fictional debut CD
Gah Gah Gah
I Added an "H",
(you can't sue me
The Rita &
Dept of Dramatic
a workshop of
by Dan Trujillo
Aug 16, 17, 30
part of the
@ the Utah
Cedar City, UT
by Dan Trujillo
home sweet home
fists with your toes
ian w. hill
e hunter spreen
trish and harold
kyle t. wilson
for myself and strangers
josh hates you
the amateur gourmet
the daily kirk
weenie org blogs
working group theatre
stolen chair theatre company
no blog, but weenies
anne de mare
edward crosby wells
all material copyright 2007 Dan Trujillo. All rights reserved.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
A letter from Dorothy Lemoult aka Dorothy FreedomSpice aka P’tit Boo:
Are you familiar with National Novel Writing Month?
Are you wishing you could write a play instead of a novel ?
Are you wishing you could write a novel *and* a play ?
Come join NaPlWriMo!!!
I started it last year as an alternative to Nanowrimo. It began as a joke but so many people took it seriously that I had to follow through!!!
We had about 20 playwrights last year ( ranging from professional published playwrights to high school students) and it looks like we will have at least twice that amount this year.
Naplwrimo's mission is to nurture playwrights of all levels while fostering community and the creation of new theatrical works on a global level.
We run in November at the same time as NaNoWriMo and our speciality is plays. A lot of our rules are the same, though we are a much smaller operation and we are run a bit differently.
Note: no screenplays. Plays only. You'll have to wait for June so you can do Script Frenzy !!!
If you want to sign up for NaPlWriMo, visit us on the site or on myspace or facebook and sign yourself up !
NaPlWriMo myspace group
NaPlWriMo facebook group
Thank you for reading and I hope you'll join us or pass this on to others who might!
See you in November!
Labels: plugs, theatre
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Okay Here Are My Questions:
- Did the child actually say the words, “This Halloween I want to be a mummy?”
- Did s/he specify a mummy that looks like it has been laundered in pure Flourescent Whitening Agent?
- Did the parents send the child out trick-or-treating barefoot as well, for accuracy, because s/he should know that mummies did not get to wear nice sneakers like we have nowadays?
- And if accuracy was their concern, where can I find the Egyptian wall painting that depicts the dressing of the dead in a happy little hula skirt?
- Not to mention the cowl which appears to conceal a young Conehead?
- Most importantly: Did the parents consider that dressing up their child as an animated corpse that crawled out of its tomb so that by the light of the full moon it might seek victims to strangle with its moldering claws, while certainly in the spirit of the season, is tempting fate a bit?
- Isn’t s/he precious?
UPDATE: Upon further examination, I can see that this costume might be that of a ghost, but the dangling strips of white material and bound legs, combined with the lack of any reference to the traditional sheet-with-two-eyeholes, makes it a pretty confusing design concept. And like dressing junior up as a wayward soul doomed for eternity to haunt a raven-infested wilderness is any better.
Labels: images, questions
Friday, September 28, 2007
Do Not Judge Me
Who are you to look at me with scorn, when I pointed at you and laughed? You’re funny looking: I was only noting this simple fact, aloud for the benefit of my fellow pedestrians. Do you glare when someone points out the color of the sky? No. So don’t judge me. Only God can judge me. And you, Weird-Lips.
Labels: booby hatch jive, monologue
Monday, September 24, 2007
And In Other Webby News
I don't smoke regularly. I have one maybe once a year. Yet this morning at around 10 am I had such a strong urge for a smoke that I had to call my wife. At around 10:30 am I got all of this spam urging me to quit smoking.
Irrefutable conclusion: my wife secretly runs a successful spam business.
Labels: technology, true confessions
A New Take on His Play The Snow Ball
Today's hilarious search-engine result that brought up this site:
a. r. gurney nudity nude
I can't imagine why. I can't.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Can’t Do It
Today’s a somber day of reflection for many, but it’s also my eight-year wedding anniversary. So forgive me if I don’t join in on the sobriety, and instead say that my wife is rad.
