West Hollywood and a Thrift Store

I finally got moved into the apartment in Hollywood. When I say it isn't glamourous, I mean it, but it is spacious and most everything works. Its always a little nerve wracking moving again, but this will be home for the next three months. I had some trouble getting online here, but after going through 'tech hell', I'm up and running. I have been methodically going through 'Hamlet' for the second time, but since I've about beat Hamlet to death, I will give it a rest. Aside from the internet trouble, the second obstacle I immediately faced was the parking. Since just about every available parking spot in Los Angeles is used up, I was faced with a parking spot (that goes with the apartment) that not only faces an ally, but gives me about two inches on either side of the old chevy. Thank God for lots of backing up experience, because that was the only way I could get it parked, and that from a straight on position. Can you say ten-point parking? I have no idea whether I will be able to remove it from its current location. 

I went down to a few thrift stores today. I was looking for that vintage cowboy shirt, that vintage jacket, those old Tony Llama boots. The most famous thrift store here in Hollywood is 'Out of the Closet', but its isn't the best. I found one down the street that really rocks. Of course nothing fit me, (all men are small here I guess), but they had some amazing clothes. I didn't buy anything, I just looked. Then is was off to Trader Joe's for some frustration and grocery shopping. I'm glad I finally have a kitchen, in my other place I only had a micro-wave and a teeny fridge to work with. Now that I have a full kitchen, I can cook! Okay, I may be the only one, but Trader Joe's does not work for me. I need a grocery store laid out like a grocery store, with some stuff (not all) that will kill you in the end. I need real mayonaise, not organic. I need a big old head of iceberg lettuce, not stuff in bags! As you can see, my day has not been filled with thoughts and actions that are too exciting. Another move, another preparation day. 

I'm nearing the end of the Kerouac book. It is taking a sad turn with Jack's drinking and blackouts, still, I will hate to see this book finished. The thing about reading a biography, however, is the great references you come away with on the person. I know that the first book I will buy will be 'Mexico City Blues'. I already read 'On the Road' and 'Dharma Bums', but beyond that, I need to read some of Jack's poetry. This book is a real lesson on someone who wanted fame and notoriety, but when it came, it was a complete disaster. Talk about someone who really let fame kill him, it was Kerouac. Sad, sad, sad. 

I finally found some musicians at my Saturday meeting, and they invited me to 'jam' at the Venice Recovery Center tomorrow night. I'm looking forward to it, although I've played here and there, it is not every day as I had hoped. In one week from tomorrow, I will FINALLY start to rehearse at the theatre. That will give me a new purpose, and get my schedule working as it should. Kurt will be down a few days after I start. I am tempted to come to Phoenix to get some of my things, now that I have an apartment, still, the more things I have here the more 'things I have here'.  I would just like a couple of my old paintings to hang on these very bare walls. 

Well, we'll make it short and sweet tonight, it seems a little mundane right now, but I have a new course to chart, and a new schedule to create. Of course sleep is always a problem in a new place. What happened to those days as a teenager, when I could sleep for days if I wanted to? 

'Building the Play, Savoring the Day'

I woke up very early this morning and started to work on the script. I rewrote the whole beginning, which is scary, because you are 'making changes'. Usually, I save a copy of the entire text, in case I don't like what I've changed, but this morning, I went ahead with the changes. Because I'm beginning with a partial monologue from Shakespeare, I felt I needed to address what it said, rather than trust that everyone will know what it means. Shakespeare is hard enough to understand as it is, let alone a partial monologue taken out of context. I decided to do exactly what Shakespeare does in 'Romeo and Juliet', and 'Richard the Third', he tells the audience exactly what is going to happen. Usually, as you learn writing, you are taught to only reveal your plot turns as a surprise. I will tell the end of the story in the beginning. Of course, in the morning, I may change my mind. I told you, once a piece of writing gets to the 'potential' stage, then you have no recourse but to painstakingly use the techniques and tools you know to get the structure working. A play has to work on several different levels, and especially has to work as language and form. You cut and paste, you just plain cut, and say the lines over and over. If you are successful, you walk away from the work feeling really good. If you are less successful in your endeavor, it stays on your mind until you get back to it again. 

The source material I'm gathering and reading is helping a lot. I'm using Ophelia as a muse right now, and she is powerful. The image I found of her in the painting I posted, is haunting and full of symbolism.  I've looked at it several times today. The flowers next to her hand suggests her penchant for the beauty of the earth, and yet she chooses to leave it. It is also suggestive of her last speech in the play, as she metaphorically pronounces each flower and the flower's meaning.  The look on her face reflects a death mask. The shallow stream, (less than a river) suggests her as a suicide and not a drowning victim. Her hands and arms slightly opened up to suggest the resolve in her decision, and her opening to the spirit world. The foliage around her makes a perfect and beautiful tomb, suggesting a beautiful place that she knew well. I love the image. A painting tells such a powerful story. Paintings and plays are similar in their evocation, as they each have their own purpose and meaning. Sleep well, Ophelia. 

I'm also using source material from photographs. While I was in St. George, (on my way here) Cheryl downloaded forty or so photographs from family archives. Most days, I look through them at least once if not more. There are old cowboy pictures of my Grandfather. There is the last picture taken of my Father. There is my mother and father when they were very young and together. From these pictures, I find the nostalgic place that exists in all of us. Nostalgia is key to a story play, because it keeps the past relevant. I love the old photography of the fifties and sixties, it has disappeared, but suggests something that can only be--the still existing moments of childhood. 

I'm using L.A. as source material. I was born here, I've lived here it seems like a dozen times. Today, the air was fresh with wind, and was exhilarating, the smells in the air, all the senses remember something even when we do not. Those senses make memories live. They join the past with the present, and the present with something eternal,  and not just my own memory of being here before. The material is in the history of the city. The history of the people, of the streets, of the trees. Silver Lake, (where I'm currently staying) is in the hills East of Hollywood. The houses come tumbling down the hills, the streets are narrow and old. A great city to be crafting this play. 

Finally, as fate would have it, a biography of Jack Kerouac that my mother gave me, I savor it. Now, I'm no Kerouac, but I certainly relate to his story. I relate to the journey, I relate to the black dog/white dog in him. I've been reading the excerpts of 'Mexico City Blues' and somehow get all of it. I don't get all the references, but I so get the emotion of it. The rhythm of it, the be-bop of it. It seems lately, whatever I'm doing outside of this room, whether I'm reading the paper, or watching a documentary, or talking with someone, there is a Kerouac reference. Yep, I'm in the right place. 

So, today has been good to me--the weekend looks good--I'll move once again on Sunday, and start finding my way from a new part of the city, a mile and a half from the theatre--rehearsals start soon, its getting closer, but its the process that gives us life, its the process that tells the story... jump off a cliff and build your wings before you hit the water, and if you don't finish them, start swimming..."

Ophelia, Suicide or Accident?

I had a very good Christmas today. A departure of the last several, where the only place I felt alive was in rehearsals, or when I was working on a play. I feel comfortable in my 'own skin' today. I woke up, showered, and headed for my trusty diner to have a turkey dinner with all the strangers, except for the waiters and waitresses who all know me by my name now. The dinner was excellent, and I was able to parlay the meal into my supper tonight, complete with pumpkin pie. It may sound odd, but I came home, did four loads of laundry, (yes, on Christmas), printed out the complete play of 'Hamlet', and in between loads studied as much critical analysis as I could stand. It is the key to the structure of the play, and so I must have at least a command of the whole story, while going into parts of the text that are relevant. 

As I mentioned in the previous entry, Ophelia is the key to my monologues and stories on the 'women in my life'. I did not know she was such a controversial character, the debate and metaphor of her character runs long and deep. The debate over her drowning is rampant, whether suicide or accident, (I think some of both), and there is also some text that suggests she may have been pregnant. I also found out that when Hamlet tells her to "get thee to a nunnery..." he was referring her to a brothel, which 'nunnery', was a slang term from the day. In other words, He called her a 'whore', which is a part of the mystery of the sub--text. Earlier tonight, I went over the ghost scenes again, and found new things in Hamlet's encounter with his father's spirit, as I find new things with my own father's spirit. 

Today was also the passing of one of the world's greatest playwrights, Harold Pinter. I will never forget seeing 'The Birthday Party' at Phoenix Theatre so many years ago. He made his mark in the theatre in many ways, one, taking sub-text, (the thoughts, actions, and motives beneath the text) to new extremes. He wrote many short lines, that actors were asked to find the actions between them for sometimes a full minute. Seemingly, some of his lines didn't go together, but he really knew what he was doing. He asked actors to show what they were thinking instead of telling. I wrote a short play after I saw 'The Birthday Party', that was produced at ASU, called 'Jim and Bob'. My professor called it 'Pinteresque', as many other plays were poor imitations of what he did. He wrote highly original plays, and was a champion of human rights. Later, his plays became deeply political. He made a difference. As in many things we do in life, we start by imitating, until we find our own voice. He had a masterful voice, of which, with his body of plays, will never be silenced. Hasta la vista, Mr. Pinter. 

I finally feel I have enough source material to tackle some of the roughest parts of the script again. Using the Shakespearian overlay is risky, but most plays are hybrids of voices, language, and forms. Sam Shepard put cowboys into existential plays, and had his characters speaking in a hybrid of  western language and John Paul Sartre.  Tennessee Williams put lyrical poetry into the mouths of common southerners and brutes. Tony Kushner put the language of God into the mouths of dying gay men. I'll put Shakespeare into the mouth of a bohemian cowboy. I'll make the ghost of Hamlet's father my own. I'll make Ophelia the perfect woman. I'll let the madness of Hamlet perpetuate my own youth. Sound challenging? It will be and it is! 

