One of our VP’s of Marketing went and saw some theater this weekend. Here is the A Note from the Director that was printed in the program!

A NOTE FROM THE DIRECTOR

The war in Iraq; a crushing recession; continued but now more subtle, insidious forms of gender, racial, and sexual orientation discrimination; and a commercialization of art and music like no time previous.

That’s right, folks! Welcome to the new true American Dream: baseball, hot dogs, and the smiling tanned visages that fill our TiVo’s with their chemically whitenend smirks. It sets the stage for this play as much, if not more, than the actual stage you see before you tonight.

One question I wanted to answer with this project when I undertook it is what is the state of theatre–past, present, future, here, there,
worldwide, not-worldwide–as more and more of the world’s citizenry retreats every night after the Dance of Cubicles into their caves of Ikea and Restoration Hardware, reaching–not out to the starving or the gay or the environment or the unpet animals–but in; into a dog-eared bag of BBQ or Hawaiian sweet onion potato chips (Thank you Hawaiian natives for letting us colonize you so we could get your yummy flavors into our junk foods!) with one hand and clicking the soft rubber, suspiciously almost-nipple-like buttons of their TiVo remote with the other hand, staring blankly with both eyes into TV’s bottomless Super Bowl, filled to the brim with publicity-starved flakes running their Amazing Races, mixed with the clover-shaped marshmallows of CSI detectives, topped off of course with the milk of tuxedoed ciphers handing fakely red roses to gaggles of giggling teetering bachelorettes? What a nutritious breakfast, kids! Full o’ all essential vitamins and lies!

And what does it mean that theatre and art and thought are dying in our arms after being stabbed in the heart (or lung, hard to tell which) by the era of Bush? It means, I believe, that the graveyards filled with the headstones comprised of tall gray corporate office buildings become more and more crowded, and the “loved ones” of said corpses will have only a harder time finding the right gravestone. The flowers, candles, and teddy bears of our grief are more often left at the wrong plot. And, at the end of his shift, the Caretaker of our great Cemetery snickers as he gathers the misplaced tokens and sells them to banks and corporations who sit at his great table to dine each and every night at precisely profit:30 PM.

“CTRL-ALT-LOVE” tells the story of a young aspiring sitcom writer who is too humble to believe that the super model who lives next door has fallen head-over-heels for him. The writer also has a roommate who is quirky.

Thank you for coming tonight and putting yourself on the front line for true art/life.

I only need one snuff film: the Word of the Lord.

It molests and then kills sin and wickedness.

Jewish Resident of Pennsylvania Town Offended by Town Hall Nativity Scene

Hardtown, PA – Byron McIntyre, one of about 1,000 Jewish residents of this quaint approximately 25,000 people peopled small Pennsylvania town, loves everything about Hardtown. He grew up here, married here, choked here once, and raises his children here.

So it’s with difficulty that he took his hometown to court. Specifically, McIntyre, a third-generation Jewish-American, is offended by the Nativity scene showcased on the front lawn of the Hardtown City Hall every Christmas season.

“I know I’m Jewish and am not big into Christmas and all,” said McIntyre. “But I got to think that Hardtown citizens of other denominations are also offended by the fact that the Jesus baby has a huge erection poking out of his crib.”

McIntyre also went on to list other items in the Nativity diorama that he found offensive: “Mary is making very non-virginal eyes at all of the Three Kings, her ass is motorized, the sheep are in black face, and a robotic voice over the speakers proclaims, ‘Put caramel in your mouth, then lick me nuts, letting the caramel kind of slip around!’ repeatedly in the cold winter night all night long.”

“This just isn’t what I think Hardtown should be displaying in its public spaces,” shrugged McIntyre. “And it needs to stop.”

“Pssh. The guy needs to relax,” said another resident of this once-thriving steel town. “I don’t know the Bible that well, but I assume that stuff is in it and it’s Christmas time. You know, during Rosh Hashanah, the town hall doesn’t have a big insulting ‘Kike’ sign out front. So his people are getting recognized too.”

The Nativity scene mentioned in this story cannot be shown in this paper

Use of Private Jet Loses Homeless Man the Chance for 50 Cents

Denver, CO – Winston Dranger is a homeless man who puts his head down at one shelter or another or, more often than not, in a dark alleyway in downtown Denver. He says he’s 47-years-old, but looks more like he’s reaching his mid-60′s. And, like others in his plight, he feeds himself only through the small amounts of change he can panhandle throughout the day. So losing a chance at 50 cents like he did today was earth-shattering.

“One of my buddies, Slats, in Boulder told me he talked to a guy who could spare a full-on buck. Slats took 50 of the cents and was nice enough to call me to come get t’other 50,” said Dranger. “Sos, I flew over in my Gulfstream. Well, it happens the guy got all insulted I came over in a private jet. Said I was the height of arrogance or some such. He didn’t give me the change and, well, here I am again. Nothing to [eat]. I guess there’s always tomorrow. I hope, anyways,” he said as the chill of the night air whipped through his threadbare coat.

Asked how he, a homeless man with literally no funds was able to “call” his friend in Boulder, Dranger said, “We can’t afford no mobile phones or nothing like that, of course. Sos Slats hologrammed hisself to me using the ‘poor man’s phone’ as we call it.”

Dranger’s Gulfstream jet. Many times Dranger is unable to stock the bar with even the most essential of grain alcohols

American Smiles as He Remembers 9/11

But Realizes Memory Grows Fonder

Brainresults, PA – Guy Parson, 32, was sitting on a friend’s balcony early on the morning of September 11, 2001. And they were looking towards downtown Manhattan. It was a beautiful day.

“I remember perfectly blue skies. Then, I saw a big pretty plane heading towards one of the World Trade Center towers. That was pretty neat. I also remember that plane kind of touching the tower, kind of stroking it, if I remember correctly. I also remember, earlier that morning, we had like this awesome watermelon at my friend’s apartment, like the sweetest I’ve ever had. Like honey, that stuff. I also remember not having to go into work that day or the next. It was a great day, although I realize that people tend to remember things better than they really were.”