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For the love of new work

I was once asked in an interview what new work meant to me and I blurted out "terrifying adventure."

I also compared it to starting to date someone which is just...such a poor excuse for a metaphor.  I mean, that could be applicable if you were dating a really interesting monster who redrafted everything they said and was charming and alarming and totally off on their cues.  And lost...in a good way.

But terrifying adventure...

Theater should be a terrifying adventure, all theater worth making that is.  It's all about exposing and offering and you have to step out on a limb.  I often use the term "go broke or go home" with my students but I think that is what theater should be.  It is big in heart, loaded with guts, and new work is even more intense cause it is taking a jump without knowing where you will land.  

Jumping on the left (aka acting in a new work) in foolsFURY's "Port Out Starboard Home"

And this month is jammed pack with so much jumping.

It is the eve of the first preview for foolsFURY's world premiere of Port Out Starboard Home and while I am practicing dances and reviewing my script, I am waiting to Skype a meeting with the director of Don't Weep for Me Willow Tree, my new one act set to perform in NYC as part of Communal Spaces at the end of the month.

There is just so much new work, so much biting of the legs of your costars and writing into the wee hours of the night...ah the terror.  I need more coffee.

And speaking of biting legs, if you are in the Bay Area, don't miss POSH at ZSpace!  The show has already been getting some nice press  (here and here and here ).  And for you NYC theater people, you can see it at LaMama in November.

Now excuse me, I have a meeting and then must practice some tap dancing.

Why I am living in yoga pants

Behold the glory

The title of this blog should really read, "Why I am beyond stoked to be living in yoga pants and not stressed that I am not dressing corporate enough."

So yes, I am in San Francisco busy with rehearsals and me and my yoga pants are reunited best friends.  (Feels like grad school all over again.)  And not only am I relieved to be living in yoga pants but I love what I am doing in my pants.  (Double win.)

I am rehearsing for this:

To find out more visit foolsFURY's website and like the show on Facebook.  

Nighttime is the right time

Nighttime is the right time to figure out how to tell stories.   To stare at the structure of a play and overthink form.   To stress that things are too literal or too magical or not important enough.

Nighttime is the right time to figure out what exactly I am reacting to.  What issues are sticking to my bones and what research needs to be done.

Nighttime is for anticipatory silence, for the stars, for caffeinated drinks, for headphones, for a dangerous peace.

Nighttime is when you don't know what to write anymore, when you stare at your play and think it's not timely enough, that this is not the story we need to hear right now.  And yet you can't define what story needs to be told cause there are a billion things that need to be said and that makes you stop in your tracks.

Nighttime is the time I find my voice.  It silently bounces off the bedroom walls, slams into computer keys, and fills up docs with underlined misspellings.

And owning the night, giving a space for it, that is the hard thing.  And tonight wasn't so bad.

Thinking about characters..strong lady characters

All my plays right now have one focus:  Bad Ass Women

Women who want more than love of men.  Women with objectives that go beyond their heart, that are about survival, that lead them to fight epic fights.  

I am in rehearsals right now for the upcoming production of Port Out Starboard Home by foolsFURY, and whenever I am acting it leads to me to think that much more about the plays I am writing.  It leads me to look at my characters and think, "Would I want to play you?  Would you be worth coming into rehearsal every day?"  I suppose I want my plays to feel like Thanksgiving meals-for both actors and designers.  I want mouths to water, guts to be filled, and satisfaction so deep that a vacation is needed.  

And I want those stories to be about bad ass women.  Cause that is what I want to play (even though I never want to act in my own plays) and right now it's what I want to see.  I want women who make me want to jump out of my seat, in either horror or glee, because they are fighting.

And speaking of bad ass women, I have just discovered Wanda Jackson.  Why it has taken me so long to discover her, I don't know.  It feels like a crime.  

3,720 miles in 6 days and the sky is amazing

Michael with the most
not normal person he knows

Michael said 3,720 miles in 6 days is "disgusting."   I think 3,720 miles in 6 days gives me street cred.

We learned many things on this trip.  Michael now knows what the inside of a South Dakota cop car looks like and therefore hates South Dakota with a fire of a thousand suns.  (That is not a hyperbole.)