This next week, I have to also start generating copy for the post card, and find an image. I was going to use a picture of my mother and father, but I think I'm going to look for an image of a cowboy with either a suitcase or a bag. Maybe a cowboy in a pick-up truck heading down a highway. Maybe something in the desert. Any ideas or images you have? Send them my way, RShurtz57@gmail.com. I'll give you a credit if I use your image. I also have to start working on the announcement of the play, and the press release for the play. This is usually a combination of a resume and a compelling synopsis of the play. I find that I like to do this kind of work. Its challenging to come up with something that when someone sees it, they don't want to miss it. This is considered the work of the publicist, but often in theatre it becomes the job of the producer. I talked to Cheryl tonight in Utah, and I will work with her on getting it right. So, the practical and the creative, all working together for the process and the end result. It will be good to get into my final abode, so that I can find my final routine. Good night to all, and to all, Merry Christmas! 

Theatre Junkie Lifestyle, and Reviving Ophelia.

I treated myself to a three egg breakfast today, maneuvering through the vast number of cars out, with people looking for last minute gifts. I've struggled to write the last two days, feeling a little achy and a little down, but this is always the way I feel at Christmas. A friend, Billy, invited me to another friend of his 's house, but I may just stay in, read and write. 

It is cold here today, so it does feel a little like a winter's day, like Christmas. I'm anticipating this Sunday, when I can move into the apartment, and my final 'bohemian' stay here in L.A. I was in good spirits two nights ago when I made the decision to just do the play I came to do, today I'm a little down about its loss. The writing goes tough, but I don't believe in 'writer's block', for me, its always more about procrastination than anything, about 'getting to the mountain'. Once I get to the page, I never have to wait very long before there is something coming out. Although I do a lot of re-writing, I generally write in sequestered jags, which I am trying to change into a more consistent way of approaching the writing. Writing this blog is helping lots with that transition--being consistent is healthier than sequestering and writing for sixteen or seventeen hours. 

I've moved six times so far this year. At the beginning of the year, I was living in a little guest house in downtown Phoenix, and then moved to an apartment with my brother while I was going through the 'end of my teaching career' change. Then I moved to Boulder, into room number twelve, 'my home away from home', for the last twelve summers. After that, I moved down into Lower Boulder and my Dad's trailer where I wrote the bulk of this play. Then it was Kent's for a couple of weeks in Calabasas. Now, here I am in Silver Lake, getting ready to move to West Hollywood. I've had to drastically reduce my inventory, which really isn't to hard for me, as I have very little attachment to that many things.  The things I am attached to always come with me. My guitar, which has always been the only really expensive item I have. (Its a 1979 Martin D-18 which I've had since it was new. there have been exactly five times when I went to sell it to pay rent)  Of course the 'writing machine' and a printer, cowboy hat, several cowboy shirts, and I found a western cut coat in a thrift store that I bought for seven dollars. What else. A belt buckle that belonged to my Dad, my old black briefcase, and of course, a sleeping bag. For me, these are the tools of the trade. I forgot to mention during the moves, several stays in motel rooms, (usually Best Western or Econolodge), a couple of stays at Cheryl and Steve's, and a two nights stay in the back of my truck. I didn't mention the truck,  a theatre junkie's life blood. I can pick up plywood, black paint, and  two by fours at Home Depot. I can pick up that old chair I need for Down Stage Right. I can pick up bails of hay for the festival. I can pick up tumbleweeds, garden tailings, and filing cabinets. There is one item that is currently in Phoenix which I am also very attached to,  my filing cabinet filled with play bills. There are hundreds of them. Someday when I'm a very old man, I will catalogue them and remember each of those productions. In the filing cabinet, there is also old plays, the first drafts of work, old love letters, old pictures, and a thousand beginnings of songs and poems. If I should go before my time, folks, therein lies the majority of my work and life, reduced to a filing cabinet. I remember the 'bohemian lifestyle' with my mother. As we moved to another place, I sat between the boxes of writing that she carried with her, me wondering what 'in hell' we were doing with all of these boxes of paper and words. Of course, that was before the days of computer documents and drives. Before the micro-chip, when a letter was still written on paper that was selected with pride. 

The hardest part of this play I'm working on is going to be the section on Women. Because I grew up in a very austere lifestyle in regard to things, the prospects of me finding that 'soul mate' become more distant. I valued books, writing, and little things that I had 'experiences' with. Because I have not been wildly successful in a material sense, it makes me a poor prospect for 'manning' a family and a 'settlement'. I languished in a romantic haze for days after I would have an affair with a book or writing a play. I thought it was the greatest thing in the world. When I read Hemingways's story in 'A Moveable Feast' about him betting the last of his money on a horse race and winning I thought it was manna. When I read about the ascetics in Kazantzakis's 'Report to Greco' eating only the sacrament in caves, I thought I would dash off the Greece. Each play I rehearsed and opened was always an opening to another kind of world. Another way of understanding what we are experiencing as humans. When I opened up a theatre and took a vow of poverty. I remember the night I did that... it was my secret and gave me a sense of power I would not have had, but at what a price?  I've always said that my relationship with theatre is the only one that ever really worked.  It worked because I never stopped loving her. I never stopped looking for the next place we would travel. The section on 'the women in my life' is difficult because there is so much pain associated with it. I love women but only know how to sustain relationships that connect me with theatre, conversations, and romance. I picked Ophelia in Hamlet as my role model. How messed up is that? I somehow see her as the perfect woman, however, because of how gravely she is affected by the course of her life. I remember seeing the title of a book, 'Reviving Ophelia', and being captivated not by the book, but by its title, 'Reviving Ophelia'. How can I keep her from drowning? How can I learn from the tragedy of Hamlet and change the trajectory of her life? I think I've always had relationships with women that were 'one foot in the door, and one foot out'. I think I was always trying to revive Ophelia, but in reality I could barely even save myself. I couldn't save my Father in the end, I can only revive his memory.  I suppose in a sense, none of us can save ourselves in the end. I wrote of my mother, "She writes like alcoholics drink..." and yet I am doomed to a similar fate. My only hope is that Ophelia will come when I least expect it, and she will have learned to swim. She will have the same poetic trajectory she has in the play, but she will survive. She will see the value of something that is prophetically inspired, but oh so humanly flawed. She will know the value of a good sleeping bag, and the power of a great book. She will have learned to stand up to her parents, and value and understand their histories. She will be beautiful, but of a beauty that clings on a heart, for in each photograph of her, she is never the same. She will have a profound sense of irony, and can live on the road, a trailer, or a mansion. When the money is gone, she will know the value of a large soup pot, and old warm clothes. She will have faith in the future rather than the ambition of a vision. She will know unconditional love, and the value of a history that is always pining. She wears strange but pretty dresses, loves God, but you will not find her in a nunnery. She writes short lyrical poems,  and sings songs in inappropriate places. You will find her in flower gardens, in book stores, thrift stores, and places with old furniture. When she cries, it is soft like rain, and then softer still, like she may fall off the earth. She loves the pounding water of the river, but only because it travels to the sea. Her hands are strong, even though her fingers look delicate. She is the character de la tragica, but with purpose. When she dies, she will fly straight through the clouds and stars, and each one will remember her passing... and her name. I will write a book, 'Ophelia Arrives, Ophelia Survives, Ophelia Lives... 

I'm finding the deeper I delve into this blogging, the more honest I become. I'm learning a new writing curve, but its expensive. I'm never at a loss of what to say, only sensing the loss of losing things on the journey. I will shore up my nerve and energy now, to spend the fragile memory of Christmas Eve, sober and alive. I can feel something from long ago today, but then again, It rarely leaves me..

I wrote this song about staying in Best Western motels.

Best Western

Best Western, Best Western, I'm glad your alive,

with your plush motel beds and your colt forty-fives,

your color t.v. and your plastic cups wrapped, 

pink little soaps and the vending room snacks. 

Best Western, Best Western, I think I'm in love, 

with your fluffy white towels 

the pressed ceiling above. 

(Chorus) 

And its along way from home right now, 

and the miles we've put between us no vows,

the highway, still kickin' up lines,

and Angelica is still on my mind. 

Angelica is still on my mind. 

Best Western, Best Western, 

we'll just close the door,

three or four locks 

and I know you've got more,

I've been runnin' and gunnin' 

through people and towns,

I'm glad I can see you

between all the frowns. 

(Second chorus with bridge) 

I couldn't have done it without you, you know, 

your baby blue bedspreads--your clock radio,

its a long way from home right now,

the miles we've put between us no vows, 

the highway is still kickin' up lines, 

And Nevada is still on my mind, 

Nevada is still on my mind. 

Best Western, Best Western will you hold me tonight? 

in your starched motel sheets, 

will you make it all right? 

Best Western, Best Western, 

I'm  lost in this world, 

from places that haunt me, 

and mexican girls. (Chorus) 

The Decision Making Process, Part Two.

So, I just came from my meeting with David Fofi, the Artistic Director for Elephant Stageworks.  I made the decision to put my focus on 'Bohemian Cowboy', and wait on the other play. It is the right decision and I feel uplifted and relieved. There is lots of good news that comes with this decision, I got David Fofi interested in all of my plays. He wants me to drop several off at the end of the week. He was especially interested in 'The Pig Hunter From Blue River', which is my 'horror' play. This guy likes the work! So, getting him to read the play was great to have happen. I'm feeling a real kinship to both he and his producer, Anita, going into rehearsal and being around the theatre will give me an opportunity to get to know them both much better. I still think 'Blue Baby' is a great play for Los Angeles, but just not now. However, another opportunity has come into the mix. 

David Barker, my friend and actor who teaches and is the chair of the Performance Graduate School at ASU, will bring his one man show, 'Dodging Bullets' into the theatre for two performances on the 12th and the 14th of March. I've always wanted to do something to showcase David's amazing ability and power as an actor, and this is an opportunity that will be minimal work for me. I was involved with the first readings of this show, and I was supposed to direct the show until this opportunity presented itself. So, David will bring in his show, (already in tact) for two shows in March! Where one door closes, another door opens! I feel much better about the situation, however, it will mean when you come to see the event it will just be me, up on stage, but I guarantee not to disappoint! And if you plan to come for the weekend of March 12th (that's a Thursday) you will be able to see two shows, he will do Thursday and Saturday, I will do Friday and Sunday. The other three weeks, (Opens February 20, that's a Friday) I will be doing four shows a week. The first weekend will just be three, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, after that, I will be performing Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights, with the exception of the weekend David is here. I hope that is clear, don't worry, I'll be sending and reminding as things evolve. 

