Creative Control

Miscellaneous Mental Musings of an Emerging Artist

One man’s trash is another man’s memory.


I was asked by an old friend of mine to see if I could locate the date of the first readthrough of You Can Find Your Own Way Out, the first full evening of theater I managed to write on my own (it was comprised of six loosely connected one-acts). Kim met her future husband, Levi, at the first readthrough of Home Security, the piece they had been cast in–as husband and wife, prophetically–which was sometime in January 1999, ten years ago.

I was, unfortunately, unable to nail down the exact date–I failed to keep any copies of the audition forms and the electronic copies vanished when my college computer died.

Instead I just ended up spending a lot of time with a random set of archives, which included a not-insubstantial trove of my earliest drivel, several plays by other people (notably, copies of Always in MotionThe Truth Against The World, and Jupiter’s Only Moon, which were written by Marc-Anthony Macon), and an uncounted number of programs for shows I’d forgotten I’d seen. The programs, in particular, were interesting for the names that popped up within them in much smaller roles than one might be accustomed to seeing them play today.

I also found, as a nice sort of coda to this post, a clothesline number from the very first performance of Too Much Light that I ever attended, in 1995, and the menu from the first time I saw the show after graduating from college.

The number is, for the record, #22, and the play on the back was One Night Stand.

The menu is from May 11-13, 2001, and was performed by Greg Allen, Marjorie Fitzsimmons, Genevra Gallo, Steve Mosqueda, Rachel Claff, Andy Bayiates, Connor Kalista, and John Pierson, with technical work from Bob Aldworth. Highlights from that menu–and by highlights I just mean plays that I still remember today either due to their impression on me in the moment or after seeing them performed again on gigs or tours–included German 101Low Stakes / High Drama27This Play Needs a Safe WordN.O.La, and Trust Me. Every Single Sentence In Moby Dick Is A Life Lesson.

I’m not sure why I’m still awake right now and I seem to be grasping for profundity instead of admitting that my brain is no longer functioning at optimal capacity.

I found some old stuff. It made me wistful. Good night.

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This entry was posted on January 16, 2009 by in Mental Health, Neo-Futurists, Performance, Plays, Writing.
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