Swimming in slanting light
the sky’s blue scrubbed
pale of summer’s fullness.
Don’t imagine these blazing leaves
are grieving. Don’t imagine
you will be either.
Tag: Paul Mullin
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We Can All Die like This
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“Bars: A User’s Guide”: Chapter 9 of THE STARTING GATE at St. Andrews
Next Monday I’ll be reading the ninth chapter of my book The Starting Gate at St. Andrews Bar And Grill in Green Lake. This chapter is titled “Bars: A User’s Guide”, and offers a brief review of the rules everyone should know when availing themselves of that venerated technology, the public house. As reward for close attention paid, I will offer a bonus virtual visit to the Zig Zag in the time of the incomparable Murray Stenson, the most perfect cocktail experience anyone could hope for.
Here’s a quickie excerpt:
Just as there are certain poems that can only be best understood once you have learned more basic poems, Murray will strike the uninitiated as a rather average bartender, friendly, unimposing, as eager to pull you a draft as he is to stir you a handcrafted cocktail. In fact, Murray has a joke he loves to tell:
A few years back a bunch of guys, maybe five, came into the Zig Zag after a Seahawks game. The first four all ordered different fancy cocktails. The fifth guy asks for a Jack and Coke. His friends erupt in outrage. “You can’t do that here. Don’t you know what this place is? This is that place for fancy cocktails. The Zig Zag. And that’s Murray.
“Oh, okay, okay,” the guy says, throwing up his hands in surrender. “In that case, I’ll take a Crown and Coke.”
Murray tells that story, I’m sure, to deflate a little of the pomposity that has blown up around the cocktail scene over the last decade or so, but also to let you know unequivocally that, if you order a Jack and Coke, he’ll happily make you the best goddamned Jack and Coke you’ve ever had.
And here are the details:
When: Monday, November 3, at 8pm
Where: The St. Andrews Bar, 7406 Aurora Ave. North, Seattle, WA 98103
Who: Me, and you, and probably a few others you know
How: Quick and dirty, the readings rarely last longer than 25 minutes.
Why: Why not? -
“Johnny Got his Gun”: Chapter 8 of THE STARTING GATE at St. Andrews
Next Monday I’ll be reading the eighth chapter of my book The Starting Gate at St. Andrews Bar And Grill in Green Lake. This chapter is titled “Johnny Got his Gun”, and tells the story of what happened when some hillbilly hold-up artists tried to rob the pharmacy across the street from the bar I worked in as a teenager.
Over the years, my views of the role of the gun in civilized society have evolved to a position practically diametric in opposition to the one inculcated in me as kid; but nothing in life is truly clear and simple, and if you think the myth of “The Good Guy with A Gun” is nothing but that, a harmful myth, then you might want come consider this story.
Here’s a quickie excerpt:
“See what happened was there was a guy at the door that was holding the girl and this other fellah with the screwdriver on the little girl’s throat.”
“Who does that?” my brother interjected at the table.
“Right?” said John. “One guy’s got this cannon of a .357. The other’s got nothing but a screw driver.” All three of us shook our heads and grimaced at the occasional idiocy of rednecks. Then John continued, “So I said ‘Frosty, are you carrying.’ Or I might’ve said, ‘Are you packin’?’”
“And he said, ‘Yeah.’”
And here are the details:
When: Monday, September 29 at 8pm
Where: The St. Andrews Bar, 7406 Aurora Ave. North, Seattle, WA 98103
Who: Me, and you, and probably a few others you know
How: Quick, dirty and FREE! PLUS the readings rarely last longer than 25 minutes.
Why: Why not?
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J’adore la Nouvelle Affiche pour La Sonate Louis Slotin
Before retiring almost exactly a year ago, I worked on and off professionally in the theatre for well over a quarter of a century. Most of that time was spent as a writer, but I also worked as an actor and producer. (I did not do much directing—maybe two or three shows, tops—as I find that particular job wracks my nerves in ways I don’t like having them wracked, and besides, there are so many folks better at it than I am.) With my experience under many hats, I can assure you, without fear of convincing contradiction, that no one gets more excited about a new poster than the playwright.
Sure, it’s exciting as an actor to see the image that will sell your show, but other distractions and responsibilities tend to absorb you just at the time a poster usually rolls out. As a producer, you were likely so involved with a poster’s design and production that it’s impossible to think clearly about it anymore. You’re a bit like the chef who can’t enjoy the meal once it’s been brought to the table.