As I made my way down to the meeting, I noticed that my hip was unusually sore today, As I got out to go into the theatre, I realized, dancing! I danced at the party--it was a good realization, I'm not through dancing in my life. Aaah, muscle memory, the greatest advantage as I get older. 

I also had a realization about Christmas. It was three years ago this month that Dad disappeared and I had major hip surgery at the same time. I've been in a funk every Christmas since. I was reading that when people have crisis at certain times of the year, that memory engram can follow into the ensuing 'time of year'. I have a strange relationship with Christmas. I also think living so 'close to the bone' puts such a stress with the spending money and places to go. I will probably once again opt out of leaving here for Christmas. I would love to see my family, but I need to keep my energy here, rest and relax before the rehearsals start. I will spend Christmas working on the play, and that will have to do for my Christmas. If the diner is open, I'll go and have a turkey dinner. I know that sounds a little pathetic, but what you need to know dear readers, is that I am happy tonight, and I feel like I'm making good choices. I also feel like years of experience is leading me to this place, with this end, and with this good cheer for Christmas. Now I have to re-write a monologue, mom, I'm having a tough time in the writing about you in this play, but I think you will be pleased with my result--its getting there! 

Merry Christmas from Los Angeles. 

The Decision Making Process

Today, I have to make a huge decision. Kent, my friend and actor who was going to do the lead in 'Blue Baby', can't commit to such a rigorous schedule of rehearsal and performance. One of the reasons for doing the play was for him, so I have a huge decision to make. Now that I have a director for the show, (I have a meeting with him in an hour and a half) I have to decide whether to continue pushing that show or go back to just doing the one show that I came here to do. I know it will probably be tough to bring in an audience, (for a one person performance), but if I can just focus on it, it might relieve a general stress of doing both. I was just telling Kurt, its impossible to predict the journey to getting a play, (or plays) up. Just when things are going smoothly, the whole thing can turn. I'm not a novice at putting up multiple shows, but today it seems the right decision is to shop the other play around, and stick with doing my one person show. There is more to the story, but to protect the privacy of Kent right now, you will have to examine the sub-text. Once I get permission from him to share what having the role in 'Blue Baby' did to him, I will share more of the story. Since I have done the show myself playing the part, I know what he was up against. It is the kind of role that can really 'mess with your mind'. By not doing the second show, I can save 3,000 dollars, but its money I could have made back at the box office. Still, with three weeks to rehearsal, I must make a decision, and do what's best for the overall smoothness of the production. For example, doing two shows alternating each night, the design both for lighting and set have to be interlinked. One set fits inside of another, etc. I did have the design figured out, and it seemed a nice challenge, but it clarifies the focus by doing the one. Another difficult element is the publicity. Doing two shows requires two sets of press releases, two sets of promotional material, two programs, etc. Maybe like always, I'm creating challenges that are destructive to my health. I think I'm answering my own questions. I hate to let 'Blue Baby' go, its the best play I'll ever write. That's a good thing. Kurt has been very good at helping me clarify things--he's very good at putting out fires and keeping things in perspective. He is up in Northern California, now, but he calls in the morning and at night to check in on the day. All of this has been keeping me from the writing on the script, still, I feel its in good shape, and I know what I have to do. I'll let you know in the next entry what I decide. 

As I said earlier, you never know where exactly a theatre journey will take you. I remember once, doing a musical play of mine, 'Holiday in Hoopersville', the old man playing the part of well, the old man, was an older gentlemen with some health issues. One Saturday morning, he called and said he was to ill to do the show that night. So, even though it was my show, (I had written it) I had to memorize his part all day Saturday and be ready to go on that night. I hadn't really paid that much attention to his blocking (that's the physical movement on stage) so, that part I had to wing. It was not a small role, rather, a medium size role in the play with lots of exits and entrances. It was nerve wracking, but since I knew the story, I was able to 'wing' the parts I couldn't remember exactly. Yes, its true, the SHOW MUST GO ON. 

Another time a newer actress suddenly froze on stage. I was playing Sammie, the drag queen in a play called 'Skimpies'. I had to do her lines and mine, and somehow make it seem like they where all mine. As I was doing 'both parts', I sat her down in a chair and made it into a monologue. When the scene was through, during the blackout I had to take her by the hand and lead her off stage. It was a situation where we brought someone new  into the cast, and luckily, I had been doing the show for several weeks or we might not have been so fortunate. (can't say 'lucky', its bad luck to use it in any theatre). If you are interested in reading up on theatre mishaps, google the history of Shakespeare's, 'MacBeth'. The history of that play is full of mishaps, which is why you cannot say 'MacBeth' in a theatre. Its always referred to as 'The Scottish Play'. I actually love the superstition and folklore that belongs exclusively to theatre. 

The party I went to Saturday night was amazing! If ever there was an 'L.A.' party, this one was it. Although I was a little older than most of the 'young professionals' in the house, I met a lot of people in 'the biz', and had a fantastic time. I met television writers, producers, musicians, television production people, actors, etc., etc. Fun times. Everybody here is trying to 'work' every angle, I guess including me. I found everyone to be very authentic and really nice. By the time I left the party, it was three in the morning and they were still dancing. My first real quintessential L.A. party. 

It's raining again today, and I have to make my way down into Hollywood and meet with the director--thanks again for the wonderful support and comments, I don't feel so alone when I know you are reading and supporting. I'll also let you know when the tickets for the show go on sell, I'm using a ticket organization down here, I'll give out the information soon. I still don't have the logo for 'Bohemian Cowboy', but I may use the photograph of Mom and Dad when they were first married if I can get permission from my Mother. What do you say, Mom, okay? 

The City of Angels

"Think I'll pack it in, buy a pickup, take it down to L.A. Find a place to call my own and try to fix up, start a bran new day..."   Neil Young, from 'Harvest'.  This is the opening of Neil's song, 'Out on the Weekend', my mantra at the end of the summer. I made the deal on an apartment in West Hollywood today, two bedroom, kinda beat up place with lots of character. As only in L.A. I sublet from a down and out costumer, who is staying with friends as I rent her apartment for three months. This place is so full of stories, no wonder Fante, Bukowski, and all the other screenwriters, playwrights, novelists, had to be here. When you drive down Sunset Blvd., there is a feeling of every kind. The rich and the poor, mingling together, eying each other from within a million cars--movie theaters, night clubs, bookstores, record stores, nude strip clubs, cafes, and play houses, all jumbled together in a city stew. Sirens, guitar players, sax players, homeless, hookers, and dealers of every kind, walking and standing on every corner. On the horizon, the tallest palm trees I've ever seen, swaying in time with the city in December. Farmer's markets, diners, flower sellers, painters, actors, artist of every ilk, making way for Saturday night before Christmas. City of angels, city of a thousand poems and songs... 

Once again, today was filled with driving here and driving there. I went to my meeting at noon, where a man brought in a young woman who was to drunk to sit up by herself. They sat next to me, and the woman put her head on me and promptly went to sleep, snoring loudly for all to hear, she smelled of alcohol, several nights before, and chanel #5. That was a first for me at an AA meeting. Her name was Karen, Nathan said, and he picked up from a 'sober living' house on a twelve step call. I can tell you, she isn't sober living today. She was remarkably beautiful for a drunk, but that gene is no respecter of beauty. It wants to break beauty down, that's all. I got up to get her  a cup of coffee, and heard the crash of her hitting the floor. One bookend short of a shelf, as several AA members ran over to help her back in her chair. I think maybe she didn't get to much out of the meeting as she could barely slur out her name. Still, its remarkable how the people there are so aware and cognizant of someone in a place that most of them have been. 

I was excited after I wrote my blog last night, to read and find the 'Blackout Blues' screenplay in very good shape, as that story and manuscript has been with me for so long now. When it was a play, we first did it in 1994, with Kurt directing in our company's new small theatre. Opening night, a taxi driver and a drunk guy both walked in the door with perfect timing. The drunk came into watch the play, and the taxi driver yelled, 'taxi!' down the hall at a point in the play where all hell is breaking loose. It sounded like it belonged in the play. (the play is primarily about a man on a week long drunk who eventually shoots himself in the leg). Its had productions in NYC and Australia, and was always a tight three-quarter length play. When I wrote the film script, I had to expand the three characters in the play to the fifty characters for the movie, it was a job that was so tedious through the first draft. In a play, you can imply the outside circumstances while the play is happening on the inside to the characters, in a movie, you have to reveal and put flesh on them all--its a very different beast. I'm excited by its possibility, its an edgy, inexpensive, film that a first time producer would love to get his or her hands on--I think its going to get a second and third read, we'll see. 

Tonight, I've been invited to a party, my first one in L.A. From what I am told, it is a party where there will be lots of musicians. I'm taking my guitar, and hopefully get to play it tonight. The party is being thrown by my friend Kent and his wife Nancy's friend, Carla. Carla is a recording artist for Arista records, I got to play with her on Thanksgiving which was a blast. She's a really good singer/songwriter, and she knows lots of musicians. It would be great to find some to play with on a consistent basis. I brought demo cd's here with the plan of finding some work playing in a cafe, but I have barely had time to do any thing but get these plays off the ground. Now that things are in place, I may hit the cafes and coffee houses and see what's available. I know if I can get in somewhere, I can make some good money, as I have some good experience working a crowd. We'll see. 

I think its time to lay down for awhile and see if I can catch up on several days of short sleep. Still am not sure I'm leaving L.A. for Christmas, if I feel stressful in doing so, I'll just stay here and have a turkey dinner at The Astro Family Diner here in Silver Lake. Happy Holidays! 

Production and Rain.

Its three o'clock in the morning, and I can't sleep. Kurt (the director of 'Bohemian Cowboy') just left for Northern California yesterday, and was here for three days. It was a flurry. I spent a good part of the time driving, which is always tiring in Los Angeles. A lot happened in those three days. The first night he arrived from NYC, we talked until the wee hours of the morning about the structure of the play. Kurt is a great story guy, and we identified the flaws in the script. I have my work cut out for me. As of now, the script is dramatically strong, but is weak in the overall tie. Its not enough to write a play that moves dramatically, it all has to 'bind' together, and this is not always easy to find. Thematically, the play is the story of my Dad, but it has all these other characters within, but the story has to be complete and intact. At least I have a challenging bit of work to do, but it isn't going to be easy. Kurt and I have been through this drill many times, still, there is always dealing with the honesty of his reaction, and then executing the changes. 

