Before I begin, you have prerequisite reading: The Empty Spaces, or, How Theatre Failed America, an essay from the Seattle Stranger by Mike Daisey.  You must read this before you continue.  Don’t worry, I can wait.

…

Ready?  Okay.So a question has been laid on the table: How do we save theatre?  Well first, let’s think about what theatre is.  I’m not talking about some fancy Webster’s dictionary definition¹, I’m talking about the essence of what it means to go on stage every night for six days a week.  No, it’s not money.  No, it’s not success.  It’s not fame.  It’s your soul.

Art is putting your soul out there for people to see and appreciate.  Theatre is doing that by creating a story.  Painters do it by putting brushes to canvas.  Dancers dance.  Singers sing.  Writers write.  And we all do roughly the same things: a musician, for example, has twelve notes² to utilize.  You’ve heard a million songs in the chord progression I – IV – V, from the Beatles to blues to rock to folk, etc etc ad nauseum.  But it never gets old.  Why?  Because of the persons giving you the music.  The Beatles would never be the Beatles without John, Paul, George and Ringo, period.  The Rolling Stones without Mick Jagger and Keith Richards would be nothing.  Carrie by Stephen King would be different if written by someone else.  This is just how it is.

One of the great things about theatre is that it inverts the concept of creation: with music, it’s usually one act creating many songs, or one artists making many paintings, but in theatre, it’s one play inhabited by thousands of actors.  Imagine all of the people who have played Hamlet.  I guess from an actor’s point of view it’s one person becoming a thousand people, but still.  Every play is like a cover band.

So what is the problem with theatre?  A couple of things.  One, it’s becoming too commercialized.  Regional theatres are becoming national theatres in the sense that, instead of hiring brilliant regional actors, they’re outsourcing to New York, which is a silly, stupid idea.  Regional actors are who regional people want to see, plain and simple.  I’m going to talk about the Boise theatre scene for a second because it’s so small it’s laughable, but also because I know more about it than anywhere else.  Boise has two big theatre companies: the Idaho Shakespeare Festival, and Boise Contemporary Theater.  The former does summerstock, or theatre in the summer, in an outdoor venue.  They do maybe one Shakespeare show just so they can keep the title, and then do other shows. A couple of years ago they did Arsenic and Old Lace, which I actually thought was pretty gutsy of them, considering Arsenic is almost exclusively a community theatre play.  But mainly they are a “spectacle” theatre: fancy sets and costumes, boisterous actors, physical comedy — stuff to entertain the masses.  Style without substance.  One of the crutches of theatre is that people assume the script is the substance, but it’s not.  The substance of theatre is the play happening on stage (and, to a lesser extent, to the rehearsal process).

Anyway, ISF outsources to New York, especially for their musicals, which is a fucking travesty because we have an enormous group of very talented singers, dancers, and actors at Boise State who would love to be a part of that experience.  Here’s where the “regional” aspect comes in … some of the non-outsourced actors have been there for several years, and that’s part of the charm of it all: patrons keep coming to the theatre to see the shows, but also to see their favorite actors performing.  They look for nuances in each performance.  They grade the actor based on past experiences.  These actors aren’t celebrities, they’re almost part of a family.  Unfortunately, it’s a family that only rich, white people can see.

This would be okay if ISF also didn’t make it look like they were raising young actors to eventually be a part of their stage.  As with all theatres, they have youth classes and whatnot, and one of those classes is the Apprentice program, wherein a bunch of rich kids pay a lot of money to get taught by the ISF staff over the summer, taking “master classes” (I fucking hate that term) and being glorified stagehands and extras.  They become part of this “family” that’s really just a clever money pit, because once these kids are too old to be a part of the program anymore, they either get the illustrious job of being assistant stage managers (read: stagehands), or they go to college and major in theatre because they’re so full of the spirit of it all, and get their degree and audition for the artistic director in an audition that can only be called a favor to the department chair, only to be told that they need a graduate degree.  And that’s frustrating, but fuck it, they’ll go to graduate school, do their two years learning how to become a puppet of corporate theatre, and then finally get into ISF — a theatre company they gave their hearts to eight years ago — only to be in a shitty version of Midsummer Night’s Dream set in Studio 54.  Oh, the audiences will eat it up; Puck is dressed like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever!, the “magic potion” given to Titania and Lysander is actually cocaine!, everyone does the electric slide at the end!  Congratulations, you just sold your soul in a way you never thought you could.

