SO . . . MUCH . . .. BRAIN . . . 'ASPLODING . . .!

Hi. Hi. Hi.

That's kind of the rhythm of my life this week.

Hi. Hi. Hi. Very precise, slightly manic in pace. It would be mostly the good kind of stress (what "good" kind, you ask -- the kind that comes of having too much to do

as a result of

lots of stuff one loves

...an important caveat) except that nobody's personal life takes a holiday without extreme measures, and I've had several reminders over the past ten days or so from said personal life as to how trivial some of my stress is. Which compounds it with a sense of guilt. Which is about par for the course for yours truly.

There was this week, back in

college

, when I essentially disappeared for several weekdays in a row. I think it was during my Junior year, and it was highly uncharacteristic of me, at least in one sense. That sense being about how I was Super Student in college. I dove into my work with untempered zeal, and didn't really start to surface until some time mid-Senior-year. In another sense, it was utterly characteristic of me, because what prompted my dive into working solitude (relative solitude) was a certain powerful emotional response to events in my personal life. So Junior year, having no increased work to dive into, I took a time out. It was quite unintentional, and I look back and marvel at how easily I did it . . . and how, even once I recognized I was doing it, the recognition didn't prompt concern for my own well-being. I finally came out of my room, and just went about my business as I always had before.

That's the kind of "extreme measure" I refer to, and it is not an adult option. Sure, everyone needs some time off once in a while, from work, from friends, etc., but short of entering an institution for the treatment of nervous breakdown there is no healthy way to rest from who one is, or one's current responsibilities. And really, I don't want to. I want to achieve, and change, and all that good stuff. Good stuff, nonetheless, can at times be overwhelming.

Another thing I did in college, a healthier and more repeated thing, was to make a B.F.L. in times of many goals, such as when finals rolled around. "B.F.L." is a reference to the PC game

DOOM

, which I'm not proud of, but thought I ought to own up to. It stands for "Big F'n List," and was essentially just that, comprised of everything I had to get done before a given period of time was out.

Now, for certain pragmatic reasons, I can't list all the to-dos here so, in the spirit of

As Far As We Know

's launching notice, I present the short list:

• Work enough hours at day job to cover lack of pay at upcoming gig
• Do laundry
• Clean apartment
• Pack for two months away
• Forward mail to working address
• Interview folks
• Brush-up rehearsals for As Far As We Know
• Two performances to "close" As Far As We Know
• Write "closing-night" cards for As Far As We Know
• Arrange dates to breach upcoming contract in order to perform in potential re-up of As Far As We Know
• Figure out and arrange transportation for Pennsylvania-New York commute for re-ups
• Plan curriculum for workshops launching Prohibitive Standards rehearsal period
• Continue research for Prohibitive Standards
• Contribute to Prohibitive Standards collaboration forum
• Maintain exercise regimen, sleep schedule and sanity

I'm not trying to impress you. Okay, well, yes: I crave sympathy. But I have friends with a lot more on their plates--in school, for (a big) one--and I'm aware that all this comes from good tidings, not to mention said reminders of late about how trivial such concerns are in the face of issues such as life, death and family. So, more to the point, I list my pre-Sunday to-dos in order to set them down, make them seem more manageable and share a slice of my life when it's in this mode.

The keen-eyed amongst you may have noticed that I rather slipped in there the possibility of a re-up of As Far As We Know. (It being a mere possibility at this stage is yet another in a long line of inadvertent puns on our title.) I don't want to jinx anything, but the sentiment from our side of things is that when a show gets such press as ours has, it's a good idea to use that momentum whilst it is most momentous. This has long been the goal of our esteemed production team (read: Laurie and Kelly): to get the show supported or otherwise picked-up by a more major theatre. There's a very interesting double-motivation here--one for success in our creation, and one for success in spreading the story and awareness of the Maupin's struggle. That, I suppose, is the balance to all the hassles of creating one's own work: that you will really, personally care about getting it out there.