Kurt had meetings lined up with producers here, two different producers (with finance) are interested in his 'Wild Horse Annie' script, which is about a woman who tries to protect the wild horses that still exist in this country. Two years ago, he wrote an article for 'Vanity Faire' on the subject, so he brings a certain expertise to the subject. He has spend many hours with 'Wild Horse Annie', and it is a compelling story. Hollywood loves its animals, especially animals that the Republican Party (particularly Bush) is trying to destroy. Part of our plan in being here is to take our existing scripts and stories and find a deal. I met a friend of Scott's yesterday, who spent a half hour lecturing to us about the trouble that the 'movie business' was in. So, the only discouraging part of yesterdays musings, was that its hard to get anything made right not. Still, it was exciting to have all of this going on, and Kurt pitched my script, 'Blackout Blues', which they seemed interested in reading. 

We also went to the theatre space, where we had a short rehearsal, even though rehearsals are not scheduled to start until January 7th. There is some good news on that front. I finally got an affirmative on David Fofi on directing 'Blue Baby'. He is the Artistic Director of Elephant Theatre where we are doing the play. I thought if I could get him interested, it would be good for obtaining an audience, as he knows lots of people. He seemed to really like the script, so I have a director for that play but only one actor thus far. As the rehearsals get closer and closer, this part of things get a little more stressful, still, doing both plays is the best decision. Although I am making progress, there are still a thousand things to think about, probably why I'm up at three in the morning! 

I also looked at an apartment yesterday. It is a two bedroom apartment in Hollywood, (close to the theatre) believe me, its nothing fancy, still, I'm finding that any apartment here is expensive to rent. I'm a little worried, as money here, (even when you are being conservative) goes very fast, even though I'm trying to be careful, I'll have to live 'close to the bone' to get from here to there. I'm still trying to process my conversation with the renters, as its a 'sub-let' situation, but it almost has to be because I only want the apartment for three months. I have to make a decision today, and write up my own rental agreement if I decide to take the apartment. It felt right yesterday, but feels different somehow this morning. I tend to want to make decisions fast, however, because the clock is ticking, and I have to be out of this place in Silver Lake by next Sunday. I'll let you know how that turns out. 

Adding to some of this stress is Jack Kerouac, who is running from detectives, dealing with health issues, and having all the publishers reject his books. Its a harrowing story, but man how it holds the interest. That beat generation were a 'wild bunch'. Thematically, its filled with financial crises, as they try to have the time to write. Its always a catch twenty-two, "Shall I get a job so I can eat or do I continue to write hoping someone will help me get my work published?" This is always a plight of the writer/artist, where the next bag of groceries is coming from. Other artists seem to understand, and so they try to keep each other afloat. I don't think that has changed much, although it sometimes seems it becomes more difficult to 'keep each other afloat' and particularly here, because it isn't any longer a twenty dollar bill to get by like it was in 1952. I think after working at the same job for ten years, its a little strange to go back to this 'free-lance' lifestyle, even though I did it for many years before. I remember living on six thousand dollars one year, I used to make a huge pot of beans and ate burritos for days. Six thousand dollars sounds like a lot in one chunk, but spread it out over a year,  its tough to pay for everything.  Still, I am grateful for where I am now, and grateful for this 'chunk of grant money' to put it all on 'Black #8'. 

I better try and get a little more shut-eye, as I have a long day tomorrow. With the rain and the company, I haven't been able to walk this week, so some of my insomnia is probably from the lack of exercise. Of course, the rain and the cold has kept people inside, although to me the storm system seemed the same temperature, although I am getting used to the damp nature of California again. 

So, things are still moving forward, I'm hoping to write this next week, and still haven't decided whether I can afford to go to Phoenix or St George for Christmas, I'll make that call as I get closer to the Christmas Eve deadline. I'm grateful that I could get back to reporting my life, as I'm growing used to this 'blogging' outlet. Its a great way to organize my thoughts, and even though its difficult for me to spend lots of time reading other blogs, I try to get there, its a matter of deciding how I must spend my energy. Once again, I am appreciative of your comments, and I do feel the support from so many. That feels good. That lifts me up. Onward and Upward! 

Bikers and Monologues

Well, I signed the contract for the theatre today. I always get a little nervous when the money starts to get, well, spent. I have to remind myself that is what I'm here for, not to spend money, but to get two plays up. In Los Angeles, rents are higher, theatre professionals you have to pay for, and there are a thousand different things to start thinking about. I thought of hiring a producer, but then again, I've done this enough times that I think I can act as producer if I assemble the right team around me. I called Scott, (my cousin) and asked him if he will stage manage and associate produce. He seemed excited about doing it, it will give him another focus while he's trying to shlep movies. This is a town, however, where anything might happen. I brought a box full of scripts that Collette and Cheryl (other cousins), helped me print out and put together. I have two film scripts and four television scripts. L.A. is a place where I might run into someone who is looking. Both of my film scripts, I think, are very good and very polished. The television scripts are from 'Caffeine' and from 'Oedipus Wrecks'. Eric Smith from Boulder helped me put a music demo CD together before I left Boulder, so I have that as well. An over used phrase, but "luck is when preparation meets opportunity..." I'm quite sure as I get into the whole theatre world, I'll have an opportunity to get something else off the ground. I met another television writer at my meeting on Saturday, and as it happens, he's up for a job on an FX series, 'Sons of Anarchy', about motorcycle gangs. Oddly, a few years ago, I read several books on the subject, and well,  have some first hand experience as well. 

About fifteen years ago, a man named Guy (won't use his last name)  was a drug dealer out towards Cave Creek, AZ. I grew up knowing Guy, as  Guy was my best friend Red's older brother's friend. So, with out getting into my part in this whole episode, I'll just tell you that Red and I spent a lot of time out at Guy's, and he had a lot of parties as his house was 'out in the desert'.  One night, a guy who was associated with a motorcycle gang (remaining nameless) broke into Guy's with the idea of robbing him. After he robbed Guy, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend's friend  at gunpoint, he took them all out into the desert and shot them execution style in the back of the head. The two girls died, but Guy somehow managed to live. As the story became known, another biker named Mike (can't say), who was a very good friend of Guy's and my older Brother Gary, somehow found out who it was, and also knew he was heading to Las Vegas. He got on his motorcycle and tracked him into Vegas and made a 'citizen's arrest' with his own weapon, and took the thief and murderer into the police station. Of course, Mike (can't say) became a folk hero out around Cave Creek and what we called 'The Valley'.  I remember just staring at him when he would show up at parties. One of the saddest elements of the story is after all Guy went through losing his girlfriend that way, and still having a bullet in his head, he went back to his same occupation. Its been many years now, and I don't know what's become of any of them now, but it was a very vivid time in my young life.  The bikers that rode in Cave Creek were called 'The Dirty Dozen', but they have all assimilated into 'Hell's Angels', as Sonny Barger (the founder of the Hell's Angel's) moved there. Through my older brother Gary, I became acquainted with many of the bikers who lived and rode up and down Cave Creek Road. When I was just nineteen, I frequented the bars where they drank and sold their wares. At the time, we lived just off of Cave Creek Road near biker bars such as 'Betty's Swingin' Door Saloon', 'The Desert Star', 'The Cheyenne Saloon', 'Ruby's', 'The Ole Corral', and (believe it or not) 'The Wagon Yard Steakhouse' where you could always find some rough customers. Back then, bikers mixed with the cowboys and rednecks, and they all knew each other. I can tell you this, shots were fired in everyone of these bars. I can remember being in there at quarter to one, and feeling the danger. I loved being in those places, maybe its why my plays are filled with dangerous characters. I didn't know it until later that we lived in a part of the city where probably most of the guns where. I remember the night that Paul (you know the drill) was shot six times in 'Betty's Swingin' Door Saloon', but that's another story. (I will tell you that he lived!)  Anyway, these stories made good conversations in regard to the television show, 'Sons of Anarchy'.  I saw those guys every night for quite a few years. I can remember seeing and being part of this crowd and thinking later on, no one is going to believe this, I was a true 'fly on the wall', and found myself in some truly dangerous situations. To spare my mother a scare, I'll save the ones I was directly involved with for the book. In Los Angeles it seems, everyone has a story, and everyone is creating one, and pitching one, and trying to live one. I'm realizing just how many stories I really have. I didn't seem to have a brake in my 'life car', so I gathered up quite a few as I sped down the highway. 

Its raining in L.A. tonight, and I woke up a little overwhelmed and depressed this morning, but as the day became fuller and I went down to the theatre, I feel much better. Saturday night, I rewrote the monologue 'to my mother', although I tried to find the beauty of the speech, it took me into territory that affected me for a day or so. I had to go way back into childhood, connecting my mother and father, which can always be a little unsettling. Again, when you go back, you can't rely on the memory, you have to make it relevant for the present. Tonight, I will go back to it and re-write what became of it after forty-eight hours. While I was at the theatre today, I took my guitar in to the theatre (where the plays will be) and played a few songs and monologues. It feels good to be on a stage. It feels good to be doing the impossible. It feels good to risk it all once again on a sack full of money and a play...

Unsinkable and Unforgettable

I finally made a deal with David Fofi of Elephant Theatre. We have a theatre! Rehearsals begin after the New Year, the shows will run Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night, opening on a Friday night, February 20th, 2009. 'Blue Baby, A Memoir', will run Thursdays and Saturdays, 'Bohemian Cowboy' will run Fridays and Sundays. Shows will close on March 21st. Show times will be at 8:00p. I will continue to post the information in the event that you would like to come over to Los Angeles to see one or both of the shows. The Elephant Theatre is at 6322 Santa Monica Blvd. Hollywood, CA. As soon as I set up the box office, I will give out the number for tickets. Its on! 