Well … I didn’t expect to go on such a rant right there.  I just really dislike the Apprentice program.  For the record, I never participated in the program; my family was too poor.

The other theatre company, BCT, fares a little better.  They do occasionally bring in the out-of-state actor (or, say, Lauren Weedman for her one woman shows … but of course that’s understandable).  Their shows are small and intimate, usually three to four actors, which is nice.  And they’re trying to reach out to the actors in the city, with staged readings and other internships and whatnot, but they still cast the same actors in every show.  Which is good, because they’re local actors and they’re very good, and like I said earlier, audiences like to see the same actors, but it just means no opportunities for fresh faces.

They’re also having a “Season Opening Celebration” which is a thinly veiled fundraiser.  How much does it cost to get in?  $100.  Fucking ridiculous.  Contrast that with the Manor of Art, a week long event here in Portland, right across the street from my house, with I believe eight to twelve bands, a ton of art in about three hundred rooms, all of it incredible, and how much did it cost to get in?

Suggested donation.  That’s how much it cost.

Theatre is not the fucking Freemasons.  It’s not some secret club that has a special handshake that you need to know to get in.  It’s a collaborative art form that includes the AUDIENCE as part of the collaboration.  It’s not a rich white people society, where white-haired old ladies watch August Wilson’s “Fences” only to talk about slavery on the drive home, totally missing the point, and perhaps the plot, of the entire play.  And it certainly, certainly should not cost one hundred dollars to go to a theatre opening celebration.  That’s fucked up, plain and simple.

I’m getting a little off topic, and I apologize.  But to all my actor friends in Boise (those who aren’t in ISF or BCT) I implore you to leave.  Move away.  Go to a city that has more theatre opportunities.  Get some gigs under your belt.  Then maybe come back.

So the answer to the big question: how do we save theatre?  First and foremost, cut ticket prices across the board.  Plays cost anywhere from $20 to $60 these days, while movies only cost $10, and people always complain about the cost of a movie.  Theatre is not more “special” than a movie.  It’s a different experience, sure, but they’re essentially the same medium (an audience watching actors), and one should not cost more than the other.  Make theatre tickets $10, maybe $5 for senior citizens.  No one is turned away then. We live in an age where a few people make a lot of money, but most people don’t, and those people don’t want to have to choose between a play, or groceries.  If you’re wondering why so many people watch TV, this is one of the big reasons: because they can’t afford to go to anything else³.

This will invariably lead to budget cuts for costumes, props, lighting, etc.  This is a good thing.  The old theatre adage is “Keep it simple, stupid.”  Yet if you look at Broadway these days, or any of the big theatre companies, you see this is clearly not what they’re thinking.  And so what happens is that the story gets bogged down by spectacle, by style, by exuberance of novelty.  I think — I hope — that we’re finally reaching a point in our society where this is starting to die down.  Probably not, but you never know.  Unfortunately, keeping prices low will mean more audience members, but less money overall, but that’s a good thing!  It means you have to A) innovate, and B) act better! so that people will say “Oh that play was great!” vs “Oh that set was pretty!”

This is a good thing, I promise you.  I know that the costume designers and set designers out there will feel left out by this proposition, but I assure you, it’s a good thing.

Another obvious solution is to not spend so much money on equity actors in New York, and instead spend slightly less on, you guessed it, regional actors!  I suppose artistic directors think that this diminishes the quality of the theatre they produce, but I guarantee you it doesn’t.  This is what auditions are for, to weed out the shit actors from the good ones.  Unfortunately acting is all about “networking” now, which is a business way of saying “kissing ass.”  They call it networking because it obviously is not making friends.

