A GOOD SMOKE

A GOOD SMOKE
By Don Cummings

 

Semifinalist for the 2008 Playwrights Conference at The Euguene O'Neill Theater Center.

Reviews:

LA WEEKLY GO by Sandra Ross

LASTAGESCENE.COM by Steven Stanley

LOS ANGELES TIMES REVIEW by Charlotte Stoudt

GRIGWARE TALKS THEATRE by Don Grigware

Los Angeles Times CALENDAR LIVE READER REVIEWS

Grigware Talks Theatre Interview

February 22 - March 29
Fridays & Saturdays @ 8 PM
Sundays @ 3 PM (No Shows on 2/24 & 3/23)
The Chandler Studio Theatre
12443 Chandler Boulevard, North Hollywood CA 91607
Five Blocks West of Laurel Canyon, just East of Whitsett. Free Plentiful Parking

Reservations:

1-800-838-3006

The Production Company at The Chandler Studio Theatre

A Good Smoke: My Space

GO Writer-director Don Cummings adeptly captures the chaos enveloping a collapsing family, in his dark one-act comedy. Cummings has a gift for the pointed barb, and some of the dialogue is hilarious, despite the situation's gravity. His direction is as fast-paced as the dialogue, and Gruen delivers a tremendous performance as a deceptive, manipulative drug addict. --Sandra Ross, LA Weekly

We're all addicts, admits Don Cummings' cheerfully rude comedy, "A Good Smoke," whether it's momma, nicotine or self righteousness, there's no limping through life without a crutch. It's tough to mine much that's new in the dysfunctional family genre, but Cummings has a feel for desperation, and he gives each of the play's women her own awful, nakedly human monologue. As the mother from hell, Gruen admirably holds her ground, refusing to give into sitcom cuteness or ask for our sympathy.-- Charlotte Stoudt, Los Angeles Times

Don Cummings’ darkly funny A Good Smoke could just as easily be titled Life
With The Mother From Hell, but that might just be the teensiest bit off-putting.
After all, how many of us would choose to spend an hour and a half with one
of the most unrelentingly angry women ever put on a stage? But rest assured,
on opening night the Chandler Theatre was filled with uproarious laughter,
and I was among those who laughed the loudest. Black as the comedy in as
A Good Smoke is, this is a very funny comedy indeed.

Much of the humor is in the performance of lines that, in and of themselves, seem to be unlikely laugh-getters. Cummings’ script is so devilishly clever that it doesn't
need “jokes,” though lines like “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice,” are
indeed funny.

Under Cummings’ skillful direction, Barbara Gruen (Mom) gives one of the most
furious, fearless, and physically fatiguing performances I’ve ever witnessed.
Seething with constant anger, Gruen never once gives in to the temptation
to soften Mom, making her all the funnier, in a perversely satisfying way.
Gruen’s is a must-be-seen performance, never more so than in the 10-minute
phone rant she delivers full force, her words getting steadily louder and faster
and crazier. You sit there listening, mouth agape, and laughing as you cringe,
half of you wanting for her to just shut up, and the other half waiting to see
what will pop out of her mouth next.

Henry Gummer’s likeable persona works to make Dave the most sympathetic character, and once again those “sad but sparkling eyes” speak volumes. Blake Anthony does deliciously deadpan work as Joe, and Dennis Delsing is a hoot as Dad (and plays “funny drunk” just about as well as I’ve ever seen it done). Madelynn Fattibene, is outstanding at showing the unremittingly hangdog Susan’s real pain and suffering. Finally, Mary McBride appears all too briefly as Susan’s mother-in-law Betty, as relentlessly cheerful as Susan is morose.

Cummings, who also penned the very funny The Fat Of The Land, clearly understands the fine line between comedy and tragedy, and A Good Smoke walks that line to often side-splitting results. This is a play worth seeing, and one which will certainly provoke much post-curtain discussion.

August Viverito’s set and lighting design make excellent use of The Chandler
Theatre’s long, narrow space, with lighting and sound (designed by Bob
Blackburn) allowing for quick set changes, from living room, to hospital room, to
bar. Zoe Buck’s costumes are also very good.

A Good Smoke is “smoking-good” fun. Who would have thought that spending an hour and a half with “the mother from hell” would prove so entertaining?
--Steven Stanley, LA StageScene.com

This family’s entrapment is tragic, but not without many comic undertones, as dysfunction and dark humor go hand in hand. Everyone can relate to at least one problem, and the familial plight is so pathetic at times, especially Joyce’s, that laughter seems a better medicine than tears. Cummings does well to cut away from the mother’s agonizing abuse and intersperses scenes that serve as comic relief. The ensemble is solid. Gruen is outstanding in her brutally honest portrayal. Her lonely conversation on a cell phone to a voice machine as she cleans the house at 5am is monumentally engrossing. Her ferocious attack on lines like “Pull it together, Susan!” is drop dead hilarious. Gummer lends the complicated Dave, who is the spokesman for the playwright, a dynamic focus and compassionate sensitivity. Anthony adds the right touch of bewilderment, and Fattibene is gutwrenching in her deep need to mother her newborn. Delsing creates an appropriate wimp of an alcoholic husband, and Mary McBride adds color as the caring, yet “all business” mother-in-law.
Cummings stages the piece on the small Chandler stage with the utmost dexterity. The title A Good Smoke refers to the family’s addiction to cigarettes, and at play’s end, the bleak, silent freeze-frame portrait of the typical American dysfunctional family lighting up makes us simultaneously laugh and cry.
5 out of 5 stars – GRIGWARE TALKS THEATRE by Don Grigware


Reservations:

1-800-838-3006

The Production Company at The Chandler Studio Theatre

A Good Smoke: My Space

A GOOD SMOKE

Written and Directed by Don Cummings

Featuring: Henry Gummer, Barbara Gruen, Madelynn Fattibene, Blake Anthony, Dennis Delsing & Mary McBride

Assistant Director: Carla Barnett
Set and Lighting Design: August Viverito
Costumes: Zoe Buck
Sound Design: Bob Blackburn
Produced by August Viverito & T L Kolman

I'm So Excited About this Alternative Fuel Idea

I hate to waste. I love the planet, in the same way that I love my old car. Why junk it or try to get a new one when it still works?

I don’t think corn is the answer. I think the corn lobby is excited. (And maybe the corn, itself, is a little smug). All that water, all those pesticides? And breaking down ethanol in an engine creates plenty of Carbon Dioxide. Look, if you’re going to burn something, I’m kind of for oil. It’s already made. You don’t have to grow something and then process it. The dinosaurs are all dead and hanging around underground in liquid form.

Which brings me to my excitement. I want to create an oil silo about a mile high off the ground with a spigot at the bottom. As people die, you just drop them in. As the corpses add up, the pressure will squeeze oil out the bottom.

I’m happy to be the first one.

Strike Three and More

More than three months have passed since the writers have gone on strike. It looks like it is coming to an end. It should be resolved by Monday.

Answer me this: Why are producers such dirty, greedy slobs? What did they gain from their stubborn posturing?

Sally On: Aunt Rose

From my sister:

Greg and I went to the cemetery today for Aunt Rose's burial. Thanks Earl and Colleen for organizing this from afar. We were glad it could be worked out so that we could be there. Nick from Colonial did a nice job. He read some ritualistic funeral prayers (It has a name but I forget what he called it). It was very lovely. We also said an Our Father! Amazing what the mind retains after all these years! It felt good to be there to say good-bye.
We looked at the headstone with Uncle Gus, Aunt Jean and Aunt Rose's names.
I can't believe Uncle Gus died in 1967! I was 7 and am surprised I have such clear memories of him. Then Greg and I went on the search for Section 46, row G, tier I, grave #2! It took us about 5 minutes to figure out that the unmarked cemetery was actually marked! You just need to look at the side of the stones to see the engraved numbers on them. Alas! After 10 or so minutes more we found Nettie and Sam! I told Greg that Nettie was probably saying "It's about time you bastards came to see me!" Greg rightfully corrected me and said that she would have said "someofabitches!" Now that I know how close Holy Cross is I plan to go back and visit. It's a nice enough cemetery as those things go. They really crowd them in there! It was kind of weird saying goodbye to the last of the DeFranzas and seeing so many of them there.

After that I was grateful that I had my brother with me and we had the opportunity to spend a little while together, reminisce about the past and talk about the present. I am thankful each day for the many blessings that are often taken for granted!

Rock On!

Sally




Family Tree:

Michelina Boriello DeFranza and Augustus DeFranza gave birth to:

Nettie Jean Rose Gus Helen & Earl
(originally named Antoinette, Angelica, Rosa, Augustus, Helena and Earlando)

Nettie married Sam Porcello and gave birth to Janet and Joeseph

Janet married Donald Cummings and gave birth to Me, Sally and Greg

Helen married Charles Lynch and gave birth to Earl who married Colleen (now in Santa Barbara)

And now, so many of them are dead. And more will die. I along with them.

So, It Wasn't So Super

Can Hillary and Obama just keep splitting, splitting, splitting, with no end in sight?

Interesting.

I would be happy with either one. I think many other Democrats feel the same way. Please, oh Lord, please, just make it a Democrat for president.

Interestingly, I have heard and I kind of agree with the idea, that perhaps Obama against McCain assures a Democratic win…since Obama is so young and ready and McCain is such a geezer. Hillary won’t provide this ageist contrast.

On the other hand, Obama, while sparkly and charismatic, could end up alienating the middle. At least that’s what I fear. Obama fever could well take over the country, OR, it could backfire and he could lose miserably against McCain.

No crystal balls here. I do hope we get the exact president we deserve. These days, we deserve a real good one. We’ve endured the absolute worst.

