from a 1970s sitcom:

“Mustafah, you know too muuuuch!"

Addendum

[Nov. 16th, 2007|04:14 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary, mike & mere	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	good	]
[	music	\|	Copy Machine	]

I visited with my pals Mike and Mere this weekend, for their baby daughter’s christening. The night before the big event we drank red wine, played board games, and watched TRANSFORMERS--the suckiness of the third activity being greatly lessened by our simultaneous indulgence in the other two.

So I’m a Godfather. This is the first time I’ve officially ‘joined’ a family and I’m pretty honored to be a part of theirs. Mike and Mere are a truly awesome couple who know how to create (and enjoy) pockets of joy in the midst of the familial whirlwind; if there’s no eye in the storm, they make one. It’s the essential skill of great parents, and the prime requisite for raising great kids. Plus, their daughters are superstars.

* * *

My pal Jess from college has been a wardrobe supervisor on Broadway for a while, and this week we had a catch-up lunch at the Edison hotel, in the midst of her picketing duties for the ongoing stagehand strike (not to be confused with the ongoing TV writers’ strike).

Jess says that the stand-up clubs are getting overflow houses from all the dark Broadway shows. One of those roaming comedians of Times Square came up to her while picketing recently and, pretending to be full of solidarity, solemnly asked, “How long do you think this is going to go on?”

“Oh, don’t pretend to be sad about it,” Jess told him. “I know you’re happy!”

He smiled wide; the jig was up.

“YOU’RE RIGHT! I AM!”

Last Gasp

[Nov. 1st, 2007|07:04 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary, first novel	]
[	Current Location	\|	The Office	]
[	mood	\|	good	]
[	music	\|	THE COURTESAN HAS SUNG by The Sunset Rubdown	]

My sisters and I have gotten to see a lot of each other lately. We took our famous haunted house tour, tripped the lights fantastic at Mt. Fuji, hit a beer festival on Pier 92, and are now planning to visit with the relatives in Connecticut this Saturday--followed by a til-you-drop marathon of BIOSHOCK, the official video game of our 2007-8 season.

We also caught the New Paltz premiere of EDGAR two weeks ago, arriving with mere minutes to spare thanks to traffic and rain. It’s since played The Dacks, and Phill has one more performance this weekend in West Virginia, so he's out of town tonight. EDGAR's schedule, combined with the dates of the movie shoot, kept Phill and I pretty much apart these past few weeks, and I miss him like crazy. But all that should change soon enough, as I have to write my book in November, and I'm self-banned from socializing on weekday evenings until I’ve produced the first draft, long postponed but now inevitable as hangover-puke.

This may not bode well for my sanity, or Phill's, but it does bode well for our togetherness. Meanwhile, it's all about prepping for nightlife lockdown: Erin and I hit the Park Slope Halloween Parade last night, tonight is the wrap party for the movie. I've even lately visited Victor on his home turf. (Dinner at a pub in the middle of a Target parking lot...how Victor can you get?) When I get alone-time I'm either madly researching my book, or re-watching favorite movies like MULHOLLAND DRIVE and THE WICKER MAN.

It feels like I'm getting ready to spend a month on a deserted island. That or a month in solitary confinement.

Depends on your politics, I guess.

Me So Happy Me Want To Cry

[Oct. 24th, 2007|11:24 pm]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	Victorian Splendor, 11215	]
[	mood	\|	geeky	]
[	music	\|	KANSKE AR JAG KAR I DIG by Jens Lekman	]

I finished all my big scenes for the film last week! Very challenging, very exciting! And I didn't get a cold before or during the shoot, so drinking nothing but orange juice at Gary's reception has been retroactively justified.

* * *

It's a low-budget production, and there's a tight shooting schedule, so you generally won't get more than three takes of anything before the crew moves to the next camera set-up. This is good because it automatically energizes your acting. This is bad because if you don't stick that landing after the third attempt, you know you won't get another.

