Aesop

Once upon a time there was a Little Red Hen that moved to the Big City with a Country Mouse. They both had big plans for the future and went out into the world to seek their fortune.

The Country Mouse went to a fancy school where he studied to become a famous opera singer. He was a lazy mouse who never bought toilet paper, made lots of noise when he came in late at night, never helped with the bills, and didn't know how to flip the breaker when the power went out.

The Little Red Hen, however, was a hard worker. He (it was a boy hen) saved lots of money and went to the Big City all by himself to find a place where he and the Country Mouse could live. After a week of searching the Little Red Hen found a place, but before he could get it, he had to give the broker a thousand golden coins.

This he did, and gladly. For the Little Red Hen wanted nothing more than to pursue his grand dreams of becoming a working actor in the Big City.

So together they lived in an apartment near the "Big Time Square", the avenue where dreams come true. The Little Red Hen bought all the toilet paper, paid all the bills, and flipped all the breakers when the power went out.

However, rent was expensive and every month the Little Red Hen would save his pennies just to have enough to get by.

It was very sad.

Then, one day, an old hen who lived in his building asked how much he was paying in rent.

"SQUACK!" she cried when the Little Red Hen told the Old Brown Hen how much he had been paying. "Are you serious?! That can't be legal! This building is rent stabilized!"

So the Little Red Hen went to Big City Housing Lawyers for Poor Animals and had his tenant rights explained to him. Unfortunately, the Lawyer told the Little Red Hen that it didn't look as though they could do anything about the ridiculously high rent for their little apartment that overlooked the trash heap.

A cold winter passed. The Country Mouse continued to give the Little Red Hen rent checks (provided by the fancy opera school) but the Hen was beginning to have doubts about being able to afford the apartment once the Country Mouse graduated and the checks stopped coming in. It looked as though dreams were finally being dashed to pieces. The Little Red Hen thought about moving to South Carolina where chickens everywhere lived in contented harmony eating only the finest of...whatever it is chickens eat. Birdseed or something.

Then, one day in early spring, a letter came in the mail from the Big City Housing Lawyers for Poor Animals. The Little Red Hen was tired, however, and left the letter on the table for a day or two.

A few days later, the Country Mouse instant messaged the Little Red Hen.

"Hey, I didn't mean to go through your mail or anything, but..."

The Little Red Hen raised an eyebrow. "But what?" he said.

"Well, I saw there was a letter from the Big City Housing Lawyers for Poor Animals sitting on the table so I opened it."

"You mean the one that was addressed to me?"

"Yes. I thought it was information about free apartments."

"Why would you think that?"

"Uhh... well, I just happened to glance at it and it looks as though we've been overcharged by our landlord. It looks like he owes us $8,000 bucks and our rent is to be reduced immediately."

The Little Red Hen grabbed the letter. Sure enough, it was open. And there, on the bottom of the third page, was the information the Country Mouse was talking about.

"This is incredible!" said the Little Red Hen.

"Does this mean I get $4,000?" asked the Country Mouse.

The Little Red Hen looked at the Country Mouse.

"This means you need to be happy I'm don't press charges for your snooping through my mail."

And the moral of the story is: don't leech off your roommate for a year and a half and then expect a free handout when it turns out the landlord has been overcharging you by almost $700 a month.

The alternate moral of the story is: I can't wait to pay $1200 a month for my New York apartment.

Is This Home-mus?

I had Mediterranean food with a Disney princess and her husband this weekend.

Seriously. Get a load of this. Okay, so the Beast looks a little like the Cowardly Lion and sounds a bit like Antonio Banderas ("I hcope joo'll be camfortable hceer"). But man--if that girl playing Belle isn't the real deal...

I mean seriously! How do I have friends like this? Congratulations, FancyPants!

Forkulele Friday

New song is up! This is the one I was going to play for that disasterous Seussical the Meussical audition earlier this week.

But I don't want to talk about that.

I feel fat. Maybe a nose job would help me feel better.

The recording isn't insanely great or anything--I'm in full Cat in the Hat mode which means it sounds less like American Idol and more like someone singing a song with a ukulele--but this is one I figured out myself with no assistance! So that counts for something, right?

