A PIRATE'S LIFE, AN ACTOR'S LIFE, MY LIFE.

I find meaning everywhere. Not just in books and music and movies and myths, but in moments I witness as I stroll through this world. 

Meaning. Clues to Life. Reassurance. Omens good & bad. All over the place.

When I was all of twenty-four, I moved to NYC for the first time, pretty much sight unseen. I had stood on the tarmac at JFK once when I was seventeen and looked out to see the silhouette of the Twin Towers in the distance, but that was as close as I had ever come to Gotham. I stared at those towers like they were a distant castle in an enchanted kingdom. I ached to move there.

I had wanted to move to NYC for as long as I could remember. The first time I saw the original King Kong, around 5 years old, as I watched my favorite simian stomp his way through the Big Apple, I thought to myself "I am going to live there when I grow up". 

I never really grew up, but I did get older. Went to college. Found theatre. became a theatre major my third year. Graduated at 24, went to the Barn Theatre and got my Equity card, got a tour for a dance show to Japan, came back home to San Jose, California, loaded up my little Hyundai Excel, and headed East. 

I got there on Halloween. 

And the shit hit the fan in every way possible. I was broke. Alone. And for the only prolonged time in my life (so far) depressed. I felt like I had somehow fucked up my journey. Like my spirit guides had all abandoned me. I was the poorest, and skinniest, I have ever been. The cheapest thing I could do for entertainment was go to the MET, which was free for people who lived in the city. 

And I came upon this painting of a girl, lost. Like crazy lost. No hope. What the fuck will I do now? 

It cut me to the core. I had no idea what the painting was of, only that I felt exactly like the girl. Lost. Confused. Doomed. Turned out to be a painting of Joan of Arc, right when she hears the voices for the first time. It's intense. 

I found meaning. Clarity. Beauty wrapped in sorrow. I was still depressed and lost, but a tiny bit less lonely. 

Recently, we went to Disneyland. I never went there growing up so it's always held a sort of sacred magic. 

Never is not quite accurate. I did go there when I was about four, for one day, with my father, shortly after he and my mom split up. I remember the Haunted Mansion, the rocket ride, and Pirates of the Caribbean. It was the last time going there until I was seventeen. The Mix of having gone once with a father who I would not see again until I was twenty-eight, mixed with not going again for my entire childhood, gave the whole place a mystique that remains to this very day. I walk into the Magic Kingdom, and I am good, the world is just and kind and fair.

However, on the last trip, I noticed something about Pirates. 

It's really a descent into Hell. Not in a bad way. More like I'm Dante, and the ghost of Virgil is taking me on a tour of the Inferno. We start on a boat. We float through a bayou at dusk. A banjo plays in a beat up old shack. I imagine an old pirate, playing one last tune before checking out. We enter darkness.  A talking skull warns us we are about to see some weird shit. Then we drop off a waterfall, go through a cave full of strange colors, drop down another waterfall, and come upon a beach with a couple of skeletons. A seagull sits on the head of one, a crab waves its claws at another. I am fairy certain the gull and crab house the souls that once filled those skeletons, and they are realizing they are now dead and stuck on a beach in Hell. Next, we pass a weird bar, full of more skeletons. A pair of them play chess, stuck in stalemate forever. Another sits at the bar, holding up a bottle that pours clear liquid into into the skeletal mouth. The liquid turns red as it flows into the empty body. And the thirsty bag of bones never quinces its thirst. A Pirate Tantalus. Next, we meet another skeleton, trying to escape an eternal storm.

And then shit gets really weird. We float into a room full of treasure. A well dressed skeleton lays in bed, looking through a magnifying glass at nothing, searching for a clue like a spooky Pirate Sherlock Holmes. And a voice tells us we are now cursed for having seen the treasure. Then we pass a skeletal torso in a glass case, that becomes human as we pass it. 