Full disclosure: I voted for Hillary…because I think we need a pragmatic Wart Hog. I think Hillary’s the Wart Hog that can get the job done. Though I do hope it’s with Barak by her side. Together, they can fix this wretched hole of a country. And if it’s Barak as President with Hillary as Cheney, well, I’d be thrilled with that, too.

Nostalgic for Better Times

We do own this on DVD...It's The Carpenters from their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1970.

Bet you can't watch it just once.





Happy Super Tuesday.

Moonachie Madness

I must admit, the odd way the Giants won in the Super Bowl is quite interesting—in terms of probability, random dramatic effect, what else…

The clips of New York fans screaming and celebrating have a Nuremburg Parade Ground tone to them that unsettles and saddens. When the cameras capture a young adult male yelling, ‘Boston sucks, Boston sucks,” you just wish you were a different species.

We are beasts, true. Pass the meat.

Two Great Tastes that Taste Great Together

It’s peanut butter and chocolate, together at last.

Will Obama and Hillary run together?

Why not??? I’ve always thought so.

I am so happy for ANYONE.

You know, I am so thrilled that Bozo the fucking moron is finally going to leave the White House, I’d even be happy to have McCain. Anyone. One of the termites that’s chewing down my garage would be fine.

These are exciting times. The debate was right up the street. California is excited to have an actual human being sit in the oval office. This is so great. The pall is lifting.

January 31. 1979

Today was very mediocre. School was school. French was fun. I’m in a pretty just overall frustrated sick of people taking advantage of me mood. I did loads and loads of homework. I can’t believe how much I did. Goodnight.

Why Doesn't Anyone Believe Me?

Giuiliani was running for Vice President all along.

He saw Cheney’s unchecked power and has been, “Gimme some of that good shit,” from the get-go.

He never tried, really. He wants the #2 position.

The fascist really did decrease crime in New York City. And he made it safe for The Lion King and Banana Republic. He is awful. But, I think he has a better sense of humor than Cheney. Plus, he’ll do drag when called upon.

No matter. It is impossible to believe that a Republican ticket could take the white house. Even if the Los Angeles Times prints the ugliest, most unflattering pictures of Hillary Clinton since the beginning of papyrus.

I hate The LA Times. I must cancel, ASAP.

Gratefully Clean

The strange thing about being a playwright is by the time a play gets into production, your life has moved forward---often by many years.

My play, A Good Smoke, opens on February 22. It is based on events that happened more than eight years ago. It also deals with addiction, mostly cigarettes, but also pills, pot and booze.

While directing this play, I found myself getting sucked in. I started to smoke things. Cigarettes even. And then very quickly, like Bugs Bunny with the huge hammer who stops himself just before he takes a wack at the nose of a bomb, I screamed, “What Am I Doing?” And quickly, I put the hammer down.

All is forgiven, of course. I can’t beat myself up for any of this. And I am grateful that my backslide to eight years ago only lasted a few days. However, I must be cautious and I must stay in present life even if past life is playing out right in front of me. A story, a play, a painting, an etching, is formed at the time it is formed. Then, it needs to be there on its own. It doesn’t need you any longer.

Birds and Books

Congratulations Megan Karlen for your first book cover.

Forms of Intercession

Theatre Tribe Diatribe

So much of my blogging energy today has been involved with this guy who, in the greatest sense, wants actors to become like organic vegetables: Grown locally, consumed within a five mile radius.

There is so much going on here. What’s his agenda? Why such narrow focus? A blog that pushes just one point is a bit odd to me. It’s like Republicans---if you stay forever on message, you will perish. Things are huge and changing. Of course. Look at Seventeenth Century France and Twentieth Century Paramus. So be the reed.

Today’s Theatre

Lack of Newspaper

I have not had the time to read the newspaper for almost two months. Finally, yesterday and today, I did have a chance to glance.

Heath Ledger is DEAD?

The Stock Market has FALLEN APART?

And that awful weasel, GWB, is still the, GASP, leader of the Free World?
(Free World? Free to whom?)

It is interesting what one can fill one’s head with. I’ve had an enormous TO DO list since October—I am not complaining. I wanted my list to get large. I am grateful. But the list has trumped the reading.

However, I do miss the world discussion since I’ve been out of the loop. (And for the record, I think I just have to get the New York Times to replace my current fish wrap. The LA Times gets sillier by the second.)

However, being out of the loop can give one the space to trust gut feelings on various subjects. By just feeling the hive vibe of America and catching the snippets as they occasionally catch your eye, you can come to conclusions that are not so analytical. Sometimes, those are the best conclusions you can draw.

Now Playing

READING, at the Famously Enjoyable

SIT 'N SPIN

I will be reading It Must Be So Hard for You
From my Memoir Open Trench

Also reading on the same night--
Domestic Violins
written by My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner
Adam Waring

Thursday, January 24 @ 8PM
Comedy Central Stage @ The Hudson Theatre
6539 Santa Monica Boulevard
Call For Reservations
323-960-5519

Sit ‘N Spin

One Night Only Free Reservations are very necessary

Bye Bye

 

Goodybe Aunt Rose

My Great Aunt Rose Died today.
She was 91 or 92, depending on which birth certificate you decided was the right one.

She had a mob boyfriend. His name was Frank Amore. He never left his wife. He died when he was sixty. Back in the 1950's.

Aunt Rose was feisty and loved to watch television. She was fancy, sported a mock Park Avenue accent even though she lived in subsidized housing. She has amazing pictures of herself wearing furs and gloves that Frank bought for her.

She went into the hospital a week before Christmas. A bit cancer ridden.

She had no children. My cousins put her in a nursing home a few days ago. She was so pissed off. She said she never wanted to be in a nursing home. When my cousins called her to say that they would set up her cataract surgery, she said, "Don't bother. I'm done. Bye Bye."

A few hours later, she died.

Illegal in Four States

He can lay his gay body down on four corners of four states and what is the only thing he can count on? That he can't marry his partner of fourteen years in any of them. There should really be a monument.

 

In It: A Good Smoke

What goes on goes on.

I am rehearsing a play that opens February 22. It takes every minute of my free time. This is exciting and it is worth it. I have a cast: Barbara Gruen, Mary McBride, Madelynn Fattibene, Henry Gummer, Blake Anthony and Dennis Delsing…they really are a smart and talented bunch. I am grateful. They work hard. They have ideas. They are enjoyable people.

The play is called A GOOD SMOKE. I wrote a one act version of it years ago. It was commissioned a few years later to become a full length play. The commission fell through. Then, it was shopped around and now it is being produced in a sweet little theatre in the valley. And I am very lucky.

Do come see it. One and all.

The Production Company

Now Playing

READING, at the Famously Enjoyable

SIT 'N SPIN

I will be reading It Must Be So Hard for You
From my Memoir Open Trench

Also reading on the same night--
Domestic Violins
written by My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner
Adam Waring

Thursday, January 24 @ 8PM
Comedy Central Stage @ The Hudson Theatre
6539 Santa Monica Boulevard
Call For Reservations
323-960-5519

Sit ‘N Spin

One Night Only Free Reservations are very necessary

My People

There’s something about my people---sitting around Naples while the garbage piles up.
A strike. A load of filth.

Being an American mutt, I have at times dipped into a section of my being and have felt very connected to the people of Naples (even though my people are from a small hill town that is at least an hour away)…but at times like this, I feel repelled by their mess. But then I boomerang around and accept my DNA.

What I have always liked about having Italian blood is the deep understanding of the eternal source of happiness: to celebrate how beautiful life is because it is so damn awful.

It's a Vagina, Madam, Not a Clown Car

Even though I am in nonstop play rehearsals, design meetings and who-knows-what-else for A Good Smoke and have little time to spare---and even though my computer died and I had to rebuild it---and even though we had a Tufts undergrad living with us this week in the backyard so he could attend his Hollywood “Winternship”—one would think I would have just turned my back on my Blog and let it lie fallow. However, my compulsive nature does not allow it!

Today’s Blog is brought to you courtesy of Anne Etue. It’s an entry from List of the day.
My favorite caption, of course, is It’s a vagina, madam, not a clown car. Click and Scroll .

Future Blog entry ideas are welcome!

Welcome to 2008

Have you begun to date things correctly yet? I am getting close.

Pills

The hushed goal of medicine these days is not really to heal but to prop patients up on drugs until every last per-capita dollar has been squeezed out of the system and our pickled remains are hauled off to a final resting place.

--Printer Bowler, New Yorker 10/22/07

Thank You and God Bless You

The beauty of You Tube is I can decide when to watch Hillary Clinton’s victory speech in New Hampshire. 2:30AM.

I also watched Obama’s Iowa victory speech.

Hillary does seem more grounded and much more ready to be president. I don’t think she has anything too new…she’s a Clintonian Clinton. What gives me peace is she seems so very smart and sane. Her smile is a bit cartoonish. But after all that campaigning, I would not only be cartoonish, I’d be asleep.

Obama, I don’t know. I feel like he’s acting the part. He’s young enough to be able to still do such a thing. Hillary is old enough to not be able to get away with that. I never know what the hell Obama is talking about. Change? To what? I mean, sure, we all want change. But what specifically does he have in mind? I just don’t know. Besides, he sounded too much like a preacher during his big speech. Forgive me, but I think he was showboating.

Hillary began and ended her victory speech with much humility. With a final signing off, she invoked the Lord, “Thank you and God bless you.” And you know what? She means it. And you know what? 95% of Americans believe in God and I think most of them believe in God the way she does. And isn’t this election all about God? Even for Democrats?

