The Weazel hath emerged.

My new company, Sleeping Weazel has launched its website.

Here's a little bit about what we do.

We explore and engage novel venues for the development, interaction, presentation, and publication of new art — multimedia theatre, interdisciplinary installations, performance events, music, poetry, and film/video/audio.

We develop work that crosses and confounds the boundaries of “mainstream” and “avant-garde” as well as boundaries between art forms. Based in Boston and fanning out virtually across the globe, our projects include individual and collaborative productions in the theatre, on DVD, CD, and Vimeo, at readings, audio-theatre concerts, and performance events.

We invite you to join us in a shared vision of surprise, spontaneity, and discovery.

Check out the website and mark your calenders for our first live event on January 11th at the Factory Theatre in Boston.  

 

Badlands, South Dakota, we're not on Cape Cod anymore Toto.

Badlands S. Dakota

South Dakota is unlike anything this playwright has ever seen.  Driving through the billboard bespeckled Great Plains is beyond anything I've ever dreamed of seeing and then....and then....and then!  The Badlands, oh yes.  Like mountains have melted away and left us all the rock to see, like drippy sand castles, you know, ok well my sister knows anyways. 

Badlands

 

 

 

In the Badlands I hiked and I camped and I saw loads of Wildlife, Birds, Prairie Dogs, Mountain Goats, Buffalo...oh yes the Buffalo...fortunately though I did not see any rattlesnakes.

Camping, just to give a little perspective to the landscape.

 This might be where I pulled my leg really bad and could barely walk for a week.  Yeah....

 The badlands is also where my car went out of alignment, could have been that 20mile long dirt road.  I kept thinking to myself, "Where no Honda Civic has gone before".  I'm a Honda Civic owner who really ought to have a truck, except for the whole gas mileage thing.  Are there hybrid trucks yet? 

Minneapolis/ St. Paul

After being on my own since I left Bangor, ME two plus weeks earlier, it was comforting to see a familiar face upon my arrival in Minneapolis, Minnesota.  A quiet evening with a friend was just what I needed.  The next day we hit the town(s).  St. Paul in the morning with a listening meditation put on by Grace Minnesota.  These people are doing very cool things, a cross between spirituality and dance theater exploration or something of that nature. 
After a relaxing and introspective morning we hit the St. Paul Farmer's Market and had a deliciously buttered ear of corn.  Yummmm.....This was the biggest farmer's market I had ever been to and the prices were more than reasonable. 

In the afternoon we hit the Walker Art Center and enjoyed an afternoon of square dancing on the lawn. 

In the evening Nye's Polonaise, for the most unemotional "Polish" polka playing, and an incredibly unique experience.  Had an incredible time, just wish I could have thought of some songs to request.

A purely Minnesotan day, couldn't have been anywhere else. 

Filling in- A bit more on Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park

Dune Climb, Sleeping Bear Dunes.

Here are a few pics from Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park in Michigan.

Ghost Forest in the Dunes.

View from Dunes

Along the dune trail.

 One of the first hikes I did was one of the hardest to do.  Only four miles long, but up and down massive dunes in the heat of the day.  It was absolutely amazing, but one of those things in life you just have to power through.  There aren't too many options when you're on the top of a giant sand dune, you've just got to keep on going.

Shipwreck of of South Manitou Island.

 The second night I was in the area I was able to check in to the D.H. Day campground in the park.  $12. a night and right on the lake.  Extremely convenient to have a nice swim.  The water's a bit cold.  I started out the first day wearing my shortie wetsuit, the second in rash guard shirt and swim shorts, the third I'd progressed to just my bathingsuit like everyone else.  Refreshing.  I did have a rather warm swim off of South Manitou Island which is an hour and a half slow ferry ride offshore.  The water was fairly shallow so that I'm sure accounts for the warm waters.  I hiked along the beach to about a 1/2 mile beyond this Shipwreck.  Not a soul in sight, just a long stretch of beach, cliffs of sand behind and beyond that forest.  The Shipwreck surreal like and covered with birds.  Waves lapping over smooth stones.  The kind of moment you scream with joy.  Oh and I did.  I also had a nice tour of the lighthouse on South Manitou given by a somewhat weary but still enthusiastic park ranger.  One of the Rangers on that lives out on the island for the summer went to UMASS Amherst.  I do find continuously on my travels that the world is very small in a lot of ways, and then it contradicts itself and becomes

Picture of me atop the Lighthouse at South Manitou

very large again.  Oh world forever changing size.  Ahhh well. 