I learned that in Minnesota, I am an "unknown" ethnic.  I actually like South Dakota with it's Great Plains, Black Hills, and I want to marry Wyoming.  I also learned that when going across the country, it is good to brush up on your US History so you can fully understand what you are seeing.

At home, in California

I also learned that somehow over the last two years, I have become a certifiable New Yorker.  For the first time, I introduced myself as a "New Yorker" and I found two things that constantly amazed me on this trip:  the size of bathrooms in public places and the size of the sky.

Bathrooms in this country are huge.  You can fit more than two people in them.  You don't have to push your way in, slam into something as you try to squeeze through the door.  There were bathrooms in restaurants bigger than my bedroom and that is just...such an excess of space.  I remember going to a restroom in South Dakota and stopping to marvel at the square footage.   I found no bathroom that had microscopic stalls, layered tagging, tiny sinks, or themed designs.  There were simply organized extravagant bathroom facilities.  My mind was blown.

Wyoming

And then there is the sky.  You see the sky in Wyoming and you suddenly understand country music.  There isn't a town for hours, there isn't a car for miles, all you have is the great big blue and it consumes you.   For the first time in months I could feel myself relax.

In New York, everything exists in inches and seconds.  How can I put more books in my small bedroom, how can I fit more clothes in my tiny closet, how many people can sardine their way into a rush hour 5 train, how much closer is that guy's backpack going to get to my face, how loud do those headphones have to be, how long do I have to "continue to be patient" as the subway stalls at Fulton and all I need to get to is Wall Street!

Grand Tetons

And then you get to see mountains at Big Horn and skyscrapers are no longer marvels.  The awe inspiring chaos of navigating up Broadway to get the 7 at Times Square doesn't hold a candle to the expansiveness of the plains.   Seems like a pointless revelation but New York City is all time and no space and that makes you forget.

So when you see a road sign that says your destination is 267 miles away and all you have is a full tank of gas and box of unsalted cashews, all you can do is take in the scenery.  And every subway delay that put you on the verge of a psychotic anger fueled meltdown is instantly made ridiculous.

Empire State Building

But despite New York's hustle and bustle, New York is also about people.  I get to meet amazing people from everywhere you can imagine and I have never felt more comfortable going through cities no matter how barren or manicured their main streets are.  Seeing the country means understanding the country and for me it means I get to put places with faces and I am a lucky gal to live in such a melting pot city.

If only I could get more sky.

Day 6: I hate this song

I hate this song, every pop station in every state loves this song and has to play it every hour but I hate it.  I didn't know this song till I got in the car and this more than any Maroon 5 (Michael's favorite) or Katy Perry (don't get me started) song is the fastest way to get me to Crazy Town.

Day 6: Bend, OR to San Francisco, CA

In California

Miles traveled: 481 miles
Time spent driving: 7 1/2 hours
States passed:  Oregon, California
Tolls paid: None!
Tanks of gas: 1
Traffic violations: Zip zero zilch


Today in "take me home country roads:"

• We drive through mountain roads.
• We get gas in Weed, California.  
• Weed has shirts that say "I love Weed....California."  
• I drive my old friend the I-5 at speeds that make me once again a Californian.
• We arrive at Michael's place.
• Door to door, from sea to shining sea, we are done.

Oregon and me

Mt. Shasta, California

Day 5: Dance Party

We hit 3,000 miles somewhere near a small town in Oregon.  Shortly after, we pull off to the shoulder to switch drivers and I dance around the car to this as Michael shakes his head.