God help us.

www.myspace.com/doncummings

Today’s blog entry is brought to you by our friendly host, Don Cummings, AKA Uncle Donald, at www.myspace.com/doncummings.

Geek Squad: Merci

My computer was acting strange. It all began about five weeks ago. I kept it together by not doing too much. I even brought the thing to New York for two weeks and got by. I came back to Los Angeles, tried to get an expired Norton off my hard drive. It became more and more impossible. Corruption. Freezing. A non-moving cursor. Restore points would not restore. In effect, my machine was toasty fried.

Usually, I soldier on and figure it out, but it was clear, this was impossible to fix. I zipped over to Best Buy and dropped the thing in the far back corner of The Geek Squad. I think they might even be a franchise within Best Buy. Whatever the structure, I was perfectly taken care of. For $59, they diagnosed my machine in twenty-four hours: Dead Hard Drive. (They do die, you know), and within another twenty-six hours and $270, I had a completely restored computer with a new hard drive inside (more than three times the size of my old one) with XP, Office and QuickBooks installed and updated and by the end of today, I am up and running as if almost nothing happened. And my computer is super zippy.

This is a positive end to a sad tale. However, it was only positive because I had everything backed up, almost to the day. Friends, back up your boxes. I had an iMac that actually melted four years ago, and now this. About every four years, with heavy computer use, something will happen. Back up, back up, back up. You must.

Computers are like cell phones. Completely disposable. Keep your data safe. That’s all I’m saying.

Cat-Tastrophy

Sometimes your cat gets run over by a car. It happens.

Today, Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, looked at me squarely in the eye and with an adult tone said, “It’s supposed to rain for four days, I’m going up on the roof to clean out the gutters.”

I did not argue. Each year, Adam does this job. It’s really more about checking them than cleaning them, but no matter what, you have to get up that ladder. When Adam opened the side gate in order to move the green can (that’s the garbage can for plant material only) our ancient cat, Oliver, ran out. This happens. Frequently. But usually, he just runs toward the house next door or down the sidewalk a bit, playing a game of “Catch me if you can,” and he is always caught.

However, on occasion, when he’s either been cooped up too long (which he has been lately) or if he feels just plain old crazy, he’ll dart across the street to an imagined freedom. Today, he darted and a car ran right over him. A Toyota.

Adam started screaming and crying. He called me outside. He said he saw the car run right over him and he was certain that Oliver was dead. Of course, the cat sprinted and was nowhere to be found. Our neighbor, Mike, helped us to look for him. The neighborhood pastor asked us what was going on and we told him and he said, “He ran away, that’s good. It means he’s still alive.”

A stranger stopped his car and asked what was going on, too, and we told him and he said the same thing. I became optimistic.

Adam, Mike and I searched people’s yards. We assumed he’d be in one of them across the street. Mike found him and called to us. His booming voice scared the cat and he zipped under the house through a bungalow vent hole. I heard him under there, meowing, quite upset. Adam ran for tuna and came back and coaxed him out. We all agreed, it looked like one of his back legs was broken but that he looked kind of okay. We jumped in my 1992 Geo Prizm ambulance (147,000 miles) and we rushed to the Vet. Emergency style.

Our regular Vet has been spending time with her father since he is dying, so there has been a parade of temp-Vets in the office. Today’s was a lovely woman with one arm. She was also missing, it appeared, most of her shoulder. She was a cool headed woman with a fine face and warm, dark hair. And pretty. I have a feeling her arm situation was a birth problem. Or was it bitten off by a tiger?

Apparently, when a cat gets hit by a car, the Vet worries about three things: Lung lesions, a ruptured bladder and of course, broken bones. You would also worry about internal bleeding, however, our cat showed no signs of that and also, no signs of shock. She took him to the back to run tests. Adam and I went to the Bob’s Big Boy on Wilshire (very retro, I ate a waffle, quite tasty) and then returned. Besides being a little shaken and perhaps a little bruised, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the cat, at all.

She gave him a shot of fluid to help stabilize his blood pressure so there would be no chance he would go into shock. She gave him pain medication. She gave us more for later. She told us the X-rays all looked good. He appeared to be fine. Complete relief.

An amazing pussykins!


 

New York: The Short Reviews

The Plays:

Our entertainment began with Is He Dead?, a long lost Mark Twain play. It starts off kind of pokey and eventually tilts into an elaborate French farce. Completely enjoyable. Beautiful sets. Not that well developed. Acting is truly phenomenal. In fact, there is so much good acting on the stage these days, one should just avoid filmed matter at every turn.

Conor McPherson’s The Seafarer has a silly plot that centers on a man playing cards against the devil for his soul. Why anyone would write this at this point in our cultural evolution is beyond me. However, the cast is so strong, so completely realized, I am glad I saw it. And you know how the Irish can be, so lyrical and funny and sad all at once. Worth it at half the price.

August: Osage County was a slog. Again, fantastic acting. But the incest and the pedophilia and the suicide and the drug withdrawal all in one play? Really? Whatever for? Steppenwolf can sure put on a show.

The Movies:

Tim Burton’s idea of Sweeney Todd was ghastly. It was kabuki. It was poorly sung. It made me long for a time machine so I could travel back twenty-seven years to watch the original.

Charlie Wilson’s War was smart, fun, extremely well acted, even if Julia Robert’s accent did not hold up, and quite a piece of propaganda for the “Can Do Spirit of a Democrat from Texas” who fought this war to save the children, even though it was funded by those who simply wanted the downfall of communism. I think this movie was made in order to show the voting American public that Democrats are not afraid to fight a just war. It ends portentously, with a wagging finger toward a job unfinished. And our good friend, Michael Spellman, is in it. Worth seeing, for sure.

The City:

New York City is quite enjoyable. There is much to eat and drink and at the end of the day a subway or a cab will whisk you home. What a set up!

Happy Holidays

In a few hours, I will be getting out of bed and getting on a plane with my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner. Two weeks in New York.

The blog will be taking an editorial break until January 1. Have a great holiday. Love your family, you might as well. Love your friends, even if they are not at their best. Love yourself, for no reason at all.

And relax...


Happy Holidays.

I've Stopped Reading the Newspaper & Atonement

I’ve been very busy and I’ve stopped reading the newspaper. I had to.

I do not miss the news.

I do miss reading. When I am in normal work mode, I read two or three hours every day. Lately, I’ve only read emails.

Articles are better than emails. Books are often even better.

I need to get back to my reading.

On the short list is The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler and The Road by Cormac McCarthy.

Short movie review: Atonement. Don’t go see it. If you liked The English Patient, like I didn’t, then you might like this snore fest. If you love beautiful cinematography but don’t mind hearing the words, “Come back to me” repeated over and over, go see it. However, if you have something else more pressing to do, like say, checking the pharmaceuticals in your medicine cabinet for expired pills, then I’d say, do that. I was Out of Africa bored with this one. The stagnant shots of people standing in front of graphic framing was laughable. Filmmakers. Poor dears. Imagine, if you will, a sweater that is all about yarn and not about shape.

Let it Snow

For Cheryl


 

It's a Blunderful Life

It’s a Blunderful Life

What I Learned at the Thursday Night Holiday Show and Chrismas Party

Tonight, I was in the Holiday Show Choir at Comedy Central’s Sit ‘N Spin. It was a light hearted event with send-ups of Christmas songs, a short red-headed guy in an elf suit, original scripted pieces about the holidays, a Kwanza joint and the Chanukah Blues. This well attended event was followed by a raucous party, one I insisted I was only going to stop by for an hour. We got home close to 2AM. It was a master class in excess. This is what I learned tonight.

1. The reason it’s called medical marijuana is because after you smoke it, you need the attention of a physician.

2. Maggie Rowe is an excellent writer, and seriously leggy.

3. I am not the only Biology major from Tufts University who ended up in show business. Eric Schwartz, also performing tonight, went this route, too.

4. At any live event with comedians, Richard Belzer might be found sitting with his dog in the front row of the audience. The dog, for the most part, may behave like a psychiatric ordained comfort dog. But it will spend some time, on its leash, sniffing around the front of the stage. It also might bark once at the musicians. Everyone knows children and animals remove the focus from adults. I think?

5. Hollywood writers and musicians will get fucking tanked on a Thursday night after they do a show a couple of weeks before Christmas if given enough booze, weed and cookies. Especially if there is a Writer’s Strike. No amount of residuals in the mail, stocks, soaring real estate equity or trust funds will ease their anxiety. It takes mind altering substances and a rock band in the living room.

6. Even though Bill Maher and I have spent time together, he doesn’t necessarily want to speak to me. His use of a marijuana bud as mistletoe is inspired. It cannot be easy to be famous at a party. If you are having a conversation with someone and a gay, middle aged man approaches the conversation to join in, you might just have to turn away.

7. If women cheat, they want to have an affair. Men, they just want to get blow-own.

8. My literary “agent” from the big fancy agency I am “with?” will show up at almost every party I go to this time of year and he will repeat this sentence at each one, “I will definitely call you tomorrow to give you notes on your The Closer spec.” But you know he never will. So you think about calling Endeavor.

9. American Spirit cigarettes are just as nauseating as Marlboro Lights.

10. If you have been taking Airborne for two days to stave off that nasty cold you felt coming on, you will eventually have to speed home to the bathroom because its active ingredient, Zinc, like chemo, will kill the bad bugs and the epithelial walls of your colon with equal fervor.

Clone Me

I have an idea for a story. I probably should not publish it here because someone might steal it. But maybe the story has already been written. I'd like to write about a guy who makes a clone of himself to do all of his slave work. It all starts out pretty great. But then there are complications. The clone, having the same underlying personality, suffers greatly under bondage. So it manages to free itself but then dies from DNA dysfunction. It's all the tragedy of watching yourself imprisoned by yourself, followed by getting free, too late, and then dying, too young.

