Pig of Destiny!

When I was little, maybe 8 or 9, I watched this musical made-for-TV version of "Alice in Wonderland" pretty much non-stop, much to my mom's chagrin (to her credit, she hasn't held it against me). This movie featured Scott Baio, Sammy Davis Jr., and various other cameos from people I couldn't possibly have recognized at that age. In my memory, this movie was magical, funny, a bit creepy, and incredibly artistic.



Not so.

After Ace found it for me on Netflix and rented it, I am shamed and disappointed. I couldn't bear to watch the whole thing through. At some point after Alice met the Mad Hatter, I threw in the towel. It was hokey, boring, low-budget (though probably high-budget for TV), and...musical.

I've experienced the same issues with other beloved childhood films, such as Space Balls, and The Care Bears. Recently, I've been wanting to watch some old Looney Tunes, but now I'm afraid they won't stand the test of time, either.

I do still love "Babe", though.

A Proposal

I would like to propose a ban on the following songs, sung by numerous NYC subway acapella groups. Upon hearing the opening notes of any of these, my ears get tense, my fingers dig around in my bottomless bag for my iPod, and the words "Please, dear Lord, no, not again" escape involuntarily from my lips. That's right folks- they are so mind-altering that they make me momentarily believe in a higher being, if only to blame him for my sardine-squished, "stand clear of the closing doors" agony. And here they are:

1. "My Girl"
True story- I woke up one morning, feeling beyond shitty, snot running down my face, stomach-ache raging, and muscles sore from work. To face the world was not appealing to me in the first place, but I couldn't miss work. So I got on the train at about 8:30 am to make my hour-long commute to DTW. Whispered conversations were as loud as frat parties in my head. A tourist with his young daughter boarded the train somewhere around 96th street (the first stop out of the Bronx where one encounters white folk), and sat next to me. This man was so happy. His daughter, too, was so happy. They were a duo of heinous, nauseating glee. The man bounced the girl up and down on his knee, repeating many times "we're on the train! see, we're on the train! do you like the train? i like the train, aren't we on a great train? train train traintraintrain!" Meanwhile, the train's every forward lurch made me heave a little. Then...oh, then...this acapella group boarded the train. The man's eyes widened as the group launched into a pitch-perfect rendition of "My Girl". To my horror, the man then repeated many times "this is our song! Baby, do you believe it? this is our song! it's like they knew! this is our song!"
This is why I'm cranky. All the time. Forever more.

2. "In the Jungle"
I don't know if this is the actual title, but you all know the song I'm speaking of. This is probably the "ooh ooh ooh-iest" song out there, and therefore, finds a special place in the dark, cavernous hearts of the acapella intruders.

3. "Lean on Me"
Touching? Check. Evocative of climactic scene in inspirational film? Check. Sung not only by an acapella group, but also by a homeless man with the voice of Bobcat Goldthwait? Check. I believe people give this guy a dollar to stop him from singing.

New Blog

Howdy folks. I've been sporadically blogging on MySpace for some time now, and have decided to move to the more respected world of blogspot. All the entries previous to this are copies of the ones from my profile page. Anywho, check back sometimes, and maybe I'll have something interesting to say. But don't hold your breath.

An Open Letter

This time, to the able-bodied but jobless residents of my neighborhood:

Standing in front of the Job Bank on E. 161st Street, bitchin' about your baby mama between bowl hits, in a group of about twenty other folks doing the same thing, does not, in fact, constitute a job.

I realize this may be confusing for you- I mean, you do hang out there for eight hours a day, five or six days a week, and people do sometimes give you money. Sometimes you even switch position to admire the shorties. So it's somewhat physical. However, I am here to tell you, that if you didn't fill out a W-4 or I-9 or some form with a combination of numbers and letters and your address, you are not employed.

Thank you.

Reflections on a year in the South Bronx

As Ace and I gear up for a move this weekend, I find myself wondering how and if the ghetto has changed me, or my outlook on life. For the past year, I have lived in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the country, a crackhouse across the street from my apartment, which is centered between project buildings with warring gangs. In the beginning of our stay here, my reaction was characterized mostly by curiosity and amusement. About two months in, I tired of the noise, cat-calls and sketchy men milling about in large groups late at night. By now, I'm only grateful that I haven't been mugged or physically harmed. That said, the things I have learned in the past year:

1. There is no good response to a cat-call. Ignore it, and you offend the man/men, and they will follow you down the street, asking why you don't acknowledge them. Tell them to fuck off, and you invite anger. Try to come up with something clever, and they don't understand it. Best just to talk loudly to yourself in gibberish on the walk home so they'll think you're a crackhead.