Two weekends left of our illustrious ukulele musical. Will it move to Off-Broadway? Who knows...

Click here to go there!

A Rant for Fork

This job in South Carolina.

*sigh*

This job in South Carolina.


Let me put it this way, folks. And for those of you who've heard this one before, forgive me.

I once had a bad fortune teller read my palm. "What an interesting lifeline!" he said. "It splits in two rather dramatically! At some point in your near future, you'll have the opportunity to make an enormous change that will take your life in a completely different direction!"

I don't really believe in fortune tellers. I think all they really do is draw our attention to things we otherwise might not have paid any mind to.

And I think what he said wasn't anything extraordinary. Everyone's lives can go in a completely different direction at any time depending on what they do with the impossible choices laid out before them.


I've now done, like, three telephone interviews with this South Carolina job. And every single one I do, the people I speak to say, "You're doing so well in New York. Why in the world would you want to leave all that?"

How do you tell them, "Uhh...I don't. I really don't think I want to do this at all. It sounds like you should get someone with a background in marketing and sales. What do I know about pitching an entire state to film producers? I'm looking at this position because I think my parents are worried I'm going to be a leech on them as I move into my 30s"??

The answer? You DON'T. You don't tell people things like that!

SO you make up something to convince them you're still super-interested in this job. That you're ready to take a break from acting. That you've lived your life in a metaphorical casino and you're thinking it's about time to wrap up the gamble and move onto a "sure thing".

Whatever THAT is. My friends here who graduated from college and, months later, watched the towers collapse from their respective office buildings in midtown tell me that all the time.


Look, the ukulele musical is a hit on all accounts. Sure, our audiences have been small, but the good reviews keep coming in. The Times review has been pretty much negated by the reader reviews posted underneath theirs. The team is convinced that we're taking this show to Off-Broadway. And I don't think that's just the Corky St. Clair talking.

Meanwhile, I'm about to do not one--but TWO shows for this upcoming 15 minute play festival in April--the second one had an actor drop out and the actress said, "I know this GREAT actor!"

And then, last night before the show, Four Stringed Guitar Bill approaches me.

"You're really talented Fork. Would you consider joining the New York Four Stringed Guitar Collective? A good-looking kid like you...we'd stick you right up front."

I mean...GEEZE!

I kinda feel like the only REAL reason I'd move to South Carolina at this point...

The ONLY REAL REASON...

...is so I could be reunited with Nelson the Cat--who has been living under a Texas roof with the generous and lovely Leo Files ever since I moved up here.

That and, well, this job could be really really cool. I'd make lots of money and get to take all my friends to crazy film festivals and travel and schmooze with movie stars...my checking account would keep me warm as the next ice age set in.

But it's in South Carolina.

And because of the intense travel schedule, any and all acting on the stage would come to a screeching halt.

I mean...you have to think about these things!

Okay. I'm not going to think about these things for a little while. Time to get back to Forkulele. Look for an update this afternoon!

auditiooooon. audition.

At an early morning call for a tour of 'Seussical the Meussical'.

I've wanted to play the Cat in the Hat since I saw the marvelous closing night of the original Broadway show years ago.

And with my forkulele by my side, how could we fail?

Seriously. After the "That Guy" audition where I broke out the uke and surprised everybody in the audition room with a little plunka-plunka burnin' love, I've decided that, except in cases where it would be wildly inappropriate, the ukulele comes with me to all musical theatre auditions.

I'm not sure though...

This shirt I'm wearing...I'm ashamed to admit it missed the last trip to the Chinese laundromat and it's got the funk.
This humid holding room isn't helping either.

It's filled to puking with musical theatre girls. All are insecure, all are name-dropping like crazed parrots, and quite a few of them are really overweight (there's one brassy one talking about her "new nose"--and, not to sound like a total jerk or anything, that obviously fake Barbie doll nose really should have been the least of her worries).

And now it looks as though the audition folks are *not* going to do a sign up for union and union candidates. Wow. This. Is. Incredible.

Oh well. At least I got to learn a fun new song.

Silver lining. Silver lining.

Okay Friday

It's Good Friday.

You know what that means.

In three days we get to eat chocolate rabbits.