The Crash of '07

I was moved to using paper today. It was relaxing. A nice break. But there was a terror...

Automatic windows update was doing its thing when I shut down to go outside for the day’s business. When I came back, the machine was slumbering and when awoken, it was stuck on “Installing 2 of 9 updates. Do not shut off the computer. It will shut off by itself.” Ah! No budging. It just kept spinning at that message, forever. So I did what you do when your computer won’t budge. I pulled out the power cord and unclipped the battery. Off.

But then, when I rebooted, it wouldn’t. My computer had become a doorstop. This was a terrible thing. I had so much to do. But I did not panic. I bothered my friend, Jeff, quite a bit, (Sorry Jeff)—and I did take his advice at one point and I booted up using the original disk to no effect, I think. I restarted in safe mode, backed up all my files onto an external hard drive, chose to restore at certain restore points (for those who don’t know---your computer, if it is a PC, will save the exact configuration of Windows at various dates. You can then pick a former date to restore the machine to.) However, I was still stuck. Going nowehere. I could not restore. I was out of choices and readied myself for a trip to the computer fixers in the morning.

But what seemed to work was this: I went out to dinner. I ate enormous amounts of pasta and drank a few glasses of heavy red wine with my writing group, Moose Purse. I came home, started up the frozen beast again in safe mode, restored the machine to December 1, 2007. And it booted up. I have NO IDEA why. Except, I think the computer was happy to have a break. And I was happy to have eaten.

My gut feeling is that a corrupt Norton, mixed with a very large Windows Update and having not run any anti-spy for a while, this combination did it in. So, I fixed up Norton. I set the Windows update to Manual. I downloaded the simple Yahoo toolbar with anti-spy and killed the spies. And now, I’m humming along.

It was interesting to be without the computer. In fact, I felt freer than I have felt in years. I imagine one could live a life without the computer. I am sure. If it’s just you and a piece of paper, it’s so calm. When the computer is running, even if you are concentrating on your work, there is always that nagging sense that you are connected to the entire world. Blech!

Final note, though. Make sure you have an external hard drive. And back up once a month. You just have to.

Cotton Balls

I turned to Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, and said to him, “Give me a blog topic, quick.”

Quickly, he responded, “Cotton balls.”

So cotton balls it is. I don’t have much to say about cotton balls. I rarely use them. Once in a while, when my face is a bit greasy but I’m sick of washing it, I’ll take down the glass jar with the metal lid, purchased at Restoration Hardware, from the top of the wooden medicine cabinet connected to the wall, and I’ll pull out a cotton ball. Then, from inside the cabinet, I’ll bring out the bottle of rubbing alcohol, purchased at Rite-Aid for 89 cents, and I’ll unscrew the cap, place the cotton ball on the opening, turn the bottle over, drench the ball fully, and rub down my face. The cotton ball turns black. I love Los Angeles.

Sometimes, I have used cotton balls with rubbing alcohol to clean up other areas...to ward off disease. But this is not that kind of blog.

Some people use cotton balls to decorate Christmas trees on their property to appear snow covered. The effect does not work. However, there is a house down the street that has covered their entire lawn with rolled out flat cotton as snow...and then covered the entire cotton lawn with Christmas lights, on the ground. On top of all that are tons of blinking snowmen, an inflatable Christmas Merry-Go-Round and a big plastic Christmas Ferris wheel. Without the cotton, I bet it would look tacky.

Small Stories--Chinese Times

Eventually, the studio-network-satan complex (SNS) may commit, forever, to their feudal position and destroy the will of the WGA by no longer recognizing it as an institution. When you give all the power to a few very rich people, they feel they can do anything.

If this comes to pass, what could the union do? If the SNS goes rogue and ceases to recognize the WGA, then things become very interesting. Will new studios crop up that give writers better deals? Will small production companies form that will produce shows and then negotiate, per show, with the SNS for a pay scale depending on risk/star/time slot/economy?

Will narrative material cease to exist? Will people go back to spending much more time reading because all visual content is only visual? Will this be a boon to alternative film making? Improv? Juggling?

Like after the commercial strike of 2000, things will never be the same after this strike. The businessmen want to maximize profit, naturally. This is a bump in that direction. Writers, get ready. As the Chinese proverb/curse goes, “May you live in interesting times.”

Prejudice in Art

OH my. I am casting a play right now. Word went out on the wire for six roles. Over five hundred people submitted their pictures.

Then, I got out the strainer. It is such a ruthless enterprise, casting. It is racist, weightiest, hairest and who knows what else.

You start looking at the submitted pictures online. Your heart goes out to these people, but a job must be done.
First, you get rid of all the wonderful people who are hair challenged, weight challenged and all people of color. (My fault. I should have stated Caucasian.)
Then, people with real long faces or very pointy chins. Gone.
Then, anyone with inappropriate clothing, overly dyed hair, strange prop glasses or scarves. Delete.
You keep going, until what you have are a lot of regular looking people. No one trying too hard. No one aching for attention. It’s the simple photos, backed by great credits. That’s it. That’s the trick. Them.

One tends to gravitate toward very neutral features. It seems. Especially when building a family. You figure, if you choose toward the middle with everyone, you can probably pull off casting a somewhat believable family.

There are so many extremely beautiful people, too. But for some reason, they don’t seem that useful for a family drama/comedy on a small stage. And then, how would you get enough talented-beautiful people to make a group? Impossible.

I started into the stack yesterday. I felt terrible not choosing people. I felt their souls. I felt the pain of actors posting and being ignored. Within twenty-four hours and five-hundred pictures later, I simply became, “Man, I don’t think anyone wants to look at a face like that for more than five minutes.” Delete.

It’s awful. Maybe people are just awful for the sake of speed. Casting requires swift decisions.

Other odd note: It is the most neutral looking people that seem to have the best credits. So, this process of the bland evolution is happening from the get-go. Those people are being chosen for to have careers. Interesting.

Heart Warming Cinema

This movie trailer so touched my heart. I’m sure it will touch yours, too.

Open Your heart Center and watch this unique and artful trailer.

The Savages

It’s a slight film, The Savages . This is the best criticism I can give for a movie that deals with abuse and death. Humor is very important during these dark days. The writer/director, Tamara Jenkins, is very funny. The lead actors, Laura Linney and Philip Seymour Hoffman, deliver the goods at a perfect pitch.

This is not a life changing movie. But it’s much better than most. Is that a sad comment on what is being offered to us? Perhaps. What I liked the most was that these two adult characters, in the middle of their messed up lives, just lived their lives and didn’t complain too much. They had awful childhoods filled with abandonment and abuse, followed by grown up years with severe intimacy disorders, yet they remained smart and funny and forged ahead. With tenderness. Bravo.

Possible Endgame of the Union Busters

If the studios and networks succeed in breaking the spirit of the union, and I do not believe they will, but if they do, there is something interesting that could happen.

Writers could band together, hire a producer, and have their shows made, cheaply, and then sold to providers of content on entertainment sites on the net. The writers can construct whatever deal they want to with these providers. Every deal can be different. Viva la chaos! If a provider chooses to not give the writers what the writers want, then the writers can look somewhere else for the deal that makes sense.

While the writers are out there putting their original material on the net, the studios and networks can buy already made garbage. There are plenty of people out there who will make a studio movie or television show, with the requisite guns and boobs or the fat husband and unrealistic hot wife. These things can be made by nonunion getups out near the landfills in the Mojave Desert. Let the studios have them.

If the break between the narrative artists at their laptops and the snorting hogs of the studios and networks is to arrive some time soon, then the new world order in entertainment could prove to be very interesting.

Creativity has all the power. The problem with creative artists is they always think the distribution force has the power. It does not, ultimately. This distribution force of Hollywood does not see its writers as viable assets. This is like the owner of Sears not caring about all the people involved in producing their highly popular energy star appliances. Or even more simply, if I sold candy apples, I would certainly take care of my apple trees. So the trees whither. If the trees could walk away, they would. Writers, though often chubby, can walk.

If the writers and the studios split forever, it will pain the writers at first. But soon, the studios will have nothing to hawk but fart shows and mean spirited contests. This is not a good business model. Greed is so blinding.

Ugly Strike, Ugly Town

The Tires of Carson Daly

The article, simple. The comments, out of control.

News from the Front

Adam, My-Recognized-By-The-State-Of-California-Domestic-Partner, had a run-in with Carson Daly.

He had this to say:

I was picketing at NBC today and the WGA organizers instructed us to be on the lookout for a black Cadillac Escalade with a bike rack. It's Carson Daly's car, and he was returning to work today for the first time since the strike started. They were determined to try and stop him. At about 2:30 they got word that his car had driven past one of the gates but had not turned in. Then they realized that there was no one picketing at Gate 3, which is a card entry only gate. They sent three of us from Gate 1 up there at a sprint, and within 5 minutes of getting there we saw his car. He was being driven by a driver, and he cruised by us, saw us picketing, and kept going. We were psyched, but then a few minutes later he was back. We stood in his path, but his window was cracked and we all distinctly heard him tell his driver, "Keep driving." And he did! He slowed down a little, but he kept coming at us. I finally had to move out of the way, but we all were yelling and pleading with him to reconsider going back to work, and to please honor our picket line, and he was really hurting our cause, etc. But he didn't respond. In the mean time, a security guard had appeared at the gate, the guard opened the gate and Carson's car drove on. A big bummer and highly dramatic.