To his credit, Keith didn't let any of that pressure wear on him, and he never used it to squeeze us. Even when asking me to try different approaches to a scene between takes, he would just get this wry grin on his face, like he was getting an idea for a prank. "Why don't we try it like this..."

He's as talented in the field as you'd expect, and he's got that "good leader" thing, where you actively seek his approval on principal. If he compliments you on your work, you feel a phantom tail wag.

I'm just grateful he's not in a cult; I'd be in it by now.

* * *

The biggest issue for me was continuity, needing to keep movements at least borderline consistent throughout multiple takes and set-ups. As someone who's edited footage before, I was pretty anxious to make myself as easy to piece together as possible--but judging by the look the continuity lady threw me when I said goodbye, I didn't quite pull that off.

The other standout hurdle was the one you always hear about on commentary tracks: Having to pretend that all those people holding all that electronic shit in your face aren't there. I'm used to ignoring audiences from theatre, I'm just not used to the audience members standing shoulder-to-shoulder around my acting partner, like they're in a street gang.

Speaking of my acting partner, what a gent. This veteran stage and television actor, unbelievably gracious. He even took me out to dinner (relax, he's straight) and genuinely wowed me with stories of the ups and downs of working as a professional in Hollywood. In turn, I tried as best I could to convince him to give HOSTEL another chance, despite his aversion to the "torture porn" movement. (He had actually been up for the part of the guy who gets killed in the hotel in DEVIL'S REJECTS, but he'd only really tried out for that one to appease his son. "Rob Zombie's people thought I was from Mars," he laughed.)

Our scenes generally went well, despite my once accidentally sending the guy right under the surface of a creek. It was a scene where his character is having a bout of dementia, trying to kiss me while we're both standing in the water. I'm supposed to try to get the hell away from him. So the first take went fine, but I guess I really got in touch with my inner phobe on that second take, because I pulled away from him pretty sharply...and that poor man went sploosh.

* * *

The shoot was exactly what I didn't know I needed: An experienced actor treating me like a fellow professional. This awesome director trusting me to explore his script. Even the producer, Keith's wife, who has done loads of work in film...somehow utterly convinced that I knew what the hell I was doing. (Or at least, taking care to convince me of that...)

They really made me feel like I was an actor, you know? Not just somebody faking it, which is how I usually feel. (About everything!)

* * *

I have to shoot just one more line, in a scene that includes most of the cast. It's going to be interesting to show up at the very end of filming, since I was there right at the beginning, too. I hope nobody has that castaway look.

Jerry's Wedding

[Oct. 19th, 2007|02:31 am]

[	Tags	\|	diary	]
[	Current Location	\|	Victorian Splendor, 11215	]
[	mood	\|	excited	]
[	music	\|	Air Conditioner	]

Went to Richmond, VA this past weekend to take part in Gary's wedding. The ceremony was held at a church, but it was hardly traditional--a ketubah, a reading from THE VELVETEEN RABBIT, and groomsmen decked in kilts that matched the tartan pattern of Gary's favorite hat. (The clasp on Gary's kilt? A replica of the medallion atop The Staff of Ra in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK.)

I was a groomsman, so I wore a kilt myself. Since it came with a knife, Gary's longtime friend Jerry (also kilted) figured we'd use our blades to recreate the rumble from BEAT IT while on the dancefloor.

This entire wedding was filmed by Comcast for a local reality TV show, so I am picturing people watching this knifefight while at their homes in Richmond.

* * *

Gary's friend Jerry was impossible to top for outrageousness. You'd have to spontaneously combust to keep up with him. The next day, it was easy to choose the one photo (out of hundreds upon hundreds) that about summed up the happy couple's special night: The two of them in the background of the reception, looking lovingly at each other, with Jerry screaming into the camera in the foreground, like a Froud goblin.

navigation

[	viewing	\|	most recent entries	]
[	go	\|	earlier	]