I've only got 5 minutes...

I am woefully behind on updating this blog.  Here are a few things and I will fill in the details later.  I must be off in just a few minutes.

Northern Michigan, the Upper Peninsula, U.P. as the locals call it is a very cool place.  I traveled from Mackinaw City to Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park along historic Route 22 that hugs the western coastline of Lake Michigan.  Gorgeous little towns, summer destination points some more touristy than others but all there to indulge in the very sea like qualities of Lake Michigan.  Rip Tides on a Lake!  Oh my.  I spent 5 nights in Sleeping Bear Dunes, the longest stay of my trip.  If you're a cape codder reading this, these dunes are 4-5 times as high as the dunes on the National Seashore, just massive, and on a lake.  What a crazy thing. Will post pics, or check the mobile uploads on my facebook page. 

I drove down to a town further south on the coast called Ludington which is the home of the S.S. Badger, the last coal ferry that crosses the lakes, or possibly anywhere.  They are changing over this year, and there is a contingent of locals who are very against this.  They want to keep this piece of history as is, but alas time marches on and smog and ash are no longer the way to go.  I spent a night in Ludington, the beaches there have all of these tiny black flies, so gross, they live in the sand up to about 5 feet from the water line and then their dead bodies are floating on the surface of the water as far as the eye can see.  The people swim anyway and sun themselves on the beach.  Uggh.  They don't bite, but they are so annoying and as I said gross.  Yuck. 

Took the 4 hour journey across Lake Michigan on the S.S. Badger Car Ferry, it is a sort of mini cruise ship with Bingo on the main deck, cabins for rent and that whole sort of thing.  Very mid-western in style I'd say as far as this New Englander can tell.  I felt sea sick the whole way.  I don't seem to do well on large ships and it was a rocky, stormy, rainy day. 

Will add more oh so soon.....must dash.

Back in the States

Crossing into the U.S. was harder than crossing into Canada.  No real surprise there.  The woman asked if I was employed.  Now why would they ask an American Citizen coming into the states if they are employed?  I'll leave you to come up with the answers for yourself. 

After Crossing the border at Sault Ste Marie, I drove down and stopped at St. Ignace before arriving at the campground just outside Mackinaw City.  Mackinac Island having been suggested to me over a friendly kitchen counter on a hot summer's day on Cape Cod.  Thank you to the Greenes for the suggestion.  Now, Mackinaw City is on the mainland of Michigan, whereas Mackinac Island  is offshore, a twenty minute fast ferry ride away.  Both places are pronounced Mackinaw, a very rookie mistake is rhyming the syllables in Mackinac.  Mackinac Island is a throwback to the 1800's in a lot of ways, they outlawed automobiles back when they were invented, so one traverses the small island by either horse and buggy or bicycle and there are a lot of both.  There is a crew of men who go around on bicycles with bins attached and stop and scoop up the horse poop.  Ahh what a job.

Mackinac Island.

Natural Rock Bridge, Mackinac Island

The island is entirely tourist centered, although there are those who live there year round.  I learned that the ice between the Peninsula and the island freezes in the winter and that after Christmas the year rounders on Mackinac take their Christmas trees and lay them across the ice creating the boundaries of a road where snow mobiles zip back and forth.  All and all it was a very pleasant day trip, many do spend overnights on the island but the accommodations are extremely pricey and they don't have any sand beaches. 

Mackinaw City rivals any other tourist trap city.  Loads of ways to spend your money.  A family I met at the campground said they found so much to do in Mackinaw City that they'd spend all there money and never even made it to the island.

Lighthouse by Mackinaw Bridge (Connects Mackinaw City and St. Ignace.)

Ricky is enjoying his travels.

He's all fired up.

He's cooking food like a grown up. 

It's important to take your puppets out and let them see the country.  If you keep them all boxed up in the basement they'll only complain about you to their therapists later on.

Gettin into the Groove or the Rothko rant

After awhile on the road driving is the norm.  I miss my car when it's out of sight, I worry about it as though it were a child. This is how I felt with my car in an underground parking garage in Toronto.  I spent two days in Toronto, not near enough to get much of a feel for the place.  Yet it reminded me of a lot of other fairly large cities.  I walked around quite a lot, a homeless man asked me very seriously what I thought he should do for a career.  I took him in, studied him, saw that he was high on something but also sincere and said, "Something in Social/ Human Services where you could help people."  "Yes" he said, "I've often thought of being a social worker." 
I enjoyed the Ago Art Museum although it was all a bit underwhelming because I started with a special exhibit, "Abstract Expressionist New York", it was all on loan from the MOMA.  Ha!  I had to laugh and I had to see it of course.  Although I have been to the MOMA many times and certainly abstract expressionism is a movement I am very much inclined towards, there were paintings there that I had not seen.  A whole room of Rothko, starting with some earlier paintings that had some figures. 
Let me say that again, a whole room of Rothko.  So pretty much everything else I did paled in comparison to the WHOLE ROOM OF ROTHKO. 