Which leads us to my present conflict--eager for resolution, but utterly lacking in information to resolve. Both shows are very personally important to me, and both rather rely on my presence. The Zuppa del Giorno shows have been my greatest priority, and my most evolved work, for close to five years. I love them: They are me as an actor, in so many ways. This project is far and away our most ambitious and exciting to date, with a cast of five plus student actors, and performing in two venues. As Far As We Know has been in collaboration for over two years, I've been with it since nearly the beginning, and it's also a creator/actor piece. Now it has the hope of reaching a larger audience than any of my work has to date, and I'm loathe to let go of it, even for a few performances. The two don't absolutely conflict, but decisions are on the horizon. Here's hoping the fates are pleased.

Why, you may ask, in the midst of this would he take time from his day to write here? It would actually be worse if I didn't. Somehow staying connected on the Aviary helps to keep me connected to myself, if just a bit more. Doing less has never given me more sense of peace. Doing more of what I love inevitably does.

So there's much to do before I leave. I appreciate my friends' understanding of that. Hopefully I can make it up to them before "Hi. Hi. Hi." becomes "Bye. Bye. Bye."

And not in that nice *NSYNC way, either.

Oh, get over yourself. You were right there with me.

Words Were Exchanged

We have had some official feedback on

As Far As We Know

, and the feedback has been good, which is enormously gratifying. I know reviews are not supposed to mean anything; nevertheless, they do, and not just as regards ticket sales. No, in spite of making every effort to judge my work by the process and personal standards, it remains work that exists to communicate with others, and when the dialogue is one that the audience is showing their appreciation for it make it far more worthwhile. As you know from previous entries (

8/8/07

&

8/15/07

),

New York Magazine

began by citing us as 1 of 5 of the most promising-sounding shows of the Fringe Festival, and we had a very nice

'blog review

from an audience member who attended opening night.

As a result of Tuesday night's show (ironically enough for me [see 8/15/07]), we now have two more good responses: one from

American Theatre

, the other from

Time Out New York

. Actually, the one from TONY is a fantastic review, save their confusion over who is now playing the character of Connie. I do believe it's the first time anything I've worked on has ever been assigned five stars. Actually, it's probably the first time stars have been at all applied to something I've worked on, what with that generally being a restaurant rating system. And a kindergarten incentive. But I digress.

The idea is not so much that you're not supposed to care what the critics think. It's more that you're supposed to care about and believe in your work so much more. Let's face it, though: We can only have so much objectivity about our selves. People need mirrors, and the mirrors that matter most are the ones that write scathing reviews in newspapers, or 'blogs. (Picture that, if you will. [I picture a hand mirror doing that weird floaty thing Disney inanimate objects sometimes do, wrapping its handle around a quill pen.]) Anyway, when it's all said and done, I'd just as soon only ever hear about the glowing reviews. Somehow that never happens though.

Lots of actors refuse to read reviews prior to the closing of the show, most of them on the argument that they don't want it to influence their confidence or performance. And it's true--simply hearing observations on one's work in this regard, good, bad or mixed, tends to make one self-conscious, and that would be terrible to take on stage with you. This used to be my philosophy, but it's changed recently, and not because of these good reviews. In fact, it changed because of bad ones.

Back in the spring I shared some feelings here about the reviews and feedback I was receiving for my performance in

A Lie of the Mind

(see

4/25/07

). I found them demoralizing, when taken all together. I knew that it was not my best work for a variety of reasons (not the least of which was my learn-as-I-go process with Shepard's writing), yet the reviews made me feel as though I had no right to be up on the stage at all. The show closed with good feelings all around, and some rallied to support me when I expressed this angst, for which I am still very grateful, but I had to take some time to evaluate the experience.

As Far As We Know

has been my first show since, and I decided to read the reviews as they came in.

My reasoning is that I don't want to work in a bubble. Art is an interaction, and I feel that as an artist (God, it still creeps me out to call myself that) I ought to allow myself the opportunity to respond to all kinds of feedback. It's true that acting is a delicate creation, and the urge to please can quickly override the sense of truth in an actor's work, but if I can't maintain my priorities in the face of opinion, just how skilled an artist am I? Some may even argue that actors in this culture don't get enough time to develop their work in rehearsal, and need to insulate themselves from uninformed feedback well into performances. Poppycock, say I. (I say it all the time, actually, which is I think part of why nobody ever wants to watch sports with me.) Once you've put yourself in front of a paying audience, you're no longer in the safety of the rehearsal room, and you better realize that. It's just a different phase of discovery, one that requires that audience. Besides, "uninformed feedback" is what we care about most. If we only wanted to perform for theatre professors, we could just stay in our little rehearsal studio and accept the sound of patting our own backs for applause.

