Serving One's Country

Worry not. I am not about to chime in on the political a la

Friend Nat

(although if naughty words were permissible there, Nat would already be employed by The Nation). Rather I write to update the confused and huddled masses (Readership of Odin's Aviary now in the double digits! What what!) on the status of that collaborative project celebrating its second birthday some time soon. That one that I occasionally travel to Vermont/New Hampshire for, and what deals in large part with the war/conflict/mess-o'-potamia in Iraq. That

Project

, if you get my meaning, mentored by Moises Kaufman and occasionally exhibited in workshops around the Isle of Manhattan.

Why am I being so coy about the name? Because, dear friends, we have a new working title. Yay! I am so pleased. Telling people about

The Torture Project

had gotten old long ago. It reminded me of the conversations I have with strangers when I'm wearing my stilts. "How's the weather up there?" "You really drank your milk, didn't you?" Except it was usually something like "And is the project torture?" (Answer: No. Except when I have to hold the Shabaq position for five minutes.) Plus, the name just wasn't appropriate after about the first year of development. We got stuck on the word as a guide instead of a label. So the

TP

's new moniker...?

As Far As We Know

I like it. It sums up a lot about the show as far as we've developed it, and is less obscure than a previous consideration for a title:

DUSTWUN - Duty Status: Whereabouts Unknown

. But that's not all, folks! To add to the total anonymity of the project, the producing company has also changed its name.

Joint Stock Theatre Alliance

is dead; long live--

UnCommon Cause

I also like this name, but I'm uncertain as to why they changed this aspect. It may have been because the project itself is taking a dramatic new turn. It may also be that there is, in fact, already a

Joint Stock

theatre company out there. The only thing I miss from the old name is the word "alliance." Good word. UnCommon word, if you will, and it pretty accurately describes what the producing directors aspire to in their working style.

So what, besides nomenclature, has changed? Well, it remains to be seen. What has definitively happened is that our directors have received an almost unheard-of amount of input from the real hometown of Keith "Matt" Maupin. Last Saturday we met for about four hours, just to cover a fraction of the photographs and interviews they returned with. It was exciting and humbling, and made me wish I could have been along for the ride. There's promises that the entire company will make a trip out there soon, but that seems a pretty grand undertaking to me, and may take time. In the meantime, the next step is a series of biweekly (Wait...wait.... That means twice a week, not every two weeks, right? I'm almost positive...) rehearsals through June to explore new avenues in the--frankly--new show. Our first assignment being to take the transcriptions of interviews with assigned people from the community and present a short piece illustrating that person (or those people).

And I've been chosen to do two of Matt's commanding officers. This was the assignment I hoped for, though I have no idea what I will do with it creatively yet. I've spent so much time trying to imagine a military head-space that I'm eager to have actual examples. Also, these guys know Mat. They just do. It's insane to imagine. One anecdote sticks out from the Saturday session. They said Matt would carry around a rubber ball (I wasn't clear if it was like a bouncy-ball, or racket ball, or what) to play with to combat the urge to smoke. I don't know if I'll ultimately be playing the soldier character in our story--there's some concern that I look too old--but I carry a liberty dollar coin with me to combat smoking/nail biting, and it meant something to me that there's at least one, small commonality between I and my character's real-life counterpart.

There's something else, too. Patriotism. I fret sometimes over the distinction between patriotism and nationalism, but there's no use denying that I feel like a patriot--at least in the sense that I believe in my country in ways it doesn't always live up to. Now, if someone had asked me at age nineteen to serve my country by going to war, I probably would have turned them down. I fear bodily harm when it comes to flying metal, and would have felt ill-equipped for the challenges. Nevertheless, I believe hard in this idea called America. I grew up in the Boy Scouts, for f%$k's sakes. This is something I'm eager to explore in my work on

As Far As We Know.

What is it that takes people a step farther into patriotism, to the extent that they feel justified in killing and dying for it?

Of course, fanaticism and fear are powerful imitators of just about any conviction, and that can lead to really irrational decisions. (For example:

Break me a freaking give.

) People need belief as much as they need food and water. I just hope, personally, that belief is something that saves lives without taking them.