Tuesday, Kurt (the director for 'Bohemian Cowboy') Brungardt, flies in from NYC, to spend three days on the script and to look at the theatre. The pressure is on to get through a certain amount of the rewriting in the next three days. I'll sequester here with some coffee, some bagels, and a sack of russet potatoes (just kidding on the potatoes). Its really cool to be able to just focus just on the project, and particularly, a new play. 

Today, I was driving to my Saturday meeting in Hollywood, and I got that rush of fear that goes with the future thoughts of standing on stage having to know fifty single spaced pages of dialogue. Yesterday, as I was walking and memorizing, I once again was having difficulty with the opening Shakespeare monologue, luckily, its not to long. I remember so many plays, standing in the wings waiting to go on and thinking, "now what's my first line?" It always reminds me of  the movie, 'The Dresser', with Albert Finney, playing, 'Sir', the Artistic Director of a Shakespearean Theatre Co. during World War II in England. In my early years teaching, I used to show this movie to my students, my palms would sweat during the whole movie, as 'Sir', was slowly going insane. His 'dresser' played by Tom Courtney, would have to remind him what play he was doing, right before he would go on. I would sweat because in the movie,  he is playing 'King Lear', one of the most difficult roles in the English language. I would be thinking, "Oh my God! Don't let him go out there!" If you haven't seen this movie, rent it and get a cold rag to wipe your face, and watch 'Sir' insanely go through 'King Lear'. Every time I watched it, I would come away shaken, until finally I put it away, still, I can just think about it and get sweaty palms. Talk about an actor's nightmare. 

My most horrifying experience as an actor had to be playing 'Leadville Johnny Brown' in the musical, 'The Unsinkable Molly Brown'. After not doing theatre for several years, I came home from the National Gymnastics Championships in Kansas City, (I had several gymnasts in the meet) and decided I'd go back to the theatre, and not only act again, but become a playwright. When I told my wife at the time, she said, "You're going to do WHAT?!" "Become a playwright," I said. Without getting into details, I was soon divorced, jobless, living on my brother's couch and driving an old chevy vega that didn't have a driver's side window. I had done pretty well as a gymnastics coach, and after the National Championships, my star was on the rise. I had a nice condo, two new cars, I had two really cool wind surfing boards, a little extra cash, and had even started an art collection. In less than three months time, all that was over, and all I had was the hostility of just about everyone I knew at the time, (except my Mother, she understood, thanks Mom!) . I can remember laying on the couch thinking, "My God, what have I done?" The next day, I read about an audition in the paper,  a man named David Wo was starting a new theatre company. The first play would be, 'The Unsinkable Molly Brown". Well, I'd never done a musical, but I sing a little bit, "how hard can that be?" I'll tell ya', REALLY F______ING hard! I sang a song, 'He', for my audition, and lying MAO about my musical back round, I got the part. I thought, "Now what am I going to do?" I had no real support from anyone, (except Mom), couldn't read music, and didn't know that 'The Unsinkable Molly Brown' was one of the most difficult librettos (music score and lyrics) in the entire canon of Roger's and Hammerstein's storied careers. The director gave me a tape of Harve Presnell singing the songs, and I went to work, imitating him exactly. During rehearsals, it became clear to me that not only was the director not my friend, but I was always about two beats off the rhythm. That wasn't all. He did not want a Harve Presnell impersonation, he wanted me to really be a musical theatre actor/singer. I could go into stories of being completely humiliated by the director in front of everyone, but I won't, (maybe in the book). Same story as doing Shakespeare, I had to sequester and sing each song a thousand times. Because I had never learned to count rhythm, (I since have) I had to memorize the rhythm of the song, which did me no good if things got off. I was gearing up for a disaster. I worked even harder. I did twenty nine shows of 'The Unsinkable Molly Brown', and each show but one, had its little disaster. I don't know how I got relatively okay reviews, maybe because the music was so freaking me out the acting was easy. There are two disasters that are most memorable. The first, (thank god it happened in a preview) was starting a song in the wrong key, (higher) which would have been okay except in the middle of the song there is a key change, (higher) by the time I got to the end of the song, I was singing in a falsetto voice that would have hurt the ears of Neil Young.(Use your imagination as to how that sounded, and you would be correct.) However, that was not the worst. In another part of the show, I had to come out in front of the audience and sing a refrain. "Hear yourself laugh, and you'll laugh a lot more. Gives a man confidence to holler in the mountains!" (I can still remember this song after all these years). When I came out, my mind went blank. There were no actors to save me, just I and the audience. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I sang in a foreign language. Except I did not know a foreign language, and perhaps, it was the only time in theatre history that gibberish was sung in that refrain. But ya' know, as much heat and humiliation as I caught from that, I still think fifty percent of the audience where fooled, rather, they were astounded! I am proud, however, of that one show out of twenty-nine that I didn't make a mistake. Oh, there were lots of little bobbles, and well, I didn't die. That was my initial experience getting back on the stage. I learned a valuable lesson. Musical theatre is really hard! Oh, yea, and you should have some training. I've always seemed to 'train by fire'. I would love to do another musical today.

 I just wrote my first 'full length' musical last year, which was produced at Metro Arts called 'Dreaming in Color'. There was a perfect 'full circle' finish to that project, only because most people don't know what I went through for years to learn how to construct and write a musical. I noticed that some of my students had similar experiences executing the play, but that is one way of learning the craft. I was proud of the experience. Proud of the songs I wrote, and proud of those who were part of that production. Sometimes, it is years before one begins to understand what happened and what was learned in a production. Sometimes, in 'flight or fight' situations, something very primal has to take over to get you through. Can gorillas sing? Yes, they can! 

Lastly, I think in life, we do have to 'do what scares us' to optimize experience. I mean, it is frightening enough to be human and live in an uncertain world, but, still, it is the obstacles we overcome that 'flesh out' our characters. For me, it doesn't matter how many stage experiences I've had on stage as an actor, director, designer, or playwright, each one has its own horrifying element. The experiences teach us that yes, we can overcome the obstacles because we have a history of it, however, the challenging nature of 'putting ourselves out there' is always a new experience it seems. I'm still hungry to scare myself, I guess. Still looking for the new challenge. Still looking for a thrill, a performance,  another experience before I leave this earth... 

Shakespeare, Killers, and the Destruction of History

I'm tired tonight, but need to keep writing--keep sending the words, feelings, and thoughts out to the world. I spent the day interviewing directors, looking at the theatre space again, and feeling the wonderment of a city with so many creative people. People that actually read scripts and respond to them... that's new.  Two years ago, I wrote about fifty query letters and sent scripts all over the country. Most of the responses (if I got one) were fairly close to illiterate, which was odd because sending out play scripts you would think there would be people that actually read them. I never got the feeling that anyone was reading anything. Here, every single person I've sent the script to has immediately read it and responded. Further, the responses have been amazing. The first director I interviewed today knew the play in some ways better than I did (and I wrote it) full of ideas for how the set looked, the casting, all of it. He got it. That felt really, really good. 

When I walked back into the Elephant Theatre today, I got that connected feeling that I always get walking into a theatre that has a life--I will never understand how the leadership at Metro Arts could tear down the theatre where I worked and built for so many years. Why would you tear a storied history right out of your school?  That was a theatre that was built by high school students for high school students. In retrospect, I really must have missed something that was occurring without me knowing, They needed to bring discipline to a creative force that was out of control, make it like everything else. I will never understand the reasoning behind that one. Then again, I may never understand, I have to let it go and move on with my life. However, sometimes late in the night when I think of the ignorance that went with that decision, I have to get up and pace until I calm down.  I was listening to some commentator early this morning on the news, asking if anyone thought that President Bush had any remote idea that he would come into office and in eight years systematically destroy six decades of diplomacy, turn the economy into an unfathomable mess, let corruption run amok,  and turn America into a real capitalist regime, besides allow corporations to raid the coffers of America. I think he (Bush) believes he did a good job. Critics are saying that it usually takes fifty years to judge a president, except with Bush, it took five minutes. I think there are people who have no idea of the destruction they cause, just because they can, or because of jealousy, or ignorance.  With Bush as a leader, I think the whole world can begin to understand though, how an entire society can make a mistake in selecting leadership. How did we get fooled so completely? It isn't any different on down the line. There are thousands upon thousands of little worlds that find themselves mired down with poor leadership. At Metro, five years in that space (five in the other) establishing a history that was tore out in a weekend. It will never, ever be the same place. Get that paycheck as high as she will go, and don't let something to good, be 'to' good. I'm sure the 'leadership' could explain all of the reasons to me--I'm sure each decision made would have some justification, some rationalization, some philosophical insight that Raymond, "the drama teacher" wouldn't understand. I wasn't just a "drama teacher" folks, I was a leader. When you walk into watch a show now, try and remember what you used to watch. Try to remember what was magic, and how magic galvanized an audience and a community. That is what you can 'take to the bank'. Metro magic died the day you tore down the theatre. Wow, I just defended my position, what a concept. Goodbye, Metro Arts, hello adventure. Goodbye, President Bush, hello Barrack! Goodbye Phoenix, hello, Los Angeles. 

I've been walking four miles everyday this week, taking my script and memorizing. I'm memorized through the first movement (six more to go), most of this material deals with my Father, and so there is much emotion in getting all those words committed to memory. Acting and memorizing really does 'do' something to your psyche that is profound. It isn't like memorizing for a test, the words, concepts, and ideas, get inside your guts. I've had people ask me, "well, you wrote it, isn't easy to memorize?" The short answer is no. Its just like memorizing anything, its repetition. However, Shakespeare is probably the most difficult to remember and memorize. Having had no real Shakespeare training, I managed to get myself cast in 'The Taming of the Shrew', and, Petruchio,  the first male lead besides. I literally had an actor's nightmare every night. I would memorize entire monologues and forget them the next day and have to do it all over again. Two weeks before the play opened, I had to literally sequester myself in my apartment and spend all day going over and over the material. Still, even with all the work, performing it was like walking through a maze. Because when you memorize, you memorize imagery and concept to go with the language.  With Shakespeare, the concepts and imagery were so foreign to me, that I had to rely on the cerebral experience, which became radically intense. It was like learning a foreign language without anybody to tell me what any of it meant. I had to semi-figure it out, and make it work. Probably a thousand hours of work there. I understood after doing that show why people who act Shakespeare have to spend years of study. It was a great lesson, but also gave me sort of an initial 'forced love' for Shakespeare. Now, what I do is take small parts from his plays and memorize, to keep familiar with the language. One of my favorite television clips of all time is when Robert Kennedy quotes 'Romeo and Juliet' to recall and honor JFK. 