Day 5: Idaho Falls, ID to Bend, OR

Craters of the Moon, Idaho

Miles traveled: 598 miles
Time spent driving:  9 1/2 hours
States passed:  Idaho, Bend
Tolls paid: We were in the middle of nowhere
Tanks of gas: 1
Traffic violations: None  


Today in WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE:

• I-20 E is the most tedious flat middle of nowhere road we have encountered.
• We hiked over lava flows and entered lava caves at Craters of the Moon, what did you do on your Saturday?
• We failed to take decent photos in said caves. Instead we take creepy photos we can't explain.
• We kept driving on the most tedious flat middle of nowhere I-20.
• Michael hits a bird, or a bird hits us.  Either way, a bird is probably dead and Michael is now known as "Bird Killa."
• Still more driving on the most tedious road.
• We arrive in Bend, Oregon and our kitschiest motel room yet. 
• The moment we get out of the car for dinner we encounter a drum circle that includes a drum, someone dance shirtless, two people with dreads, and pot.
• When we exit our restaurant (which had amazing food) we find someone with dreads playing a wooden flute as his bike and cat on a leash stand nearby.  Way to go Oregon!

Middle of Nowhere, 1-20 Idaho

Spot the hiker on the lava field

Freaky cave photography #1

#2

And #3

And #4

Day 3: South Dakota's Most Wanted (by Michael)

In Deadwood, South Dakota
...how appropriate 

Let me just start by saying that I did not expect to spend my vacation in a South Dakota Highway Patrol car.  Let me further clarify that I never expected to be in a cop car, period.

While driving down I-90, I was driving only a couple of miles above the speed limit, probably 77 or 78 MPH, as I didn't want to repeat Angela's experience from the day before.  However, the speed limit lowered from 75 to 65 MPH and I neglected to observe the change, but continued to drive with the speed of surrounding vehicles.  Suddenly, flashing lights caught my eye in the rearview mirror and I pulled over to the side of the interstate where we were approached by Officer Badger (names may have been changed to protect he innocent).

The cop truly knew how to use his scare tactics. (Angela remembers him as being "nice," I respectively disagree.)  In his most stern voice, he requested that I step out of the vehicle.  The law-abider that I am, I quickly obliged with the officer's request, expecting that he would perform a sobriety test.  Upon exiting the vehicle, he directed me to get into the patrol car.  At this point, I was truly scared.  Shaking.  I fully expected to get arrested for speeding...and I wasn't even driving that fast.  I stepped into his vehicle where I was berated by a series of questions, such as "Where are you going?" and "Do you know what the posted speed limit is?" and "Are there any drugs in the vehicle or large amounts of cash?"

Our interaction concluded when I asked if I was going to be able to attend traffic school and he responded by handing me my Courtesy Warning.  Less then five minutes after entering his patrol car with canine unit in the backseat, South Dakota's biggest outlaw got off scott free, save for the stern reprimanding and excessive barking of said canine.

I can officially add "detained in a cop car" to my Bucket List, where it will promptly be marked off.

Day 4: Our Yellowstone song

It makes no sense, as it is not relevant to where we were.  But it is an amazing karaoke/car driving song and thus needs to get posted.

Day 4: Sheridan, WY to Idaho Falls, ID

Big Horn=awesomeness

Miles traveled: approx 500 miles
Time spent driving:  Hard to tell, we no longer driving on highways and spent the day on winding two lane roads
States passed:  Wyoming, Idaho
Tolls paid: What are tolls again? 
Tanks of gas: 2
Traffic violations: None  (where's the confetti?)


On today's epic National Park journey:

• We had our best breakfast yet in Cody, Wyoming.
• Pop music disappeared from the airwaves.  
• We drove through the amazing Big Horn National Park.
• We hiked in Yellowstone.  Yes, it was amazing. 
• As my father just mentioned on the phone, I get to scratch"see Old Faithful blow" off my life to do list.
• We drove through the Grand (amazing!) Tetons.
• Wyoming is basically amazing.  
• It has been decided that I want to live here and while Michael thinks it is the finest state we have visited, he is strictly a Bay Area guy.
• We have now traveled 2,600 miles in four days.  Michael has no verbal response to this fact, he just gives me a "look."  It is not a happy look but not a mean look either, I am not sure what it is.  Clearly he has an opinion but is not able to verbalize it...I think we are freakin' rockstars and totally deserved the beer I had at dinner.

From our hike around the geysers at Yellowstone

Cooler than Old Faithful blowing in the background

Smitten with a geyser

These Tetons are in fact Grand

Day 3: Scary song moment of the day

While leaving the bizarre eroding landscape of the Badlands, this started playing on the radio.  So jarring.

