‘Vitriol’ – Past, Present and Future

He closes the drawer and hits record.

‘Vitriol’ had a public reading at OSF today. I wanted to take a moment and really express how proud I am of this. I’m proud of all the folks who spent countless hours on this project. I’m proud to call those people and artists my friends. I’m proud of the journey this show has taken and I’m humbled to have been apart of it along the way.

For those of you who don’t remember or didn’t get a chance to see it in Seattle, ‘Vitriol’ is a play that follows the lives of four editors of the Munich Post in Germany during Hitler’s rise to power. During a twelve year span the Munich Post editors did their best to expose the corruption and hypocrisy of the National Socialist Party. In return, Hitler did his best to eradicate the Munich Post or the “Poison Kitchen” as his termed them, from history.

I can honestly say, and I don’t mean this as a slight to anyone or anything else, performing in ‘Vitriol’ was the greatest experience of my acting career to date. If given the chance, I’d perform in it eight times a week for as long as I was allowed.

I’m aware that this post is a bit nostalgic, even pretentious, since it’s bad form to relive past victories. The striking of a show should be the end of it and you move onto the next one. However ‘Vitriol’ struck a different cord in me as an artist. It went beyond being just another show and become an experience. An experience that will stay with me for the rest of my life. This is one that I’ll look back on and proudly say that I took a bow.

This show taught me many things, both from its words and the act of producing it. The importance of and the difference strong cast relationships can make. The understanding that no question really is too small or too stupid to ask your director. I don’t think I’d ever asked so many questions or seen so many questions asked to both the director and the playwright. And this wasn’t because the material was muddy or unclear. It came from a resounding respect for the work and a desire to tell the best story possible. I didn’t used to ask many questions of my directors. Don’t know if it was out of some misguided need to prove I could do this “acting thing” on my own or because I never really thought about a script a certain way until I approached ‘Vitriol.’ Yet, during and since that show I’ve increased my question-asking tenfold.

That was a recurring element, whether reading the script at home, working it in the rehearsal studio or discussing it over drinks – how much this show made you think, ask questions and think again. As an actor. A director. A designer. As an audience. I remember the discussion where this element in particular changed our outlook on this play being a great story to tell to being a great story that had to be told.

This post is but a glimpse into what ‘Vitriol’ and the people involved mean to me. Every time I start a new show I think back to my time in ‘Vitriol’ and view it as the standard for which my art and abilities should strive to be. My deepest gratitude goes out to Jake Sherman, Tom Dewey, Jeremy Thompson and Julia Welch for taking a risk on me and including me in this fantastic journey. I’m so excited to see where the journey leads next.

The recorder clicks to a stop.

The Rapture is Coming! Is your iPod charged?

So apparently the world is ending tomorrow. Well, ok. The world isn’t exactly ending tomorrow. It’s starting to end tomorrow. Well, ok. That’s not accurate either. Apparently God’s sending a special bus for all the good little boys and girls who are on Santa’s list and he’s picking them up for a siesta or some bullshit.

I don’t know much in this world, but it hasn’t escaped me that I don’t have a fucking bus ticket. What I have however, is a list of songs I deem appropriate for the coming apocalypse/looting-party/booze cruise…whatever you may term it. So if you’re one of the ‘unfortunate’ souls left behind, I hope you may find comfort in my list.

So without further adieu, crack your favorite beverage, make sure your iPod is charged and crank that shit to eleven!

1. “It’s The End Of The World” – R.E.M.
This song doesn’t really need an explanation does it?

2. “I’m On A Boat” – The Lonely Island
If the rapture comes there’s the rumor of an epic Noah-like flood. So what better to ride it out in than on a muthafuckin’ boat? So, who wants a free boat ride?

3. “Drunken Lullabies” – Flogging Molly
Not only a brilliant party song but considering how much more “holy” those raputre-ers are than those left behind, the lyrics have special meaning.

4. “The End” – The Doors
If there is a Heaven and I ever make it there, I won’t be the least bit surprised to see Jim sitting there on a cloud still writing.

5. “The Meaning of Life” – Monty Python
“Is God really real…or is there some doubt?”

So there’s my list. I wish you well in all you do this Saturday. Best of luck and I’ll talk with you on Sunday.

Oh, and should this rapture actually take place, I hope this guy get left behind for sheer entertainment purposes.

Win the Small Victories

Guilt. Responsibility. Individual. Victory.