I know, I know, you theatre companies have children to feed and houses to pay for.  I understand all of that.  We all do, because we all have rent and children and dogs, etc etc.  But we all share a common bond: we all love theatre.  We love giving a piece of ourselves for the good of the community.  We love an engaging story that brings the audience to a feeling of higher consciousness.  We love making people laugh.  We love making them cry.  It’s not manipulation, it’s storytelling, and we’re going along with them.  But stories should be for everyone, not just the privileged few who can afford it.

Ultimately, the ticket prices is just one aspect of theatre that we can control.  We can’t control the motion of our culture, the fact that young people would rather watch the stupidity of Transformers 2 than the brilliance of, say, Eric Bogosian. Or Mamet.  You think kids would love Mamet, buuut no.  They want to be dumb.  They are being funneled into mindless job drones, carefully manipulated into getting a job doing the same stupid shit eight hours a day until they die.  Honestly, I think art is what is going to fix this country.  I wish other people felt the same.

Sorry for rambling, I tend to do that a lot.  I just don’t want my college education to go to waste.  I think we could easily save the American theatre, but doing so will require a huge sacrifice — by everyone.  Money, first, time, second.  And if you’ve read this far, I’d love to hear your opinions too. 

brooksbayne: we did close it [it being WWII] successfully. that’s why u won’t find anyone arguing otherwise. learn from the successful models.

zornog: Do you think that the Iraq war has the same merit as WWII?

brooksbayne: i think the global war on terrorism has the same merit as wwII, of which iraq is part.

zornog: Okay, answer this question: When does the war on terrorism end?

brooksbayne: it ends when it ends.

zornog: And how will you know when it’s ended?

brooksbayne: as i said, it’s over when it’s over and not one day earlier.

zornog: Okay, so let’s say one day the War on Terrorism ends. Does that mean terrorism ends?

brooksbayne: u need to reread my last two tweets. i’ve been quite clear.

zornog: No, you haven’t. “It ends when it ends” is actually a very vague statement. I’ll ask again: when does the War on Terror end?

brooksbayne: it’s not vague. when a outcome is based on participation of disparate parties, it’s up to all. so, it ends when it ends, finally.

zornog: Vague vague vague. “It’s up to all”? To what? To win? How do you “win” a war on terror? Is a peace treaty signed?

brooksbayne: examine those questions within the context of my response. you’ll find ur answer there. it looks like ur close to getting it.

zornog: No, actually, I get more confused. You don’t understand my questions. My point is that the whole War on Terror is worthless

zornog: because it cannot be won. There is no way you can stop terrorism by fighting a war on it.

brooksbayne: says who?

zornog: Says me! I’ll ask again: HOW do you end the War on Terror? At what point is it considered “over”?

brooksbayne: forgive me for not putting much stock in ur opinion. the question has been answered. u simply don’t like the answer.

zornog: Are you kidding me? Are you actually being serious? You did NOT answer the question. “It ends when it ends” is not an answer!

zornog: Do you think leaders during WWII said “It ends when it ends?” No, they said, “It ends when we kill Hitler.” That’s a reason.

brooksbayne: lol, ur so close to getting it.

zornog: Then why don’t you just tell me, O great leader of the free world?

brooksbayne: ”give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day; teach a man to fish, and he’ll eat for a lifetime.”

zornog: Ohhh, so you think establishing democracies is going to end the War on Terror. Well, good luck with that.

brooksbayne: that’s not something i said or implied.

zornog: Then what? Christianity? What are you implying? Why are you being so vague?!

And he stopped replying at that point.  Leaving me with absolutely no answers whatsoever.

Anyway, I made some point to connect independence and sociopathy/antisocial disorders. My position went something like this: Americans breed their children to be insular and to not trust people. This is done not by words but by actions, which, I argue, are more important than words, and even more fundamentally, dictate behavior much more than words do, especially to children. In other words, you may tell your child to “love thy neighbor,” but if you do not act that way, a child will not know how to love thy neighbor. I think this a pretty solid argument. Social interaction isn’t instinctual; if it were, children wouldn’t be born completely helpless. A horse walks within minutes of its birth, because walking is crucial for its survival. Human babies, however, are born only to be sponges for information.