And I’d also like to apologize to her for breaking both our cellphones in the course of 48 hours. I plead the hero-dad defense on the first (I chased after a floaty my daughter threw in a lake and forgot my phone was in my pocket), but I make no excuse for the second (I strapped hers to my belt-loop, despite her misgivings, and then dropped it in the middle of the street). But is there any greater gift a man can give his wife than a reminder of his own incompetence?
Labels: true confessions
Friday, September 07, 2007
This morning, CNN.com demonstrated its understanding of the Comedy Rule of 3
Friday, August 31, 2007
Call Me Irresponsible
Inquiries here and elsewhere as to whether or not I found the edge of the Earth, and dropped off it. If by “Earth” we mean “the Internet,” then this is true. What’s in the chasm?
- The workshop of Early Poe at Utah Shakes. Great actors and a good working experience. I’m finally comfortable with the play, in that I’ve accepted (though I’ve known for a while) that it is not the sort of play that fits in with the NYC off-off-scene. It feels like I’ve found peace with a wayward child.
- Five plays are fighting for attention. I need to spend time realizing them.
- One million application deadlines, as most playwrights know.
- School plans for my eldest, which changed at the last possible second.
- The peace of mind found only away from up-to-the-second punditry and comment threads.
I can’t promise I won’t vanish again, but I will try to post something regularly…anything…
Ah, that’s the stuff.
Labels: theatre, true confessions
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I yammered and yammed in an interview at this Portland theatre blog, followspot.com, but I assure you there's also useful and interesting posts about Portland's vibrant theatre scene. Be sure to check it out on Monday, when Grote gets grilled. You can read my grilling here.
Labels: linkage, theatre
Monday, July 02, 2007
You’ve Received an Ecard From a School-Mate!
You’ve received an Ecard from a school-mate!
I knew three Joshes in school. Which one?
I assure you, any girl from school named Candi had nothing to do with me. And nice use of lascivious italics, email.
You’ve received an Ecard from a family member!
I think we both know that’s pretty unlikely.
For one thing, I don’t have any family in Russia. Your domain is “.ru”.
Silly! Our Ecard company is from Russia.
So you’re saying that my family used a Russian Ecard service.
The same people that haven’t figured out how to unnest a forwarded attachment.
You’ve received an Ecard from a friend!
You should’ve gone with that subject header first. Come on, “school-mate”? Did I board at the academy in Newton-On-Idjitshire? Honestly, who’s stupid enough to open these emails?
You’ve receive an Ecard from a theatre company!
Ooo! Is it Manhattan Theatre Club?! I knew they’d finally come around! [opens]
HOT FOR YOU RUSSIAN BABES VIAGRA CIALIS 0437742 WRGL ZZR FATAL EXCEPTION ERROR
Labels: dialogue, technology
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
This Way I Don’t Have To Think of Anything to Write About
Thanks to Meron for the assist.
Bloggers must post these rules and provide eight random facts about themselves. In the post, the tagged blogger tags eight other bloggers.
- I don’t like The Sopranos, but I will watch anything with William Shatner.
- I have an autographed copy of the Go-Gos LP, Beauty and the Beat.
- I owe a call to my friend since 2nd grade
- Favorite rum: Appleton
- I once got into an argument with a total stranger about whether or not “blue balls” is a real phenomenon (P.S. it is)
- I rode a tandem bike only once, and I crashed it into a street sign
- Today my debut CD is titled Nobody Likes a Whiner Unless They Bring Cookies.
- There’s lots of things I thought of putting on the list, but didn’t.
Crimeny Jehosophat, tag EIGHT PEOPLE?! No way. That’s too many. Besides, I know I’m late to this party, hasn’t everybody already done this one? Look, if you haven’t done it, do it. Okay?