Which ended up in the news:

By GARY GENTILE, AP Business Writer

Meanwhile, protesting writers converged on NBC's studios in suburban Burbank to rally against restarted production of the late-night show "Last Call With Carson Daly."
Several people said Daly circled the Burbank lot before entering a gate with no pickets.
Adam Waring, who has written for the sitcom "Two and a Half Men," said he and two other writers dashed around a corner to intercept Daly.
"We stood in front of his car, and he told his driver to keep going," Waring said, adding that protesters had to move out of the way.

This strike is working. An agreement will be reached. Carson Daly, whatever.

Power Ballads and Cheesy Ditties at CAFE MUSE

CALLING ALL SINGERS.

LOAD YOUR LUNGS and OPEN YOUR HEART.

Friday, December 7 at 9PM at CAFÉ MUSE you’ll have the chance to sing your favorite big songs. The cheesier the better. All power ballads welcome!

You are the immediate entertainment at Café Muse, owned and run by our very own Jennifer Ritchkoff and Crystal Jackson.

There’s a stage area, a great sound system, and lots of food, right on Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood next door to The Hudson Theatre.

Music starts at 9PM. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to come a little early, around 8 or so, to let me take a look at what I’ll be banging out on the piano. It would be even better if you pdf’d me your music or dropped me a copy. ALL MUSIC MUST HAVE GUITAR CHORDS written over the music. Since this is a guerilla entertainment-fare, open mikey night, there is no time to practice and the chords over the music make this possible. If you have any questions as to what music with guitar chords look like, IT LOOKS LIKE THIS . Chords without the little guitar fingering boxes are totally fine, and your sheet music would LOOK LIKE THIS. If your music does not have chords, I can’t play it. If you have a special song you want to play and sing, by all means, step up!

In any event. Pick something, with chords, and maybe practice a little. It’s going to be a big fun Open Mike Night. All levels of talent and confidence are welcome. You can even bring extra music for those who forgot. Give someone a chance to shine. If you don’t sing at all, come and listen.

For song ideas, why not check out The Entertainment Weekly Ultimate Cheesy Ballad Playlist

So bring me a copy of your tunes sooner or later in the next week, or show up early to Café Muse on Friday, December 7....and support this fabulous, new, happening watering hole. It’s cool.

Location: Café Muse

Margot at the Wedding

You might not be inclined to like it, but there are not many literate movies made in The United States, so get open to it. Fork over your cash and your time and go see Margot at the Wedding. The acting is a huge leap above most of the gun and tit stuff out there. It is completely natural while being exceptionally articulate. Nicole Kidman and Jennifer Jason Leigh are brilliant as sisters, one in the throes of getting married, the other divorced. The jagged line of simultaneous love and hatred in their relationships to each other and to the men in their lives has never appeared more real to me. Soft edges. Harsh realities. Nice house on The Sound.

The plot is wee, which gives the movie plenty of breathing room. There are sinister happenings all around the perimeter. Bad neighbors. A dead rat at the bottom of a pool. A funky nighttime parade, for what? It all adds to the texture.

I liked this movie better than The Squid and The Whale, Noah Baumbach’s other literary film. The adults receive the bulk of the attacks in this current offering. You want to get up and fight, too, with abandon.

You could wait and watch Margot at the Wedding at home, like I did, (Thank you WGA for the screener), and have a perfectly good time, rewinding back to the funniest lines to hear them again, but why not support the business that supports this kind of film making and get ye to a theatre and pay full retail? It’s shot so lovely, all brownish and wan. And they don’t make many movies about complicated people who read. Do not mistake the privilege with preciousness. Advantaged people suffer, too. So richly.

Pyramid Servers

Like the slaves building the pyramids, we’re the culture that is building the Servers.

They’ll be amazed that we got down to the task just as we are amazed that people built Teti.

And when all information is transmitted by hair or earlobes, the Servers will be beautiful to us, as an artifact, the spread out monolith of the past. They will also make us sad because no matter how permanent they are, the people who built them will have long ago perished.

Extremists

Extremists? Okay, fine. I will not be hyperbolic here in a sophomoric comparison that pits religious nuts who like to kill people to standard American lunatics.

However...

Aren’t we, too, quite extreme? The incredible greed of CEO’s?
Those who aspire to severe thinness by dismissing all carbohydrates?
Those who knock down their 4000 square foot house to build a 6000 square foot house?
Those who cannot stop eating and look so uncomfortable in airplane seats?
Those who believe in hell and believe that anyone who does not believe what they believe will go straight to it?

These are very extreme conditions. So easily witnessed in our country.

It is very interesting to me that the primate mind can be imprinted for almost anything. So though it is surprising to me, the forms of extremism that people engage in, it needn’t be. It’s a world of great variety.

I am particularly uneasy with people in other countries, no matter how far they are from my backyard, who want to kill me simply because I am an American, non-religious, what-have-you. But the lack of moderation in our country, by our own citizens, right in my face, terrifies me.

Thankful

As we gather up our things for a flight to the great frozen Northwest, I must stop--simply stop and think for what I am grateful. I could make an endless list. I will not.

Everything is everything. No need to divide it up. There is something larger I am up to.

I am thankful that I am here. I haven’t had any life scare or any religious conversion. I am simply thankful that I am here at all, that anyone is here at all. I live very close to a neighborhood in Los Angeles called Miracle Mile.

I know I often carry on like a weary misanthrope. It’s often in jest. Often, it is justified. Cranky complainers are just failed romantics. But for one week, this week, I am going to accept that being here awakens my gratitude. Fill up with that. And pie.

Enjoy your Thanksgiving. The blog will return on Monday.



Personal Recommendation: Mary and John, enjoy every minute of Paris.

Same Old Story

Scooter, Libby rate me.

I need a lightweight scooter. Something quiet that runs on geothermal energy or bird songs.

Lately, I’ve been taking the metro around. I’ve actually had four different reasons to go to downtown Los Angeles this week. I’ve taken the metro three times. The metro is the easy part. What is difficult is getting there.

I live 1.8 miles from the Hollywood/Highland station. Red Line. It takes twenty-five minutes to walk there, no matter how many times I tell people it takes twenty minutes.

On the other end, I have been luckier. The locations have been closer to my final stop. Tonight, we had an uproariously tasty book club for a book about sociopaths who live right next door (Mary made short ribs. Thanks, Mary) and I took the Red Line to Union Station and the Gold Line to Highland Park. Upon arrival, I walked for thirty minutes to Mary’s house in Monterey Hills. The walk takes you over the 110 Freeway on an old, narrow bridge, through Hermon, whatever that means, and down Collis Avenue to Mary’s and John’s lovely home on the edge of a coyote infested hill. Also known as Elephant Hill. Do a search in the upper left corner of this blog for Elephant Hill and you can see the picture of it.

It was a great walk. I wanted to walk. I needed to walk. I have been sitting at my computer for days on end.

However, the whole one way trip to Monterey Hills took me one hour and forty-five minutes.

Of course, I was waylaid by an event that was happening at the Kodak Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard. Was it for an awards show? A trade show? Victoria Secret? It was hard to tell. Everything has the same Gestapo ring about it at the Kodak. I had to enter the maze mall that horseshoe engulfs the Kodak because I could not cross the fifteen feet of sidewalk that was being saved for the event. Upon entering the mall in order to get to the train entrance, it was almost impossible to get through all sorts of security guards. A wretched woman would not let me cross a fifteen feet section of hall at the top of the stairs. I asked her how I could get to the subway. She responded, “We don’t have a subway.”

I wanted to kill her. “Okay, the Metro.”

She went on about how she didn’t know and how she had to check with someone and there is another bridge I could cross over to get there. She went to check with another guard. Then, a citizen told me what to do (take the bridge) and I did it. It was like one of those dreams where you can’t get where you are going.

Next time, I’ll take a different route.

But really, it would not have been so frustrating if I had zipped up there more quickly and had more time to deal with these keepers-of-the-exclusive event. I need a scooter. A quiet, lightweight, solar scooter.

Praying for Rain

The governor of Georgia has incited a prayer vigil for rain.

The common denominator of most contempt is a hatred of stupidity. But most people disagree upon what actually is stupid.

Prayer vigils for rain, much like rain dancing, rattling rain rattles and the sacrificing of virgins in volcanoes for precipitation, is pretty much a moronic activity.

The smartest thing someone said about this praying for rain is, "It unifies us." I can see that. Maybe if everyone bows their heads together in utmost shame for their disregard for the earth, they might send brain waves toward each other that penetrate the moronia and then stimulates the practical spheres of gray matter...into logical problem solving. For this, I am optimistic.

And maybe people are so anxious and operate so completely from fear and greed that they need prayer to slow their minds down, to find the section that is rational, connected to the planet. Okay, fine, fine.

But baby dolls, ain't this all like closing the door long after the horse has already escaped from the barn?

I love Georgia. I've spent a lot of face time there with motherly waitresses and friendly linemen in Waffle Houses from Valdosta to Atlanta. I love the slowness and the open hospitality. Savannah is beautiful.

But, man, what kind of people, long after Voltaire's enlightenment, what kind of people swam to these shores?

Voices Of Uncertainty

Standing Ovation: The Fat of the Land

Dan Alemshah was nominated for an LA Ovation Award, the biggest awards West of The Hudson River for Theatre, for best featured actor, Claudia Vestibule, in my play THE FAT OF THE LAND. We went. I had a feeling he would win in a tie. And he did. It was such a big fun deal!