For most of the evolution of man past its monkeyhood (yes, humans were once monkeys; I don’t care what god you follow, it’s fact), we have banded together for security and survival. Forming social groups was essential to our brain, language, and social development. In other words, we are who we are because of others.

In America, however, things are changing. We are becoming increasingly distrustful of our fellow man. We lock our doors, bar our windows, teach our children not to talk to anyone on the playground, never talk to our neighbors, watch as hundreds of men, women, and children are shows in brutal and agonizing ways on news and television and movies. Dateline stories about child predators, strange Muslim people flying planes into our buildings, our own money going down the toilet because of corrupt businessmen … more and more, people are blaming other people for the downfall of our country.

And let’s not forget divorce. What better way to force a child to consider the benefits of independence than by severing the most important connection they can have: the connection of a loving father and mother.

This has been going on for fifty years, maybe more. Each new generation is being taught that people are bad and not to be trusted. And so as children grow up, they learn to be “independent” as a survival tactic. Ten thousand years of evolution now thrown away to serve the Solitary Person. Parents, grandparents, hell, even children are bypassed these days. In America, there is only You, and everyone else is a mystery.

This, I say, breeds sociopathy. Antisociality is becoming the norm in America as people disconnect from society and connect to their computers. But that is a whole other blog for another day.

This antisocial disorder that pervades our society is the problem of our country. People don’t really care about foreign affairs other than making sure that Muslims don’t kills us and that we get their oil for our cars. Neighborhood Watches crumble as people stop giving a shit about the elderly couple at the end of the block. We’re all cooped up in our homes with a general distrust for everyone. And with the current economical crisis, it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon.

I’m sorry, I seem to be rambling a bit, and that’s because I can’t remember exactly what I said last night, other than that Americans are sociopaths by the very nature of our independence, our severing ourselves from virtually everything. I think my next post will be about the ironic replacement of society via the internet, aka A bunch of sociopaths gathering together.

I bring this up because of a conversation I had at /orate, about meat and vegans and, you know, the general shit that gets discussed on an online message board because we’re all trying desperately to show how mature we are. It was in a thread about “Walls of Glass,” a slideshow of pigs and cows being butchered, from the moment they’re wrangled up and killed to the moment they’re hung up on racks. Now, of course, that kind of imagery is shocking and disturbing, and I’m an animal lover so it sucks to see animals being killed. But on the other hand, I like meat. I think it tastes good and I think it’s good for me, so I eat it. I’ve had plenty of arguments (most of them on the internet, go figure) about the morality of eating animals, so let’s just skip that and move to the heart of this post: why I dislike veganism.

People who practice veganism range from really cool people to downright assholes. This may not seem surprising, as that wide range of personality extends to the general populace — ah hell, what am I talking about? Let’s get down to brass tacks.

Vegans are setting a double standard, and it goes like this: if I am having a dinner party, and a vegan is coming, it is usually assumed that I must make something for the vegan to eat. So if we have steaks, then I gotta make some kind of non-steak dish for the vegan. This way the vegan won’t feel “left out” (and also won’t starve, I guess). This would be okay in my book if it were reciprocated, but it’s not. If a vegan has a dinner party, the vegan will make only vegan foods, and will not make “meat” foods. This is a double standard. In fact, if I go to a vegan’s house for a dinner party and, knowing that they won’t prepare any animal products, bring a steak to make myself, there’s a pretty good chance I’ll be chewed out because of it. Why? Because of the poor treatment of animals, blah blah etc. My point is this: that’s not fair. At every party I’ve been to where there is a vegan (and Heidi, if you’re reading this, know that I think you’re awesome but hear me out), the vegan will always get some “vegan food.” For example, if we’re eating pizza, there will be one regular pizza and one pizza without meat or cheese on it. No one else is going to eat that pizza. Only the vegan will eat that.