Naturally, it's up to the individual performer whether or not he or she will read reviews during a run, or at all. I just say that it's not blasphemy to choose to hear what people are saying.

Oh, and reserve your

tickets

for

As Far As We Know

. We are a ***** show.

Let's Get it On!

Two ludicrous topics today, web-loggers. The first is in reference to last Tuesday's post (

8/14/07

). It would seem that it's a popular choice for people to endorse Batman against any and all odds in a fight, giving him the acclaimed status of figures such as

Bruce Lee, Chuck Norris

and Most Guys' Girlfriends. I have

Friend Adam

to thank for exposing me to this (my own) bias, in the form of a string of submissions to

IGN.com

. It seems IGN had a survey/fantasy-football-esque event in which they paired off comicbook characters to see who would win in a fight, until they were down to a final two: (The) Batman and The Phoenix. Batman won the votes. Which is ridiculous (I concede...begrudgingly). So IGN began a series of articles inviting people to describe how Batman would win in the face of a variety of unbeatable odds, aptly titling the series "

Use Your Delusion

." I invite you to check it out. I daresay they make my proposed Batman vs. Wolverine scenario seem utterly reasonable in comparison.

The other ludicrousity (is SO a word) is the terrible volatility of personal relationships between artists. I am not even kidding. Sometimes it seems to me that these involve more bloodshed even than Wolverine fighting a busload of overweight babies. And understand, I'm not speaking exclusively here of romantic relationships . . . you know: "

relationships

." rather, I mean any personal relationship that develops between artists. But I should confine myself to actors, here. That's where most of my experience has lain, with a dash or two of dancers and writers for good measure.

We will rock your world. We will: It's science. Now, get two of us together and add a dash of affection, an ounce of attraction and a dram of chemistry and you've got one intense stew. The only problem with that stew (assuming you like stew [and intensity]) is that when it is really cooking, it means it is constantly at a boil.

Wait. I lost

myself

in the metaphor.

I think it's something having to do with dedicating a good part of one's life to exploring emotions others generally choose to avoid, practicing reacting out of instinct and cultivating an awareness of everything everywhere. For a start. So we apply that exploration, reaction and awareness to our greatest priorities, many of which are personal relationships. That's part of why I'm grateful for those of my friends who aren't artists (though I'm just as grateful for my fellows in the arts), because it's kind of nice to know people who can let an issue slide, or are interested in just sitting down over drinks without discussing the ramifications of society's increased isolation from itself. It's great to be uncompromising and sensitive, to have an alternative viewpoint, but it's not always good to apply this ethic to the day-to-day of personal relationships.

I think there are myriad causes for the explosive nature of relationships between artists, and I haven't the experience or interest to explore them all, but one think we can agree on, I think again, is that personally involved artists working together on a project is the most explosive situation of all. I am thinking here, of course, of my relationship with the actor who left

As Far As We Know

. Moreover, I'm thinking of her relationship with the producing team, with which she is/was really close. I wonder how much of the reasons for the rift had to do with personal feelings on both sides, and how much with work disagreement. I suppose I'll never really know. What I do know is that, regardless of how much you can clean up both aspects of a relationship--professional and personal--this kind of event creates a breach of trust that I don't believe ever really goes away.

So maybe the better question is, assuming they don't rip each other to shreds, how can we hope for Batman and Wolverine to find a reconciliation together? You know? Kick it over a bucket of wings and a couple of brewskis?

I Second that Performance

There is a phenomenon among those known exclusively by thespians called "second-night slump." Opinions differ on the exact nature and causes of the "slump," but it is pretty universally acknowledged as something legitimate and worthy of consideration. In essence, it is a drop in energy between the opening and the next performance. Whatever truly causes it--a less personal audience, lower adrenaline, a sense of deja vu--it is a real thing that seems to me unavoidable. Opinions differ even more greatly as to whether the second-night slump is a good or bad thing. In most cases, I feel bad in it. Nothing will click and I'm off my game, or so it seems. Some directors (and, indeed, some actors) insist that the second night is always an all-around better performance. The actors are more relaxed, fluid, and the show loses a lot of the grating edges of first night. I was curious to know if, what with the

Fringe Festival

's bizarre schedule and our replacement actor, a second-night slump was going to occur last night. And, if so, whether it would be beneficial or detrimental.