"I'm Not Even Supposed to Be Here Today..."

Everyone knows that one:

Clerks

. Why quote

Clerks

? Some of you may guess by the first sentence of the next paragraph.

Yesterday I took the New Jersey Transit to the end of the line (this particular line endeth at Long Branch) to participate in a reading of

Justin Warner

's play

American Whupass

at the

New Jersey Repertory Company

theatre. It's a play I've been involved in readings of for some time now, and I was lucky enough to fall in with Justin when he was just starting to do readings of it in his apartment. I say lucky because I really enjoy the script. It's not like

As Far As We Know

(formerly known as

The Torture Project

) or Zuppa del Giorno; there's no need for me to sell my first-born to make it happen. It's got its own momentum, and it's being spearheaded by Justin. I just show up and try to do the best job acting that I can.

The which is interesting work, because every time I read the script it's a little bit different, and adjustments are required. It's a comedy, with very broad (and occasionally coarse) humor, nevertheless Justin manages to make every character a believable person to one degree or another, mostly by way of giving them real objectives to fight for and real motivations for those objectives. It seems basic, but you might be surprised how many playwrights fail to do this. (Myself included.) The character I play, for example, is a new campaign manager on an incumbent senator's campaign. He initiates morally corrupt actions on the senator's behalf, but he does it and defends it with the utmost sincerity. He really believes it's for the best, whatever has to be done to get a good man in office.

That + professional wrestling jokes = Lot's o' fun per Jeffe.

So I take this seemingly endless (hour and a half) ride out to the theatre, and when I get off the train it is so non-urban I panic immediately. Will I understand the directions to the theatre? Will streets be numbered, or just named? Fortunately, 3rd Avenue is indeed 3rd Avenue (not even "Third," but "3rd") and I make good progress. As I walk, I reflect on my experiences of New Jersey, and begin to better understand it's reputation elsewhere for being a little, er, blah. The sections of town I'm coursing through are very reminiscent of those parts of Scranton that have yet to receive the benevolent wand of gentrificated (is so a word) commerce. Only with shorter buildings. It reminds me, at times, of the environment

Clerks

was filmed in. Which makes enough sense, seeing as how Kevin Smith and that whole crew hail from somewhere close by.

I finally get to the theatre--a modest enough building crammed full of performance space and show photographs--and am instantly reminded of several things I really should have thought of before making the trek. Specifically:

• The Laramie Project had its New Jersey debut there.

• Friend Briana worked there for an entire summer, thereby earning her Equity card.

• The core of UnCommon Cause (the artist formerly known as Joint Stock Theatre Alliance) probably attended this theatre whilst growing up in the Garden State.

So I go into the building, and am very kindly pointed back to where the actors are convening in the main space. There are only a few there yet, and I greet the returning actors, and I deal once again with not one of them recognizing me from previous readings (a regular occurrence in any venue, I assure you). Then I greet a new guy, and he looks familiar, and I almost start the inane "You Look So Familiar To Me Have You Ever Done Shows In The Yucatan?" game. But I don't. Some brain cell in me still operates to save my foot from being consumed by my mouth, occasionally, and fortunately it kicked in just then.

Because this guy was this guy.

Yeah. Brian O'Halloran was in the reading. As well he should be, because he works with the theatre all the time, and Friend Briana actually did another reading which I believe he directed shortly after her stint at N.J. Rep. So I should have put it together faster. As it was, I spent a good deal of time stealing looks and trying not to look as though I were trying to decide if he was who he is. Friends will attest: I am terrible at recognizing celebrities off the screen. Just awful. So I doubt the heck from myself at all times on such matters. Eventually the work of rehearsal took my mind off it completely, and then we broke for a ten. I was starving, having only had a light breakfast, but there was only time to get something from the theatre's concession stand. It was day time on a Monday, so no one was working it, and I could not espy me a money box, or jar, or bear-trap (Oh, you want to be a capitalist, do you? No hand for you!). Just as I was contemplating leaving me booty atop the counter, in swept Mr. O'Halloran to save the day. He took my money and handed me my Milky Way and presumably put the money where it needed to be. I only know one further thing about the experience:

Dante Hicks sold me a candy bar.