And now we are with the dead, lost in their memories, playing out their mistakes and misdeeds over and over and over. Battles. Late night drinking parties where we end up talking to cats and pigs, or scream at each other, or tie things to frightened people whose homes we have just destroyed. On and on, each scene stranger than the one before. Finally, we go through a burned up ship, past some shockingly drunk pirated shooting at each other while surrounded by boxes of gun powder, and then the final thing we see is a rather detached, lost Jack Sparrow mumbling about how we are all pirates. 

And a voice tells us Dead Men Do Tell Tales.

And we, the Dead, are sent back to the world.

Maybe I read too much into things, but that's just how I'm wired.

Today, I find meaning in my morning walk. In my coffee. In writing this blog. 

Now I am off, to explore America via a pilot that is a a variation of an old script of mine called "Lunatics and Assholes". 

Perhaps I shall get it made, and some young lost soul will watch it and find meaning.

Perhaps.

And now, a tune for your listening pleasure. It's the first track from this album I love so much when I was in college, a collection of Disney tunes reimagined by Hal Willner and performed by some musical luminaires. This is Stay Awake, by Suzzane Vega. It's creepy and cool. 

OF MICE AND BUILDINGS

Dreamt of rodents last night. Mice and rats mostly. All in NYC. First, I was in the alternate New York I dream of from time to time. Lisa and I were living in some shabby little apartment way out in one of the boroughs, somewhere still full of old buildings owned by landlords you never see, all the apartments tiny and falling apart. We were having rehearsals for some show in our apartment, had been up all night, and finally were asleep, when some workers from the unseen landlord arrived, unannounced and with their own keys, and started ripping apart some walls to do some kind of electrical work. We tried to ignore them at first, but the work was very loud, and then they started working our living room/bedroom. I got up, screamed at them that I was going to call the authorities, and the grudgingly left. It was then that I noticed there were mice all over the place. Maybe a dozen or so, scampering around. Not cute mice with big eyes, but NYC mice which are basically little rats that want to eat your toes. The dream then cross faded to me downtown, in a parking lot full of people doing some sort of sit down strike. I was looking for my friend Elena, who runs the New York International Fringe Festival, who for some reason had become the borough president. She was on a flat bed truck, driving slowly around the parking lot, which was huge, waving and shaking hands. People were cheering. Whatever it was they were there for, Elena was clearly on their side. She spotted me, and I climbed up onto the truck and said hello. She told me she wanted to catch up, but first had to go take care of a few things, and invited me to join her. I said sure. First, we went to this really awful old apartment building. It looked condemned. As we walked into the building, there were all these snapping sounds, like traps being sprung. Sure enough, the place was overflowing with mice and rats, and when we walked in, a bunch of traps had gone off. And these were industrial strength traps. They had cut off some of the rats legs. But it didn't kill them. It seemed to just make them insane and angry. Like little zombie rats. Even their severed limbs were still alive and bouncing after us. Elena told me not to mind them and to follow her. So, wading through hundreds and hundreds of vermin, we made our way into the building. I could hear their bones crunching under my feet. We made our way to a balcony on a higher floor, which was fairly rodent free. I looked around, and their were several fancy new buildings nearby, impossibly shiny and large. And active. One building in particular was like the robots in the Transformers. It would shake, move about parts, and then become a new type of building, Every few minutes. I wondered aloud how anyone could stand to be inside a building that was constantly rearranging itself, and Elena said "some people like that sort of thing." Then the person she was there to see texted her announcing his arrival. We went to another room to find him. He had brought more traps, and had killed all the mice and rats, and was sweeping them into huge piles. Then he reaching into the piles, pulled out a carcass, and started eating it.

Happily, Padfoot woke me up right then. So I got up and let him out. It was around 4:30 or so in the morning. The world was quiet. Well, not the world. The people in my neighborhood were quiet. But the birds were up and having a very loud breakfast luncheon in some nearby tree. Even now, in the midst of so much uncertainty and sorrow, so much anger and division, I find the world beautiful and magic. I suppose I might be insane. It's okay if I am. I have always suspected that we are all indeed mad here. There's a sort of comfort in madness. And a glint of a hope that perhaps through madness comes a form of crazy wisdom. And that wisdom is love. Pure and simple. When I say love, I don't mean skipping along tossing daisies on front of you, although that does sound fun. And I don't mean poems, or sex, or hour long hugs, even though those are all fun too. I mean the realization that we are all connected. To everything. To rocks and trees and dogs and birds. So maybe I do mean skipping and tossing daisies. But not only that. I find solace in love. And purpose. And joy. And I felt love this morning, standing in the backyard with my dog, listening to the birds.