Which means the vegan gets their own food! A whole pizza to themselves, while I have to share a pizza with a bunch of partygoers who are now going to eat twice as much because they’re terrified of gnawing on a bunch of crust and tomato sauce. That’s not fair! And alternately, if I’m at the vegan’s party, I have to gnaw on that crust! I’m forced to!

“You’re not forced,” the vegans say. “You don’t have to eat.”

Well you don’t have to eat at my party! Take that!

Sometimes vegans, in order to placate the dirty meat-eaters, will use strange alchemy skills to change the taste of tofu into the taste of something like meat, only rubbier and not like meat at all. They say, “See, this tofu tastes like meat!” This leads me into my second point: vegans eating meat-tasting things that aren’t actually meat. This is a disgrace to veganism. Vegans, to me, are an ascetic people, who live by extreme and stringent rules. They’re monkish, in other words. If this is true, then wouldn’t eating something that tastes like meat betray their own morality? Wouldn’t it mean that they want to eat meat? I think that if you’re going to abide by such stringent rules, then you shouldn’t eat things that taste like meat, because that shows that you want to eat meat, which means that deep down in your tree-hugging heart, you have a taste for murder!

My solution for this issue is for vegans to bring their own food to the party. A lot of them do that already, and those vegans are nice people. Or they help pay for their vegan pizza. But alternately, you have to allow us meat eaters to bring food to your parties, and if that is meat, then by god it’s meat, and we’re going to eat it and love it.

And that’s what I think about that.

Bros
You see them everywhere — in the club, drinking; at the football game, drinking; even at the Third Eye Blind concert, totally drinking, dude. These, my friends, are Bros — trend-followers, frat boys, and general sheep to corporate America. They drink Starbucks, they eat McDonalds, they shop at Abercombie & Fitch. They drive new Mustangs. Their parents have copious amounts of money, and their spoiled asses receive every bit of it. Your typical Bro, as of 2008, usually looks like this: backward baseball cap, ridiculous sunglasses, polo shirt, ironic golf shorts, and either Adidas shoes or some sort of distressed sandal. Bros love everything distressed, because it makes them look like they actually get out of the house, instead of playing Xbox 360 with their frat brothers until five in the morning.

The distinguishing characteristic of a man which makes him a Bro is his Lack of Originality. Bros don’t care to look unique in any way, or to say anything original or interesting. Bros just want to hang out and play beer pong. They follow any type of opinion that is easy and straightforward. They love George Bush because “He’s the president, dude, and you can’t hate the president,” but they also love Obama because, “He fuckin’ listens to Jay-Z, man!” They truly are the lemmings of society, ready to leap off a cliff if their basketball coach tells them to (or if there’s beer at the bottom).

Bros are usually seen with a vapid young freshman girl on each arm and a red plastic cup in each fist. They’re not afraid to get into a fight, especially when someone calls them an “ignoramus,” mostly because they don’t know what that means, and “Only a faggot would say something like that.”

Quick to anger and even quicker to keg stand, the Bro remains one of the largest 18-25 demographic in the country. There are three variations of the Bro: the Old Bro, which is a Bro who is older, usually a few years out of college, and refuses to accept the fact that he’s not cool anymore; the Non-Bro, which is usually a Normal Guy or a Nerd trying to be a Bro and failing, not because of their style, which is spot on, but because of their personality, and the fact that they use polysyllabic words often in conversation; and the Surfer Bro, which is the actual true Bro, the guy who really practices Buddhism and actually doesn’t give a fuck what you think about him. Those are very rare these days.