Labels: meme tags, true confessions
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
The mysterious e. hunter spreen has whacked me with Laura Axelrod's sinister invention, "5/5".
1. Name your area of expertise/interest
Right now? The chunk of “Nips” brand dulce de leche candy that has fused itself to my upper right molars. Ha! You thought I was going to say “playwriting” didn’t you?! HA! STUPID FOOLS! If there’s one thing I’m not an expert in, it’s that. This candy stuck in my teeth, though, I am intensely interested in.
2. How did you become interested in it?
One of my coworkers planted a bag of the stuff near the file cabinets, because she has a hatred of molars/passion for incisors, or maybe she wants to see how long before I go after the STUPID CARAMEL with my fingers, or perhaps she hopes to get hold of my fillings and prospect for gold.
3. How did you learn how to do it?
You don’t learn this. Like great art, it only can come from an experience of profound fucking suffering.
My tongue is learning how to twist itself into all sorts of new positions in a vain campaign to pry this candy loose. Maybe I will be a better deep-kisser for this experience. They say the tongue is the strongest muscle, but it is apparently not strong enough to dislodge this piece of GODDAMN GORILLA GLUE disguised as a tempting sweet.
4. Who has been your biggest influence?
Dr. Drill N’ Fill.
5. What would you teach people about it?
Lesson Plan – Caramel Stuck in Your Teeth 202 – D. Trujillo, instructor
Week 1: Review syllabus, develop objectives for semester
Week 2: Investigative reading: Barbara Tuchman, Howard Zinn
Week 3: First essay due
Week 4: Guest lecturer (TBA)
Week 5: GAAAAAA GET THIS OUT OF MY FUCKING…GAAAAGHH! MOTHER OF…GAAAAAARRRGH THAT’S A BASTARDY FUCKING NERVE ENDING GARKGJOPL
Let’s see, who to tag...Sherri, Kronda, Adam, Meron, and Sarah.
Labels: health, meme tags, true confessions
Saturday, June 23, 2007
i google myself
I am remiss in my totally venal plug: check out i google myself by my schoolyard chum Jason Schafer, produced by Theatre Askew at Under St. Marks, St. Marks btwn. 1st and A, NYC. It's a delightfully evil play, with porn stars, hot air balloons, and googling. Runs through July 7th, Thu-Sat, 8pm.
Labels: plugs, productions, theatre
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
No One Here Except Us Monsters
a selection from
a supernatural noir
CHARACTERS IN SELECTION
NERÓN, male 30s, Colombian, efficient and devoted.
EDVARD, male 40s (played by a woman), old-fashioned in manners, a slight Swedish accent
TIEF, male 20s-30s, a contraband dealer
An empty, abandoned hangar.
Wind howls perpetually outside.
Pool of light, center. An easel, with a canvas, covered by a sheet. A chair.
[NERÓN has been instructed by his employer to receive a painting from a shady dealer, TIEF, who seems insane. NERÓN has also been told not to look at the painting.]
NERÓN (on cell phone:)
Yes ma'am I think it’s here, but you shouldn't come until I
NERÓN (cont’d, to TIEF:)
I’m taking possession of the painting.
EDVARD enters, wearing a hat, behind NERÓN.
NERÓN (cont'd, still to TIEF:)
If it is not the painting my employer requested, I will
TIEF (singing, taunting:)
You don't know what it is, you don't know what it is, you don't know what it is
Ignore him. He is not well.
Who are you?
Harmless, I assure you sir. I merely accompany the painting.
NERÓN (to TIEF:)
Who is this?
TIEF looks around.
Gone, gone, Thank God, gone
Fool, who is this man?
TIEF walks away.
Where are you going?
Fool, you haven't got your payment yet.
Just stretching my legs a little bit, a little solitude, thank God, I can be all alone in a room as big as this.
TIEF is gone.
Let him take his walk. He is harmless I assure you. I give you my word, as a gentleman. You’re the new owner?