The awards took place at The Orpheum in downtown LA on Broadway. An enormous theatre, filled with enormous energy---all the theatre people of Los Angeles. From The Mark Taper Forum to The Geffen to the Rubicon to our little production at The New Theatre. It was hosted by Neil Patrick Harris with great lightness and jaunty jibes about the Writers’ Guild strike. Annette Benning gave a speech, accepting the Special Career Achievment Award. Great voice and beautiful, as always. Funky dancers from The Hysterica Dance Company performed throughout as deliverers of the statues and removers of the banners, one banner for each category. It was easy to tell how much longer the show was going to be by how many banners were left.

When Dan’s category came up and he was announced as the winner, we all just kind of spontaneously cried and whooped. Dan gave a beautiful speech, starting immediately with, “Everything starts with the words and if it wasn’t for Don Cummings’ great play...” Then Dan continued to thank Mary McBride for producing and acting. And of course the other actors, his parents, his partner. He was poised and lovely.

It’s fun when you get nominated. It’s really fun when your actor wins. Completely enjoyable evening. I highly recommend these kind of experiences.

I would also like to thank Adam Waring, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, for doing all the administrative work and for the wrangling of the Ovation crowd during the run of the show. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you West Coast Ensemble for the original workshop and for the great cast with Ross Kramer directing and thank you Billy Hopkins for the reading at E.S.T. in New York with that amazing cast and thank you Kelly Ford for directing the world premiere and the great, great, amazing cast at The New Theatre. And the unbelievable Crystal Jackson for holding it all together.

Click here and scroll down to see Dan’s gorgeous tranny face! The Fat of the Land on MySpace

Onward!

Devils in the Family

Most of my childhood after school was spent reading, arranging the decorations in my aquarium and playing the guitar. My teacher was Mrs. Wermus, a fabulous woman who smoked Moore cigarettes, during lessons too. Her husband, Harry Wermus, was an amazing man, extremely generous and kind. My brother and I used to do some yard work for him when we were teenagers and he overpaid us, more than double what would be considered the correct fee. When I had an interview for Cornell University, senior year of high school, Harry drove me up and back (eight hours total) in one day. He was full of great stories. He was worldly. He was warm. He died over ten years ago. I often think about him.

Harry had a first cousin who was like a brother to him. His name is Sydney Lumet. Harry told me how their relationship dissolved once Sydney became successful. This was sad for Harry and I could understand. I once had a very close friend, let’s call her Alanna Duggins, whose star ascended while mine stalled out and I felt abandoned and sad. But that was nothing compared to what Harry went through when his first cousin and closest relative gave Harry and everyone else in the Wermus family the heave-ho.

Of course, there are two sides to every story and one day, I’d love to find out what Sydney Lumet has to say about all of this. But it would be hard to listen objectively, since Sydney looks so much like Harry that all I would do is think about Harry.

Tonight, we went to see his film Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead.

It is so grim. It is so good. A crime gone completely wrong. A family of such enormous trouble. It’s Greek tragedy, the basic premise being, “Crime doesn’t pay,” with the family part hard driving the whole thing. The genius is in the telling. The long slow shots. The acting, which is meted out sublimely by EVERYONE. The big cars that make the whole thing seem a bit 1973. The fabulous class conscious design. The smart-as-hell script. One hates to reveal anything about this movie at all. Just go check it out. But when you’re done, go home and watch something light and fluffy. You’ll need it.

One of the greatest movies ever made, of course, is Lumet's Dog Day Afternoon. It’s one of the few movies that I’ll watch once a year. Before the Devil Knows You're Dead has a similar thrust. It's not quite as good, but it’s better than most stuff that is being made these days.

Sydney Lumet...I wish you were still hanging out with Harry when I was a kid so I could have met you. But maybe you were just too busy.

Hollywood Never Changes

It was the screenwriter William Goldman who described the single most important fact about the movie industry as "nobody knows anything," with the corollary that its executives "must get results -- now -- or they're gone." ---Joseph Schuman, The Wall Street Journal Online

Tonight: One Night Only

ONE NIGHT ONLY:

Reading From his Memoir, OPEN TRENCH--the inspiration for the Blog--one night only! Selections include “Whatever Happened to Cousin Mickey?” and “Mexicrap”
Wednesday, NOVEMBER 7 @ 7:30 @ A Different Light Bookstore
8853 Santa Monica Blvd. West Hollywood, CA
Part of THE PROMISING SERIES

A Different Light Bookstore

Event Location



The Third Promising Reading Will Take Place
at A Different Light Bookstore


The Promising Series is the only reading series in Los Angeles that exclusively features Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender writers. A goal for the series is to celebrate established writers and introduce the next generation of writers that will explore the GLBT experience. The next reading will be held on Wednesday, November 7, 2007 at 7:30pm.

“The Promising Series has attracted a standing room only crowd,” said series coordinator Noël Alumit. “And the people coming aren’t necessarily gay or lesbian. They come because the work presented is awesome.”

The November 7th reading will feature:

Terry Wolverton is author of six books: Embers, a novel-in-poems; Insurgent Muse: life and art at the Woman's Building, a memoir, Bailey's Beads, a novel; and three collections of poetry: Black Slip, Mystery Bruise and Shadow and Praise. A new novel, The Labrys Reunion, will be published in 2008. She has also edited fourteen literary anthologies, including Mischief, Caprice, and Other Poetic Strategies. She is the founder of Writers At Work, a creative writing center in Los Angeles, where she teaches fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry.

Don Cummings is a playwright, essayist and blogger. His critically acclaimed plays have been produced in such venues as Soho Rep, Ensemble Studio Theatre, Turnip Theatre Festival, Lake Ontario Playhouse, on the east coast; HBO Workspace, Theater/Theatre, West Coast Ensemble, The New Theatre, The Moving Arts Theatre, The Tamarind Theatre, The Powerhouse Theatre on the west coast. Titles include The Fat of the Land, American Air, What Do Men Live By?, Stark, Raving, Mad, The Winner and A Good Smoke.

Carlos Cabrera was born and raised in Los Angeles. He holds a BA in English from UCLA and will start an MFA program in poetry at Cornell University in 2008. His first book of poems, The Peacock's Song: A Poem in Seventeen Syllables, will be published in early 2008. He lives in West Los Angeles with Dorian, his suspiciously intelligent three-year-old cat.


Collins Carter has two selves—a former and a current. The former self was a stand-up comedienne for ten years, an actress and a morning show host for an alternative radio station. The current self chooses to express herself solely through her pen and pad. She is working on a collection of short stories and preparing her novel, Eating the Apple, for publication. Her body resides in Los Angeles, but her mind lives anywhere it desires.

Noël Alumit wrote the novels Letters to Montgomery Clift and Talking to the Moon. He wrote and performed the solos shows The Rice Room: Scenes from a Bar and Master of the (Miss) Universe. www.thelastnoel.blogspot.com

The Promising Series will take place on Wednesday, November 7 at 7:30pm. A Different Light Bookstore, 8853 Santa Monica Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90069, (310) 854-6601.

Strikers, We Love Ye

Like something out of an Odets play, Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, went off this morning just before 9 to march in front of CBS on Beverly Boulevard near The Grove. He wore a fire engine red WGA T-shirt and a floppy hat.

It was so quiet in the house, it felt momentous. I read a Newsweek in bed.

When he returned, he was exhausted and had the look of someone who had been carrying a sign on a pike for four hours. The worst part? The entrance that he was walking across was sloped, so the whole time he walked sideways across a small hill. You know how that can do you in.

I bet this striking business lands a lot of writers at the acupuncture office.

But it must be done. The producers are pig-swine.

How many homes, boats, planes and islands must one own before one can feel good about oneself? It’s beyond ludicrous. You know, I heard something about capitalism: People are motivated by greed.

Here’s a nice big push against that. The fight is worth it.

If I were a member of the WGA, I’d do the afternoon shift.

Catalogue Choice

In the LA Times today was a great article. Join up! Save the world.
This site is not against commerce. They’re just against needless catalogues. In fact, they offer catalogues on their site for you to look at. Do yourself a favor. Let your catalogues collect for the next few months in a pile...then, join this site and click off the catalogues you no longer want. Just do it. Make a note in your calendar for early January. Start piling up your catalogues. Join the site and Mark them goodbye! (You’ll need certain information from your catalogues to do this.) Why lose all these trees?

Catalog Choice

From their Site:

Over eight million tons of trees are consumed each year in the production of paper catalogs.

Nearly half of the planet’s original forest cover is gone today. Forests have effectively disappeared in 25 countries, and another 29 have lost more than 90% of their forest cover.

Deforestation contributes between 20% and 25% of all carbon pollution, causing global climate change.

More than one billion people living in extreme poverty around the world depend on forests for their livelihoods.

There are other significant environmental impacts from the catalog cycle. The production and disposal of direct mail alone consumes more energy than three million cars.

The manufacturing, distribution, collection and disposal of catalogs generates global warming gases as well as air and water pollution. Reducing the number of unwanted catalogs that are mailed will help the environment.

Catalog Choice

Piss Play Lives

Sometimes, you get a cast for your play that is so perfect, you just have to be grateful.
My play is a very harsh farce. It is politically incorrect. It has severe scatological elements. It is brutal in every way. I landed three very talented actors who are not afraid of the whole thing. They threw themselves into this and they are brilliant.

I am a very lucky person. Do come see the play. It runs until November 18.

Now Playing and More

PISS PLAY OPENS TONIGHT

LONG LIVE PISS PLAY.

Piss Play and More



 

Robert Goulet is Dead

Spring Valley, New York. Early 1970’s. The Barretts lived next door. Mrs. Barrett was an alcoholic and spent much time building a rock garden in her back yard. It was not difficult to find the necessary rocks since we were in Rockland County. She was a tall, ivory girl woman who looked like she would fit perfectly on a horse. I had a boy crush on her.