Early Rothko with Figures

There was another whole room of Rothko years ago when I was studying in London at the Tate Modern.  I would go there often and just sit, totally absorbed with tears at times rolling down my cheeks.  Rothko should always be a whole room.  Never mashed up against various other artists.  This is how the Rothko painting at the RISD Museum is displayed.  I still take it in for ages, but it's not as whelming. 

Wishful Drinking starring Carrie Fisher!

Oh but this also cracked me up, take a look what was playing on Toronto's "Broadway".

Bruce Peninsula

From Toronto I took a long drive to the Bruce Peninsula.  Very very cool place.  Not terribly unlike the coast of Maine except for the main difference being that it's on Lake Huron and Georgian Bay.  It does have kinda the same feel.  Camped there for a 3 nights at the Canadian National Park Campground which is situated on an interior lake which was far warmer than Georgian Bay or Lake Huron.  It counts as washing if you swim in the lake right?  National Parks generally do not have showering facilities. 
Also spent a bit of time in Tobermory right on the tip of the Peninsula then jumped on the Chi-Cheemaun Ferry and crossed over Georgian Bay and then headed through Southern Ontario toward the US Border. 

And now dear friends the coffee shop is closing so I'll leave it there for now, but aren't you glad I figured out how to upload the pictures from my phone.  I know I am. 

Traveling is tiring

Duh.
I am going to need to start a regime of high energy foods if I'm going to make it another 5 weeks.  9 days into my trip and I'm dragging.  Nonetheless. 
I very much enjoyed Quebec City, despite how touristy it is.
Montreal was not for me, far too vast, although I know there is a lot happening there.
Ottawa is quite nice, but just a short visit here just the same. 
Today back into the car and heading to Toronto, a long drive for sure. 
Saw a play last night that was part of the Ottawa fringe festival, it happened to be playing in a very cool arts center just next door to where I was staying.  It will remain nameless only because it was absolutely terrible.  It used tennis as a metaphor for a relationship with your boyfriend/girlfriend and demonstrated this exactly.  It was interminable and didn't have a scene break I could sneak out during.  I also felt bad because there were eight people in the audience and the actors were trying so hard.  Alas, they probably enjoyed themselves though, likely they even thought the script was cute and funny.  Horrendous! 
Ah well, I'm glad to know there is absolutely terrible theatre north of the border as well.  I'm sure it would have done well at the New York Fringe too. 
Alright back into the car for seven hours.
Thank you to my dear, dear friend who gave me several audiobooks.  Thank you, thank you.

Maine on up into Canada

Maine was amazing and I think if I hadn't booked things in Canada already I would have ended up staying there for ages, but I guess it was good I did because I'm also really enjoying Canada.
Driving up highway 201 through Northern Maine there is a town called The Forks, population 30.  That really struck me.  Thirty people in a town.  That's just an extended family really.  But as a town.  Think of it what you will.
Made my way into Canada and up to Quebec City.  Wonderful walled in city.  Completely geared towards tourists but somehow that seems ok here.  It's not as aggressive as that sort of thing can be.  On my way to Montreal today.
It's hard not to be exhausted all the time or surprised to see my honda civic with the Mass plates and the Cape Cod Beer sticker in this foreign city.  I supposed being slightly confused about one's location is the mark of a traveler, never really getting accustomed to one place before one moves on.
I was on a guided tour of Quebec City yesterday and in the group there was a couple from Connecticut.  After introducing ourselves and saying where we were from, the woman said to me, "I wondered where Cape Codder's go on vacation.  They head north, I guess."  "Yes that seems to be right" I said.  "We head North."  (Well in the summer anyways.)

New Things and New Places

The big, big, biggest news of all is that, Sleeping Weazel Inc. has emerged and will be weazeling it's way around Boston and Providence in the near future.
So much more on this soon, but do make sure you look out for this amazing theatre company that will be expanding theatre and blowing your mind very soon.

In other news, this particular playwright will be taking off tomorrow morning on a six week journey through the U.S. and Canada.  I'll be posting what I come across along the way, theatrical or otherwise.