Now I have no idea whatsoever.

That's not quite true ("...but I do lie."). The slump definitely happened, at least to me.

As Far As We Know

requires a certain intensity in performance, owing both to the subject matter and the style in which we've chosen to present it, and mine was slow to start last night. The engine, as it were, coughed a time or two before turning over. It began (it always begins with something small) with my missing the cue to begin the slower movement in the initial movement sequence. I caught the change of pace out of the corner of my eye and thought, "Oh yes. This bit."

Not a good sign.

I did pull out of my tailspin eventually, but not before the memory scene and the car scene were sacrificed on an altar to the Goddess of Preparation. It seems that it would be a good idea for me to run through the whole of my part in the play the day of a show. This is not something I need to do for a regular performance schedule, but having days between each show makes for strange rot in the brain. I could feel it in every marching entrance--the tightness, the intensity (

commitment

, as

Sara Bakker

chides me) wasn't there. I was at once more relaxed than I had been Saturday, and yet less in tune with the play. I felt good about my last scene, but that was about it.

Yet the feedback was very positive. It's always hard to say how much of the response is politeness and how much is genuine admiration immediately after a show, but even using my deepest B.S. filter it seemed those I spoke with thought I had a very good show. So I'm letting it go, to some extent. But I'll be sure to run through my show before Saturday's performance (enormously easier, given that I won't be coming from eight hours of desk work).

In other

AFAWK

news, we've had our first review. Sort of.

There's a very interesting trend in New York (and elsewhere, I suspect) in the past couple of years, and it involves an intersection between the internet and live theatre. For some time now, the only major paper left in the city reviewing theatre was

The New York Times

, and their word on one's show was pretty much the kiss of life, or death. That's still strictly true, in spite of independent papers making more of a mark in the last decade in that regard, but there's a host of tiny, new player on the critique scene: Bloggers. The majority of reviews we had for

A Lie of the Mind

were from 'blogs, and 'blogs dedicated to theatre reviews at that. In some cases this is a very, very bad thing (see

4/11/07

; though not from a 'blog per se, illustrative of the potential problems of the exposure of unedited work), but in most cases the articles are surprisingly well-thought-out and composed, as evidenced by Tonya Plank's

response

to our little show.

I love this aspect of the internet as it is now. It's a bit like the wild west, a violent infant as prone to critical error as it is to tremendous success, a mixed metaphor (if you will) that nevertheless satisfies, because all have access to it. This I do verily dig. Someday in the future I imagine the 'bloggers will hit a collective slump in excitement and ingenuity, but for now it's still opening night, and the joint is jumping.

Bat-tle Roy...lverine?

In the anarchic spirit of true artistry, I intend with this entry to break the mould of Odin's Aviary by discussing a topic seemingly unrelated to

The Third Life

(TM), though I'm likewise sure that I'll find a way to tie it in somehow. That topic is as follows:

Just who

would

win in a fight between Wolverine and Batman?

Now, everybody: Calm down. Calm right the hell on down. (Some of you may think I'm using an ironic tone at this moment, but nothing could be further from the truth; I have friends that will be offended that there is even a question about this match up--and for both sides, too.) We're going to look at this rationally, and I'm going to be as unbiased as possible. To that end, I must admit to those of you who don't yet know me (though I'm on the cover of this week's

The Record

. . . WATCH OUT!) that I am about as biased for Batman--in all things--as I could possibly be. Bearing that in mind, let's us begin our fair and balanced exploration of the question.

Batman would win.

Okay, I'm sorry. For

reals

now:

Batman would kick shorty's hairy butt.

No, no, really. Really. It's a tough call. (It

is

, Mark.) They're both the more popular bad boys of their respective universes--which is no doubt part of what inspired Amalgam to bring them together in their character,

Dark Claw

. One could make a quick argument that Wolverine's enhancements make him the sure winner, but frankly, Batman has dealt with supernatural (

et

al

) powers before, and has a reputation for being the smarter fighter in any situation. But I get ahead of myself. Let's take a look at our fighters in some limited detail.