Day 3: Sioux Falls, SD to Sheridan, WY

Badlands, South Dakota

Miles traveled: 645 miles
Time spent driving:  Don't ask...lots of stops.  
States passed:  South Dakota, Wyoming
Tolls paid: None!  
Tanks of gas: 2
Traffic violations: 1 (Michael's turn this time and bonus: he saw the inside of a police car!  Details to follow.)

Things that happened on this fine Thursday:

• We went to Corn Palace.
• We realize South Dakota is a state of endlessly repeating billboards.
• I was angry at my phone for not getting any reception, therefore not allowing me to answer important questions like "Why are the Badlands called the Badlands?" and "Why are the Black Hills called the Black Hills?"
• We hiked the Badlands (which are called that cause nothing can grow there).  
• We went to Wall Drug and Michael got angry.  (Details to follow.)
• We went to Deadwood.
• We encountered crazy weather in Wyoming.  (Hello wind and rain!)
• We ate at a steak house and Michael had the biggest beer in his life.

Corn!  Palace!

Baaddddlandsss again.

South Dakota!

Day 2: My Minnesota pull over

What am I?
(out of focus in South Dakota)

It was afternoon somewhere in Minnesota.  Michael was sleeping and I was listening to the "Smurfs" episode of the "How Did This Get Made" podcast.  There was tire tread in the middle of the road, I changed lanes to avoid it and then I saw a cop behind me.  Lights going crazy.  Cue our first police interaction.

I have only been pulled over once before (which ended up in a warning) so of course I was extremely nervous.  I unbuckled my seatbelt to get my license out as the cop approached the car.  He was intense, super tan with a scar above his lip and imposing reflective aviators.  And he had a Minnesota accent.

Right away, he was upset I took off my seatbelt.  He said I was speeding (for the record, I was probably going 80 in a 65 so nothing too crazy.).  I thought a ticket was for sure but surprisingly he gave me a warning.  (Sigh of major relief.)

Later that day I looked at my Minnesota warning and found that on their form, next to weight (yes I lie) and height (I don't lie) there was a field for "ethnicity."  Of course, ethnicity is not listed on my California license...or any license that I know of.  So, racial identification options on Minnesota traffic tickets...interesting.  And how was I categorized?

Ethnicity "unknown."

Unknown!  What am I?  Who am I?  Unknown, that's who!  I mean, my name looks Spanish so that is confusing.  (Double l's baby!) And I have this dark mass of curly hair which makes me....Italian/Latina/Greek/Jewish/Middle Eastern?  I just...it is all so strange.  I entered the state of Minnesota as me and exited as this unknown ethnicity lady.  And I have to say, I am super stoked.  I am officially mysterious.  And now using cruise control everywhere I go to stay within the speed limit.

Day 2: Catch phrase of the day

After playing a selection of patriotic music, the MC for the municipal band, wearing a red polo and khakis, came up to the mic to explain that the band was not only equipped to perform band standards but could be "experimental as well."

He then explained:

We are going to play a medley of Lady Gaga songs that will rock your faces off.

Rock your faces off.

That my dear friends, is your new phrase.  Use it liberally, use it with confidence.  We plan to drop it into random conversations to waitresses, National Park staff, in the middle of hikes, everywhere

Rock your faces off.

The moment our faces got knocked off

Day 2: Chicago to Sioux Falls

Sioux Falls Fairground

Miles traveled: 598 miles
Time spent driving: 9 hours
States passed:  Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, South Dakota
Tolls paid: Not as many as yesterday..but still too many
Tanks of gas: 2
Traffic violations: 1 (I was behind the wheel, details to follow)





Today we...

• Both of us expressed an interest in finding a dairy farm in Wisconsin so we could milk a cow.  No farm was found.
• We ate at a diner called the Hearty Platter.  My pancake combo meal was $4.99.
• I freaked at the random visual/audio mashup created as we pulled out of a Minnesota gas station and "Gangsta's Paradise" starting playing on the radio.  
• I got pulled over.  Yes, details to follow.  Yes, it ends up being a good story, not funny as my "Remember that one time in Utah I cussed at a cop and blamed a romance novel for my speeding and still got off with a warning" story from my 08 road trip but this story should be bizarrely entertaining.
• We spent 4th of July at Sioux Falls' fairgrounds listening to the town's municipal band, watching a circus act and fireworks.  I wanted a snow cone but was not able to get a snow cone
• While the fireworks were short, they were right in our faces.  Like, right in our faces.  It has been decided this is the closest we have ever been to fireworks.
• I still want a snow cone.  Words cannot express how much I want a snow cone.