A Pirate Raid!

 You read the beginning, now for a bit gettin on toward the middle/end.  

Reading Sunday June 19th 4pm.  Falmouth Town Green/Library Lawn.  Arts Alive Festival. 

Free!  Check out the other stuff happening in the festival too!

An excerpt from, The Female Alcoholic, or Why the Gaspee burned.
by Amanda Weir 

Scene 5 Oh Shit, a Pirate Raid!

(The next night, Sabin’s (The Professor’s basement bar) Tavern.  Joe and the Professor drink some rum, then some more.)

Professor

So, how did it go?  How’s Mary? 

Joe

Oh Shit.  Some Rum.  Rum.

Professor

(The Prof pours.)  Once on shore Captain Lindsey went to find John Brown, knowing that he was one of the greatest adversaries of Lieutenant Dudingston. 

Joe

Oh Shit. 

Professor

Lindsay had skillfully outmaunevered the Gaspee from Newport through Naragansett Bay, missing the spit of sand off of Namquit Point where it left Dudingston and the Gaspee stranded upon the sandbar before the Pawtuxet River.

Joe

So Mary, so Mary, I think she might have lost her mind.

Professor

John reveled in the fact that Dudingston lay helpless just offshore.

Joe

Mary wants to get married. 

Professor

Having been stuck in that very same situation a year before when sailing to Philadelphia with his brother Moses, John knew that the Gaspee would stay immobile till morning.

Joe

Marry Mary.  Marry Mary.

Professor

John summoned the captains of all of his boats that lay in port, and a drummer boy to beat his drum up and down Towne Street to rally a raiding party.  For it would be a classic Pirates Raid!

Joe

I told her I would.  I told Mary, I’d marry her.  I didn’t know what was happening, it was like a scene in a movie.  As though I was outside of my body, watching what was happening. 

Professor

Distinguished men and common sailors crowded into raiding party headquarters, a tavern operated by James Sabin, as John Brown laid out his plan. 

Joe

Oh Shit.  I do love her.  I’m mad about Mary.  Oh shit.

Professor

They would row out in longboats, charge over the rail of the Gaspee and surprise the sleeping Brits, subduing them in hand to hand combat.  Abe Whipple was by John’s side.  Whipple had done this sort of thing before when capturing merchant ships in the Caribbean. 

Joe

I thought I was pursuing her, but no she got me. 

            (Joe and the Professor take a long drink of Rum.)

Professor

At 10pm the raiding party set out, having given the men enough time to imbibe their liquid courage, Rum. 

            (The Professor pours them both more Rum. They drink.)

Professor

So you’re going to marry Mary. 

Joe

That’s the plan I guess.

Professor

Oh Shit.

Joe

I know right. Shit.

Professor

You do love her, you think the world of her, she’s amazing and beautiful and all that.

Joe

Yup, and all that.  She wants two to three Oregonese children. 

Professor

Oregonian, you’re going to move then?

Joe

Yup, that’s the plan I guess.

Professor

Well, in times like these there’s only one thing to do. 

Joe

What’s that?

Professor

A Pirate Raid!

Joe

A pirate raid!

Professor

That’s right.  I, John Brown, dub you, Abe Whipple, the Sherriff of Kent.  (That’s the county just off Namquit Point.) 

Joe

Oh god.  A Pirate Raid.  We’re going to burn the Gaspee.

Professor

That’s right.  We’ll subdue that scurvy dog Dudingston and send those British seamen back where they belong. Drink up for courage, for it’s almost 10oclock and we must make our move. 

(They down their rum.  The Professor then hands Joe a tricorne hat of his own and they set off with fire in their eyes.)

The Female Alcoholic or Why the Gaspee Burned.

Here is a taste of my newest play, The Female Alcoholic or Why the Gaspee Burned which will have its first airing (reading) as part of the Arts Alive Festival in Falmouth, MA on June 19th at 4pm.  

Scene 1 – Disconnected voices. (Mary, Joe and Professor speak directly to the audience, they are comfortable, Joe and Mary at their homes, Professor in his basement colonial tavern circa 1772 wearing a tricorne hat.) 

Mary

Yesterday was rather a waste, due to getting hopelessly drunk the night before.  One always self-deprecates while hungover, I think it’s the natural state to be ashamed of oneself in this situation. 

Joe

It will all be fine. It will all be fine. Everything is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.

Professor

(With book in hand, reading.)  There have been several attempts to identify the female inebriate. 

