We all lived on the 8th floor. Even the girls were honorary residents. Buddy's statement about girls on the floor after hours was "as long as I don't see 'em, hear 'em or smell 'em, I don't care."
Jesse "Jay" Campbell - the earth mother. Jay was the first openly gay person I ever knew, and he was the momma to the entire floor. Jay had this wild mop of hair and a funky snaggle tooth right in front, and was always smiling. Every memory I have of Jay he is smiling. Jay once decided to go visit our friend Julie in the girl's dorm in full drag. Not only did he make it through the lobby without getting hassled, some guy in the lobby had a thing for heavy chicks and tried to pick him up!
Steven Fuller - Steve was short, blonde, slight, pale. Funny, a worrier, a helluvan artist, and always stressed to the gills over something. Steve was quick to laugh, quick to cry, quick to flip out, and ready to try anything. Steven introduced me to the Chickasaw Mud Puppies, which has to be the greatest band name ever.
Indy - I don't even remember Indy's real last name. It was John something, but we all just called him Indy. He wore the hat, the leather jacket, had the bullwhip, the whole nine yards. Indy faked multiple personality disorder not so much to get attention, but to escape it. It was his defense mechanism in the hick town he grew up in. If you're batshit fuckin' crazy, the jocks will leave a geek alone. And Indy took geek to a whole new level.
Susie Genobles - I swear she's a fucking siberain husky walking on two legs. Susie had this amazing long dark brown almost-black hair and these ice-blue, husky-blue eyes that would cut right into your soul. She was a solid chick, not some delicate little flower, but she was also terribly, terribly fragile inside. She was always afraid of letting people in because that meant that she would probably get hurt again. She was almost always right. Susie knew Jay from before college, so he brought her into our circle.
Rebecula - Rebecca Vignati - She went the other direction from Susie - slapping on an outer coating of bitch to keep people from seeing the really great person that she kept hidden inside. There was a lot more to Rebecca than she let on. It took me the better part of a decade to realize that. Rebeccas knew Susie from home.
Jay, Indy, Steven and I all got placed on the top floor of Richardson Hall at Winthrop, in Rock Hill. It says something about a town when the dorm is the tallest building in the city, and it was at the time. We were the core of the 8th floor freaks. We were artists, actors and writers. There were a few musicians thrown in for good measure, but the normal folk pretty much transferred off our floor pretty fuckin' fast. We'd drop acid, turn off all the lights on the floor and play hide n seek. We'd get shitty drunk and tripping on Robitussin and wander campus. I seem to very vaguely recall running down the hall one night with a nearly empty bottle of white zinfandel wearing nothing but my boxers and cowboy boots.
Don't visualize, it could cause scarring.
One of our favorite places to wander became the graveyard about a mile off campus. We'd roam out from campus after dark, hop the fence, and check out the lives of people we never knew. There was this phenomenal monument in the graveyard, no idea to what, but it was like a big gazebo, or small roman monument. Several marble steps, with columns and a domed roof. Maybe 12' in diameter. We'd wander round, shoot the shit, and the girls would sing. Neither Rebecca or Susie were really singers, but they knew all the words to Verdi Cries by 10,000 Maniacs, and Gypsy by Suzanne Vega, and their harmonies were as pure as their hearts. I can get back to those moments, ever so briefly, when I play those songs.
It's midnight in the late summer, I'm out with my best friends. We know where our place in the world is and what we're going to do about it. All is right with the world, with our relationships, and we could care less what the future holds. Death and old age are things other people think about, and arthritis and high blood pressure are an old man's worries. I'm still skinny, my hair is long and blonde, and I could care less what tomorrow brings, as long as Susie Genoble's head is in my lap while I play with her ths black hair.
Hold me like a baby that will not fall asleep,
curl me up inside you
and let me hear you through the heat.
Suzanne Vega - Gypsy
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Y2J 05
It's time for my end of year CD again - and I need to get cookin' on this if I plan to have any available for the WPBT gathering in Vegas in December.
Here are the current eligible song/discs
Jason Mraz - Mr. A-Z
Sam Bush - live concert from Bele Chere this July
The Duhks
Nickel Creek - Why Should the Fire Die?
Montgomery Gentry - Gone
Trace Adkins - Songs about Me & Honky Tonk Badonkadonk
Darryl Scott - Live in NC
The NY Dolls - Lonely Planet Boy
Sex Pistols - Anarchy in the UK (show specific)
Tori Amos - The Beekeeper
Looking for other hot stuff off albums released this year. Lemme know if you've got something hot.