It also means my parents are coming to New York City. My dad's plane just landed. My mom's visiting NYC for what I THINK may be the first time in her life. She gets into Manhattan around 9.

And I have a job interview at 3. Did I tell you guys about this? The guy named Joseph who called and said he would light not a 50 cent or 25 cent candle, but a TWO DOLLAR candle for me. Because Wednesday was the Feast of St. Joseph and he felt it was lucky for me. And he wants to help people. That one day he's coming back as an Italian angel so he can continue to help people, eat pastries, and not have to worry about dying.

"And remember, tell him you're not looking at this receptionist position as a job, but a CAREER!"

Meanwhile, my roommate seems to think we're running a hotel for him and his friends.

Oh well. It's Easter.

Okay. Gotta go pick up my dad from Penn Station.

Eat a bunny for me.

Audtioooon! Audition!

At an audition for "The Glass Menagerie".

There's a jewish guy and a queen of England sitting next to me. Every guy who comes in they say, "Oh. He's the perfect Tom" and "Oh, he's going to get it. We should all just go home."

I want to turn and ask them to shut their stupid mouths.

Because now I'm all insecure. I mean, my hair *is* kinda long. And I don't have the nice clothes these other guys are wearing. And I guess I am a little ridiculous.

I'm first on the EMC list, but I'll still probably not get in until, like, 12 or so. My butt hurts.

I swear, these auditions are so demoralizing. Everyone's name dropping, talking about their numerous projects, talking about how they much they adore Osama, trash-talking movie stars, hating on George Bush (come ON, people! That is SO last year!)... It's a mess.

Why can't all shows have ukuleles in them? Why, I'd take Manhattan! *Take it*, I tell you!

Posteur

The Times hated the show.

Dreams were shattered.

Tears were shed.

Well... you know what they say...

When life hands you lemons...!

Holy Week

I'm sitting here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the sun to go down so I can go to sleep without it seeming like I'm weird. I mean, I've just got nothing. Nothing at all.

Did some "temp work" this morning, went to the gym, and now...

Now...

I got nuthin.

Seriously. It's kinda sad. You get through opening weekend, then Monday hits and--dang. I'm just sitting here with nothing to do for the first time in forever. No more 10-5 rehearsals. Nothing.

I guess I could get back to writing. I WAS in the middle of a project that was cooking along pretty well.

Or I could just continue to sit here and stare at my computer screen.

Oh yeah...

We got a GREAT review in Backstage. It ain't the Times, but it's kinda more important. Think of it as the Golden Globes.

And, in other news, I'm in another show. This one's a fifteen minute one act that's part of some sort of one act play competition. The winners get some kind of prize. Sure would be nice to get a prize. Haven't gotten one of those in the longest time.

And, in still other news, I have a job interview on Wednesday. Maybe there's a reason they call it monster.com. Because just when you think you're safe, a green, clawed hand reaches out of your phone and says, "We found your resume online and we have an admin/receptionist job that would be PERFECT for you!"

Despite my protestations that I moved to New York to pursue an ACTING career, despite mentioning that in my cover letter, despite being up front and telling the employment agent, "Look, I didn't move here to be a corporate b-tch" (okay, I didn't say that in so many words), still...STILL they want me to interview.

The guy who found my resume also must've read the parts that said I did an internship at a Presbyterian church back in the day. Because he started talking about how he's a good Italian Catholic and that he's so excited that they want to see me for this position. He's going to light a candle for me. Not a cheap 25 cent or even dollar candle, but one of the NICE two dollar candles.

"And be sure to tell them when you go in that you're not looking at this admin/receptionist position as a job. No, sir. You're looking at this as a CAREER."

Funny. Because that's kind of exactly the OPPOSITE of how I'm looking at this position.

Forkulele Friday

Whew. Opening night is out of the way. I woke up this morning and re-read the previous post and thought, "Wow. All that seems so very, very far away."

And that's a nice feeling.

So now all we've got to do is get through press weekend. I think the Times is coming to the Sunday matinee.

Piece of cake, right?

You know, the best thing about three people playing loudly on ukuleles is that, if one of you messes up or has to drop out for a second, nobody ever knows!!