Not exactly the kind of words that I think about every Wednesday but I would come to know them intimately by the end of what became a 2 hour conversation with Tim Wise at UWT on 5/11. I say conversation but really, as he said, he was basically just him talking at us for an hour plus and then answering a few of questions after which he’d be happy to sell us merchandise. I did have a minor dialogue with him after asking a question and he made direct eye-contact but that comes later.

Theme of the evening with this 5-time published author, essayist, political television & radio analyst and racial equality/awareness activist?

Colorblind: The Rise of Post-Racial Politics and the Retreat from Racial Equity.

Exactly. Side-splitting right? I didn’t think so either. Sure, I expected to be interested and engaged the entire time, otherwise why the hell was I there? But laugh? Smile? Even giggle? Not at a “discussion” about racism. Surely not! To be honest I expected to pay extra attention lest I be branded a “white guy who was wasn’t paying attention” at a lecture about racism. But my pathetic fears were, well, just that. Pathetic. And unnecessary.

First off, Tim Wise is damn funny. And a fantastic storyteller. I couldn’t help but laugh, even in the face of such a serious subject. Definitely not something I was not prepared for. He speaks with the rhythm of a slam poet or classically trained actor. I kept thinking about great speakers he reminded me of and the best I can come up with is this. Take the subject matter of Martin Luther King Jr, combine it with Barack Obama’s eloquence, add a dash of Jon Stewart’s sanity and just a sprinkle of Louis C.K.’s hysterics on common sense. Yah. Just take that in for a second. Sincere, intelligent and slightly manic. Terrifying but captivating.

Secondly, funny is good. You wouldn’t expect funny to be good at a lecture about racism but you’d be wrong. Well, you might but I didn’t. And I was wrong. Laughter is the perfect medicine. Wise was able to captivate his audience while simultaneously disarming them. He brings everybody onto a level playing field, regardless of education level.  Social, political, economic or cultural backgrounds go right out the window with a charming story about his living situation after college. While talking about the nuisance of coming upon a problem created by another (like leftover gumbo on the stove), Wise was able to weave a story about living with too many roommates into a parable about taking responsibility and ownership of problems despite not originally being involved in the creation of said problem. This brought up the first of two quotes I carried away with me.

“Guilt is what you feel because of the kinds of things you’ve done. Responsibility is what you take because of the kind of person you are.”

Wise did not feel any guilt for the creation of the mess. He hadn’t had a hand in it. Gumbo related or say, Wall Street related. But he does feel a responsibility to help fix it. Simply because he can. That was a refreshing attitude to hear and reaffirmed my belief in doing something right just for that reason.

The right thing to do is the right thing to do because it’s the right thing to do. 

The second quote came during the Q&A portion of the evening. I got the chance to ask a question I ask of most public speakers who come to colleges or town-hall type venues that I see. I’m always fired up whenever I see a humanitarian speak and can see that the rest of the crowd is enthusiastic. Yet I can’t help but feel that this elation will be short lived because people, including myself, don’t know how to carry on the fight. My question addressed this directly. I said that it was easy to sit in a lecture hall on a progressive college campus, talking about these issues in a safe environment but what tools did Wise suggest we employ when we exit the halls of this institution? How do we carry on the fight?

His answer was quite simple but something I hadn’t really thought of before. I’ve always thought of having to make new contacts and find new fights once I entered the real world and started to try and make change. He stated that most people forget their connections at the institutions where they formed these ideas in the first place. Those institutions, including colleges, clubs, churches, and communities are the best sources to keep the fires of progress alight. And he said, to first “Win the small victories.” This was a new idea completely and brought a smile to my lips. While I have lofty ideas and goals, I really have no idea how to accomplish any of them. It was encouraging being told to start small and allow small victories to snowball into larger ones.

Now, while this talk was tailored strictly towards the ending of racism and creating awareness about racism, his speech and lessons apply to more. They can be put to the task of any progressive idea in this country. His overall message was of change. Not what President Obama promised. Not what we’ve seen President Obama fail to deliver (my words not Wise’s). But real change. Change on the ideological level. Change on a level of the individual.

As my time at UWT quickly comes to a close it’s time to start thinking about the future. I’m hoping this lecture will be a catalyst to launch me in a direction where I can apply the two greatest lessons I’ve learned while at UWT. Both are from the number of sociology classes I took.  The image of INDIVIDUAL was pounded into my head. That is how we should see the world. Not through glasses tinted by race or creed or gender or class or politics. We should first be able to see individuals. Equally important is the understanding that Silence Equals Agreement. I may stand for and believe in many things but if I fail to speak up for them, I do credit to none of them. Mr. Wise never fails to speak up for what he believes.  I refuse to fail either.