Her husband was a manager of a country club. He was not a loyal husband which I am sure must have added to Mrs. Baretts’ alcohol intake. Mr. Barrett was also very good friends with Robert Goulet. True. I had no idea who Robert Goulet was. Camelot was long over and as a child, whenever his name was mentioned, I could only think of goulash.

Those years in Spring Valley were lived in a high ranch. These are pretty hideous houses. You enter at a level of the house that was called “The Landing”—and you had to go either up or down from there to the upstairs of the High Ranch, where most of the main rooms and bedrooms were, or downstairs to the finished lower floor. Through the sliding doors of the dining room of the main, top floor was a deck. The deck was quite high and at the same level of the other high decks across the backyards of the other houses.

One day, Ruth Barrett told us that her father was bringing home Robert Goulet for dinner. And he did come. I still had no idea who this goulash was but I felt like I had to care because he was famous. From the Baretts’ high deck in the yard, there he stood and I ran into the backyard to see him with my brother and sister and he waved at us from up high. My mother came out, too. We all stood there looking at Robert Goulet.

Mr. and Mrs. Barrett eventually divorced. Mrs. Barrett went to AA and got sober. I have no idea what happened to Mr. Barrett, though I never really liked him. He was macho and I was sort of in love with his wife.

Carbon Fund

It makes me sick to know that every flight I take makes the world a hotter place.

Today, while reading my Frommer’s for a future trip to the Yucatan, I read about Carbonfund.org

How it works is, whenever you fly you pay for your carbon. Somewhere else, that carbon is offset by investments into renewables, energy efficiency and forestation.

It’s not exactly Cap and Trade. But at least it’s a move in the right direction and gets people to realize that one must pay money to take care of the planet. Eventually, we can get to a full system of Cap and Trade, which will stabilize things. Once stabilized, we can Cap, Trade and Reduce. Eventually, it can all be done electronically through taxation.

For my flying concerns, one round trip flight of 6,000 miles only costs $6.25 in offset costs.

At the end of the year, I can add up all my flights and send a donation to the carbon fund. No, it won’t change the world and hardly anyone will do it. But it’s the message and the small actions. Action brings more action.

Offset today:
Footprint

Cherubs from Utah, The Tranny Turnpike

Our very good friends are opening a café on Santa Monica Boulevard right across the street from a Honda dealership.

While waiting for their final board of health approval so they can open, they began a weekly Saturday night with friends, kind of hangout-hootenanny with wine. This weekend was the first one.

By chance, the son of a famous Mormon singer who lives in Utah (think Paper Roses and Porcelain dolls) and the nephew of the guy with the purple socks, is understudying for a play next door. He has befriended the ladies who run the café. With his guitar. His twenty-four year old guileless goodness. With his chestnut brown hair. And most importantly, with his singing voice. He can hit a high C#, full. His intonation is perfect. He has the genes. One could even say they’re a little bit country, a little bit Rock n’ Roll.

But truly, his voice is outstanding and he gave us a mini-concert in the cafe. Big event as it turns out. The four women went haywire. They fell in love. They wanted to take him home and make sure that he would always be fed. Among other things. The three men were in awe.

Talk naturally led to when he was going to do a show in the café, that we would all help produce it, make sure the place was packed. Even though he is the child of fortune, he does appear to need a little boost. Often, famous kids eschew help and connections from their well established parents because they want to be able to do it on their own. And here we were a bunch of boozed up middle-age theatre types at the ready to produce a showcase for him.

After he left, there was much discussion about how to handle and help this kid, who, upon consideration, probably doesn’t need any help at all and was just humoring us. Everyone had flurries of ideas, while snarfing down grilled cheese sandwiches and goblets of wine. One of the women got very upset because she felt her territory was being invaded and that people weren’t listening to her. She just “Didn’t want him to be overproduced!” She collected dishes and started washing and banging them around in a frenzy of petulance and hurt. Hilarious.

It all died down by three in the morning, standing on Santa Monica Boulevard. A transsexual prostitute ran into us, which is nothing unusual for that stretch of road. (S)he was on X, with her beard stubble, her bleached out long hair and her whore outfit. (S)he was messy and inarticulate, giving us half phrases about how abusive and wigged out others can be toward her(im) and how (s)he doesn’t really know exactly what (s)he is, still trying to figure it out. We were imploring her, “Just love yourself, man. Be yourself. It’s cool. Be it all. That’s fine. What else do you want to do with your life?”

When asked, (s)he said she was from SLC. Salt Lake City. We tried to help.

Ann Coulter is a Horse Faced Nightmare

ADL Condemns Ann Coulter's Comment That Jews Need 'To Be Perfected'

New York, NY, October 12, 2007 ... The Anti-Defamation League strongly condemns Ann Coulter for her anti-Semitic comment that Christians "want Jews to be perfected" in an interview with Donny Deutsch on CNBC's "The Big Idea." During her October 8 appearance, Coulter suggested that Jews should convert, adding that, "we just want Jews to be perfected, as they say. … That's what Christianity is."
Ann Coulter may be a political pundit but she clearly knows very little about religious theology and interfaith issues. Coulter's remarks are outrageous, offensive and a throwback to the centuries-old teaching of contempt for Jews and Judaism. The notion that Jews are religiously inferior or imperfect because they do not accept Christian beliefs was the basis for 2,000 years of church-based anti-Semitism. While she is entitled to her beliefs, using mainstream media to espouse the idea that Judaism needs to be replaced with Christianity and that each individual Jew is somehow deficient and needs to be "perfected," is rank Christian supersessionism and has been rejected by the Catholic Church and the vast majority of mainstream Christian denominations.
Clearly, Ann Coulter needs a wake-up call about the power of words to injure others and fuel hatred. She needs an education, too, about the roots of anti-Semitism and the shared values of Judaism and Christianity. Christians and Jews have worked tirelessly for more than 40 years to overcome the past and to promote a more tolerant and pluralistic vision for the future and especially for America.
Donny Deutsch is to be commended for his immediate and forceful denunciation of Coulter's statements, for calling her remarks personally offensive, and for rightly characterizing her suggestion that Jews are inferior to Christians as anti-Semitism.

The Anti-Defamation League, founded in 1913, is the world's leading organization fighting anti-Semitism through programs and services that counteract hatred, prejudice and bigotry.

October 25, 1979

Today was good. I went to school late with Sally’s car, I picked up my paycheck, first. After school I wisked down to the bank, cashed my check, went back to school for show choir, went to the hospital to visit Dad, He’s bad, I feel awful. I came home did homework, went back to the hospital, then I went to this guy Freddie’s House, Mrs. Wermuses’ cousin. We’re starting a band. Afterwards I went to Donna’s across the street, and talked to her, smoked a Doobie, It was a good night.

The paycheck was from Reinauer’s truckstop. Of course I was in show choir. My father had a bad neck thing and he was laid out in a terrible traction apparatus. (Years later, he had to get a neck fusion operation. Poor guy. But he’s fine. Plays lots of golf.) Mrs. Wermus was my guitar teacher for about eight years. She was a total Joan Baez type, smoking Moore cigarettes—during lessons—and had complete faith in my music ability. She was always trying to get me to go into to Manhattan to play at The Bitter End. All I could think was, “What am I going to play? The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down?” Freddie was tall and hairy, a total musician. Mrs. Wermus, aw hell, her name was Muriel, Muriel tried to get Freddie and I to play together. We were not a good match. I was never meant to be in a band and I never was. Donna was my girlfriend’s sister who lived in a rental apartment across the street that her grandmother owned. It was a hideous fourplex, blue-ish-gray, from the early twentieth century, shaped like the Hotel from Monopoly. Donna had two kids and a law student husband who was going to Fordham. Donna was beautiful and sarcastic with a serious rack of lamb. She was a major pothead. You could go over there at anytime and get high. And we did.

Sometimes, You Just Can't Breathe--And That's All Right

I’m oddly non-alarmist. In fact, as the Sociopath book I’m reading tells me, I might be one of the 4% of society who depends on extra thrills.

So when there are hurricanes, wildfires, tsunamis, I actually grow joyful and calm. Yeah, I guess I’m heartless.

At a distance, however, I realize my happiness is justified because it means the earth is doing what it does with no regard for the hubris of humanity. In essence, nature is supreme and that raises my dopamine. Maybe I’m not a sociopath, then, but just a guy who likes my mother earth in full force.

I will say this, though, I cannot breathe well. My chest is tight. I’m a bit light headed. The air is awful. Sometimes it smells like a campfire. Sometimes it smells like eucalyptus. A few minutes ago, all I could smell were Cuban cigars. I don’t know why.

This yellow spume that we are living in is not enjoyable. People have survived much worse. The weather is supposed to change by Thursday. We all look forward to it.

Most of the footage you see of people in Malibu is pretty cool. They’re not a people in denial. They know this happens and they are prepared. They take off with their kids and dogs and photo albums and laptops and wait it out. But when you see a guy on TV, like I did today, self-righteously moaning, “Where are the firemen? Where are they? I haven’t seen one all day,” you just have to think, “Dude, you knew the risk when you moved here. Buy in town if you want a less perilous existence.”

If it all burns, it all burns.

Allergic Gay Men are Green

Let’s face it. Who’s greener than a gay man with allergies?

Our carbon footprint, over time, is almost indiscernible, since we do not breed.

We are also the sensors for air quality, sneezing and curling into exhaustion, like pill bugs, as soon as the dry pollution whittles away at our nasal passages.

Worship us for keeping down the population.
Use us as weather stations.
We are gay. We are green.
We support the cause.

Malibu Fire

It is highly usual for the marine layer to hover over Hollywood at night. A normal occurrence, the ocean about twelve miles away, its moisture rolls in and gives the night a fresh blanket of coolness.