In other news, birthday money has been spent. And this year, it hasn't all been spent on rent! Yes, going with the notion that you only live but one time, I decided to get something I really wanted. Something that I kept asking my oil-baron brother to get me.

This sweet thang!

I named it Peg. Because it's tuning pegs are all bright and shiny.

Thought about using it in the show, but it might be a little too pretty for our purposes. We'll see.

I couldn't wait to get this home and start playing with it, so I screwed up my courage and plopped down on the subway platform and started playing.

Best 26 cents I ever made.

Happysad?

We got through opening night.

How can I feel so happy and yet...so twisted up with unhappiness at the same time?

Yes, I'm thrilled that it looks as though we've got a smash hit on our hands.

Now, maybe I'm speaking too soon. It WAS just opening night. But the crowd REALLY loved the show. They went bananas at the end. Some even hit their feet. Like, they kept CLAPPING and SCREAMING. If the chorus girls weren't already getting out of costume we would have gone back out there and taken another bow (which would have been a tremendous First for Fork).

So I'm happy. So happy.

And yet...so sad.

The director. The director.

I haven't felt this twisted up with anger since my issues with the head of the Everycity U theatre department. The guy has used four-star manipulation tactics on all of us. Telling people with concerns exactly what they want to hear. "Oh yes, you're right, we'll look at that." Then when you come around to it and he DOESN'T look at it, you mention it, and he snaps at you and tells you to shut up, that yours was a bad idea to begin with.

Intense flirting with the girls and the guys. Changing things at the very very last minute. Rewriting scenes that were fine, and fitting them with dialogue that's only slightly different. Tricking us into fighting with each other. Causing rifts. Making almost everyone on the design staff quit. Pitting the composer and lyricist against each other.

As I write this, my insides are twisting up in knots.

I don't want him to burn in hell for all eternity, but I do want to punch him in the face. Then, while he's unconscious, tie him up to a splintery board with a couple of short nails in it so he won't be comfortable. Then when he comes to, I'll slap duct tape over his mouth, burst into passionate tears, and launch into why I wanted SO BADLY to be on "his side" and that I genuinely thought he was one of the finest directors I'd worked with in years.

But the manipulation.

The manipulation.

He's a genius. AN EVIL GENIUS.

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's injustice. I start running my mouth. My eyes go wide. I become a loose cannon, trying to get SOMEONE to side with me and put an end to the tyranny.

But you see...

That's what he WANTS.

So you CAN'T give the b-tard what's coming to him.

Instead, you make a double vodka tonic when you get home and try, try, try to forget about how unfair it all is...that this wicked person will probably experience a tremendous amount of success if the show continues to be met with the sort of response we got tonight.

How can I stand on that stage and give a good performance KNOWING that by so doing, this jerk will look BRILLIANT and go on to do great things? I'm being USED. And there's NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT.

Here's the thing--he DID save the show. He rewrote the wretched little play and turned it into something that worked. But he went way too far. The script WORKED. By the end of preview weekend, we had a real, working show. So now, all there was left to do was sit back and open the bloomin' thing.

Then, the NIGHT BEFORE OPENING, the NIGHT BEFORE OPENING, this...this GUY has the NERVE to change the entire opening scene, the entire ending scene and final number, and gave us new curtain call music.

It's a neat director's trick for upping the energy of some scenes...it's a trick that helped the inexperienced ladies in our trio actually LISTEN to each other and bumped up their energy considerably.

But to a seasoned actor like myself...

I had to excuse myself so I could try bursting the blood vessel on my temple.

It's like that feeling you got when you read To Kill A Mockingbird the first time and they convict the black guy even though there's NO WAY he was guilty.

You want to tear the pages of the book to SHREDS. It's not FAIR. It's UNJUST. We were ready to open! You can't DO that.

But this guy did. He did. And the worst thing is, he doesn't care. He doesn't care that he tromped all over me and everyone else to get to the end result. It hurt. It hurt all of us. All I can think about is the pain that this guy has inflicted on all the poor people he's disrespected and treated like garbage all so he can claw his way to the top.

It's wrong.

All of my older and wiser mentors have told me I need to calm down and just let it go--that he'll get what's coming to him someday.

Maybe they're right.