Here's a song. It's Things Grandchildren Should Know by The Eels.

A TALE OF TWO DREAMS

Had two contrasting dreams last night, divided by Padfoot waking me up to go outside and do his business. First dream, I'm in NYC on a visit. It's the NYC before the virus. packed and crazy and teeming with life. We're walking up Broadway from Midtown, heading for a friends place, when I run into a former student who just got into NYU. She's super excited and happy, and tells us all about it. She's so excited and has so much to tell us about that she joins us on our walk, chatting away. As we cross an intersection, a man who is clearly not stable or happy is shouting his misery to the world. Most people walk by him, taking no notice. As we pass him, he aggressively spits on my former student and runs off. As we are reacting, I wake up to Padfoot barking. Sometimes I think he is tuned into my dreams, and knows when to pull the cord on one. So I get up, let him out, look at our rain soaked back yard which is peaceful and lovely. The dawn is just beginning to think about showing up, so there is a light silvery light to the world. I go back to bed, and have another dream. This time, I'm in a lovely park, that is a cross between Vasona, a park nestled in the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains near Los Gatos, and the park in Boulder next to the library. I am teaching a theatre class, and have  been given a new book to use for my class, full of quotes and lessons. Today's class is on Stanivslavski's influence on the world of acting. It's a perfect Spring day, and we sit in a circle, reading from the book, playing theatre games, laughing and enjoying every moment. It starts to rain, and we run for cover. I realize I left the book in the middle of the field, run to get it, and a nice police woman has found it and kept it dry. I thank her, and we all head inside to this nice library/school space. Inside, a friend of mine is in charge. She tells us we are just in time for coffee and snacks. And then the alarm goes off.

As I lay in bed, thinking of those dreams, I thought about the country right now, so divided and angry and yet so full of love and hope. I'm glad they came in that order, because that's sort of how I process what I see and hear, what I watch on the news and read in the papers. I see anger and fear and lots of people shouting and screaming their dismay to a seemingly uncaring world. Some of them spit at one another. Or worse. And it feels like we are all lost in this rushing stream of humanity that is unable and/or unwilling to change in anyway whatsoever. But then I see families on their porches, closer than they have ever been, spending way more time than they are used to with their spouses and children. I see those children running up and down the street, making up games to pass the time and having a blast. I don't know how they got off their phones and video games, but they did. I see them. And they look so happy. I hear the howling at 8pm every night here in Denver. Last night's was especially exciting, seeing as it happened during a thunder storm. All these people opening their doors and windows and howling out their joy and love for humanity while the rain comes pouring down. Awesome and healing. Maybe we are all werewolves, changing under the moon, but instead of turning into homicidal monsters, we are both evolving into stronger beings while at the same time reconnecting with the earth, with our primal selves.

I know times are rough. So many people dead or dying. So many more people sick. It seems we are heading into a global depression. And I wouldn't be surprised if we have a huge second wave hit us thanks to opening too soon, and then shut down again, and on and on. But there is something in our spirits that keeps moving, keeps evolving, keeps finding the light. I think we have to remember that evolution is a very slow thing, and we have only been on this planet for a short time, all things considered. I am going to try and be a better person. I am going to try and listen to people who are angry and maybe insane. I am going to try and howl in the rain often as I can. If I do turn into an actual werewolf, I am going to try and not eat my neighbors. I am going to try.

Here's a song. It's Jumping Jack Flash by The Stones.

SLEEP NO MORE

Me thought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more! Macbeth hath murdered sleep!'
     MacBeth, Act 2; Scene 2



I love the Scottish play. That's what a lot of theatre folk call Shakespeare's MacBeth. In fact, I rarely say the actual word, "MacBeth". You see, it's considered bad luck. Especially in a theatre. There are varying reasons given. Some say Shakespeare actually used real spells for the witches lines. Some say it is a cursed show because it deals with some historically nasty people who really did a lot of bad things. Some say it's just a bunch of old wives tales.