And if he shall die, 

cut him into little stars,

and he shall make the face of heaven

so fine, 

that all the world will fall in love with night, 

and pay no attention to the garish sun.

Poetry, in my estimation, doesn't get better than that. 

If these words, concepts, and ideas get down inside your guts, something begins to happen that is really quite extraordinary. As the words begin to slip easier from the tongue, emotion begins to accompany them, and that's when you realize something is changing. It makes sense that actors who pursue a life of Shakespeare do so in pursuit of this knowledge and this experience, to understand and feel these great ideas. It just makes sense. I understand why someone would want to put themselves through the strains of taking on great roles, because each role will change the way they look at the world. If you were young and had the opportunity to play either Romeo or Juliet, your young mind and soul would never look upon love the same way. I have read stories about the trial and tribulations that can come at the cost of playing Lady MacBeth. 

I once played a murderer inside of a prison speaking to a psychiatrist for two hours. (I was on stage the entire time) After six weeks of playing the role, it began to play tricks with my mind. I began to dread going into the theatre, because it became so heavy. I would have to go into the theatre three hours early to get my 'tattoos', and by the time I got all of my prep work done, I felt exhausted and a little insane. Although it was a great role for me, I was glad when we came to the end. The research for the role was also grueling, because in preparation, I would put my tattoos on and find the underbelly of the city. I went to biker bars, cowboy bars, dives, anywhere I could apply the history of my character. Don't worry, I didn't murder anyone, but I did go very deep under for that role. I suppose it was worth it, but I remember being a little crazy for a month or two after. 

Its easy to understand how actors sometimes have difficulty with these transformations. That's why with this show, if I am to keep it alive with the possibility of touring, I have to have something I can live with. That will be the challenge, to make sure it has the 'lift' that it needs. To make sure it has nourishment, for me as well as the audience. On with the work. On with the preparation. On with the show... on with history. 

Waiting and Writing.

Last night I had a dream about Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady. My back was sore from sitting at my computer, so I took three advils, thus the weird dream. I was reading the part in the biography where Jack travels across the country to stay with Neal and Caroline Cassady, as he's writing and re-writing 'On the Road', and 'Visions of Cody'. I'm picking up in the book that Jack made journals that is probably the key to all the information this biographer knows and tells in the book. Its a rather sad and desperate period, (as so many of his are) as he's living in the attic of a small house with his typewriter  and a lumpy bed. Of course, when ever he is with Neal, his demons spin out of control, and the publishers are discouraging the publication of his book. 

When I went to sleep, I had a dream that they were both staying at my Aunt Renon's house, and I am very aware of the havoc they are causing, as the house is full of innocent people bottling and speaking softly to each other. Jack and Neal are both very drunk and want to talk to all the occupants of the house with 'mad talk', but oddly, everyone smiles politely as they speak their great ideas and go right on with the bottling. As it got late, I was trying to find rooms where they could sleep without disturbing the very real contrast of people/lifestyle of both parties. I kept moving them from room to room as I spouted out the history of the house and its occupants. Finally, the three of us left the house and jumped into an old truck which Neal was driving, wildly I might add, and as I yelled for him to slow down, they both laughed at me with crazy eyes. Finally the truck ran into a tree, and I was very angry at the both of them. Their are other parts of the dream, but more obscure. 

I think it must be the contrast I feel as I re-write the play, wanting to make it less disturbing for people less apt to grasp the more lucid drama of the play. The bottling folks versus the writers and artists. I suppose I'll look for the balance somewhere in between. I've never dreamed about characters I was reading about, perhaps there is a spirit here in prompt. 

This morning I got word that three directors are interested in directing 'Blue Baby', one in fact says he had a perfect vision of the play, which you would think wonderful, and it is, except now I have to meet with each one and make a decision on who it will be. I re-read the play last night and had forgotten what a 'tear it up' piece of theatre it is. It scared me just a little bit, that I wrote a play that is at once fiction and also the truth of my life. So, I'm waiting for two more phone calls, and setting up three meetings with directors, a nice problem to have. 

I've been memorizing as I walk through Silver Lake, its going well except I'm finding some redundant parts of the story, and exposition that has been left out. The writing is never done, really, I read where Tennessee Williams was re-writing 'The Night of the Iguana' when he died. I did find comfort though in believing once again that 'Blue Baby' is a finished piece of theatre. Two years and two productions to get it there, maybe the third production will be smooth. Walking and memorizing is a good combination, because when your endorphins are active, the brain retains the memory work. I read that, and I believe it works. 

I have to make a decision on the theatre today. I wrote the Artistic Director to find out about the parking. I can hire valet parking for the performances, which I will more than likely do, as I don't want people feeling frightened to walk to the theatre from a parking place far away. These are some of the issues that come up when you do a play. Who will do the box office? Who will stage manage? Do I need a stage manager? What does the press release look like? Lots to do, lots to think about, however, I've been on this horse before, I don't get as stressed as I used to. I'll take things as they come my way, but there are issues that demand that you take action. I'm in the thick of it, where I like to be. Theatre production is management and crisis management. No crisis yet, just the management. 

Elephant Stageworks

So, today is an exciting day. Marie, from Theatre Planners, set me up with a meeting with David Fofi of Elephant Stageworks Theatre Co. It was a great meeting! David is the Artistic Producing Director of the company, and we worked out a deal to house both of the plays in his small intimate theatre. Its perfect for putting up both shows. He gave me a deal on the rehearsal space and the theatre. Elephant has a large following of people, so it makes sense to do the shows there where there is somewhat of a built in audience. The rest will be up to the people that are working on the project. We worked out details, rehearsal times, show times, tech week, publicist, and a director for 'Blue Baby'. I told him to give me a day to think about it. Kurt called from NYC as soon as I was outside, (a good sign) and was able to look at the space online while we talked about it. It isn't glamorous, but it has the energy of a theatre history which I was looking for. David is an unpretentious theatre guy, and has had some of the same career path that I have had. We spoke the same language. Wow! L.A.! 

I do want to remind you that all of this occurred from going to an A.A. meeting. That's really the cool part. I'm not sure why Marie was (is) so willing to help me, but she really went to bat for me. David did tell me that I probably wouldn't have been able to work there had there not been a down turn in the economy, the booking and theatre action has slowed. So, I'll talk to everyone regarding the project and then I'll make the deal. This means I'll have to also find a cheap place in Hollywood near the theatre, which I was hoping to avoid by getting both the living space and the theatre space as one. However, this way, there is no build out costs, and not as much with the other production requirements. In the end of this, I'll probably be broke and hungry, but I'll have a show that I can take on the road. 

As for the show, I've been making great progress on the over all structure and rhythm. I've been memorizing the parts I feel are finished, and finding the re-writes as the memorization comes to a stop. Great way to work. I send the script back to Kurt every couple of days, and he gives notes and its working. Kurt is a great dramaturg, (someone who analyzes scripts) and we've done this seven or eight times before. He seems excited about coming out in January to work on the project. I called Kent earlier in the day and let him know that if I make this deal for the theatre, 'Blue Baby' will go up. We are getting the buzz going. 

I slept last night, but not the night before, so I missed yesterdays blog. I'm still trying to read blogs of the people that are commenting, but I also have to reserve my energy to work. I can't do all of it, but as things ease up again, and I feel that I'm secure with having a space, I will be able to 'do it all'. Thanks again for the support and the comments, they are life affirming. Let's do a show! 

The House on Edgewater Terrace.

Today on my walk, I made my way up to Aunt Linda's house on Edgewater Terrace. I stood in front of the house, like I did so many times before, only this time I didn't walk in (or stumble in) as I pulled myself together to avert any detection of alcohol or weed on my breathe back then.. It was exhilarating to stand  there and have the memories flood back into consciousness.

At the time, in 1975, I was in my senior year of high school, and my mother and Aunt Linda were in the throws of publishing their erotic poetry magazine, (Purr, now a rare poetry book). It was a time when walking in, I might walk past Charles Bukowski, or a number of 'the meat puppet poets of L.A.',  to my room upstairs. In 1975, Bukowski and Aunt Linda were gradually coming to the end of their five year relationship, so there was constantly tension in the house, fueled with copious amounts of alcohol as well as other substances less apparent. Some of my more aware friends at school, (including my theatre teacher) seemed overly interested in me living in a house that was so often occupied by the 'now becoming more well known' poet of Bukowski. I was mostly oblivious,  as my self interested  encompassed  my own teenage exploits, which included playing Elwood P. Dowd in the play 'Harvey', trying to learn to surf, smoking lots of pot, and playing my music as loud as I could. I was aware that the house was full of people typing and discussing, but mostly things that I wasn't interested in. Bukowski affectionally called me, 'kid', but I noticed he also called anyone 'kid' who was under twenty-five. My observation of Bukowski at the time was of someone who was funny when he wasn't drinking, and mean and belligerent when he was. Like lots of alcoholic writers, he was not drunk all the time, in fact, there seemed to be periods he went through like all drinkers go through, an episode, a drama, followed by several days of being contrite and 'good'. I was not immune to the drama. 

One evening, My Mother,  Baby Dan, Aunt Linda, Bukowski, and I, all went to some sort of literary party somewhere near the beach. At the party, I quickly found the alcohol and a way to sneak it, as Bukowski drank it out in the open. I remember lying to a group of kids there, "telling them I was just about to work on 'The Brady Bunch' as an actor. I don't know why I did, I guess because I wanted to make an impression as I was perceiving everyone in L.A. had to do.