Mary

I continually wake up and think, how am I going to go about changing my existence.

Joe

I need to find a slightly easier way of being. 

Mary

Each day begins with a list/directive for going about the day. (As if reading off a notepad.) If you want to consume something drink tea.  No booze.  Go to the library, clean the house, yoga, take a walk. 

Joe

Maybe if I just tell her I love her then she’ll beg me to stay.  Say she can’t live without me.  (Pause) 

I need a reason to stay. 

Professor

To become an alcoholic or a person who “Drinks too much” is to acquire a particular social role which has profound effects upon the drinker’s self conceptions and interpersonal relationships and which, in turn, is an important element in the development of compulsive drinking. 

(He pauses, takes off his hat, scratches his head, reaches behind the bar, takes out a growler and pours beer into a stoneware mug.) 

Mary

At the end of the day, drink in hand, hour three of being curled in front of the mindless set, the list is edited.  If you want to consume something drink, cross out tea and write in block letters, GIN.  Side note, Gin is amazing, it makes you feel happy, tea gives you the runs. 

Professor

We will look at factors which predispose the individual, which orient the predisposed individual to alcohol, which explain how the individual progresses to uncontrolled or compulsive drinking. 

Mary

Cross out Go to the Library, write in Three hour Nap. 

Joe

Oh don’t worry.  I am under absolutely no misconception that we are together, or that we will be anytime in the relative near future.  It won’t matter soon anyhow, I’ll be gone.

Woman

Clean the house, yoga, take a walk.  I did take a walk, big ole check mark next to that one.  Yoga rarely happens but feels amazing when it does.  But for whatever reason, actually doing it, is well as I said something rare.  The walk is easy though, no matter what time of year bundled up with only eyes showing or easy comfort in a sweatshirt and jeans, just head on out into the world letting the feet carry you towards nowhere in particular.  Just wander around.  Makes one feel slightly less stuck, less helpless, just walkin, walkin about.  Feels like an accomplishment without actually accomplishing.  Cleaning the house would feel good too, but part of walking is avoiding things like cleaning the house. 

Professor

(The Professor’s eyes light up.  He takes a big swig of beer.)  Aahhh, The Art of Fermentation predates the written history of man. The discovery of stone age beer jugs has established the fact that some use of fermented beverages existed as early as the Neolithic period and there have been few practices as widespread, historically and cross culturally, as the consumption of some type of alcoholic beverages.  The persistence of alcohol usage is undoubtedly due to the ability of alcohol to satisfy some basic human needs.  It is a useful device for making people more comfortable in their ordinary lives.  

Sweet Little Variety Show, She Sells Seashells Excerpt

Thursday Night, 5/19  8-10:30pm
Sweet Little Variety Show

The Speakeasy at Local 121

Awesome.

121 Washington St.

Providence, RI

With performances by:
Baby Oil
Dirty Durdie
The Trumans
Denise Moffat accompanied by Kerry Callery
Serendipity Galore
Bettysioux Tailor
The Adventures of Fat Nancy and Crisco
The TropiGals
The Rhode Island Ukulele Armada

6 bucks at the door. Free Valet Parking.

Forget about dieting, go see this show and you'll laugh your ass off!

The Trumans looks especially good!  And of course only in Rhode Island would you have a Ukulele Armada!  Oh Rhode Island, you're so quirky and wonderful. 

 

Here's a bit of something: An excerpt from She Sells Seashells, by yours truly.

2^nd Man

Well it’s fairly simple.  We plant trees and the beach is no longer a beach.  It becomes a forest. 

Lily

That is absurd.  I happen to like this beach the way it is.  Why would you want to change this gorgeous beach?  Just look at the waves lapping on the shore. 

1^st Man

Look lady, we haven’t got time for this.  We have to make this beach a forest over night.  That’s not an easy task.  So if you would please be on you way and leave us to our work, we would much appreciate it. 

Lily

Well, I’m not used to being talked to in such a manner.  George do something.

George

It’s been nice talking to you gentlemen.  We must be on our way.  Come on Lily.  Let the men with the shovel and the tree get on with their work. 

I'm ready for the summer, I don't know about you.

Cape Cod Theatre Project, Blood from a Turnip and...a little whiskey

Great Theatre on Cape Cod!  Yeah it can happen and does every Summer on the Cape.
Check out The Cape Cod Theatre Project.  They are physically located at Falmouth Academy, and online on Facebook and at CCTP.  Check out their new season of play readings and like them on Facebook.