2. Don't skimp on the weave. Not that I'm a typical weave candidate, but many a rainstorm here has taught me that not only should I invest in a titanium umbrella, but also that pieces of my gross weave will be strewn about the sidewalks after a decent gust of wind.

3. C-Town is not a real grocery store. It exists, yes. But the years-old produce and generic hispanic canned goods it offers can hardly be FDA-approved.

4. Fried chicken drives local economy. Got a bodega? Sell fried chicken. Pizza place? Sell fried chicken. Donut shop? You guessed it...fried chicken.

5. "We ain't sold Camels here since the whiteys moved out 20 years ago."
No explanation needed here, really.

6. You WILL have sugar in your coffee. Sure, you can order it sans sugar. The cashier will give you a strange look, think he/she misheard you, and instead of "none", will empty nine packets into your 16-oz cuppa joe.

7. You love the Daily News. If you don't love the Daily News with all of its sensationalist trash-talking posing as real news, it will be shoved in your face anyway, given away free with your generic vegetables at C-Town. It is the only newspaper available in a twenty-block-or-so radius.

8. Cops regard shell casings as "souvenirs". After twenty shots were fired in front of our apartment, not only did law enforcement provide great fodder for Reno 911 by royally screwing up a crime scene, but they also left evidence by our mailbox, which we were then encouraged to keep, as...a souvenir.

9. If your train comes into the station going the wrong way, you're in for a bad day. Like, one of those days where you don't know what train you're on, or where it's headed, and neither does the conductor, but you won't risk taking a bus because there's a mob scene outside. A day where your train will be stuck between stations for twenty minutes, a mariachi band, twelve screaming children, a tour group and three one-legged panhandlers will board the train, and the only thing keeping you sane is your iPod, which dies two minutes into your ride.

10. An unemployed couple can afford RocaWear, Nex-Tels, and nine children with RocaWear and Nex-Tels. At the expense of nutrition and electricity, which is kind of a fair trade to be flossin'.

That's it for now. Ace and I are moving to a place with 24-hour security cameras, bomb-proof doors imported from Israel, and a high school across the street. Good things come to those who...search for apartments for months.

Happy '08, folks.

Playwriting Advice

Recently I became an unpaid script-reader for Primary Stages. Their focus is on presenting first productions of new works (hence the name). Each week, I receive four to five scripts which I read, analyse, and write an evaluation of. Based on my recommendation, these scripts are either instantly rejected or given a second read. I can't name names or tell you any of the plots, as that would be really unprofessional. However, after slogging through twenty scripts ranging from mediocre to stab-me-in-the-head, I think I'm somewhat qualified to offer advice to you aspiring playwrights out there. These are all easy-to-do tips that will make your crappy script more bearable to read, and thus more likely to be produced.

1. Make your script and cover letter look professional. No handwriting. No weird fonts. No "design". Clean, typed letters, and well-bound scripts (no binder clips or staples). Your cover letter should introduce yourself and your script. If you know the literary manager you are sending it to, it's okay to include a personal line. Otherwise, don't. Stick to business.

2. Your title page should include your title (obviously), your name and contact info, and the genre of your play. I cannot tell you how often I get through a play and struggle afterward to figure out whether the author intended it as comedy, or if I'm just an asshole (probably the latter).

3. Have a character list. Your audience doesn't need to know all the characters right away, but I need an idea of whether you have four actors, or a whole army that Russell Crowe might lead into battle in his next film. If you do have an army of characters- don't. As a beginning playwright, your show will not get produced if it has more than six actors in it (and that's being generous).

4. Format your play correctly. Buy whatever software you have to. If I'm going to read tons of forgettable plays, I can't be forced to learn your particular style. If you do not format correctly, you run the risk of your play being tossed out before it's even read.

5. Minimalism is the way to go with stage directions. Don't add that someone says something "deviously" or "sarcastically". No shit, Sherlock. If you've written your script well, we will already know.

6. Spellcheck. Goddamnit.

7. Everyone begins their play with a phone ringing, an argument, or a knock at the door. Are we all really that creatively constipated?

8. Give the scenic designer something interesting to do.

9. Try not setting your play in the present. It could give you an edge that 99% of the other hacks don't have. That said, if you're delving far into the past (as in anytime before you were born), do your research, and make it authentic.

10. You know that ubiquitous advice to "write what you know"? Don't take it so fucking literally! I, for one, am really sick of plays about twenty-somethings set in an apartment in New York City. Or anywhere in NYC, for that matter. Things do exist outside of the five boroughs! Don't write about your traumatic (and boring) teenage years. Don't write about yourself at all, unless you can do it in a really, really creative way. And please, please, please- no more kitchen sink dramas. Sam Shepard does it, he does it incredibly well, and you can't outwrite him. So don't try. Do your own thing.

