ONE WORD 

I'm telling the camping story again on May 30th.  A bunch of us got an email from Tania this morning:  

I'm making a short video to promote YOU and Most of Lit Lounge so... If you have 30 seconds, please send me a video or photo (taken from your computer or not, whatever is easiest for you) of YOU holding up a piece of paper with ONE sentence or ONE word that explains WHY you are passionate about Lit Lounge!

Don't over over think it. Just feel it, write it down, video tape it! 

I took a break from job applications, covered yesterday's beverage container with plain paper, and made a Post-it out of yellow construction paper.   

I tried a few different words, a few different poses.  This is the one I sent Tania.

She approved.

Trap Dancing

Music from Three Walt Disney Movies: The Parent Trap, Summer Magic, In Search of the Castaways
Disneyland Records DQ-1318 

I pulled this record out of Goodwill on Thursday.  Cost me a buck. 

It had a $14 price tag from another store, from 2011.  It doesn't seem likely that an active collector would pay top dollar for a near-mint Disney soundtrack only to have the record donated to Goodwill two years later.  Foul play? Death in the family?  I know other stores donate unsold merch to Goodwill, but if it was overpriced at $14, why not just discount it?  Price it to move?

It's a conundrum.

I can't remember the last time I saw The Parent Trap, but I do remember owning the novelization.  Probably bought it at a Scholastic book sale at my school back in 1975. I've never seen Summer Magic or In Search of the Castaways.

Anyway, this post isn't about Hayley Mills and her guitar chops.  It's about synchronicity. On Thursday, I happened to pick up this record. Wasn't looking for it, didn't even know it existed.  Hadn't thought about The Parent Trap in years and years.

On Saturday morning, I met with a friend who's programming a reading I'm doing in May. Tania hosts a monthly reading series with five readers and a local band.  I participated last September, told a funny story about camping. In May, Tania is doing a one-off show in an 800-seat venue with ten readers and three bands.  Five Los Angeles-based readers, five locals.  She asked me to participate a couple of months ago, gave me a contract.  

For this, I am eternally grateful.  

I asked her if she wanted the camping story again or if I should write something new. She said she loved the camping story (it plays well, has some big laughs), but yeah, sure, knock yourself out.

I ended up writing a piece about my father, who died ten years ago. Not exactly loaded with laughs, but I was going for something different this time. Something personal, something quiet, something honest. Entertaining but reverent. It's about my father's life and death, not a rant about shitting in the woods.

I recorded the piece as a ten minute voice memo on my iPod Touch, brought it with me to coffee on Saturday.  I had a very nice chat with Tania and her French bulldog, Felix. Tania excused herself once to pee, and a second time to wipe some of Felix off the front of her pants.  It was almost an hour before we got around to talking about the May performance.

I gave her my iPod and sat while she listened.  She acknowledged the one big laugh I'd allowed myself, but mostly she went aah.  She did that a lot, she went aah.  

I found that very satisfying.  It's that kind of piece.  It ends with a whisper.  

She took off the headphones and returned my iPod.  She said, "this  kind of piece needs an intimate setting."  And she's right, it's perfect for a 100 seats.  

She asked me if I would read it in June or July, when the reading series returns to the smaller venue.  She said she could use this piece to establish the theme, an evening of parent-inspired stories.

This is what she scribbled in her notebook:  The Parent Trap.

And that, bitches, is what I'm talking about when I say synchronicity.

I gave Tania a hug and kissed her on the cheek and she took Felix to get his anal gland expressed.  

We have some vague plans to write something together this summer.  I hope it happens, I really do.

Performance Anxiety

I met Tania at Echo Coffee this morning and we talked for about an hour. 

Goddamn, I love Tania.  So much good energy, so much encouragement, great sense of humor. 

It was Tania who asked me to participate in the Lit Lounge program at SMOCA last September.  One of the reasons we met this morning was so she could give me a dvd of that evening's performance. 

Tania had previously asked me if I was free to read again in May. 

Apparently, she's putting together a "best-of" show in a larger venue and I told her yes, I definitely wanted to participate.  Tania had a contract with her and she explained I could simply perform the same piece again or come up with something new. 

I told her I would be happy to work on a new piece and she could choose which one she wanted me to use.  We also talked about a few other writing/performing projects which I'm excited about. 

I was supposed to have lunch with the kids, but Sara stayed up late completing one of her finals.  She sounded exhausted when we spoke, and I told her I would see her and Sam this Thursday at Sara's graduation.

When I got home, I slid the Lit Lounge dvd into my computer. 

It was weird, watching myself. 

I wasn't nervous during the performance (I nursed a gin & tonic while the first three performers read), but I was conscious of trying to stay within my alotted time.  You can hear most of my jokes just fine, but I could have taken a few more pauses. 

Of course, there are worse things than summing up your reading by saying, "you actually can't hear everything I said because the audience was laughing too hard."

I am keenly aware that it may never happen again. 

I plan on posting my portion of the show in the next week or so, once I find some time to do a little editing on it.  Then I need to get to work on a new piece. 

There's another installment of Lit Lounge on December 28th.  Tania offered tickets and said she had some funny Jewish women to introduce me to.

It's nice having friends.