J
Here are the current eligible song/discs
Jason Mraz - Mr. A-Z
Sam Bush - live concert from Bele Chere this July
The Duhks
Nickel Creek - Why Should the Fire Die?
Montgomery Gentry - Gone
Trace Adkins - Songs about Me & Honky Tonk Badonkadonk
Darryl Scott - Live in NC
The NY Dolls - Lonely Planet Boy
Sex Pistols - Anarchy in the UK (show specific)
Tori Amos - The Beekeeper
Looking for other hot stuff off albums released this year. Lemme know if you've got something hot.
J
The Reviews
I know I'm not supposed to care what the critics say, but they can positively or negatively impact the box office, so I do care.
Creative Loafing is the weekly free arts newspaper, Charlotte Obsverver is the daily paper.
Here you go. This is the Creative Loafing review, and since the Observer calling me an idiot in print was more than 7 days ago, I can't download it for free anymore. And I have no intention of paying $3 to download the opinion that I don't understand the play.
So you only get to read the good review. The play is good. It's not that good, but I don't think I've seen more than 5 plays in my life that were as good as this one is made out to be. But I'm still proud of it, and proud of my cast. And that's all that matters, right?
8-8 in America
Off-Tryon's harsh realities
By Perry Tannenbaum
Published October 12, 2005
Creative Loafing
Finesse and subtlety are nowhere to be found at SouthEnd Performing Arts Center, where Steven Dietz's relentless, obsessively researched docudrama, God's Country, is sounding a loud, harsh alarm. Off-Tryon Theatre Company's production, clocking in at two hours and five minutes plus intermission, doesn't soften (or shorten) the assault, which comes hurtling at us like a grenade laden with razor blades.
At the heart of the drama are two of the most disturbing protagonists I can recall encountering. We spend the most time with Denver Parmenter, a member of the inner circle in The Order, a white supremacist group responsible for the most successful crime spree in US history. Self-servingly, Parmenter has turned state's evidence against his cronies, who are on trial in Seattle - Dietz's home town -for the 1984 assassination of talkshow firebrand Alan Berg.Played superbly by Mykel Chambers, with a malevolent superior smirk nearly worthy of Hannibal Lecter, Parmenter indubitably still harbors the noxious prejudices he professes to renounce in his plea bargain. His credibility - and that of the government prosecutors bringing the people's case against The Order - reeks with corruption.Nor is Berg a comforting presence during his intermittent appearances. Tom Ollis renders the Denver radio personality as markedly rude and abrasive. If you're looking for a cuddly Jewish victim of abominable anti-Semitism, look elsewhere. Dietz portrays Berg as the lightning rod he was and, under John Hartness's fevered direction, Ollis doesn't flinch from it.
So the alarming message of God's Country is richly complex. Yes, we should take seriously the seditious threat of American Nazis. And no, hurling hatred or contempt at them is not the best way of dealing with the scourge.Yet we find ourselves inwardly cheering Berg's incendiary rants. Worse, we find ourselves tolerating the government's dubious prosecutorial tactics, willing to trust the word of one monster if it will serve to imprison others.
Naturally, there are chilling embodiments of the most repulsive racism egging us on, appallingly American in their flavor. Seventh-grader Anthony Zanghi has a memorable debut as a young sprout who gets indoctrinated with The Order's twisted creed. George Cole dons camo to give his skinhead portrayal a muscular, Marine mien. When he shouts out "8-8!" - a coded Nazi salute - you can almost imagine Hitler stirring from his grave.
Each letup in the stridency is a welcome oasis. Best are the poignant regrets of a Father (Phil Taylor) who realizes too late how his nonchalant racist slurs have helped shape his rabid son. There's also a humorous patch when two hayseeds (Brian Willard and George Weldon) spout their conspiratorial theories.
Off-Tryon's 11-person ensemble divvies up over 40 roles. Exposition is often delivered via narrative and reportage, further complicating the actors' tasks. Now that this hurly-burly is up on its feet, maybe all of the cast have their lines down cold.
AV projections for the show add some zip, hammering home reminders that we're confronting real people and threats, and Julia Strachan's costumes are invariably on-target.
So why doesn't the diabolical KKK wizard brandish a torch? And why are fearsome militia wielding weapons that look like they shoot water rather than bullets?
Make no mistake though: this remains gripping theatre. Dietz's carefully documented presentation stands in bold relief against the raving irrationality that flourishes in our midst. Let him quote Yeats. Because things really are falling apart.
Creative Loafing is the weekly free arts newspaper, Charlotte Obsverver is the daily paper.
Here you go. This is the Creative Loafing review, and since the Observer calling me an idiot in print was more than 7 days ago, I can't download it for free anymore. And I have no intention of paying $3 to download the opinion that I don't understand the play.