Yes, we were one of the first ones there

It's a bench

IN OUR FACES

Day 1: Car song of choice

Michael's favorite song (at the moment) to sing along to.

Day 1: NYC to Chicago

I-80 West, Indiana

This posting is a day late...but yesterday was busy.

Miles traveled: 798 miles
Time spent driving: 13 hours
States passed:  New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois
Tolls paid: Way too many (like the turnpike tolls for the entire states of Ohio and Indiana)
Tanks of gas: 3
Traffic violations: 0

Important things to note:

• We left Queens at 5:30am.
• Somewhere in New Jersey around 6:30am I seriously asked Michael if he knew the route Louis and Clarke took across the country.  This was met with a blank stare...and then he took out his iPhone to find out.
• Michael slept through 2/3 of Pennsylvania while I kept chanting, "How big is this state?"
• God opened up the heavens twice in Ohio leading to random sudden downpours and lightening storms.
• Half of our dried mangos were consumed.
• We made it to our hotel at 7:10pm.  We then dropped off our stuff, ran to the car, got stuck in Chicago traffic and made it to our 8pm show at Second City at 8:01pm.  Booya.
• Mexican food was had at a much too late hour.

Rain!  Ohio!

Artistic Indiana road shot

798 miles is nothing

Gimme gimme pictures: NYC

9/11 Memorial

Michael behind the lens

A First Lady you can reach out and touch (at The Strand)

In New Yoooooooooooooooork

Pre-game: Day in NYC

Today in a nutshell:

• Michael arrives at 9am after two delays on his flight
• Diner food is had
• We visit the 9/11 Memorial (and endure long lines)
• Michael learns the joys of The Strand (best bookstore ever) and Veselka (best Ukrainian food ever)
• We visit the Empire State Building (and endure long lines and an annoying/systematic set up that tries to get more and more money out of tourists)
• Michael falls asleep on the 7 train

Michael says we didn't do much today but my feet are black from walking so long (the horror of wearing sandals in the city)....and I had something else here that had cuss words in it but Michael made me edit it for content...revenge will be had.

Now we are trying to psyche ourselves up for our 4am wake up call.  Tomorrow...Chicago.

I see Brooklyn

The eagle has landed

Happy to be in humidity

On your mark, get set…Angela and Michael on a roadtrip

Road Trip 08 (Lincoln, NE)

The great open road. Miles of asphalt, road signs, trucks, and cops. You eye the gas gauge, read the road signs, and try to beat the ETA on your GPS. Its beef jerky and nuts and afternoon coffee and driver’s arm and screaming along with Queen. (“Somebody to Love” high note contests all day, every day.)


The great impending road trip of 2012 is in five days.  (Serious excitement, hence the bold effect.)  New York to Illinois, South Dakota, Montana, Wyoming, Idaho, Oregon, and California. It dreams of rodeos, space (like actual goddamn space), National Park passes, and a state by state view of the country.

My car is somewhere here (NYC)

It is a Honda Civic about to celebrate 127,000 miles. She is tuned up, washed up (for the first time in a year, god bless east coast living), ready to make her second and last journey across the country.

It is Angela, not yet a road rager despite the insane asshole audacity that is New York drivers, and it is Michael, flying in from the Bay Area. It is the history of two friends who played Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle in She Stoops to Conqur, a show that lead to the greatest theatrical “holy goddamn shit” moments of their theatrical careers. (I’m still sorry Michael.)

Five days till we hit the road, sunglasses on and cooler filled. A duo made up of soundless laughs (Michael) and ear shattering cackles (Angela).

And it is the first time in almost a year we have nothing to do but sit there, update this blog (daily, so comment and enjoy), and see some serious scenery. (And memorize my lines for my upcoming show and write some plays. But that ain’t no sweat.)