But if I see this guy in heaven I'm kicking him in the effing nuts.

What time is it, anyway?

Almost through preview weekend. And, for the record, the show last night was really quite good.

Thanks, in no small part, to my excellent acting coaches.

Let's face it, the leads have been rather neglected. First in learning and playing this music, and now in this crunch time leading up to our enormous opening night. So the three of us are scrambling in our own ways trying to make sense of these characters who, for the most part, give no indication of what type of people they are.

There have been lots of fights.

All we really needed for the trio was for one person to boldly go in a direction. The others would fall in line behind that person and go with him. It would fix everything.

And it did. It fixed everything. The energy was up, the choices were somehow more interesting, and you could finally get behind the leads and care about their story because they were nice people--not jerks. And I can't take any credit for this.

So for those of you out there (and you know who you are) who helped me cook this one up, my hat goes off to you. The protagonists are finally...likable.

Birthday

First Previeulele

We managed to get through it without stopping.

It wasn't the seamless miracle that "George M!" was. Man. I'll never forget that opening night. We hadn't been able to do a single run the show without stopping. The director took three steps backwards, shook her head and said, "Good luck" and bolted for the door with a suitcase in her hand. And somehow, SOMEHOW we managed to get through that act one finale montage...three quick costume changes, four songs, and "Give My Regards to Broadway" later, our vibrant little show was born. It was really a miracle show. One of those summer stock stories where a freakin' miracle happened on stage. And nobody knew but us.

That's not what happened last night.

The girls in the cast are too vain to make really quick changes, for one thing.

Dress Rehulele

This is it, folks.

The show gets thrown together tonight. And I do mean thrown together. The set designer quit, the costume mistress had a cat fight with the composer's personal assistant, the stage manager is stewing, the choreographer has emotionally checked out, and the band is down to two people.

There's a point in the show where the three ukulele kids are about to perform in a concert. In story, they've sold out and have started playing punkulele instead of just regular ukulele. Then, at the last minute, the tried and true "story of a band" cliché emerges and the kids have to decide at the last possible second if they've got the nerve to play their own stuff in front of the biggest crowd of their lives.

Personally, I REALLY liked it when we got on stage, we stopped, there was tense silence...then a nod from me, and one of the girls started the bouncy uke song.

Well, the guys in the booth need a little something more than that. So now I'm supposed to shout, "Hold it!" before we start. I'm not sure why I'm doing this, seeing as how the vamp has a set place that to stop, the ensemble is frozen and waiting for our cue anyway... Everything is already stopped so...what the farp.

I think it destroys this nice moment of tension we've got going but, hey. Whatever. I'm apparently just an actor with no understanding of interesting storytelling.

So I ask the director, "Well, who do I say this 'HOLD IT!' to? Am I talking to the band (the two guys on stage behind us)? Or the dancers? Or the guys in the booth? I mean, where do you want me to take this? How 'bout to God? You know, 'God! Stop this ukulele madness!'"

Our schizophrenic director then says, with this REALLY snide voice, "Fork, it's not an effing soliloquy. Just say it."

OOOOOOOOH that made me mad. OOOOOOOOOH that made me mad. It was 11:30pm, we'd been rehearsing since noon, and I was all out of funny.

But it's almost my birthday and I'm getting this, so who the farp cares?



MIDNIGHT LAUNCH, BABY!

Techulele

I keep meaning to do an update, but with these 12-12 tech rehearsals...you know how it is.

We've got the usual cast of characters.

Rigid blonde music theatre actress who was queen of her musical theatre program at the college she recently graduated from? Who is trying to secretly direct the show but is herself unwilling to commit to big choices because she's so afraid of looking stupid on stage? Check.

Her best friend, our stage manager, who frustrates easily and is prone to using f-bombs as motivators? Check.

Clueless/absent costume "designer" who blew her $2000 budget shopping at expensive department stores instead of going for cheap look-alikes? Check.

Rather spastic assistant to the composer who hates the costume lady with a livid passion? Gotcha.

Two band members instead of the original four? Check.

A slew of old hippies who want to make art and be mad about all things government? And who won't go to the cast party unless it's somewhere where they "can" smoke the reefer? Oh yeah.

I mean, the gang's all here!