This was supposed to be anonymous…whoops.

Sooooo, ACT (A Contemporary Theatre) in Seattle was running a contest for submissions for a theatre festival/one night reading of stories. Speifically, stories involving the lose of one’s virginity. The show was titled Seattle Confidential and they reached out to the Seattle community, asking for people to submit their stories anonymously.  These stories would, if chosen, be read a loud by an actor/storyteller to a live audience.

Now, the stories did not necessarily have to do with losing one’s sexual virginity. It could be about the first time for anything. I wanted to submit a story but wasn’t willing to put my sexual virginity loss into words. If I ever do it’ll be because I’M telling it on stage, I’d prefer not to have a stranger read it. What I do however was remember a first I experienced when I arrived in Seattle. Thinking it would be a good baseline for a story, I flushed it out and made it as…entertaining as possible.

As I haven’t been notified that my story will be read at this show, I submit to you my entry to be read at your leisure. Do enjoy

—————————————

Drunk. That would be the ultimate description of why my inhibitions were down and I ended up shoving that thing down my throat. It wasn’t out of curiosity or avarice or need.

Pure. Simple. Unadulterated. Drunk.

I found myself being led by the hand toward the place where the deed was to take place. I was like a puppy on a leash. Happy to let someone else lead, curious of everything I came into contact with. Any new smell or sight caught my attention but didn’t hold it for long. There wasn’t a lack of things to pique my interest on Broadway at one o’clock in the morning. But being new in town I was just glad someone was willing to hold my hand and take charge.

We arrived at our destination and the process began. The waiting. The awkward staring. The shuffling in our clothes trying to keep warm without getting too near to each other. We inched closer. It seemed to take forever. I remember thinking that this certainly wasn’t going to be worth the wait. Having never experienced it I was of course able to make a sound judgment that the outcome would not outweigh the waiting.

Then it happened. The moment had arrived. Time to put up or shut up. Put my money where my mouth was…literally. Pick your catch-phrase. I slowly unwrapped it, not sure what to expect. It was warm, that was for sure. It formed to my hand and I found it easy to hold. Slowly, I brought it to my lips and tasted it. Again and again until I had devoured it. The taste was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Sweet and salty mingled together. My mouth was full but I was determined not to miss a drop. I swallowed and let the slightest sigh of satisfaction escape my lips.

I hadn’t realized it but I had closed my eyes. Didn’t intend to but it just happened naturally. When I opened them I met his gaze. He gently reached to my mouth and wiped away a bit that I had missed. Such a gentleman.

“How was it?”, he asked.

“Mmmm, delicious…I want another.” I replied.

He looked at me with a quizzical look, “You sure? It’s awful big, you sure you don’t want to let it settle first?”

I shook my head, “No, I want another one. NOW.”

He stood there, shaking his head in mock disbelief, as if somehow he knew this would happen.  That this experience would awaken a hunger in me. The smug bastard.

He turned, grinning, and said through the window “Two more Deluxes. Thanks.”

And that’s how I first came to put Dick’s in my mouth.

 

 

Week 1 Update

Week 1 Update – 12/29

This first week was difficult for a number of reasons.  A problem I personally faced was I ran smack dab into an illness on Wednesday and couldn’t bring myself to go to the gym.  I was dizzy, feverish and doubted that I’d do myself good by trying to pedal on a bike.  I rested and have finally, I think, made a full recovery.  I plan on hitting the gym again tonight before rehearsal and will get back into the swing of things.  I’m not worried by this little speed bump.

While being sick created a thorn right in the beginning of our competition, a bigger wall was looming at the end of the first week…HOLIDAY FOOD!!!

Dieting, working out, portion control, and general discipline is difficult enough in May when nothing happens.  Between Thanksgiving through to the New Year, food is thy enemy.  As good as I swore I was going to be, foregoing holiday candy and parties and feasts I’ve determined this impossible.  Don’t get me wrong.  Self control is not impossible.  But when you’re invited to parties by people who want you to enjoy their holiday with them and out of the kindness of their hearts have prepared a meal they expect you to eat and ask nothing more in return than your company, just shut up and eat it.  Foregoing holiday food doesn’t make you look like the Superman of dieting, it makes you look like an asshole…or more appropriately a Grinch.

So I’m guilty of “Holiday Eating”.  I ate cookies, roasts, potatoes and much more while washing it down with beer, wine, and hot chocolate.  And I wouldn’t trade the extra pound or two for the good times I had this Christmas and plan to have on NYE.