I’m keeping it for her.
I don’t understand, you must be the new owner.
The fool gave it to me, so yes, for now, it’s in my hands.
Ah yes of course.
Answer me now: Who are you?
A good question. I can tell you that this is my painting.
The painting belongs to my employer now.
By which I mean, I painted this painting.
You're the artist?
Essentially, yes. What sort of woman is she, your employer and her husband?
Her husband is dead.
Oh, my sincere condolences. But I would like to know the widow's character, if I may. Perhaps she is a woman that is content. Perhaps she is happy and has always been happy.
She’ll keep your masterpiece safe. Go away now.
Please, reassure me sir, tell me that she has no regrets.
I wouldn’t know.
She does. She has regrets. I can see it in your eyes.
No, no she will not do
The painting is not yours anymore.
You don't understand, I cannot go through this yet again
Let me explain to you: I learned secret torture methods from the police in Colombia. I was taught how a man may lose most of his body without losing consciousness. I can do this unaided by the tools of men.
I have no doubt that you are capable of extraordinary violence, sir, and I am suitably impressed.
I'm only extraordinary when harm is meant to her.
Ah I see. You are a knight, lost in the modern world. There are few left like you. You have regrets but, also great will. I might be most fortunate in making your acquaintance first.
Certainly I may sit until she comes? Certainly there is no harm in that? I am no threat to a man of your physique. As a fellow foreigner to these United States, I ask you, allow me to wait. If your employer can dismiss me, then I shall go, gladly.
This is why I don't like art, the artists.
Sir. May I ask a favor of you? I would greatly appreciate it, if you were to look at my painting.
I was instructed not to.
By her? Yes of course. Though, wouldn't you agree, this presents a sizable risk on her part? For these sorts of transactions, you ought to be fully informed.
Why don't you go off somewhere and paint?
All of that is past now.
So you follow this one around?
I am forever with this one.
You're a weird man.
My whole life has been spent walking by the side of a bottomless chasm.
A cry from the darkness.
Silence. NERÓN tries to see out there.
Who's there?! You, fool, is that you?
That fool is dead.
That is unfortunately not surprising.
Very likely a heart attack. He was not a well man.
What's going on?
I would like to tell you. Sir, I would like to.
NERÓN removes the sheet, looks at the painting. Yes, he knows it.
People always ask the artist, "Where do you get your ideas?" Very often there is no answer. But in this case. I was walking along the road with two friends. Below me was the fjord. The sun set. I felt a tinge of melancholy. Suddenly, the sky became a bloody red. I stopped, leaned against the railing. And I looked at the flaming clouds that hung like blood and a sword over the blue-black fjord and city. My friends walked on. I stood there, trembling with fright. And I felt a loud, unending scream piercing nature. That is what I painted, you can see, the clouds like real blood. The colors, themselves, scream.
I've seen this.
My name is Edvard Munch. This is my painting, "The Scream."
Labels: dialogue, theatre
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Normally I don’t bring this stuff up. But the theatre-weenie luminaries in my hometown gave me an award last night: Outstanding Original Script, for Jingle Spree. It warms my neglected weenie fuzzies, in a way that other awards can't. It's like a pat on the back from Sarge. I miss Portland so bad it hurts sometimes.
I have to credit the cast (Eric Reid, Deanna Wells, Bill Barry, Barb Klansnic, Harold Phillips, my homeslice Adrienne Flagg), Director Tony Sonera and crew, for the good that came. Amazing. Especially since the reviews were mixed. And especially since eight people actually saw the production.
Okay, enough onanistic horn-tooting. Time to Toot the Horns of Others!
I went to the Grote reading last night, and it's a tribute to the writer that I was very involved in the play, in spite of the fact that I was not so much listening as poaching in the sweat of a hundred strangers. Seriously, it was hot. Henceforth my readings will always feature eunuchs with large straw fans.
Labels: theatre, true confessions