Providence Get Ready for another amazing rendition of Blood from a Turnip, RI's longest running (and only), late night puppet salon.  Fri May 20th 10pm at Perishable Theatre www.perishable.org, downtown Prov, 95 Empire Street. Still only $5.  A hilarious and edgy night of short form puppetry in the tradition of the puppet slam.  If you didn't know there was a puppet slam tradition, then don't you think it's about time you checked it out!? Oh, and I'll be hosting this one...

Here's a short bit of something:

Whiskey cures all ills

Mary: I must have caught a bug.

Liz: The flu?

Mary: I dunno, if it is, it’s weak.  I weakened my stystem.  Monday I drank way too much whiskey and ate way too much shephards pie.

Liz: Oh, but it’s Thursday.

Mary: Right I know, hence the bug.  I should have been alright by Tue evening  But this seems to be carrying on.

Liz: Have you drank since?

Mary: No.

Liz: Well that might be the problem. Try a bit of whiskey, might sort you out.

Mary: I dunno, I might, course…

Liz: Course what?

Mary: Course if it does sort me out, then it’s probably not a bug, might be that I’m an alchaolic, right.

Liz: Right.

Mary: So if I don’t have the whiskey and I stay sick, it’s a bug. If I do have a drink and it sorts me out then I’m an alchaloic.

Liz: Yuh.

Mary: Great.  What if I have a drink and it doesn’t sort me out?

Liz: I dunno.

Mary: Right.

(Liz gets the bottle of whiskey and pours Mary a drink, she drinks.)

Liz: How you feel?

Mary: Bout the same. 

(Liz gets another glass, she pours one for each of them, they drink.)

Liz: Now?

Mary: Dunno….Better I guess.

Liz: Right then, like I always said, whiskey cures all ills, even whiskey.

Mary:  You’ve never said that.

Liz: I’m saying it now. Let’s have another, then you go have a lie down while I get things sorted here.

(She pours, they drink.)

Stuck, oh and what a place to be.

Truro, MA

Despite a quick dip in the ocean yesterday (May 15th), it is still quite obviously Spring, not Summer like I was pretending. 

Here's a little bit of something from the winter.  Perhaps too autobiographical, but what isn't in reality?  It's just a matter of how far you bury it, or let it breathe.  

Notes on a day.

I wear my hat inside.  Heat is too expensive and there are so many windows, the ocean breeze is more of a whipping chill in winter, coming in through unknown cracks and crevices. 

I find any reason to avoid doing what I’m here for.  I look for activities and friends, I even clean fairly often. 

I think about my body a lot, probably because I am so sedentary, even though I walk miles everyday. 

In the face of successful people I feel weak and unaccomplished.  On the other side of things, around old friends and family I sometimes feel too self-important.  As though I have done more than them and somehow this makes me a better person.  It does not. I am not. What is accomplishment anyhow?  Flitting about, keeping oneself busy?  I need to do what is right for me, not just compare myself to others, put myself down or rise myself up depending on what others are doing.  None of this matters.  It just plain doesn’t matter.

Yesterday was rather a waste, due to getting hopelessly drunk the night before. 

One always self-deprecates after being hungover.  I think it’s the natural state to be ashamed of oneself in this situation. 

I sleep far too much these days.  Take of this what you will.  Eight, Ten hours a night, perhaps an afternoon nap just to round things out.  

I need to stay positive or getting anything done will be an impossibility.  Of course staying positive, implies one is positive, or at least has been.  Ahh.  Yes.  

The ambition to write is what? Is what?  Is it worth it?

Is what worth it?

My neck is stuck per usual.  

Today as if to reflect back upon this fairly typical winter's, err... reflection, my neck is stuck, unmoving, filled with pain.  I've a mountain of work to do.  Things that in reality, I want to do, to get done, to feel good about having done.  

Yet- Stuck- is really the way it is.  

Un-moving...afraid of going forward of actually "accomplishing" what I've set out to do.  It's all too scary I suppose, the unknown, for each of us.  For me it's a little bit like, being crushed by my own potential.  Or at times, ignoring that potential completely and distracting myself with other less significant occurrences that are fleeting at best.   

This is not original.  This is not interesting.  Nor special.  

 

It just is.  The state of things as it were, as it is, as it hopefully will not be, although...likely will be. 

Sanibell Island, Florida

So today, on this grey, gray day.  I once again wonder, hope, that if I were to go somewhere where the days are not often gray, then perhaps my mood might not be quite so grey itself.  Yet somehow I wonder if that's true at all.  