I believe.

And ever since I first heard of the Scottish play, and all of its tradition and mystery, I've been fascinated. Enchanted, you might say. I've read it, seen it, been in it. And I love it. I 've written a screenplay about theatre superstitions called Ghostlight, am working on another screenplay that takes the basic story of MacB- which for those who aren't familiar is a tale of betrayal and ruthlessness in pursuit of power and how said pursuit empties the soul of all joy and hope- and sets it in the world of high school football ala Friday Night Lights. Most recently, I directed a production of the Scottish play for Colorado's Finest High School of Choice, an alternative high school for young people who have had trouble in so-called normal school. It was amazing how easily high school students were able to relate to characters who sell there souls to climb the social ladder.

Suffice to say, this is a play that is part of my being, an essential book in my mental library.

So it was with great joy that, a few weeks ago, I found myself in New York City at the McKittrick Hotel, wandering around like a ghost, silent and masked, as a mobbed up version of MacBeth unfolded all around me in the form of Sleep No More. The show is like a mix between a haunted house and modern dance and dream and theatre and I don't know what else. You enter, are given instructions on how to behave in a very cool bar where performers interact with you, cajole you to have absinthe, and call you one by one to go through the door that leads you into a world of magic, betrayal, sex, and madness.

It's awesome.

I like awesome in my theatre. Awesome and different and cool and original and dangerous.

Every person in the audience becomes part of the show as they wander through the madhouse, as each is given a mask to wear and instructed to remain silent. The effect is that, as you make your own personal journey, you see all your fellow audience members looking like fellow ghosts, lost souls condemned to take part in the ghostly events.

And when I say take part, I mean it.

One of the first things that happened to me was this lady, pregnant and clearly upset and also one of the people of the story- I knew this because she wasn't wearing a mask- grabbed me, dragged me into a closet, rubbed salt behind my ears while whispering something about how she has always tried to protect me from evil. Before she could say more, off she ran. I followed her, then came across a trio of lunatics dancing through a dimly lit hallway. As I went from scene to scene, which are all happening all over the three floors of the hotel at the same time, I could see other fellow ghosts running around following other actors. At one point, I ran into my wife, a fellow ghost that evening having her own adventure, and together we played a creepy card game with a murderous bar tender.

All I can say, with any amount of certainty, is that it was one of the most amazing nights of theatre I have ever experienced.

That is all.

APRIL IN AUGUST AT FRINGENYC

April's Fool is in! Repeat: April's Fool is in! I am Fringe-ing it this summer. That's right- I am going to be a participant in the 2014 New York International Fringe Festival with my latest play, April's Fool. I am excited, a little scared, and very happy.

April's Fool, my metaphysical comedy that was first developed by the theater at the Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center- Scott Levy, artistic director- and recently given a reading as part of the Playwrights Festival at The Western Stage of Salinas- Jon Selover, artistic directcor- will be given it's first full production in August, marking my first full length play to be performed in NYC in almost 8 years.

I want each of you to come see it. I don't want any excuses. I want your butts in seats. That sounds a little kinky, and I don't care. Just be there- it's this August, in NYC- the best time of year to be in Gotham.  And if you haven't already- visit our Facebook page and "like" it. Pretty please. Just click HERE and then, once on April's page, click like. Ten seconds of your time.

If you like my plays at all, April's Fool is for you- it's got a bunch of hyper intelligent people acting like morons. It's got cultural references galore. It's got death, sex, loneliness, and angst. And it's funny.

The casting is in progress- if you are in NYC and have always wanted to audition for a brand new play by Kelly McAllister, this is your lucky day.

Not only is it written by me, it's being directed by Bronwen Carson- who is so talented, funny, and insane in the best sense of the word that I can't really do her justice with my feeble attempts at describing her. Just trust me when I say she is a director who kicks it in the ass.