Breakdown of Bros
Average Age: 21! Yeah! Party!
Average Height: 5’7″ — not tall enough to be cool, but not short enough to be That Guy.
Average Weight: 230 — sucking in the beer gut.
Typical Bro Name: Brody.
Philosophy: They like to say Buddhism, but they don’t know what that means.
Favorite Food: Hot dogs from the street vendor after the clubs shut down.
Favorite Drink: Alcoholic.
Favorite Store: Tie — Abercrombie & Fitch and American Eagle Outfitters.
Favorite Sport: Tie — Football and beer pong.
Favorite Drug: Weed, dude.
Favorite Band: Bob Marley! He really gets me, man.
Favorite TV Show: Family Guy.
Favorite Movie: 300! (just beat out Rocky)

Sweet Dudes
Oh boy, here comes that guy with the weird piercing … or the one with the bright neon pink sunglasses … oh wait, here’s the one with the “I Heart Fucking” t-shirt. Out of the woodwork like an icky surprise, it looks like we’ve been attacked by a group of Sweet Dudes!

Men, typically high-school and college-aged men, follow one of two paths: either they’re a Follower, or they pretend to be a Leader when actually they’re still a Follower. The former is a Bro. The latter is a Sweet Dude. Sweet Dudes are all about personality. They exude Uniqueness, and, sometimes, Old Spice sweat. They wear ironic t-shirts and love to play guitar on street corners. Bros play guitar too, but they like to play “No Woman No Cry” for four hours straight; Sweet Dudes, on the other hand, will play you something they just wrote last night on a napkin from Denny’s, a twelve-minute screamo song made up of just two chords, entitled, “My Heart, My Soul, Moons Over My Hammy.”

In essence, Sweet Dudes try too hard to be Original, and in doing so are completely unoriginal. They are, in a way, the arch-nemesis of Bros. Whereas Bros strive for Sameness, Comfort and Safety in Numbers, Sweet Dudes excel at doing what they think are new things (they’re not), and when they two meet at a bar, shit goes down.

At a party, a Sweet Dude will be the one with the wild mismatch of clothing, and will be the one always ready to party. Bros try to just hang out and have a good time, but Sweet Dudes love to be the center of attention, even if it means dropping trou and swinging their tiny penis like a ball and chain at the nearest hottie, screaming, “I’m hypnotizing you! I’m hypnotizing you!” until he’s beaten savagely (usually by the same hottie).

Typical Sweet Dude dress includes, but certainly is not limited to: wild hairstyle (some kind of color change is good), ironic and/or brightly colored t-shirt (especially that Threadless shirt about the haiku; that one is great), skinny ripped up jeans, socks a track runner would wear, and Converse. Always Converse. With little doodles on the edge.

Sweet Dudes make excellent band leaders or singers. If Jack Johnson is a Bro, then Pete Doherty is a Sweet Dude (and a particularly trashy one at that).

Sweet Dudes have a couple of variations: Hipsters, who are Sweet Dudes who like better music; Preppies, who are Sweet Dudes with more money, and, of course, Metrosexuals, who are Sweet Dudes with grooming capabilities.

Breakdown of Sweet Dudes
Average Age: Anywhere from 18 to 35, really.
Average Height: 6′ onward — they’re abnormally tall.
Average Weight: 175 — soaking wet.
Philosophy: New Wave.
Favorite Food: Pizza, preferably New York style.
Favorite Drink: Sparks or vodka and Red Bull.
Favorite Store: Vintage and/or Savers.
Favorite Tie: Skinny.
Favorite Sport: Yachting.
Favorite Drug: Cocaine.
Favorite Band: You probably haven’t heard of them.
Favorite TV Show: Something English.
Favorite Movie: Juno.

That Guy
Pleather jacket and a fedora. Hawaiian shirt, every day, even in winter. Scraggly, almost patched-on beard. Strange-yet-outgoing personality. Almost always drunk beyond comprehension. If you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all — that’s right, it’s That Guy.

For years, it was set in stone that That Guy was a prominent subculture of the Nerds — the Band Geeks in particular. But that was the 1950s to the 1980s. In the new millennium the sheer awkwardness of Those Guys has far outweighed the limitations of being simply a Nerd, and so That Guy finally has his own distinction, and with it, a new found appreciation by millions for his sheer gauchity (I just made that word up).