How one feels washed out from too much sunshine, a day at the beach, tired and happy but with little thought.  Just kind of blasted from the suns rays, a satisfied body from moving through the water, gravity isn't so much a concern, more like being back in the womb cradled in embryonic fluid.  Contented, untroubled, no words, no needs, no hopes besides a burger and a beer and a laugh or two.  So easy to ignore the rest of the world...happy...blissed out.  

But somehow just a little too unreal.  On the corner of your mind, the reality that there is war, strife, hunger and depression looming over a discontented and continuously troubled world.  

The indulgence of happiness.  Sometimes just seems a little bit wrong, but perhaps that's just a lifetime of New England winters talking.  

Yeah...stuck. 

Hyannis, MA

 

 

Summer, summer, summertime.

In the throws of Spring we are these days, and what of it?
The green grass, the blooming flowers and warmer days inspire hope and restlessness all around.
Itching to be done with school, to dive into the ocean, or to just indulge one's love of literature curled up under a tree or on the sand.
What of this constant upheaval each season?  We grumble, we complain about elements of it all. 
-The winter's too cold, there's too much snow, my car door is frozen shut!
-In the spring, the allergies, oh the allergies!  And what is that?  Snow again?  I thought it was Spring?  I can't wait for summer!
-The summer, we've waited for you all this long year, and here you are again, ahhh.  It's hot! It's humid!  It's 90 degrees in the shade! There's drought, the AC broke, the lawn is brown and I'm stuck inside all day anyways! 
-But Fall, Autumn so lovely with it's many shades, ahhh but it's almost Winter.  The chill fills the air and the dreaded leaves cover the damn lawn again! 

Today, today is a lovely day.  A bit chlly mind you, still it's sunny.  The Spring flowers are in bloom, the birds are active (So active that yesterday I hit one with my car on my way to work! It was a baby bird too!  So much for new life.), but what of it?  Why must we constanly drone on and on about the weather?  Aren't there more important things to say? To discuss?  Oh, I suppose not. 

New Yorkers Check this out.  This should be good. (I mean Jeff Jones created the facebook event, so...awesome!)

Little Theatre @ Dixon Place

There are a whole bunch of cutting edge writers, directors and actors involved in this. 

Also, I've never regretted an evening out at Dixon Place and neither will you. 

Monday, May 9, 2011, at 7:30 pm at Dixon Place
161A Chrystie Street (btw Delancey & Rivington).

Tickets are $15.00 at the door or online, first-come first-served; reservations are not accepted, but you can buy 'em online. For more information, call (212) 219-0736 or browse www.dixonplace.org.See more

I had some amazing words in my head

During my far too long commute every day I often have, what I think, are prophetic thoughts.
Much like the dreamstate or the drunkenhaze, I wonder if these thoughts would be quite as fantastic if taken out of the moment.  Such is the reason I do not, as has been suggested, record these verbally on tape.  Yes I still have a recorder with a tape.  I know most would use their smart phone.  Perhaps eventually I'll get one of those. 

Just the same, today on my drive in, I had these words concerning:
Shaking out one's hair, letting it grow long. 
Escaping the world, letting loose, leaving the familiar.
About the same as, say, cutting it all off.
Freedom of letting go, moving on, growing again.


Cause if you're not growing, your dying.

The world and the way it is.

Fog thickens the confusion of the day.
Alertness seems far from possible in this soup, in this mud, in this
Hopelessness.
The drudgery, the dankness.
Alleviated briefly by hyacinths
By daffodils
By violets and forsythia.
Continues on none the less.

Providence Peeps- Check this out. 1:23 by Carson Kreitzer

1:23 by Carson Kreitzer

April 15-May 7

When Susan Smith appeared on television sets across the nation appealing for the safe return of her kidnapped children, no one could have imagined the true fate met by her sons Michael and Alexander. Six years later another mother - Andrea Yates - committed the same unthinkable crime, drowning her five young children in the bathtub. Carson Kreitzer's 1:23 is an unblinking look at the lives of these two notorious women and the ensuing media frenzies that captured the world's attention.
Don't miss the New England premiere of 1:23 by Carson Kreitzer directed by Perishable's Acting Artistic Director, Rachel Walshe.
Praise for Carson Kreitzer's work:
"sheer dazzling theatricality" - The Chicago Sun-Times

"Stunning and compelling...raw and bold, brutal and ironic, and full of nagging questions." - TimeOut New York

Join us on April 21 following the 7:30 performance for compelling conversation with Dr. Margaret Howard, Director of the Day Hospital at Women and Infants' Hospital - the country's only facility dedicated to treating women with postpartum depression. This discussion is made possible with the generous support of the Women's Fund of Rhode Island, the Rhode Island Council for the Humanities and is free to the public.