Yes. I have been officially Clerked. It was good for me. I'd do it 36 more times, if I could. But seriously, folks, it was at that moment, that divine conjunction of circumstances, that I became certain of his identity. Here's the thing: That's how down-to-earth he was. There was, as far as I observed, no mention during the day of his cult status, and he did a bang-up job with his part. His role was to play a variety of callers-in to various radio shows, and he made them each different in funny and convincing ways. To sum up: Modest, funny, talented and generally nice (insofar as one can tell over eight hours) guy.

And I managed not to ask him which he liked better, Jedi or The Empire Strikes Back.

The reading went very well, I think. I did feel I had done a better job in rehearsal than in actual performance, but we got a lot of of positive feedback from what we were assured was a very critical group. The whole thing was done in conjunction between Justin, N.J. Rep and a company also from New Jersey called Luna Stage. Apparently there's some hope that the show will be produced by one or both some time approaching 2008 (the big election year). It's interesting to consider a possibility so far in advance. Of course, I'm certain I would have to audition for a full production, so one never knows. If it was meant to happen, it will.

"A word of advice, my friend. Sometimes you gotta let those hard-to-reach chips go."

Come Back, Shane!

Come back!

We have closed

A Lie of the Mind

. . .

long open

A Lie of the Mind

. Actually, I don't feel that way. That paraphrasing suggests that the show itself should continue ad nauseum, and really, it's not the most worthy of its ilk to aspire to perpetual resurrection. It's not the script I would see risen from the ashes, but the cast and crew. What a tremendous group of people to work with. I would leap at the chance to work with any of them again, and will probably harbor a fantasy of all of us reuniting for some show or other for a long while yet. My hat's off to you folk.

How did it close? (

Friend Nat

inquired of me when I was offline yesterday, no doubt in eager anticipation of this very 'blog entry [I am nothing if not entirely predictable].) I would say that it went out with a bang, though it was neither our best nor our worst show. So it went out rather like a bang in the distant woods, perhaps from a 30-30 caliber rifle. I believe we were all sad to see it go, in spite of some relief at being able to spend more time making money and just generally relaxing for a little while. That relief invariably turns to anxiety for me after a little while if I have nothing theatrical upcoming. Fortunately, this is not the case. But that is a subject for another day's 'blogitivity.

Now that it's all said and done, I'm glad I put all that time and effort into the show. It may not have been my best work (I daresay it definitely was not), but just on a personal level it was important work in helping me break through a lot of creative and personal rubbish that I was--consciously, at least--barely aware of. It seems rather awful to make a performance about such stuff, and I'd like to think I don't normally do that. In point of fact, I believe it was only thus in this case because the show challenged me and on some level I had been avoiding challenges in my life. Nothing like high stakes to flush out the delusions.

Interesting, too, how deluded I was when I started this 'blog. In a variety of ways. I began with the intention of keeping it about my professional life, of adding personal details only as they became relevant to such ambitions. I should have realized (just as I should have realized with avoiding challenges) that the sense of safety this aspect of my mission statement imbued was a delusion. It's not like I spend my professional life collecting coins or soldering pipe . . . though I'm fairly certain even in these fields one's personal life colors every aspect of one's work. Moreover, I'm an idiot about this whole "public journal" thing. THEY ARE WATCHING, STUPID! Everything you say can and will be used against you in a restaurant with your peers.

Interesting word:

idiot

. It reminds me of the word "id," in the Freudian sense, and I wonder if Freud had it or some related word in mind when he coined the term (<--actually, "id" means "it," [man that guy had a penile fixation {or is that me?}] and he apparently borrowed the term from an earlier psychoanalytical text). "Idiot" has roots in

idios

, meaning "one's own." I lambaste you with this irrelevant series of seeming connections because . . . well, supposedly one's id is the primary component of free association. (Which is probably the most apt sentence in this paragraph thus far.) AND I have to wonder just how much of an idiot I actually am when it comes to this here 'blog. Because, my friends, I have the sneaking suspicion that Odin's Aviary is a direct result of mys ids and mys super-egos co-collaboratin' behinds ma' egos's back. Here I am, happily free-associating on a regular basis, yet with an awareness that I have some responsibility not to write anything that might unnecessarily upset, deceive or otherwise put off someone who might read this.