(Isn't it great to, every once in a while, be shameless in one's geek self? "

Geeking

out" is the popular term, but it can refer to any incidence in which someone unabashedly reveals their enthusiasm for anything. Why should it be such a social sin to relish anything in this world? Because not everyone will care? So what? You don't have to listen/read.)

Dealing with a brief outline of the conditions: Batman is a hero from the DC Comics universe, Wolverine from the Marvel. For the purposes of this discussion, we will be approaching the characters as being at the peak of their natural condition; that is to say,

Wolvie

with his standard set of attributes in the X-Men arc, Batman in his late-twenties/early-thirties...none of this sapped

adamantium

or Return of the Dark Knight stuff. (Non-

fanboys

: Anyone over

geeked

yet?) And they shall be comic characters, not movie characters. So

sayeth

I. And they shall be drawn according to their origins, with some allowance for increased anatomical awareness in artists of the latter half of the 20

th

century. So

Wolvie

is short, and Batman is not hulking. Finally, they're both to some degree anarchic good guys, with Wolverine taking the anarchy cake: He will kill; Bats will not.

Let's get it on!

Wolverine is a mutant who has been experimented upon (fact-check me here gang; I am not a Marvel dude). He has regenerative powers of shocking rapidity, but for the purposes of this discussion we're gonna go with the popular comic choice of him needing some time (one or two nights) to heal from something severe, like a dozen machine guns. He also has three foot-long claws that extend at will from his fists, which are made from

adamantium

, a purportedly indestructible metal. In fact, his entire skeleton is coated with a layer of the stuff, adding to his indestructibility and making him heavy as all hell. Now, the healing is a mutant power, and the

adamantium

is the result of a government experiment. The claws were long assumed to be part of the government's work, but a twist in the nineties suggested they were there before all that, made, at their core, of bone. Sadly, as a result of powerful amnesia,

Wolvie

barely knows a thing about his origins. Given his healing ability, it's possible he is really very old, but he maintains a loner attitude and an underdeveloped emotional capacity. He is trained in martial arts with a Japanese flavor, and prefers direct action to intricacy or planning.

Batman is just a dude--no superpowers. He has, however, spent every waking moment since he was six years old (or so) dedicating his life to studies both physical and mental that will help him fight crime in the urban sprawl of Gotham City, so often the argument is held that his single-minded determination is his "superpower." These studies include gymnastics, mixed martial arts, all sciences and technologies (with an emphasis on computers and

mechanistic devices

), detection, criminology and behavioral psychology. His mind and body are honed into excellence, and he's backed up in all of this by a huge estate and corporation left to him by his deceased parents. His

modus

operandi

is to research and investigate the hell out of everything ahead of time and be prepared, like an inky black boyscout. Owing to his background, he is incapable of accepting loss, either of people or in achievement.

Now (and I owe Friend Mark a nod for this): chances are it would all go down in Gotham. It's not hard to imagine these two egos clashing, but given that Wolverine generally wishes to best bad guys, it would take his stomping on Batman's grounds to make Bats take issue with him or his methods. So Gotham it is. And methods it is. Specifically,

Wolvie

would most likely only come to such a big city if he had to, presumably in pursuit of answers about his past or to hunt a baddie, and he wouldn't

announce

himself to the authorities. Now, it's hard to say what DC characters would feel about mutants. Batman would have no love lost over their DC equivalent--

metahumans

--but he's teamed with super types before, and some much fruitier than

Wolvie

. He is something of a control freak, though, and

Wolvie

would probably pretty quickly foul up some careful lead Bats was following. Bats would sneak up on him,

Wolvie

would smell him coming, Bats would warn,

Wolvie

would yawn him off, Bats would disappear suddenly and without a trace (because you can't smell them

going

). It's only on their next encounter they'd fight, probably with Bats tracking

Wolvie

, but

Wolvie

aware of it, and so he provokes him by threatening to shred a house of drug traffickers instead of arrest them.

And it's on.

My preference is to judge the winner by character examination. You can spend all day debating the merits of strategy, relative invulnerability and motorcycles versus

sports cars

, but at the end of the day, we're talking about events in a storytelling medium. If it isn't a good story, in this context, then it just isn't feasible (much less

desirable

). So we'll talk here about claws and cowls, but hopefully in how they serve an outcome, not their viability strictly as weapons.