But wait, there's more. The show is being produced by Craig Nobbs- rising screenwriter, film director, and genius. And one of my dearest friends and collaborators.

So, why else should you go see this show? Well, if you've ever wondered about reality- like if maybe this is all some sort of weird dream, or maybe you are in the wrong alternate reality and should be in the one where you have the job of your dreams and made all the right decisions- if you've ever, even for just one moment, pondered if there is such a thing as fate or destiny controlling all or at least some of your life- if you think maybe you stepped through the looking glass long ago and have been wandering Wonderland most of your days and nights- this is the play for you. It won't answer all the questions- but it will give you a little bit of solace on those occasions you think we're all mad here.


The New York International Fringe Festival is the largest performing arts festival in North America, and takes place in August. I have had the great honor of being involved in four productions at FringeNYC- Last Call; Muse of Fire; Die, Die, Diana; and Some Unfortunate Hour. To be in the Fringe is amazing- and to experience it as a theatre goer is something that should be on everyone's bucket list.

So see you in August. More details- like theatre space and show dates and times- TBA.
If you want to buy a digital copy of the script- you can do that, right now, and for less than two dollars, by clicking HERE- that will take you to Indie Theater Now- the best web site in the multiverse.

BOO

Twenty-one years ago today, I went to New York City for the first time in my life.  I had just finished a cross country trip with a friend I had made that summer doing summer stock at the Barn Theatre in Michigan.  He was from a little town in Jersey called Peapack.  We spent about a week traversing the country, and had gone to places like Ashland, Oregon to see the Shakespeare festival, and Twin Falls, Idaho to see where Evel Kneivel tried to jump the Snake River with his rocket/motorcycle thing.  I even saw my first moose when we drove through Yellowstone days before it closed for the winter.  Somewhere, there is an old box full of old photos of that trip- I don't know where, exactly, and hope to come across it before I kick- but until then, I have to rely on my mind's eye.  Anyway, we ended up in Peapack on October 30, and on the next day we took the train into NYC, crossing under the Hudson River and emerging from Penn station like ants crawling out of their colony.  I remember thinking of the Hopi, and their belief that when they were created, they came into this world from an older one via a hole in the ground.  Here I was, a neo-Hopi, coming out of a hole in the ground from my old world and into a new one.  It was exciting, strange, and a little scary.  We walked all over town, first going up to Hell's Kitchen, then down to the Village, ending up near Union Square where a my buddies girl friend from the summer- a drama major at NYU- lived.   We watched the Halloween parade, which to me looked like a cross between Mardi-gras and a zombie apocalypse.  It was glorious.  From there, we proceeded to Rock Around the Clock, and bistro near St. Mark's Place, and drank a lot of raspberry kamikazes.  A lot.  At one point in the evening, after things had become fuzzy, my buddy's girl made a pass at me- which was shocking and flattering and uncomfortable.  The three of us staggered back to her place, and crashed.  Well, I crashed- they got into an argument.   I was awoken at dawn by my friend, who informed me that he and his lady friend were breaking up, and it was time to go.  I was exhausted, somewhere between hung over and still drunk, and not in the mood to go anywhere.  But he was insistent.  So off we trudged, through now mostly empty streets, which were full of the remnants of the nights revelries.

That's NYC to me- dramatic, strange, and intriguing.  She's been very good to me over the years.  I've had the great fortune of having most of my plays produced there, and for several years wrote reviews for nytheatre.com - one of the best sites for theatre in the country.  I can't think of another city in the world where you can go to a show every day of the year, and never repeat yourself.  

And this November, Gotham is treating me kindly again, with two readings.  First, on November 14, Harvardwood NYC is presenting a reading of Burning Man, a screenplay based on my play Burning the Old Man, at 6pm at Solas 232 E. 9th St.  And then on November 19, Boomerang Theatre Co. is presenting a reading of my latest play, Riddle Lost, at 5pm at ART/NY 520 8th Ave. 3rd floor.  If you are around NYC, I really hope you can make it.  I don't know if it'll be as amazing for you as that first day in Manhattan was for me, but it just might be.