Save a Prayer...

Wednesday night was so lovely, taking Scott Hodges and his friend Kyle out to dinner at Wildsides and talking and talking for 2 hours. I was dead tired, but I didn’t want it to end, it was such a charming lovely night… What a lovely evening.

Save a prayer until the morning after, right?

First of all, no one has jumped at the chance to go to Duran Duran in Tampa. So I have to give up the tickets someone was offering me free. I fear the reason is me…

Why is it me? Read on...

I went last night and saw Trapezium, which was a lovely charming farce. But… (You knew this was coming, didn’t you? Why? Because apparently I cannot stop being an asshole, which is maybe why nobody is seeing the Wild Boys in Tampon with me…) The script for Trapezium was so clever and so fun, I wish the author had spent a little bit of meat exploring different perspectives and the illusive search for “truth” just a smidge more. Make the audience question themselves more, raise some issues that affect us all. That’s it. The play pretty much well stayed a farce. A clever, erudite and charming farce written entirely in iambic pentameter, which is quite a wonderful achievement. I still wish was just a smidge deeper. (I keep thinking the king could’ve addressed that to the audience, for those of you who saw it…)

Then…

I saw David Lee before the show. I really admire him, and he’s fun and talented and charming and good-looking. But he asked if David Almeida was doing something for this year’s Orlando International Fringe Festival. Both David and I want to do something. We just don’t want to write or produce.

I told David Lee that Almeida and I both were looking to act. And then I opened my mouth nice and wide and inserted my foot. I said, I kinda feel like I’m not in that vein to write what Fringe requires to be successful (ooops, there’s my inner ass showing again…) The thing is, Fringe shows succeed in pulling in audiences and money because they are shallow, funny shows that have nudity and pandering humor. I appreciate that as much as the next person, I just don’t feel the need to write and produce something like that for that sort of audience at this point in my life. I wouldn’t mind acting in a show like that – I just want to limit my emotional involvement (A) Does this make sense? (B) Am I being an opinionated Jerk? (C)- all of the above?

C

Anyway, David Lee seems more likely to want to work with Almeida because Almeida’s a better actor than me and I’m a blowhard purveyor of shit-filled, unsolicited judgment.

Then…

Jim Hellsinger (the artistic director of The Orlando UCF Shakespeare conglomeration) came up to me in the lobby after the show and said, “Well, hello, Michael Wanzie.”

Which, I love Wanzie as much as the next person but… But I wanted to go on a starvation diet and dye my hair green so I would never again be mistaken for him ever again. Wanzie does a great job being Wanzie, and everyone loves him for it. Yes, we’re all just full of it for who Wanzie is…love, I mean. I guess I just want to be a great Steve Miller. And Jim’s mistake kinda made me feel like I personally had no reputation whatsoever.

Mr. Helsinger apologizes furiously, but... Asked me to forgive his gaffe, but… Damage done.

By far the worst thing of the evening was Eric Hissom. I told him about the few other contracts I got for my play Intermission. Eric wrinkled his nose a bit and asked, “Oh, have you rewritten it some, then?”

Ass.

I mean, this is the man who likely didn’t read it, and then Maupin’s sore review of it on opening night when one of the actors missed four pages and then tried to loop back and self-correct, much to the horror and confusion of the other actors. Why in God's name would an actor and a sponsor of new works take a critic's word on something over seeing or reading it himself?!?!?! Hissom didn’t read the play. He also apparently didn’t read the three other glowing reviews I got. He didn’t take into account that brilliant people like Anne Hering and Chris Jorie wouldn’t be involved in something that’s a piece of shit.

He just wrinkled his nose and asked, “Oh, have you rewritten it some, then?”

The only problem is that he is the Grand High Poobah of new play works at Shakespeare and here he is wrinkling his nose at me. Well, if I needed a boost to my esteem after Jim Helsinger thought I was three feet shorter and preternaturally drunk...i.e. Michael Wanzie...and no one wants to go to a concert with me, I sure as flying fuck didn't need Eric Hissom demonstrating facially what fecal matter my scripts smell like and asking a rude question about it's shoddy, bastard existence.

Two significant people in the theatre community peeing all over the shriveled, little thing I thought was a growing reputation.

And, there, people, is a living example of all my crude opinions thrown back at me to show how much it hurts.

And to think of the sort of damage mere opinion can do…that’s what I wrote about in Intermission with the Critic. I thought I’d worked through that issue. Right?

So, based on that, here is Joshie’s newest quiz. I admit I am in my dark place.

Bad to the Bone or Rotten to The Core?
I am not aggressive but am very very evil for my own amusement. Sort of a slimy, fat Iago-like character. I feel it’s now time to accept that I am rotten to the core.

Hell Bent or Heaven Bound?
See above – bringing the marshmallows for S’Mores and hopping in that damn hand basket as we speak…

Night Owl or Early Bird?
Both if I can get a nap in the afternoon. I miss them all the way back from kindergarten, I do.

Matte or Glossy?
Mossy

Open Book or Putting Up Walls?
I’m like the Book of Mormon. First of all, it may be a mostly open book, but how it came into existence smacks of charlatanism. So, it’s mostly open but full of stupid stories and bald-faced lies, and there is also a section at the back that’s sealed off by a thick, unbreakable, golden band. I assume it’s the disclaimer…

Tomorrow Is Another Day or No Day But Today?
Today, I’m kinda depressed so I’m kinda wanting to curl up in a ball under the covers and pity myself until I don’t want to any more. No telling how long that could be. So “None of the Above…”