Yet these things get written, and the ripples initiated by them return to me at the least expected moments. Exes express different views of the past. Directors salve my ego (in the vernacular sense of the word ["ego," not "salve"]) with compliments. Friends bring up subjects I hadn't realized I had approved for conversation with them, and they are startlingly well-informed, because I've already written out all my thoughts for them. It's not that I don't keep certain thoughts and feelings in reserve (Such as how

hot

I find it when women punch me . . .. Damn it! Did it again!), but I have often been surprised by the results of my 'blogasitude. Sometimes pleasantly, sometimes not, but always on the side of open truth. It's a good side to be on, and this little exercise is helping me appreciate that kind of disclosure.

So I've said it

once

, but I'll say it again: Don't lie to your mind; it's unkind.

Life Goes Easy on Me

Most of the time.

O,

Damien Rice

! How you go with a rainy day! I suppose the weather in Ireland is often thus. There's something about the persistence of this rain of late that actually makes me uplifted, rather than downtrodden, which I take to be the typical reaction to such gray pitter and patter. Perhaps I'm enjoying the feeling of self-contained intimacy it produces just now. Or maybe it's just that it's a Friday.

Last night some friends came from (way) out of town to see Todd and I in the show, and it was great to have them there. They had to book it back to the sticks (read: Scranton), so it was mostly the cast for an after-show snack and drink. We returned to

La Lanterna

, which I dreaded (love the place, hate its popularity) but it was surprisingly vacant and we got a table with space around it, out in their sheltered garden. I was taking it easy after the night previous--when I had three friends I rarely see and dearly love to go out with and people got happy about treating others to libation (Mr. Schoffler, I'm looking in your direction)--and somehow was quite relaxed for the first time in such a post-

ALotM

scenario.

And it was commented upon. Not directly, mind you. Them what had something to say about it didn't really understand what they were seeing. Their comments were along the lines of, "You look different somehow, Jeff." "I really like that sweater." "Could you do me, right here and now?"

Okay, okay. I made that last one up. My point, however, is not to self-aggrandize. Well, only a little. The main thrust of my bragging is to say it helped me realize what a fool I've been. Not that I necessarily could have helped it. But still. My fellow castmates had no idea who I was under normal circumstances, because I never once relaxed around them in this whole process. Moreover, the two of them I worked with the year prior probably had very little idea either. My tension, self-conflict, whatever it is, isn't particular to this show. It's been around for quite a while. On the rare occasion when I can release myself from it, it makes me more relaxed and everyone around me generally happier.

So wherefore the persistence of this trait? Well, that may take a while for yours truly to truly figure out. I am reminded, however, of a comment left on this very 'blog (see

2/5/07

) regarding my life-long admiration of a certain black-clad vigilante. I can't say I'll cease to worship angst-ridden comicbook characters with an unhealthy devotion, but maybe I could ease off on the inner-conflict quotient in my real life. Just a little.

Just as soon as it stops raining.

Strum and Dang

Is this a hangnail bugging me, and

if that's the case

in which case will the frumious

blundersnatch hide his self?

This is not my beautiful house. How did I get here?

Am I writing poetry?

And if so,

IF, SO,

what's the equation I would balance?

Is all I have questions?

My intonation can't always escalate,

Can it? You'd read this and know my mind.

I'll write it with time out of mind

and knowledge will be a whisper never breathed.

"I grow old, I grow old,

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled."

Nonsense and broken quotations flock about my brain,

a parliament of rooks,

an unkindness of ravens,

a murder of crows,

flapping and cawing for my leavened attention.

I'm walking silent halls with a noisy mind

and all I can find on the two endless walls

are the stenciled words of others.

Is

this the way the world ends? Not with a harangue,

But a simper?

"I beg of you, have patience with all that remains unresolved in your heart..."

Prose, now, too? Enough! Enow! E'en now!

Some days a little nonsense is all that can be said about one's life. To paraphrase

Fight Club

: We're a generation of children raised on Dr. Seuss. I'm beginning to wonder if another poet is really the answer.