The principle characteristic of That Guy is his Awkwardness. Much like the Sweet Dude exudes Originality, That Guy exudes an inn
ate ability to make people feel Weird. This is done in several different ways, whether it be the strange, off-the-cuff things that he says (“I’m not wearing underwear right now, baby.”), to the way that he dresses (black socks and Birkenstocks), even to the way he stands next to you in line at the movies (somehow his crotch is lightly brushing your hip). That Guy is everywhere, always in the same style, too: slightly out-of-place hat (fedora, bowler, propeller beanie); makeup, occasionally; wrong decade shirt; shorts, even in 30 degree weather; and awkward shoes, usually either boots or loafers.

You’ll always know when That Guy is at a party because he’ll be the drunk in the corner, shouting at the Bros and Sweet Dudes, calling them obscene names while everyone points and laughs. One of the better aspects of That Guy is his Lack of Caring. Whether it be the local bum on the street or Ghandi himself, That Guy isn’t afraid to give him a piece of his mind, even if that piece is nothing more than incoherent rambling. That Guy truly is a king among drunks.

A lot of Those Guys have become successful by being That Guy (Bobcat Goldthwait anyone?), but most of them taper off their weirdness as they get older, much like a fine wine … except backwards, I guess.

There really are only two variations on That Guy: Hey Look, It’s That Guy and Who The Fuck Is That Guy?. I think their titles are self-explanatory.

Breakdown of That Guy
Average Age: Usually high school age, 14-18, though That Guys can remain That Guy until they die.
Average Height: 5’2″ or 6’8″
Average Weight: Either 90 pounds or 300.
Philosophy: Wrong place, wrong time.
Favorite Food: Whatever his mom put in his Ghostbusters lunchbox.
Favorite Drink: Kool-Aid.
Favorite Store: Salvation Army.
Favorite Sport: Bowling or Chess.
Favorite Drug: Anti-depressants.
Favorite Band: They Might Be Giants.
Favorite TV Show: Match Game 1970.
Favorite Movie: Cannonball Run.

Nerds
Quite possibly the most picked on subculture of men, Nerds have recently reclaimed ground, being cited as “cool,” “hip,” and even “not that bad.” It wasn’t always this way for Nerds, however. Long ago in a time called the 1980s, anyone with thick glasses and a pocket protector was harassed, pushed around, and swirlied. Movies like Revenge of the Nerds and … uh, Revenge of the Nerds II showed just how cruel jocks could (most jocks are Bros, by the way).

The new millennium has showed us the error of our ways with the mass introduction of technology. Computers in every household, iPods in every pocket, and cell phones in every tumor-induced ear, what was once Star Trek technology has now become our technology, and now an important question has been whispered into ever Nerd’s ear: are they a dying breed?

The answer is no, because no matter how much technology becomes available to the mass market, Nerds will always be Nerds. A Bro might have the most kickass cell phone in history, but he still won’t give a shit about trigonometry. Nerds do. It’s their intelligence and ability to make sense of things that don’t make sense that bring about the computers and cell phones that the rest of us use daily. And how do we thank them? We give them wedgies, that’s what we do. We steal their lunch money. We grab at their nipples when we walk by them. Sometimes, even, we give them a compliment, like, “Hey, I like your hair,” and just as they’re about to say, “Thank you,” we scream, “NOT!”, loud enough for the whole student body to hear and appreciate.

The “idealized” Nerd is the slicked back hair, Buddy Holly glasses, dress shirt, pocket protector … oh just go watch Revenge of the Nerds already. But the new Nerd can be as varied as the Sweet Dude. In a way, Nerds these days are just Sweet Dudes without the Originality. Or the cleanliness.

If you’ve ever seen a Nerd at a party, be prepared, for it truly is an exercise in social interaction. Asthma inhaler in hand, ready for anything, Nerds go to parties in Groups, with the advantage of being numerous, but the disadvantage of being a big group of Nerds. They bring absolutely nothing to conversation. They want to talk about Dungeons & Dragons or what kind of reed they use in their clarinet, and all you want to do is fuck the nearest hot chick you can find. And that’s okay with a Nerd: it’s the closest thing to a conversation he’ll have with you.