Tonight, that light fog is filled with smoke. It’s cold and damp as usual, but loaded with particulate matter. It’s oddly freakish, an end of the world feeling.

The moon is in a haze of blue. The world smells like a campfire.

NOW PLAYING

TWO AUTUMN EVENTS!

ONE NIGHT ONLY:

Reading From his Memoir, OPEN TRENCH--the inspiration for the Blog--one night only! Selections include “Whatever Happened to Cousin Mickey?” and “Mexicrap”
Wednesday, NOVEMBER 7 @ 7:30 @ A Different Light Bookstore
8853 Santa Monica Blvd. West Hollywood, CA
Part of THE PROMISING SERIES

A Different Light Bookstore

Event Location

* See below for more information


***AND***


PISS PLAY IS ABOUT MINORITIES SO IT’S REALLY IMPORTANT

--A Short play (along with three even shorter plays)

The Arts Council must pick one lucky recipient to win the big funding prize!
Who will it be? This farce of urinary proportions sends up the ridiculous nature of arts funding and who actually gets the cash. Run by two self-involved nuts that put three applicants through the paces for the booty, only one hopeful has the courage to steel his nerve and drop trou and give what is greatly desired: A tasty stream of volatile, minority piss. This nasty farce, with its heart in its kidneys, is sure to tickle even the most politically correct.

November 1- November 18
Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays @ 8, Sundays @ 3 @ West Coast Ensemble
2106 Hyperion Avenue, Silverlake, CA

West Coast Ensemble

Location of Event


*The Third Promising Reading Will Take Place
at A Different Light Bookstore


The Promising Series is the only reading series in Los Angeles that exclusively features Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender writers. A goal for the series is to celebrate established writers and introduce the next generation of writers that will explore the GLBT experience. The next reading will be held on Wednesday, November 7, 2007 at 7:30pm.

“The Promising Series has attracted a standing room only crowd,” said series coordinator Noël Alumit. “And the people coming aren’t necessarily gay or lesbian. They come because the work presented is awesome.”

The November 7th reading will feature:

Terry Wolverton is author of six books: Embers, a novel-in-poems; Insurgent Muse: life and art at the Woman's Building, a memoir, Bailey's Beads, a novel; and three collections of poetry: Black Slip, Mystery Bruise and Shadow and Praise. A new novel, The Labrys Reunion, will be published in 2008. She has also edited fourteen literary anthologies, including Mischief, Caprice, and Other Poetic Strategies. She is the founder of Writers At Work, a creative writing center in Los Angeles, where she teaches fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry.

Don Cummings is a playwright, essayist and blogger. His critically acclaimed plays have been produced in such venues as Soho Rep, Ensemble Studio Theatre, Turnip Theatre Festival, Lake Ontario Playhouse, on the east coast; HBO Workspace, Theater/Theatre, West Coast Ensemble, The New Theatre, The Moving Arts Theatre, The Tamarind Theatre, The Powerhouse Theatre on the west coast. Titles include The Fat of the Land, American Air, What Do Men Live By?, Stark, Raving, Mad, The Winner and A Good Smoke.

Carlos Cabrera was born and raised in Los Angeles. He holds a BA in English from UCLA and will start an MFA program in poetry at Cornell University in 2008. His first book of poems, The Peacock's Song: A Poem in Seventeen Syllables, will be published in early 2008. He lives in West Los Angeles with Dorian, his suspiciously intelligent three-year-old cat.


Collins Carter has two selves—a former and a current. The former self was a stand-up comedienne for ten years, an actress and a morning show host for an alternative radio station. The current self chooses to express herself solely through her pen and pad. She is working on a collection of short stories and preparing her novel, Eating the Apple, for publication. Her body resides in Los Angeles, but her mind lives anywhere it desires.

Noël Alumit wrote the novels Letters to Montgomery Clift and Talking to the Moon. He wrote and performed the solos shows The Rice Room: Scenes from a Bar and Master of the (Miss) Universe. www.thelastnoel.blogspot.com

The Promising Series will take place on Wednesday, November 7 at 7:30pm. A Different Light Bookstore, 8853 Santa Monica Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90069, (310) 854-6601.

October 19, 1979

Today was real good. I had 2 tests, After school I went to two banks, dropped money off for H. at Gynecare for a payment due. I took backroads to work, I got quite lost. I finally got there. I worked 4-12. It was good. I cooked with Phil. After work me, Nicki, Phil, Peggy and Robin went to Captain Vincents. They didn’t serve me, but it was fun anyway. Then we went to Tiffany’s. It’s 3:00 and I’m exhausted. Goodnight.

The H is a friend of mine who had an abortion. Her real name is in the journal. Tweren’t my child. I was just helping out. I worked at a truck stop on route 17 in Mahwah, NJ as a short order cook. Phil was gay. Nicki was this older woman who was putting herself through college. She had a face like Cher in Silkwood. I actually dated her for a few minutes. We went to a Linda Ronstadt concert at RCC (Rockland Community College). I wore a cowboy hat and was proud walking around with this older, hot woman for all my high school friends to see. Linda Ronstadt never showed up. The concert was canceled. Peggy was a large, older woman with bright, dyed red hair. She worked the cash register. Robin was a tragic figure, a bright blond alcoholic woman in her twenties who gave up on life quite young and made a career of being a truck stop waitress. Her best friend was a truck stop lifer, a much older woman, Terry, whom she emulated. Captain Vincent’s was the seafaring-themed bar at the Holiday Inn down the road. Tiffany’s was and still is a fabulous Jersey diner. Working at the truck stop was one of the best things I did growing up. I was a short order cook for years, wore white T-shirts, made BLT’s, cheeseburgers, microwaved meat loaf and poured canned brown gravy over it, fried bacon, fried eggs, threw frozen battered chicken in the deep fryer, opened lots of cans, cut a lot of cabbage for our signature homemade cold slaw and smoked cartons of Marlboro cigarettes.

Ravishing? No, Striking.

It could be a wonderful, rich, shared Hollywood experience for the people who want it: writing, producers working with writers, directors working with producers and writers, actors working with directors, all of it catered by someone who understands that garlic really upsets my stomach.

But it’s never easy at the grabby table. Because it’s all about the pie. For some reason, people want to hog down the whole thing, or hide the whole thing for later, or pretend there isn’t much of a pie so it can’t be shared. It’s disgusting.

I have worked for many years as an accountant in small, cable television production offices. The number one goal of the producers has always been to keep as much money for themselves as possible. Segment producers do not get writing credit, though they do almost nothing but research and writing. They often make $1200 per week. No chance of residuals. The producers would never think of giving them anything more. If a show gets a fee of $600,000 from a studio to produce one special episode, a pair of producers do their best to keep $300,000 for themselves, and then use the other half for the budget. When someone asks for a larger salary than $1200 (which is usually for at least a sixty hour work week) the producer responds, naturally, “There just isn’t that much money in the budget.” The segment producer (writer actually) glumly, yet feverishly works for $20 per hour in a very stressful, deadline oriented office. The two producers feel justified pocketing the $300,000 because they are in a high risk business and they need to protect themselves from ruin.

Therein lays the basis of producers’ greed: FEAR. They stockpile cash. They aren’t in this business to make glorious art. They are in this business (like brokers are in the securities trade) to amass cash for a safer, more opulent future.

There is so much money coming at producers. They skim and whine. I hope this WGA strike is grueling and bloody. This Halloween, I’m pulling up my ringside seat and I’m ready to hear all the “Boos”.

May I Have Your Attention Please?

Due to Increased Security Measures, all passengers will be shot to death in the waiting area.

It’s getting ghastly out there. We often take flight 181 at 5PM from JFK back to LAX. It’s a good time to leave and you get to your house by 9PM. Plenty of time to clean up the piss from all your pets, check the mail, email, put things away, you name it, before hitting the hay.

But that’s just it. Here we are, having our normal lives, flying around, paying the bills, working when there’s work, hoping and writing about a better future and there’s just this infuriating stasis. And what about the kids? The kids are not rising up! Sure, it’s great that the laundry is going and my Energystar appliances are reducing my carbon footprint...I guess...but with Bush & Cheney getting ready to drop bombs on Iran now, we need to do something. And frankly, I’m just too busy with my life to do anything about it or to even know what to do about it. When I was just a wee boy, the Vietnam demonstrators were out in full force. I expect it again. It’s not happening.

We spent some time with my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner Adam’s niece who is in college in Vermont at the very funky and cool Marlboro College, where you get to design your own course of study. These kids seem like a lovely gaggle of patchouli pacifists. Which is wonderful! Maybe that’s the answer to the whole problem. Of course, the side of me that wants closure to this whole war thinks, “One Nuke per Middle Eastern Nation.” Reactionary? Surely. I’m impatient. Obviously, I’m no war policy expert and killing millions of innocents is not the answer. I watched the graduate students of The Fletcher School of Law & Diplomacy at Tufts walking seriously into their dorms from my sophomore window. I never even talked to them. They seemed so sad and determined. I wonder what they’re doing now? Are they muscling for change? What the hell is going on? Are their kids in college? What are they going to do?

It’s frustrating to live with this endless badness. I fear for every one peaceful clove smoker at Marlboro College, there are three righteous bomb throwers at Virginia Tech.

Limited resources, over population, greed, and maniacs running the show—and all I care about or even know what to care about is to make sure I get an aisle seat on the flying aluminum tube that is burning its way back to my house. Like the kids, I don’t really know if I have any power at all. It’s so big. Can I have another cup of water without ice?

Greetings from New England

Woodstock, Vermont