So you only get to read the good review. The play is good. It's not that good, but I don't think I've seen more than 5 plays in my life that were as good as this one is made out to be. But I'm still proud of it, and proud of my cast. And that's all that matters, right?
8-8 in America
Off-Tryon's harsh realities
By Perry Tannenbaum
Published October 12, 2005
Creative Loafing
Finesse and subtlety are nowhere to be found at SouthEnd Performing Arts Center, where Steven Dietz's relentless, obsessively researched docudrama, God's Country, is sounding a loud, harsh alarm. Off-Tryon Theatre Company's production, clocking in at two hours and five minutes plus intermission, doesn't soften (or shorten) the assault, which comes hurtling at us like a grenade laden with razor blades.
At the heart of the drama are two of the most disturbing protagonists I can recall encountering. We spend the most time with Denver Parmenter, a member of the inner circle in The Order, a white supremacist group responsible for the most successful crime spree in US history. Self-servingly, Parmenter has turned state's evidence against his cronies, who are on trial in Seattle - Dietz's home town -for the 1984 assassination of talkshow firebrand Alan Berg.Played superbly by Mykel Chambers, with a malevolent superior smirk nearly worthy of Hannibal Lecter, Parmenter indubitably still harbors the noxious prejudices he professes to renounce in his plea bargain. His credibility - and that of the government prosecutors bringing the people's case against The Order - reeks with corruption.Nor is Berg a comforting presence during his intermittent appearances. Tom Ollis renders the Denver radio personality as markedly rude and abrasive. If you're looking for a cuddly Jewish victim of abominable anti-Semitism, look elsewhere. Dietz portrays Berg as the lightning rod he was and, under John Hartness's fevered direction, Ollis doesn't flinch from it.
So the alarming message of God's Country is richly complex. Yes, we should take seriously the seditious threat of American Nazis. And no, hurling hatred or contempt at them is not the best way of dealing with the scourge.Yet we find ourselves inwardly cheering Berg's incendiary rants. Worse, we find ourselves tolerating the government's dubious prosecutorial tactics, willing to trust the word of one monster if it will serve to imprison others.
Naturally, there are chilling embodiments of the most repulsive racism egging us on, appallingly American in their flavor. Seventh-grader Anthony Zanghi has a memorable debut as a young sprout who gets indoctrinated with The Order's twisted creed. George Cole dons camo to give his skinhead portrayal a muscular, Marine mien. When he shouts out "8-8!" - a coded Nazi salute - you can almost imagine Hitler stirring from his grave.
Each letup in the stridency is a welcome oasis. Best are the poignant regrets of a Father (Phil Taylor) who realizes too late how his nonchalant racist slurs have helped shape his rabid son. There's also a humorous patch when two hayseeds (Brian Willard and George Weldon) spout their conspiratorial theories.
Off-Tryon's 11-person ensemble divvies up over 40 roles. Exposition is often delivered via narrative and reportage, further complicating the actors' tasks. Now that this hurly-burly is up on its feet, maybe all of the cast have their lines down cold.
AV projections for the show add some zip, hammering home reminders that we're confronting real people and threats, and Julia Strachan's costumes are invariably on-target.
So why doesn't the diabolical KKK wizard brandish a torch? And why are fearsome militia wielding weapons that look like they shoot water rather than bullets?
Make no mistake though: this remains gripping theatre. Dietz's carefully documented presentation stands in bold relief against the raving irrationality that flourishes in our midst. Let him quote Yeats. Because things really are falling apart.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Opening Night
Okay so last night was opening night for our show, God's Country. After six weeks of rehearsal, countless hours in the theatre this week for tech work, dropping $900 on a brand new projector for the video, we're ready to open, with both of Charlotte's finest critics in the house.
And the fucking wheels fell off. It wasn't an absolute disaster. It was an absolute FUCKING disaster. It only takes a couple of moments of lag in a show like God's Country, which is written like a documentary film/rock video, replete with jump cuts and spliced scenes, to make the whole thing shift from tight to incomprehensible.
First there were a couple of line bobbles. Act I started really strong, but there were a couple of jumps and a couple of hiccups. It happens. There are a lot of words, and people are playing a multitude of characters, so it gets confusing. Then act II started, and in the first scene, one of the three actors completely went up on lines and had to ask for help from the other character!!!! It went downhill from there.
Next, one of my actors missed an entrance. Not just late, completely missed the entrance and was called onto the stage by the other actor! This guy has never missed an entrance in his life, so I don't know WTF was going on. Then someone kicks over what sounded like a bucket of screws backstage. Twice. And proceeded to make as much noise trying to clean it up as they did knocking it over. Then another actress misses an entrance. Act II looked like something out of a fucking Keystone Kops movie, only without the comedy.