This is worth a look see, if you are in the Providence area.  

Perishable is always pushing the envelope, it's the best experimental theatre in the area....(Of course I'm a little biased having done loads of work there, but still.)

 

Chili and Poetry- What a combination.

Alright you Cape Codders.  This is an extreme combo if I ever saw one.  I might just have to check this out.
I already love Cotuit Center for the Arts for oh so many reasons, but here's another reason:

11th Annual Poetry & Chili Festival
 The Cotuit Center for the Arts presents its yearly Poetry & Chili Festival on April 30, 6 - 11 pm.
The Cape heats up every year at this time at CCftA with great chili and cornbread, terrific local poets and amazing live music by The Beach Plums. All poets and chili or cornbread chefs who plan to perform or compete at the festival should pre-register by downloading the registration form from artsonthecape.org. Forms may be faxed to us at 508-428-0633. The deadline for registration is Wednesday, April 27.
Cotuit Center for the Arts is located at 4404 Falmouth Road (Route 28) in Cotuit. For more information call 508-428-0669 or visit http://www.artsonthecape.org/.

Excellent. 

Also I hightly suggest:
(This comes stright from their site. http://cotuitarts.org/)

Art Barn Songwriter’s Series

Posted by Daniel On February - 22 - 2011

Cotuit Center for the Arts and Trespass Music have partnered to present ‘The Art Barn Songwriter Series’, which is held on the second and fourth Monday of every month in the Art Studio building to the right of the main building. Each performance will feature 2 professionally touring songwriters, each playing a 45 minute set. Doors open at 7pm and the shows begin at 7:30pm. There is a suggestion donation of $5.00 at the door. This special series will give music fans an up close and personal look at the area’s up and coming performers. As a surprise treat, nationally touring artists are expected to stop by for an occasional show.
We have scheduled a recurring Open Mic for the last Monday performance of each quarter. Please join us as a participant or as a spectator for a suggested donation of $5.00 at the door. The Art Barn Songwriter Series has featured some terrific performers, and this night is sure to hold a few surprises. We’re looking for those hidden gems – come and share your music with us! Located in the Art Barn at Cotuit Center for the Arts. Doors open at 7:00pm; shows begin at 7:30. Dates for 2011 are: June 27th, September 26th and December 26th.
Upcoming in April:
On April 25^th, the Art Barn Songwriter Series will feature Teresa Storch and Terry Kitchen.
Please note that the Art Barn Songwriter Series will NOT be held on June 13th, 2011. We hope you’ll join us for the Third Fret presents a Bob Dylan Tribute on Saturday, June 11th instead!

 

 

An excellent way to spend a Monday evening, great coffee house setting, laid back, nice people, but you might want to bring a cushion for the metal folding chairs provided, the music is fantastic and you'll want to stay through the whole thing. 

 

I think Chili and Poetry is an excellent way to welcome in Spring.  Don't you?

Drama as Therapy.

I've been thinking about this a lot, especially in terms of Autism. 
How can I as a theater artist help others to express themselves, while still having a ton of fun?
If art/theater is in essence expression of one's inner workings, thoughts, ideas on all things, then how much more interesting would the art/theater be if utilized as a vehicle for those whose communication with the world is outside the norm? 
For me this is intriguing, exciting, hopeful.
To somehow take the very selfish act of self expression and translate it into a useful, helpful vehicle for those who really need it.  This is the thing. 

Of course people are already doing this, and there are wide uses of theater as therapy.  I mean, all of us "theater artists", are in dire need of therapy ourselves, so theater becomes a sort of self-medicating kind of thing, and of course for many of us, this is helped along by other kinds of self-medication, mine's served on the rocks at my favorite local bar. 

Milliner?

Some days, like today, I want nothing more than to open a hat shop.
I do love hats of all kinds, there are hats for every occasion and people do not wear hats as often as they ought in my opinion.  I think I would do brilliantly as an owner of a little hat shop.
Yet, would it make any money?  Is a hat shop an unnecessary thing?  In my opinion no.  It's totally necessary.
I have often wished there was a good millinery shop nearby. 
Am I however a total odd ball when it comes to this?



Hats as Art, Art Hats. 

Why have we gotten away from this?  Don't our heads require adornment anymore?