(Brief irrelevant observation here: Why in the hell does Wolverine wear a mask? Bruce Wayne has to hide his identity to function in both worlds, but Logan has never shown any sign of needing to mask

himself

. Hell, he's on a continual quest for his identity! That's not the kind of guy who would dig getting his disguise on. Yeah, yeah; I know when he was created it was fashionable and they were trying to make him look more like his namesake. But come on.)

The fight would be all about control and, from this perspective, with Batman as the aggressor (trying to achieve control) and Wolverine as the defender (trying to escape control). This doesn't, however, mean that Bats gets to start the fight.

Wolvie

would probably startle him by drawing him in and then attacking suddenly. Bats would want to keep the high ground afforded him by his aerial equipment, but would just have to keep swinging lower to suppress

Wolvie

until it degraded into a street-level (or rooftop) brawl.

Surprises

would abound. Bats would have all kinds of interesting ways of evening the odds (in the eighties it would have

been a

neural suppressor to prevent the claws from engaging; in the sixties a giant bat-magnet), and

Wolvie

would shock Bats with moves so ugly they're almost absurd. Essentially, they're both incredibly experienced, intelligent fighters, once they get past the emotions. Along those lines, Bats would be doing everything he could to make Logan lose it whilst he maintained control of himself and the environment, and

Wolvie

would be doing whatever he could think of to cause Bats to falter from his grim determination.

Which is why, ultimately, Batman would win.

In every fight, Bats has some part of himself standing outside of the engagement, being the deductive reasoner, that part of him that he found years before, ready to carry him on past his parents' deaths. It's this part of him that inevitably carries the Rocky-

esque

twists of his fights: Just when he seems most lost, we discover that Bats was merely doing what he had to to manipulate the situation into his ultimate plan. He is ultimately objective, which is what makes him a hero, rather than a revenge-

obsessed

sociopath with a

Narcissus

complex.

Which is why, ultimately, Batman can't win.

In every fight, Wolverine's spirit is

indomitable

. It has to be--it's all he really has. Wolverine is actually a supremely vulnerable character. When he started out, this was manifested only by his impulsiveness and relative lack of strength compared to the other X-Men, rendering him more often as comic relief than as his current status of anti-hero. As writers developed his story, however, the vulnerability came out of this incredible amnesia and a conflict between who he seems to be and who he wants to be. For all his indestructible qualities, inside he's destroyed, and it's only his fighting spirit that he can rely on.

What we have here is a conflict between essential natures, and a stricture of conventional

comicbook

plots. The characters and their stories are serial, and keeping a balance between continuity and ingenuity is what marketing those comics is all about. That's part of what makes

comicbook

characters such contemporary icons: like the gods and heroes of myth, they are defined by specific characteristics that remain essentially the same. So we can have several Robins, and Batman can get his will broken by Bane, but only if it eventually returns him to his essential character with renewed vigor. This is great for hero worship and power fantasies. This sucks for narrative, because what's really interesting about a story is how people change as a result of it.

So I propose that the fight would end with Bats getting control of the

Wolvie

, and having his say about his jurisdiction and

Wolvie's

methods.

Wolvie

might even find his arguments compelling enough to stop threatening him for a moment. But

Wolvie

will not change his ways, and Bats will be forced to

expel

him from Gotham, like an animal released into the wild. Another little tussle, in which

Wolvie

gets a claw swipe at the utility belt, to no apparent harm, and Bats will have him ready for transport. The much-battered Batman will escort a bound Logan across whatever harbor borders Gotham, and Logan will light a

stoagie

, turn wryly back and say over his shoulder as all his bruises fade, "Been a while since I've had a beating, but I've had worse. Bit of advice: Remember that I owe you one, bub." And with that cryptic line, Wolverine leaves the scene.

In a brief coda, Bats goes back to the scene of their first meeting to scavenge clues that may not have been obliterated by

Wolvie

. In departing there, he uses his fly line to span an alleyway, to discover

mid-flight

that it is nicked. The line snaps, sending him crashing to a fire escape. "I suppose now we're even..." he says as he rather gingerly descends the escape.

Thoughts? Comments? Complete disagreement?