But for a playwright, let me assure you that there is no joy as pure and powerful as seeing the new poster for the first time, especially when it’s as good as this one, designed by Sonia Caron for the upcoming World Premiere of Claude Germain’s French translation of my play Louis Slotin Sonata, produced by L’Escadron Creation at the Auditorium du Séminaire in Saint-Hyacinthe in Quebec.
And added bonus: it’s in French. Nothing says “I’m Classy” like hanging a big framed poster in French. I can’t wait for my copy! (God, I hope I get a copy!)
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Penultimate Markheim
This coming Monday, September 8 at 8 pm, Sandbox Radio Live will be staging the live recording of the second to last episode of my noir angel radio serial Markheim at ACT in thrilling downtown Seattle. (You can listen to the next to next to last episode of Markheim here.) In addition to the cool angeological stylings of Markheim, we have some very hot numbers on the playlist. I’m particularly looking forward to:
- An original story from Steven Scher, formerly of KUOW,
- Cliff Mass dropping his weather wisdoms,
- Special musical guests Modern Angels,
- And not in the least leastly last, Scot Auguston taking a breather from his Cousin Katie serial to offer us another installation from his collection of forest animal detective stories. This one’s called “Taxi to Hell.”
The Holler. It’s where the forest dumps its undesirables. Creatures ruined by disappointment and drink. Lives piled high with regrets and best intentions. Somewhere in this thicket of crushed hope and destroyed dreams was a juvenile delinquent owl. Lost, afraid, possibly dangerous. First stop was to look up an old deer friend of mine, Jane Doe.
The Stranger calls Sandbox Radio Live “Crackling…electrifying…fresh, joyful and awesome.” So you gotta guess we’re at least one or two of those things.
Get your tickets here:
And now, a little teaser taste from the penultimate Markheim:
MARKHEIM: Take the money and run, flip.
FLIP: Where did you come from?
MARKHEIM: Where in hell do you think?
FLIP: Sheol.
MARKHEIM: Whatever you wanna call it.
FLIP: The garden was empty when I came in. I had to have seen you.
MARKHEIM: I can’t tell you what to see. I can tell you that you have to run. Far. Right now they say they hate the carpenter, but that will change. And when it does, they’ll turn on you. Take that money and go. Far.
FLIP: I have a knife, stranger.
MARKHEIM: Good, you’ll need it.
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“What Should I be Doing?”: Chapter 7 of THE STARTING GATE at St. Andrews
Next Monday I’ll be reading the seventh chapter of my book The Starting Gate at St. Andrews Bar And Grill in Green Lake. This chapter is titled “What Should I be Doing?”, and you could say that the entire book is both an response to—as well as a reiteration of—this question. For any artist the answer can be either easy and glib:“My art, what else?”; or excruciating and profound: “I have no idea, but I am doing it anyway.”
Life has meant a lot of changes for me in this past year or so. But I ain’t afraid. (Or, well, not much.) It ain’t the change that kills ya. (Or, well, not until it does.)
Here’s a quickie excerpt:
What should I be doing?
At the Starting Gate I always knew. Clear the rails. Drag and dump the trash cans. Clean the floors. Is it Wednesday? Then you better wax and buff them, too. Load beer. Stock the liquor shelves. Is it summer? Bag ice. Is it winter? Chop wood. But that was back when I was boy, learning to be a man. And the “what-should-I-be-doing?” question was a simple tactical one. Now is now, and now, like it or not—and I don’t like it at all—I am a middle-aged man, 13 years older than my father when he died and kicked off the perfect experiment, and my existential problem is no longer tactical, but stark strategy: trying to figure out what to do when there is nothing to do.
What should I be doing?
I got nothing
And here are the details:
When: Monday, August 18 at 8pm
Where: The St. Andrews Bar, 7406 Aurora Ave. North, Seattle, WA 98103
Who: Me, and you, and probably a few others you know
How: Quick and dirty, the readings rarely last longer than 25 minutes.
Why: Why not?
