Busy day at the Museum yesterday. My so-called job is so strange sometimes, hell, all of the time.
As a producer/writer/director/consultant I have to keep about six projects going all the time. Some I'm writing and casting and going into rehearsal with, some I'm pitching all the time to other producers or people with actual money, some are just wild-ass ideas that I need to talk about regularly with anyone I can think might be able to help just to keep them alive.
I'm looking at three projects that have to be finished and ready to open in six months: Brian Parks' lastest, C.J. Hopkins' America the Beautiful and my own The Event. Those I'm directing in Edinburgh this summer.
Then there's the big one, Captain Overlord's Folly, which we're presenting in August in a reading-like environment. Still haven't figured how we're going to do that and still make it interesting.
Then there's freelance work I'm pitching here in town, trying to get paid, you know? These are scripts by other writers that I'm attaching myself to as a director. I got a good bite at New York Theater Workshop with Greg Kotis' Bad Christmas, we're talking this week. I'm sending Joe Sutton's Complicit around and I'm doing a reading in a few weeks of Stephen Culp's beautiful 13 Hallucinations of Julio Rivera. And then there's the consulting.
Add to that the League of Independent Theater business, the hunt for a new venue Nancy and I have begun and my constant drinking, and, well, I'm just saying some days the Museum has to close down early just so's we can keep up with the paperwork without worrying about kids touching the dioramas.
Results are in for the Music Quiz. Ann wins, of course. Of course it's the Blockheads. I was just trying to hustle her and make her doubt her instincts. It's an important thing to do to a young woman, builds up her character. And what do we have for our lucky contestant, Johnny?
Ann, you win the privilege and legal obligation to donate to Scrappy's Annual Wintertime Fund, in which we raise money to provide firewood and whiskey to the poor, frozen masses here in Rat City. Sure, they're mostly Scrappy's dependents and friends, but they are poor and frozen. Usually its a 50 dollar donation, but hell, Ann, you went:
Double or Nothing.
So.
That's 100 bucks, doll.
We take cash, credit, vouchers, food stamps, old Confederate money or venison. Your choice, all for your own convenience and we thankee for your custom.
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8 comments:
For the record, I never had so much as a hot second of doubt. Doubt is for other people, for lesser beings who aren't as dead-dog sure of their fabulousness as I am.
I'll just pay in scotch, since we all know that's what you'd spend the money on (or trade the venison for) anyway. One catch - you have to come up here to get it, shipping is most defnitely *not* included. Or hell, send Rose up. I'll meet her in Ithaca.
I've learned a valuable lesson here today, John...but I'll be damned if I can figure out what it is.
Yes, Grasshopper.
Yes.
John are you pimping me out now as your whiskey bitch? I'm not sure I signed up for this when I started answering music quizzes. Maybe you need a disclaimer or something. Either way, I'm only picking up the whiskey if I get to drink half of it on the train home. AND I get to meet this mysterious ann person, not just get handed whiskey in a bag by a shadowy figure.
All right, this is between the ladies now.
Aaaannndd...!
That's all I've got to say.
Rose! You come up here any old time, I'll give you all the scotch you can carry *and* tell you some deeply weird tales of John Clancy: Back In The Day....
She ain't kidding Rose. Ann saw me juggle and tell a story about a boy and a bunch of horses, if I remember right. Not that I remember right that much these days.
And...
...I HAVE PHOTOGRAPHS!!
(you knew it was coming.)
I'm on a train now!
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