I am however still determined as ever in this competition and know that with the holidays coming to a close, so does the over-indulgence.  I wish my fellow competitors luck and a Happy New Year.

 

And Here. We. Go…

First day of the weight loss competition.  These were taken around 6am this morning…not sure makes them better or worse.   Here’s my before photos…dear gods.

Looking at these, I’m not sure how much weight loss I’m going to accomplish.  Toning is going to be a main priority along with lowering my BMI.

And did I mention I’m giving up beer & fast food? I already don’t drink soda so I’m ahead of the game there.

 

 

 

 

For those interested, I did start the day off with a plan of eating better.

Breakfast: Yogurt and cranberry juice

Lunch: Beef Soup

Dinner: Ham sandwich & baked beans.

Water intake: 9 cups

Gym: 10 miles on stationary bike, 75 flutter kicks

Hippies Use Sidedoor

I had the great fortune of seeing some great bands this weekend while also busting my Showbox Market cherry.  This was my introduction once I stepped inside the doors:

The Showbox Market is a very intimate venue, fitting maybe 2000 for live music shows.  The outside is like any typical music venue.  Standard looking marquee, the large-hulking bouncers and a long ass line for will call.

Once inside though, that atmosphere completely changes.  The main floor is a large dance/standing-room floor.  But to the left and right, up a few steps, are areas where you can sit at a table or lean on a low wall, overlooking the dance floor.  There are bars in both of these sections.  Red and black permiate the decor, with ornate chandeliers placed around the ceiling to add some romantic quality.  Dead center on the light grid, above the dance floor, hangs the ever popular disco ball.

The bands I went to see were The Maldives and the Moondoggies.  Both were great, but in my mind the Maldives stole the show.  They have a country/rock sound and are decked out in plaid, bush hats and most were sporting a beard of some variety.  What still haunts me is the lead singer’s voice.  His voice carries a twang to it in his songs that’s not there when he speaks.  Whether this is a ploy or just how he makes his sound it doesn’t matter.  It’s beautiful. My favorite song of the night was: Cold November by The Maldives.  Being a local band, their songs gave clear images in my head of the stories they were telling.  The Moondoggies, the other headliner that evening, have a foot-stomp rock sound.  I can see myself enjoying more of their music, once I’ve listened to it off their records.  Unfortunately their sound seemed to overpower the lyrics and even the venue at time because it came out as a ringing rather than anything discernible.  Don’t get me wrong though, their music is great and their guitarist can wail.

The greatest part of the show though was the ending/encore performance.  The show was touted as a Christmas show and true to their word, at the end all the bands that played that night came out and sang Xmas songs, with the audience singing along too.  That portion sets this show apart from others I’ve seen because it’s not something that I think will soon be repeated or seen again.

The night was a total success.  Was introduced to a fantastic venue, two great bands, and spent the evening in the company of great people (who also happen to be great drinkers!)

And so it begins.

A few of my friends have decided we want to lose weight.  Not because of a New Year’s resolution or because we’re overly concerned with our health.  None of us are extremely overweight but we all have some tires we’d like to see reduced and felt we’d get farther if we held a competition.

The players:

• Scheide (SimplyScheide)
• Matt (Musings by Matt)
• Geb (A Geb’s Life)

The Rules:

1. Before photos – these photos must be up on our blogs by Monday, Dec. 20th
2. Weekly update posting – will most likely include workout schedule and diets.  Trials and tribulations and the like.
3. Competition ends March 1st
4. After photos – these photos are up on the sites March 1st
5. Most weight lost between now and then wins

The Goal:

Lose weight and bring our sexy back.

Wish us luck!

Unexpected is the new Normal

Today did not go as expected.  I had planned today to be like any other Thursday.

Work.  School.  Rehearsal.  Yardy Thursday.

Instead, I’m now on crutches surrounded by enough bandages and instructions to give Stephen Hawking a seizure.  Yah, that’s right, I just Tarantino-ed that shit.  You just heard about the end result and now get to read the story.

You see, my left great (big) toe has had an ingrown nail for about 3 weeks.  And while you may cringe and shrink back in horror at how I’ve dealt with it for that long, you must understand that I’ve dealt with them since I can remember.  I’ve had chronic podiatry issues, starting from birth when they injured me in the hospital till noon today.  With all that I’ve dealt with in my short 25 years upon this clay, an ingrown nail is toward the bottom of the “worry list.”