On the way home, I was sitting in the front seat of the car as my mother was driving. She seemed rather distressed as it was evident that I was drunk, and of course Bukowski was in full 'fighting' mode. Suddenly, Bukowski reached forward and grabbed onto my rather long hair and started pulling. Now, you must understand, I was no stranger to holding my own in a fight, especially when I was drunk. Although most of my fights were with kids my own age, I was unfortunately, fearless when I was drunk. 

As we started to tussle in the car, Bukowski yelled out, "I'll take ya', kid!"  

Although he had the advantage of having his hand firmly ahold of my hair, I was not going to go without a fight. 

So, I yelled back, 

"Your nothing but an old man! I could kick your ass all over the street!" 

"Stop this car!" he yelled to my mother who was now in a state of panic. 

"I'll take ya' kid!" he kept yelling. 

As the fight continued to escalate, my mother pulled over to the side of The Golden State Freeway, either to let us fight or to keep the car from wrecking. This was where my Aunt Linda took over. I firmly believe that had she not grown up with my Grandfather, who was also a fighting and mean drunk, she may not have stayed with him so long, and certainly would not have known how to handle the situation. I think, however, none of us were rookies at handling drunks, in many ways, Bukowski had met his match. All of us in that car, had lots of living experience. Even at my young age, I had seen a lot, as had my mother and Aunt Linda. Even Baby Dan, (my younger brother) was just starting to get his. (I remind him sometimes that he was in the car that night, a strange degree of separation). Aunt Linda and my mother expertly handled the two drunks in the car trying to get out on the freeway and fight. When Aunt Linda had reached her boiling point, she was no one to contend with. She soon was able to pull Bukowski's hand apart from my hair, as I got out of the car to fight. To my best recollection, Bukowski opened the door but never got out of the car. 

"Raymond," my mother said, "get back in this car !" 

Soon we were traveling home again, but it was still a tense situation, and I remember thinking I may have to fight this man when we get home. Soon, all was forgotten, and then Bukowski observed that no one would win if he and I fought. "If he won the fight, he said, he would be 'kicking the ass' of 'a kid'", and if I won, "I'd be 'kicking the ass' of an old man." I was relieved that his temper had seemed to turn. We got home without further incident. 

After that, Bukowski seemed eager to 'make it up' to me. He took me to the fights at the Olympic, where I had never seen anything like it. No wonder he liked to fight! The under card fights were the bloodiest battles I've ever seen. We were close enough to watch the blood fly from the fighters mouths, noses, and ears. He took me to the race track once, just the two of us, where he tried to teach me 'his system'. Our near battle seemed to bond us, and he was eager and gracious when he came to see me act in the play, 'Harvey'. For a short while in my senior year of high school, Bukowski attempted to be at least, some kind of role model. I do think he could see I was a 'wild child', and I think in retrospect, he related to that. I've never completely written down the story as I have now, perhaps its a good thing that I do. 

There were other stories and parties from 'The House On Edgewater Terrace' but that one seems to be the most significant, for many reasons. 

I'll end with a poem of another incident that I remember. Although there is some rancor in this poem, I don't mean any indictments to my mother and Aunt Linda, I was just, 'a kid'. 

The Great Drunken Poet

I'm standing in front 

of the house on Edgewater Terrace, 

high on speed, 

yelling at the ghost of a poet.

watching him vomit in the front yard ivy. 

The chaos is breaking out amongst

the meat puppet muses

in the house I call home--

I'm rushing towards that 

gorgeous poetic image

the whole world is waiting for. 

I walk in the house, 

past John Bennett, 

past my Aunt Linda,

past my Mother, 

past half the worthless 

drunken word shepherds in L.A. 

past the drunken actors,

past the stoned painters, 

past the posers in gauze shirts,

finally past Bukowski himself,

trying to hold court from a blackout.

He lets out a howl when he sees me, 

"Where ya' goin', kid?"

"Up to my room, Hank, where you going, NASA?"

He stares at me for a moment,

trying to determine if my statement is in fun or folly. 

I don't give him a chance, 

I'm off to my room, 

and out on the roof to smoke a joint.

The gray dome of L.A. looms above my head,

I'm in seventeen year old angst,

cursing all poets,

cursing all writers,

cursing all sons and daughters of writers.

I yell at the smog

its blocking my way to the stars,

I yell at the moon 

because it hasn't a face,

I yell at God because 

he left town 

after the earthquake of 1971.

I hear the voices of my Aunt Linda and mother,

laughing at the wit of the great drunken poet,

like shills charming up the great joke--

as the room burns up like a brush fire!

As the room burns up,

I hear the devil beckoning me to suicide--

I hear  the great emptiness of the silver lake--

the roar of all the young souls lost on rooftops.

I smoke another joint,

now I'm beginning to hallucinate,

the voices downstairs are comical now,

the poets are all Saturday morning cartoons,

I walk down to see the show.

I go to the fridge to get a beer.

The great drunken poet greets me,

as my hand reaches for the writing fuel,

He says to me, "Have a Schlitz, kid, 

just don't tell your mother I gave it to you."

I want to say, "Thank you great drunken poet, thank you

for giving me what great poets in training need!" 

But I don't,

I don't say anything, 

I laugh at the great drunken poet's wit,

like everyone else does,

ashamed of all of us.

I go up on the roof to smoke yet another joint,

suddenly, I'm sobbing.

I'm shaking, 

I'm frantically looking around me, 

I'm looking...

I'm looking for the way down from the speed,

I'm looking for the way back to God,

the way back to my lost childhood,

the way to death,

the way through the smog,

the way to my high school graduation,

the way to satisfy this great emptiness,

the way to paradise,

the way to find some courage,

the way to find some fucking courage! 

Then I'm screaming,

there is no sound in my screams 

my silent scream--

I'm screaming up

seventeen, 

I'm screaming up

youth, 

I'm screaming up

my guts and my blood,

I'm screaming up poets.

Silence.  

Sobs.  

I'm sobbing up the silent screams, 

I'm sobbing up great possibilities,

I'm sobbing up great thoughts

I'm sobbing up demons

I'm sobbing up God

until I am empty. 

I'm looking for the way out, 

I'm looking for the way in, 

I'm looking for just one fucking answer, 

I'm looking for the way,

far from great drunken poets.  

Working On The Memory.

The Play, 'Bohemian Cowboy' has seven movements. Within each movement are several, 'beats', and a song. A 'beat' is a part of a longer piece, like a paragraph in an essay. The first rule of playwrighting is keeping your audience moving from one experience to another. Each 'beat' opens with a declarative, or a 'new action', and ends with a 'transition'. If you watch or listen to a good play, you should never ever be thinking about something else. It should hold you fast. Most mistakes that playwrights make, (especially now days with shorter attention spans) is holding onto a thought or idea for to long.

Today, at the coffee shop, I started breaking down the play. Within each of the different movements, I've also been experiencing with different writing tense.  "I remember.... blah, blah... is the kiss of death." Still, many plays are 'memory' plays as is this one. The trick is to figure out how the memory is effecting you 'right now'. I miss being able to go into the class room and explain these techniques as I discover them. Most of what I'm discovering now has more to do with the 'elements of style'.  It was exciting 'breaking the play down', which is what actors do when they go to work on the memorization. I'm discovering that through this process I can actually discover where the re-writes are. If there are 150 beats in a play, (average for me) that means there are 150 scenes to play out the story. That means there are 150 declarative statements, and 150 transitions. Our minds are constantly in states of thought and transition. The trick is to know the exact point when the audience will leave the story. If its one statement to long, it has to be cut. I've also noticed that with certain people, (in real life)  the transitions are accompanied with actions. A physical body in motion is the best kind of transition. With this play, however,  the actions have more subtlety. The action is within the body in a stationary position, rather than the body in constant motion. I love playwriting. Its blood, its marrow from the bones, its life. 

Today was an exciting day. I went to my meeting, the speaker was one of the staff writers from the television show 'Weeds'. She talked about how her success and addiction took her to the heights of Hollywood, and then came crashing down. In sobriety, she took a menial job and survived. Now she is at the top of her game again. It is a wonderful meeting. The first half the meeting is one of the artists/alcoholic/addict  (the meeting is called 'Artists in Sobriety') telling their story, (what it was like/what happened/what its like now), and then the second half is a question and answer period where the artists answers questions from the floor about art and addiction... fascinating! I also met an actress who was very interested in reading the play and possibly auditioning for the part. A good day. I came home from the meeting elated, and charted my course for my walk. I walked for an hour, near the big silver lake, (I'm living in Silver Lake!), as I was walking back, I came upon Edgewater Terrace. I looked up the street and there was Aunt Linda's old house. I'm less than a half a mile! All very deja vu. So, the walking has commenced. I also wanted to comment that after taking Kent's yoga class yesterday, I slept more soundly and deeply than I have in months! When I got home last night, rather, when I laid down to sleep, my body was free of tension! I have taken yoga before, but this seemed a very direct message that this is what my body needs... 

Lastly, the energy is good right now, and I'm keeping my eyes, ears, and heart open every day to find the sychronicity of the people who I will find myself yolked to for this project. The Gods are being good right now, very good. 

The Physical Process.

This afternoon, I rode the thirty miles north to Westlake for my first Yoga class in quite awhile. My friend, Kent is an excellent instructor, and the class was liberating. I have to push myself to keep up my physical being, lest I drop into depression. This was a great revelation to me given to me by Tom Jerome, the best physical therapist in the country. Tom changed my whole thinking about pain management and depression, which often go together. He very gradually got me used to the idea of long walks down the country roads of Boulder, which I consistently pursued for several months. Little by little, my depression started to lift,  and the routine felt really good. The hardest thing about being 'on the road' is that when your environment changes, the routine gets completely 'out of whack'.  I'll have to work especially hard to maintain my regime, with each new place I go there are a whole new set of parameters. Tomorrow, now that I've been here in Silver Lake about ten days, I'll chart my walking course and get to work. The Yoga class felt so good on my body, and several times, I thought I was going to break into tears. I've had that happen before with Yoga. I think our bodies carry so much emotion in our physical beings, and as we get older, the body manifests pain so much differently. I can tell you, however, it was not an unpleasant experience, in fact, I thought, well, I still have access to my emotional self--this was good to find out, I'll need each feeling, and I'll need to be able to distinguish between each one. Lately, I haven't been carrying the pain so much in my hip, (thanks to Tom), its more a general feeling that I'm carrying some pain throughout my body, arms, legs, and especially in my neck and shoulders. I'll need some physical endurance when I go into rehearsals. 

