So I’m in Chicago as a part of the Single File Theatre Festival. And I’m here to report it’s not much of a festival. I dig the people that put the festival together, but I must admit that the lack of audience is definitely a downer. The staff is great. The space is good. Chicago is one of my faviorite cities especially this time of the year. But coming up here from Jacksonville on my own dime to perform for 12 people one night, and 6 the next is a little rough. Thankfully, Holly Bass is also with me along with out director Barbara. Holly got into the festival because I prodded her to apply, I thought it would be cool for all of us to be there together. Thank God I did. It’s not half as bad when you have someone to commiserate with.
This is nothing new. I’ve done this several times in New York at the Nuyorican. I good venue that lives off of it’s reputation. And it’s deserved. The Nuyo is legendary. And whenever I’m in town, I always stop by. I love the place, but still it has a lot to be desired when it comes to theatre and promotion. They don’t have to promote the poetry, because it is a staple, but theatre is something altogether different. So several of the times I’ve been in NY, I’ve had microscopic audiences. It hurts some when you are pouring your heart out on the stage, and get nothing in return. But hey, that’s the way it is sometimes. It’s all apart of paying your dues, and Lord knows I’ve got a ton more to pay. So you suck it up, get on stage and give the 4 people in the audience the best show they ever saw.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Friday, September 03, 2004
The week that was
So I wrote earlier that i was not going to write about my family in this blog. And for the most part I will not, but this week, family is all wrapped up in my work, and there is no way to write this blog honestly, without dealing with this week.
My father is a great man. A baptist minister with a huge congration. I love and respect him. But I will never be him. For a long time I think I wanted to live up to that. Not necessarily becoming him, but living up to his standard. Maybe it's the influence of my mother who has set such high standards for me, and I've always felt inclined to reach for them. Lately though, I've been realizing that their standard may not fit mine. Not that I am shooting lower, but at a completely different target. They never wanted me to follow this path I'm on. I don't have the language to tell them that i didn't choose the path, it choose me. I just do what i need to do to live. This is very much a survival thing to me writing and performing is like breathing I can't just stop. But they don't understand that. They think it takes away from my time with my immediate family, but it doesn't no more then any other father working a 9 to 5.
So this week in the local weekly newspaper, Folio Weekly, I was the cover story. I've know the write of the piece for awhile and have a good level of comfort with him, and I think he did a good job. But i haven't been able to enjoy the story or seeing my face all over town, primarily because of my parent's reaction.
My mother called it smut. Based on two things. One in the article, I use some foul language. Shit, ass, and fuck. (in that order) all in context and all make sense, I wish i hadn't for her sake, but on a whole, it is what it is. Secondly, I spoke about my personal life. Things that has happend to me on my journey. I am not ashamed by any of it. It is my life, I am not perfect. Things have happened, what is more important is how i handled them. Personally, I proud of my desicions, even the bad ones that have lead me to this point. I'm not where I want to be, but I've come so far from where I was.
My father is a great man. A baptist minister with a huge congration. I love and respect him. But I will never be him. For a long time I think I wanted to live up to that. Not necessarily becoming him, but living up to his standard. Maybe it's the influence of my mother who has set such high standards for me, and I've always felt inclined to reach for them. Lately though, I've been realizing that their standard may not fit mine. Not that I am shooting lower, but at a completely different target. They never wanted me to follow this path I'm on. I don't have the language to tell them that i didn't choose the path, it choose me. I just do what i need to do to live. This is very much a survival thing to me writing and performing is like breathing I can't just stop. But they don't understand that. They think it takes away from my time with my immediate family, but it doesn't no more then any other father working a 9 to 5.
So this week in the local weekly newspaper, Folio Weekly, I was the cover story. I've know the write of the piece for awhile and have a good level of comfort with him, and I think he did a good job. But i haven't been able to enjoy the story or seeing my face all over town, primarily because of my parent's reaction.
My mother called it smut. Based on two things. One in the article, I use some foul language. Shit, ass, and fuck. (in that order) all in context and all make sense, I wish i hadn't for her sake, but on a whole, it is what it is. Secondly, I spoke about my personal life. Things that has happend to me on my journey. I am not ashamed by any of it. It is my life, I am not perfect. Things have happened, what is more important is how i handled them. Personally, I proud of my desicions, even the bad ones that have lead me to this point. I'm not where I want to be, but I've come so far from where I was.
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