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Live Blogging SWING TIME: Load-In
I took off work today. Nothing sneaky like calling in sick. Nope, I bit the bullet and burned a pre-arranged vacation day, so that I could be at ACT all day in advance of Sandbox Radio’s “Swing Time” going up tonight at 8 pm. As an actor, I’m not called until noon (as a writer, I’m not called at all), and since I’m only in Act I. I’m not really needed until much later that that, but I volunteered to help with the load-in. It’s something that all genuine theatre artists do, at least every so often. Here’s why…
All good and true theatre is subversive in some way. Always. It might be subversive in content, but that’s really just a surface aspect. Theatre’s true subversion comes from just existing, when all rights and logic, it shouldn’t. (If this sounds vaguely philosophical, then let me put some practical actuality around it. Václav Havel, the first president of a free Czech Republic, was a playwright before his political success. He made theatre that threatened the Soviet –backed status quo. The powers-that-were would have gladly silenced him, and sometimes did, but the subversive nature of theatre made it impossible for the totalitarian regime to shut up Havel, and other subversive theatre artists, for long.
Shows like Sandbox Radio Live! “Swing Time” aren’t supposed to happen. They don’t fit any preconceived notion of what theatre is or should be. In fact, Sandbox Radio Live!, like all good and true theatre, explodes those notions. Theatre at its best provides a venue for ideas and visions that don’t fit into the money-making machine of corporate story-telling (i.e. Hollywood, Broadway, etc.)
And in order for such wonderful subversion to take place, sometimes the artists need to make it happen with sweat equity and sheer force of will, doing jobs they were never trained for, working hours no one ever warned them about.
And thus the result is like nothing you’ve ever seen. Guaranteed.
Git yer tix. (There’s only a handful left.)
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Live Blogging “Swing Time” – The Sunday Run-through
I’m watching the first act of Sandbox Radio LIVE!: “Swing Time”, which we will be performing live tomorrow at ACT in downtown Seattle, but will also be broadcasting via podcast as soon as we sweeten the sound.
I can relax a little for the moment because my two bits aren’t until act two. As per usual, I’m Sam in episode 12 of Markheim, but I also got drafted as a concessions vendor in our staging of the classic baseball balladry, “Casey at the Bat”.
There’s an intense ambient confusion to late process rehearsals—cue-to-cues and dress runs, etc.—that I find deeply unnerving, even though as a playwright I usually had absolutely zero responsibilities. Amidst the tumult, I am grateful for directors in a way I usually don’t admit to. I recall, at these times, my deep admiration for anyone who can handle chaos—indeed choreograph it— with expertise and élan. Two names leap to mind, Leslie Law, the director and producer of Sandbox Radio, and John Langs, who directed the Seattle premiere of my play Louis Slotin Sonata and the world premiere of The Sequence, my staging of the real-life race to decode the human genome. I offer you this memory of John, utterly out of context to protect the innocent and guilty alike, after having sat through 10 hours of tech as cool as a cucumber, then suddenly shouting: “Would someone please muzzle that fucking dog!” The show’s mascot Jack Russell Terrier had apparently rubbed John’s last nerve raw.
For now, I get to sit and blog to you, gentle reader, about how much I love Juliette Pruzan’s particular whimsy, which you’ll be able to witness yourself in her original piece, “Swing Time Swing Set” written especially for this show, and performed with delight by Seanjohn Walsh, Kathryn Van Meter, Amy Bush and others. I pride myself on knowing where the laughs will come in a new work. I’m not always right, but I can assure you there are plenty in this one. Probably some you’ll surprise us with when you come see tomorrow.
If you haven’t already, get your tix here.
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Writing is Liquid
I was tagged by Lola Lindle as next in line to share thoughts about writing for the #MyWritingProcess Blog Tour. This turned out to be fortuitous, since I was already noodling on an essay about writing and Lola’s kind nod served to light a fire under my ass to finish it. So hearty thanks to Lola Lindle, and all the writers who have participated in the tour so far.
Link-surfing back through the tour I found these four questions to which I assume I should address my remarks:
What am I working on?
How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Why do I write what I do?
How does my writing process work?
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Openly We Carry
I recently mentioned this play in my last essay “The Misuses of Art” and then realized I had not posted it anywhere for those who might want to read it.
I had great fun watching my son open and close this piece at last year’s SOAPFest, as well as witness the exquisite work of his fellow cast members Tracy Hyland, Michael Patten and Heather Hawkins, so masterfully directed by Annie Lareau. Such a great staging. I’ll never forget it.