We have made a decision that Kurt will only direct the one play, 'Bohemian Cowboy', and so I've been on a director search for the other one. I know doing two plays seems like a lot to bite off, but with the second play comes the people energy that the whole project needs. I need the 'company' that a play like 'Blue Baby' can bring into the theatre. The woman, Marie, that I met last week as become invaluable, as she took my script and immediately send it out to some directors here in L.A.. She is also looking for space for me as well. I'm a little surprised at how willing she is to do these things for me, but I sense that she knows what its like to come to Los Angeles with the notion of doing a play. For several hours yesterday, I thought that I might cancel the 'Blue Baby' play, but Kent seems to want to bring energy to it, and I have it into the hands of another actor for his audition. For now, I'll keep both plays alive, and see where we are around Christmas time. Then I'll make the call.  When I was in my thirties and running my own company, I tried to put up every project, even if it meant pushing the 'forces of nature'. Over the years, I've learned to have a little more wisdom when it comes to deciding whether something is possible or not. There is always a point in time when the decision 'clicks', and then the show moves forward no matter the obstacles. But to get to the 'clicking' place, takes some time. For now, it stays. 

I'm having some trouble sleeping, which I know the exercise will also help, but some of it is just all of the adjustments--insomnia becomes an increasingly dangerous condition. I'm using all of my old tricks. My favorite trick is reciting Robert Frost poems in my head, and of course reading. The problem with reading becomes the excitement of the book. I can't read the Kerouac book at night anymore, as it keeps me racing. I have a book, 'Shakespeare's World' by Bill Bryson which is a more factual book, and less emotional. I've been trying to read that at night. I've also started memorizing the lines of the play, which is somehow very comforting. Its a mixed bag, this getting to sleep, I'll let you know how that goes. 

I wanted to comment on 'the comments' I've been receiving on the journaling of this event. Just short of miraculous, these comments. The support I feel from readers is overwhelming, and I so appreciate the things you are saying to me, the experiences you are sharing with me. They are touching and so informative. I want you to know that I am listening to you all, and I will gradually be able to reciprocate the action. I have my hands so full of re-writing and doing all the pre-production for the play, (lots of e-mailing and sending documents),  I find myself having to conserve energy. So, please be patient with me, and thanks again. 

I went out yesterday and bought a printer, as the one Cheryl donated to me fell to me not removing the cartridge when I travelled, the ink destroyed it, (sorry Cheryl). One of the biggest issues with L.A. is just getting out in traffic and getting things done. Driving here takes up lots of energy and time. I am, however, getting used to it as the days move ahead, and thank god the price of gasoline has gone down. My printer is set up and working for manuscripts, and that feels good. Another part of this process includes sending Kurt (in New York) the changes I'm making on the script. Last night, I read (out loud) the entire manuscript so I could hear the changes and the rhythm. I am excited about this play! I'm learning to be much more patient as a writer, and rely and trust in the drama of the story. It feels good to be learning these things as I find more of the infrastructure of the play. Its going to work! Now, all I have to do is get my body, spirit and mind working to deliver the goods. I hope you are planning on coming...

Lastly, I want to tell you about Michael. Michael was and is a student of mine in the early days of Metro Arts. Michael was a truly wonderful spirit, but we both knew there was trouble ahead if he didn't get control of his demons. Recently, Michael has been sentenced to two years 'hard time' in the Arizona Prison system, and I know that even with all the bravado he can call upon, it has to be a frightening place he finds himself in. I have his address, but it has changed, I'll post his next address as it comes to me if you feel like writing this 24 year old man a letter. Michael played the great role of 'Dracula' in 'The Essential Dracula' that my brother Dan and I wrote several years ago. He was probably too dedicated to his role, but he played it masterfully. Michael did several plays for me at Metro Arts and after, and was always a great joy to be around. To compound the sorrow, his baby daughter, Olivia, was born several months ago. I told Michael then as I have told him recently, he possesses a rare talent, if he can find a way to keep his demons from devouring him. The prison sentence begins, a new and difficult learning curve. Pray for Michael. 

The Creative Process, Part Two, On The Road

I finally hit a wall last night with the writing--I think for so long I had to write as fast and furious as I could in between teaching and surviving, old habits die hard. I tend to write on tremendous binges, (what a surprise) and then crash for a couple of days. I have to work out this routine. I think I work that way because of the tremendous energy it takes to get to that place of channeling the writing, but like all things in my life, I have to learn a new way of pacing myself. For so many years I had the energy to push and push and push--I'm finding now when I do, my body begins to fill up with pain. Exhausted and still getting over the cold, I still could not sleep. Most of the night I read from 'Memory Babe', Jack Kerouac's  biography, and fortunately and unfortunately I reached the part where he is traveling around with Neal Cassady and Lu Ann, along with a cavalcade of other characters. I don't know how this biographer got this information, if its all true it is stunning information. So, the material for 'On the Road' is being experienced and gathered, and so I read through the night. I think right now because I'm in a position to 'just write', I've become increasingly aware again, of the way certain writers work. Kerouac and crew seemed to have this exhaustive energy, and of course there is the energy of 'being on the road', where no one can find you and the adventure is high. The writer who wrote this is very good at keeping the same energy in writing about it. And of course, with my own road trips past and present, I found myself sitting up in the bed, and then pacing around the room when something would happen. Its so interesting to read about these tremendous highs and (of course lows) along with the development of the philosophy that became 'the beat generation'. Of course, all of these travels are fueled with copious amounts of alcohol, weed, and other substances, and the writer really gets the feeling of this impairment. 

I once travelled from here to NYC to do a play with my friend, Kent, and we took the Southern Route. We drank our way across America, believing we could understand each city and its culture by spending the evening in the roughest places we could find. We had a high time of it, taking off the next morning with hangovers and assessments. We came close to getting 'our asses kicked' in Little Rock, ARK., and stayed around Nashville for three days, trying to convince a dancer we met there that she needed to come to NYC with us and do a play. We came close to convincing her,  but in the end, we lost track of her, but I still carry that number in my wallet as a memory. Richmond, Virginia was one of the strangest places, but after several beers  and whiskeys, we made friends. By the time we drove across the Washington Bridge to the city, we were spent. 

Thus began the new adventure with the play. As we gained energy from rehearsals, we found solace in 'The Coyote Saloon', (before it was famous) the most raucous honky tonk bar in the east. The smell of whiskey permeated the air as we walked in, sometimes in the morning. We drank in Irish pubs and made friends with Irishmen of dubious character, rode the trains up and down the coast with whiskey in our pockets. After three months, the play was over, we were all dead broke and drunk, and then the sky began to fall. When I left NYC, I had a plane ticket to Phoenix, two dollars for the bus and a couple swallows of whiskey. As pieces of the sky began to land on our heads, (and all of us going in different directions) there was a price to pay. I drank for three more months, (the only time in my drinking career I drank daily) mostly with a Croation man next door who once belonged to the secret service there. We talked fishing, fire arms, and vodka, and soon my girlfriend threw me out. I went to an A.A meeting the next day, homeless, and stayed sober for almost seven years.  The terrible thing about a connection to alcohol is that I missed it everyday, but my life begin to re-build itself. I rarely spoke at meetings, because I knew no one would believe my story, which I will have to write about in detail someday. Even though I think there has always been these kind of 'road scholars', I think 'On The Road' did mobilize a lot of young people pre-sixties. It was published in 1957, and did take awhile to catch on, but when it did, it did lots of justifying. I think though, that's the beauty of it, Kerouac, I think, in some part was saying, "get out there and have yourself some adventure, find out what life is all about."  I always felt bad that he couldn't find a power to save himself from such a young alcoholic death. He did move a generation. 

I'm so grateful that I found teaching as a tool to keep me sober and somewhat stable, and I hope all of those students, (some of who might read this) understand how grateful I am for that period of my life, and let's face it, teaching high school students is an adventure all of its own. There is a monologue in the play that I need to re-work some, that is a direct speech to all the wild boys and girls I ran with for so long, urging them to pick up the duffle bag and go on one last 'runner'. As I'm making this proclamation, none of them can look at me. So many did not find any kind of stable environment, many are dead, and many are just plain tired. I find in speaking to this metaphor of people, a sense of liberation in finding the need to talk about what we did and where we travelled. Of course, most were not writers, and most failed in the action of communicating what they were going through at the time, or for that matter, later in life. That is why its so embarrassing for most of them, they never got to talk about it like I did. Quote from the play: "George Bernard Shaw said, "Youth is wasted on the young.." Mason Lyman, (a friend of those days) said, "We're young, let's get wasted..." And that is exactly what we did. I'm not proud of those we hurt in our travels, but I am proud of the fearlessness we attempted. We rode bulls, drove our cars from Idaho to Mexico at a hundred miles an hour. We wrecked cars, fought whoever didn't see it our way, and learned what the inside of a jail looked like. I have to find a way of conveying this speech so it isn't over romanticized, because the price was so great. There are other ways of finding 'meaning in life', still, I'm grateful I lived through it and can now, write about it. The students that remember these, 'on the road' stories in class I hope remember me for giving my life experience temperance, and I hope I was a half-assed role model, even though the stripes in the character are never thoroughly removed. Now that I am not teaching, I feel more of a freedom to talk about some of these things, and perhaps in doing so can live to have, 'another adventure'. 

And to Kerouac and his generation, they were the precursor to what became and continued in the sixties and seventies, and if you were looking for adventure, it was in full bloom. Kerouac did say one thing in the book that struck me if its true, "The only thing in life for me is to love God and write about it..." I thought that in his own way, he tried to do this, but alcohol always has a way of railroading any allusions of doing the work of a saint. The jury is out on that one...

Time to take a shower and go out into the city, another adventure, another something to see.