I couldn't talk to my cast after the show. I couldn't speak to them, I was so unbelievably angry and disgusted. I have never been so disappointed with an opening in my life. This show is so good when they are on, but these fucking mental lapses completely killed the show, with both critics and a pile of theatre folks in the audience, so our word of mouth is pretty much fucked now. It looked like a high school production.
Couple that with the news that our roommates are not signing a new lease on the theatre, and I'm not sure what to do. I was all gung-ho earlier this week to pull everything together to dedicate all my resources, financial and personal, to keeping the company going and taking over the entire lease on the building if we could, but last night really makes everything seem so futile. We worked for weeks on that show, and about half my cast is there with me working as hard as they absolutely can. But the other half isn't, and that just absolutely kills me. A few people who are willing to skate through with an acceptable performance drags down the whole thing, when just a little bit of real focus would elevate the entire show to something incredible. Or not.
I really, really understand why directors precast shows and work with all the same people all the time.
But that's not it. I'm pissed off about last night, and I'm pissed off that some of my cast are there for the work and some are there to be in a play. But the people that fucked up are not the people who aren't focused. Murphy happened. It's over, and now I have to find a way to get together with my cast tonight and give them the confidence to pull their shit together and put on the show I know they are capable of. Because they can. I've seen it. Wednesday night's invited dress was aboput 90% of the show that I believe it can be. Which is what an invited preview should be. But last night the wheels fell off. So tonight, we try and figure out how to pull it back together.
Wish me luck.
And the fucking wheels fell off. It wasn't an absolute disaster. It was an absolute FUCKING disaster. It only takes a couple of moments of lag in a show like God's Country, which is written like a documentary film/rock video, replete with jump cuts and spliced scenes, to make the whole thing shift from tight to incomprehensible.
First there were a couple of line bobbles. Act I started really strong, but there were a couple of jumps and a couple of hiccups. It happens. There are a lot of words, and people are playing a multitude of characters, so it gets confusing. Then act II started, and in the first scene, one of the three actors completely went up on lines and had to ask for help from the other character!!!! It went downhill from there.
Next, one of my actors missed an entrance. Not just late, completely missed the entrance and was called onto the stage by the other actor! This guy has never missed an entrance in his life, so I don't know WTF was going on. Then someone kicks over what sounded like a bucket of screws backstage. Twice. And proceeded to make as much noise trying to clean it up as they did knocking it over. Then another actress misses an entrance. Act II looked like something out of a fucking Keystone Kops movie, only without the comedy.
I couldn't talk to my cast after the show. I couldn't speak to them, I was so unbelievably angry and disgusted. I have never been so disappointed with an opening in my life. This show is so good when they are on, but these fucking mental lapses completely killed the show, with both critics and a pile of theatre folks in the audience, so our word of mouth is pretty much fucked now. It looked like a high school production.
Couple that with the news that our roommates are not signing a new lease on the theatre, and I'm not sure what to do. I was all gung-ho earlier this week to pull everything together to dedicate all my resources, financial and personal, to keeping the company going and taking over the entire lease on the building if we could, but last night really makes everything seem so futile. We worked for weeks on that show, and about half my cast is there with me working as hard as they absolutely can. But the other half isn't, and that just absolutely kills me. A few people who are willing to skate through with an acceptable performance drags down the whole thing, when just a little bit of real focus would elevate the entire show to something incredible. Or not.
I really, really understand why directors precast shows and work with all the same people all the time.
But that's not it. I'm pissed off about last night, and I'm pissed off that some of my cast are there for the work and some are there to be in a play. But the people that fucked up are not the people who aren't focused. Murphy happened. It's over, and now I have to find a way to get together with my cast tonight and give them the confidence to pull their shit together and put on the show I know they are capable of. Because they can. I've seen it. Wednesday night's invited dress was aboput 90% of the show that I believe it can be. Which is what an invited preview should be. But last night the wheels fell off. So tonight, we try and figure out how to pull it back together.
Wish me luck.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Suzy
I've been married to a wonderful woman for almost the past 10 years, and today is her birthday. She hits 36 today, and yesterday I bought her a pile of makeup from Christy, our best friend and Mary Kay pusher, ahem, consultant. She loved it, was very sweet, and very happy. I love her a lot. We fight, like most folks do, but we always come back together stronger afterwards. The best moments of my days lately have been lying in bed with her after I get home from rehearsal and watching an episode of Smallville as we drift off to sleep. I like being married.
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