Start your engines baby.

Michael and Angela:
would rather be onstage wearing white wigs but happily bowl instead

Non-poetic distillation of the above

What: Driving cross country in six days
Who: Me, Michael, and my Honda Civic
Why: I need to get to SF to make some theater this summer and we want a vacation
When: Monday the journey begins
How: Peddle to the metal

Porn and Starbucks: a little piece of nonfiction

I presented the following piece at Big Words, Etc, a monthly literary reading series that asks writers to present work based on a chosen theme.  The theme for June's event was strangers.

 Pornographic Offerings:

 a Starbucks study

The Staring Men of Starbucks: a brief history

The men at your local Starbucks vary in variety and many present no clear danger to women, beverages, or other coffee house sensibilities.  Particular varieties of men include the newspaper holding retiree, the eyeglassed artist positioned over moleskin or laptop, the midday business man, the early morning business man, and then there are the staring men.

The staring men of Starbucks have tractor beam stares that sound off warning sirens that only women can hear.  Common qualities of staring men include a uniform of pants and nondescript shirt, they come armed with a beverage or they may be sans beverage and often have business cards they force your fingers to wrap around.

Staring men might smell of alcohol and ask if you are a good girl, if you are a bad girl, give you tips on proper Mac care, tell you they do not make “your kind” anymore and want you to meet their mothers. 

Staring men have been found at Starbucks located in Astor Place, by Astor Place, California, San Francisco, and Concord California which is near San Francisco.   They are commonly attracted to women who sit alone and occupied with laptops, books, soy lattes, and iced coffees.  If a woman looks into the eyes or answers a single question from a staring man she will become a target.

In rare cases, the staring men of Starbucks have been known to make pornographic proposals. 

Staring men of Starbucks: a study of pornographic offerings

Case #1:

Female subject is seated at a table located by a window and a prized power outlet.  Her eyes meet a staring man.  A siren sounds and he walks to her, stopping approximately four feet from her table.

You want to make a porn with me?

He stares and says:

You want to make a porn with me?

Subject responds with one or more of the following standard reactions:

#1        Go to hell.

#2        In your dreams.

#3        God no.

#4        Something far more profane than options 1, 2 and 3.

The staring man reacts to these responses by exiting.

Case #2

Same setting.  Female subject at table with power outlet.  Staring man’s beam is activated.  A siren.  He approaches her.

You want to make a porn with me?

He stares and says:

You want to make a porn with me?

Subject responds with the following completely logical illogical reactions:

#1        How do you know I’m even good at sex? [i] 

#2        You could have a disease.  When was the last time you were tested? [ii]

The staring man responds by saying

My friend is waiting at home with a camera.

Subject says

Why would you ask me to do that?

Pornographic offerings:  a firsthand testimonial

I was 21 years old, a poor undergraduate and a recovering Catholic[iii]. I was at Starbucks in Concord California working on my laptop, listening to Modest Mouse, and trying to write one of my first plays, Red Umbrellas.

I remember I had to gather change around the house to afford my iced tea.  The Starbucks was a half a mile from my first apartment that had a horrible futon that ate your ass whenever you sat down and a huge fake pot tree my mother bought in Venice Beach because the vendor convinced her it was a Japanese eggplant. [iv]  I remember I drove to Starbucks with my gas gauge on empty and I wasn’t wearing much makeup.   

Alan was my first staring Starbucks man.  He came into the place and didn’t even buy a drink.  He flirted with the hot barista at the bar and she refused to give him any.  I looked at them, he caught me looking, and he came to my table.

Alan was all disorder.  He had unsettled eyes, blonde brown hair and older than his years tanned leather skin that hung off his face.   No hot tamale ripped man wonder but ragged.

He came up to me and said

You want to make a porn with me?

I said

How do you know I’m even good at sex?  I could be horrible at it.  Are you going to ask me to audition?

He said

Make a porn with me.

I said

I could have a disease.  Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m clean?  You could have a disease.  When was the last time you were tested?

He got very serious and said

I want you to make a porn with me.