Now for the two difficult things- write a good script, and get an agent.

Very Strange Things

Every so often, in my line of work, I find myself thinking, "I can't believe I'm getting paid to do this very weird/retarded thing." And every time I work on something strange, I'm convinced that I've seen it all, only to be proved wrong a week later. This post will be a running list of all my odd jobs, which I will update sporadically.

I have:

- zipped a sweaty naked guy into a fried chicken costume.

- spent hours carefully peeling apart 3-ply napkins into 1-ply napkins.

- tied together horse bones.

- watched an Asian Santa doing backflips for two hours during a taping for Iron Chef.

- put glitter on miniature snowmen for a full day.

- carved an NYC taxi out of foam

- dug foot-deep trenches in 85 degree weather.

- climbed trees.

- been sent shopping for a very specific pink plastic flower.

- partied with well-dressed rich people while covered in mud.

- helped put together a life-sized horse.

- operated a follow spot for a remote control car.

- worked a 20-hour shift with one half-hour break.

- been told by a boss to hide so that others won't know I'm not working.

- laid out rugs of human hair.

- mopped up a putrid mix of red wine, rose petals, mardi gras beads and sweat.

- been filmed working by Martha Stewart's Stepford-Wivey TV crew.

- crawled through a spider-webby 3-foot wide tunnel.

- drunk wine on a boat in Lake George.

- driven a golf cart.

- been the go-to person for many anxious gay male dancers.

- shuffled horse shit around a stage.

- moved a tombstone with a palette jack.

- rigged a pinata.

I voted for Spitzer

So, the first governor I ever had the opportunity to vote for has disappointed me tremendously. I vividly remember the day- I got to the polling site at 6am, because I had to work at 7. I was groggy, un-caffeinated and hungover. i voted for Spitzer because he had decided as attorney general not to intervene in the matter of gay marriage in New York, and because he had a strong record of fighting corruption and big business wrong-doings. He had busted several large prostitution rings. He was ethical. He was charismatic and young, yet stern and demanding. The perfect combination, I thought. When he introduced a controversial plan to give illegal immigrants driver’s licenses, I thought it was a little bold of him, but I supported the bill.

Little over a year later, I find myself disillusioned and, frankly, kinda pissed.

For those of you who live in another state, or under a rock, Eliot Spitzer just resigned as governor of New York because it was discovered that he has been using an "escort service" that charges over $1,000/hour. And investigations are underway to determine whether he used state money to pay for sex. It’s been reported that he has requested the services of a prostitute at least eight times during his tenure.

Now, I have no problem with prostitution. I think Las Vegas has it right- make it legal so that you can regulate the business and make it safer for both clients and employees- because the oldest profession will not go away, ever. I do, however, have major issues with a man who busted other prostitution businesses and may have used my tax money to solicit some damn expensive nookie. If he had to be a player, he’s the governor of New York. Couldn’t he have gotten some SUNY Albany chicks on the basis of power alone? Did he have to turn himself into a giant hypocrite?

There are other politicians who suck, GWB included. But I don’t vote for sucky leaders. Or so I thought.

How his wife, Silda, could stand next to him as he publicly apologized for his misdeeds, I will never understand. Perhaps they had an open marriage- who knows? And how are they explaining this to their children? The whole thing is so sad.

I find myself wondering how many people who voted for Bush are feeling this way now. The man can’t even deliver a coherent speech. He can’t name the leaders of countries that we are currently bombing. He makes inane arguments and seems like he forgot his daily dose of Ritalin at press conferences. He openly admits that he doesn’t read news briefings. But I always had that comfort of "I didn’t vote for him, and neither did about half of the country".


This time, I can’t be so haughty.

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Seen on a Port-a-Potty truck: "We’re 1 at picking up 2

The poor man/woman operating this vehicle has to drive around all over NYC proudly claiming to be AWESOME at cleaning poop. The BEST, as a matter of fact. Now, it’s always been my opinion that whatever job you have, you should strive to do your best at it. If you’re a janitor, don’t be a shitty janitor- that’s just embarrassing. But also, you should never claim to be the 1 janitor of all time- almost equally embarrassing.

Seen on a bus stop poster, with a picture of Albert Einstein: "As a student, he was no Einstein. INSPIRATION: PASS IT ON."

The problem here is that this poster is the OPPOSITE of inspiration. It says, "go ahead, fuck up in school, because there’s some astronomical possibility that you, too will become an award-winning nuclear physicist."