That being said, this wasn’t my first rodeo when it comes to getting ingrown nails extracted.  Unfortunately, this time, I had let it go for maybe a little bit too long before seeking medical attention because it had a pretty wicked infection too and the doctor had to dig deeper than usual.  For those of you who are squeamish, you may want to jump ahead.  Cowards.

For those of you who have stuck with it, Bravo! Getting an ingrown nail extracted requires a number of sterile, silver, extra-pointy tools that look like torture devices and a lot of small talk about sports and/or movies (I must say I’m grateful to have a male podiatrist and can talk about the “double tap” part of ‘Zombieland’ because I don’t know what a female doctor and I would have to talk about while she’s working on my toe…not that I don’t know there are badass women out there who love zombies, but let’s be honest, they are rare) and lastly, a lot of breathing.

The doctor injected my toe, using a needle fit for either King Kong or that damn crocodile from ‘Lake Placid’, with about 30 cc’s of a local anesthetic (numbing agent) and after about 2 minutes the entire toe was numb.  He then began to dig under the cuticle with what I can only describe was a miniature garden hoe.  He did this in order to separate the skin from the nail bed and then he began to use tiny things that look like pliers to cut away the infected tissue.  He kept swiping it with gauze because, hell, he was creating a crater-like wound and my toe was fucking angry.  Next he cut into the nail using the same pliers looking tool and extracted the ingrown part of the nail.  His words were, “Holy shi…wow” while looking at me like a deer I’d just hit in the back woods of West Virginia.  Apparently he was in awe.

He gave the speech about keeping it elevated for 5-6 hours and then soaking it in warm water, unwrapping it, gaping at it in horror (I’m told it will ooze) and then putting a band-aid on it.  I questioned the band-aid, as I always do, because a solitary band-aid just doesn’t seem to do the trick when it comes to stopping a toe that bleeds with every heart beat.

I was off work by the time he was done and instead of going to school I went home and propped my foot up on the coffee table and commenced “Operation: Lazy Ass”.  I watched terrible TV, FBed and ate pizza.  About 3 hours after getting home I stood up, being extra careful not to put pressure on the toes of left foot.  I made to pivot on the heel of said foot and suddenly felt a “pop”, much like what one hears when they sprain their ankle.  Hmm, strange?  I immediately fell back onto the couch in more pain.  I flashed to two weeks earlier and remembered spraining my ankle slightly during a run of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ with Ghostlight Theatricals.  That pain came back with a vengeance, like an ugly ex asking for money.

I was now faced with a new problem.  I couldn’t put pressure on my toe because it hurt the toe and I couldn’t put pressure on the rest of my foot because it hurt my ankle, which at this point was swelling nicely.  I was able to call my physical therapy department at work who stated my best bet was to get crutches.  Great, how the fuck was I supposed to get crutches when I couldn’t even walk to the bathroom?  I needed crutches to get into a store to buy crutches.

I summoned my resolve, staggered, hopped, slipped only once, and finally got down the stairs to my car.  I lied to my sister about needing help because I didn’t want to impede my niece’s rehearsal and drove to my work.  Once at work, I called my team at the front desk who brought a wheelchair to me.  I then wheeled myself upstairs (ok I took the elevator but you understand).  I was fitted for crutches and given a quick lesson in them.  I then headed back downstairs (again, using the elevator) and headed for my car.  The trickiest part was getting up the front porch stairs (imagine that?!) at the house because they were covered in rain and I must have looked like one of the damn Stooges with how much slipping and sliding I did, finally getting up them and inside the house.

So.  Now I have crutches, hopefully just for use over the weekend…which of course happens to be one of my most busy weekends in the history of my weekends.  Strangely, I’m not really bothered by it.  It almost seems normal.

Unexpected is the new normal.

Woot! for The Decemberists new album

I’m more than appropriately stoked for the new Decemberists album.  I’ve only seen The Decemberists perform once live and only spent this summer getting into their music, but it has gripped me more than any other band ever has.  Their music, lyrical content and Colin’s voice are haunting.

Whenever I listen to music I usually can picture the band performing live somewhere or at least image what they might look like while performing.  Not The Decemberists.  Whenever I listen to their music, I always hear the story. Always visualize what they’re talking about.  That is their power.  Their gift.  Their lyrics transport listeners away from their ear buds and into stories.

With the new album coming out, I wanted to share some random video of Colin performing solo at a KEXP event in NY.  These three songs are from the new album ‘The King is Dead’, which comes out Jan 18th, 2011.