He didn’t know me, I didn’t know him, I was in awe by the audacity of the whole thing.

I stared at him and said

Why would you ask me to do that?

He looked at me and said

You got big tits.

Alan then sat down at my table and we talked for twenty minutes. 

Other girls have done it with me.  My car is in the parking lot.

Why would you ask me to do that?

I won’t pay you, but you’ll have a good time.

Why would you ask me to do that?

My friend is waiting.

Why would you ask me to do that?

You have big tits.

I know.  Why would you ask me to do that?

Eventually, Alan undressed at the table, but only partially, only shirt pulled up, his chest staring at me and a scar, a roadway from his belly button to his heart.  It was one inch thick, pink, fresh, maybe a couple years old.  I showed him my scar, it circled my left eye and was still pink, it was four years old.  I hit a steering wheel and busted open my eye, Alan’s motorcycle hit the pavement and he needed to be cracked open.

Alan told me he spent three months in a coma.  He woke up to a torso scarred and his moods scrambled.  We both knew about brain injuries but I recovered and Alan couldn’t.

His wife left him, she couldn’t handle a scrambled man.  He was hard to live with.  Said he had mood swings all the time.  He used to have money.  His wife took custody of his girl.  He used to have a lot of money.  He hadn’t talked to his daughter in a while. 

He stared at me and said.

I don’t know why I’m alive.  Why does God want me to live?

I wasn’t qualified to talk about God, especially mid afternoon at a Starbucks.

I don’t know.

I said.

I really didn’t know. 

Then I said

But I think it has to do with a little girl who would love to hear from her Dad.   Do what you can and give her a call.  

I can’t describe the face of a man who cries from rock bottom.  It’s bigger than metaphor, it bites an angry thumb at simile.  

Alan never met a playwright before, he hoped to see a play of mine one day.

He said

Who knows, maybe a character will have my name and I’ll say, ‘I met that girl at Starbucks on time.’

He said he was glad he met me, then he walked away.

Staring men:  a conclusion

Staring men are creatures of explicit attention.  However, explicit is not just sweaty torsos, grinding limbs, unwanted caresses, or slimy stares.  Explicit is also the cracking open of the self, bearing witness to a man being ripped apart, and the shocking intimacy of a moment that is instantly heavy with significance.  It is easy to identify the dangers associated with pornographic offers, those that lead to nudity and a guy holding a camera, but the dangers of pornographic conversations, the kind that lead to profane profundity, are never discussed.  And perhaps should be

Staring men at Starbucks happen.  They are a common, but not an every day, occurrence.  They lead women to butcher their napkins as they sit nervously chanting “please go away.”  Their business cards are unearthed from rarely used purses and a cringe instantly happens.  They are barked at, evil eyed, and sometimes women talk to them.   

In one rare instance, a staring man was written into a play and the character he inspired walked onstage thirty eight minutes into an opening night performance.[v]

The role was small and involved the following:

The Man Who Says His Name is Alan walks up to a barista and says

See that car out there, it’s mine.

He asks

Do you have a boyfriend or husband?

She responds

I got both

The audience laughed and The Man Who Says His Name is Alan ordered a decaf and exited the stage.[vi]

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[i]  While this response opens the door for further conversation and may be an error in judgment, it remains a good question.  The concern of sexual performance, even the follow up question of “Are you even going to ask me to audition?,” reflects a sincere inquiry into a rather daunting and highly demanding task that requires commitment, acting ability, muscle memory, and knowledge of camera angles.

[ii] The professional porn industry has a checkered past involving sexually transmitted diseases but such statistics in the amateur genre are not as documented.  However, looking at general public healthy statistic deems this question not only worthy but intelligent, regardless of its context.

[iii] Inclusion of religious status is not important now but will be a useful reference for later parts of this testimony.

[iv] The pot tree was later given away via Craiglist to a history teacher that wanted a “conversation starter” in his high school classroom.

[v] The character was played by an undergraduate SoCal beach god and bared no resemblance to the actual staring man.  The show was called Red Umbrellas.

[vi] It should be noted that Alan never saw himself onstage, as he never attended a performance.

Red Umbrellas, Saint Mary's College 2005