There are so many variations of Nerds that I could write another blog on it, but I won’t. Suffice it to say, Nerds are everywhere, so respect us! I mean, them. Respect them.

Yeah.

Breakdown of Nerds
Average Age: All ages.
Average Height: 5’5″
Average Weight: 280, before the Mountain Dew bender.
Philosophy: The meek shall inherit the Earth.
Favorite Food: Puffy Cheetos.
Favorite Drink: Mountain Dew!
Favorite Star Trek Character: Spock, obviously.
Favorite Store: Any book store with D&D shit.
Favorite Sport: D&D.
Favorite Drug: Final Fantasy.
Favorite Band: MC Frontalot.
Favorite TV Show: Monty Python.
Favorite Movie: STAR WARS!!!!

Normal Guys
He holds the door open for you. He assists you into your chair at the dinner table. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Why sweet nothings? Because he’s a Normal Guy, and he has nothing interesting to say.

The truth is, Normal Guys are everywhere. They make up most of the population. They are a generic brand of men that can, with time and effort, be made into something else, a Bro or a Sweet Dude, etc. But most Normal Guys don’t want that. They just want to be left alone. So why is this a problem? I’ll tell you why! It’s cause they’ve got no balls! They sit around and watch TV! They don’t drink that much, they don’t smoke, they love to cook and clean the house sometimes! Who the fuck likes that?

The worst thing about a Normal Guy is when he’s the lone wolf in a group of other types of dudes. A Normal Guy in the midst of some Sweet Dudes looks, well, normal. Really normal. He just sits there and laughs politely at conversation, and when someone offers him a line of cocaine or a shot of heroin, he raises his hand in a “no thank you” gesture. What a jerk.

Typical Normal Guys wear their baseball caps forward, usually with a white or off-white button up shirt. Sometimes they wear khaki pants, but usually it’s just jeans. Their shoes are unassuming. They drink Coors Light, when they drink at all. They love to talk about their job as an accountant. I mean, what else am I supposed to say about them? They’re boring! They buy a copy of the Times in the morning! They wear suits to work!

One thing is certain, though: at a party, either the Normal Guy stands out, or you do. There’s no in between.

There’s really only one variation of the Normal Guy, and that is the Nice Guy, which is a Normal Guy who is just so fucking nice you want to tear his heart out and feed it to him. Just let her open her own door, you stupid Mama’s Boy! Sheesh!

Breakdown of Normal Guys
Average Age: 34.
Average Height: 5’8″
Average Weight: 200.
Philosophy: Just livin’, you know.
Favorite Food: Italian.
Favorite Drink: A beer.
Favorite Store: Target.
Favorite Sport: Whatever’s on ESPN.
Favorite D
rug: Not into it.
Favorite Band: Daughtry.
Favorite TV Show: Friends.
Favorite Movie: Caddyshack.

Serial Killers
Say you’re woman, walking down the street alone at two o’clock in the morning. Maybe your car broke down, maybe you were sent off by a jilted lover, or maybe you just like walking alone down a dark street in a short skirt at two in the morning. Know this, potential rape victim — the Serial Killer doesn’t care about you. An amateur would just kill a girl out in the middle of such an obvious situation. No, the Serial Killer wants you because your mother was an alcoholic, your father’s middle name was Ted, and you are a Gemini with a Scorpio moon. Specificity is the Serial Killer’s game, and you just got specified.

The last, and most dangerous Type of Dude is being mentioned in such a prominent way for two reasons. One, because there are no female Serial Killers, which means it is clearly a type of Dude (and if there are, they’re lying), and two, because if there was ever a more distinct type of Dude, with the possible exception of That Guy, it would be the Serial Killer.

There are also only two types of Serial Killers: those who are Deranged, and those who are Bored. The Bored ones are especially tricky because they’re the ones who make up clues and puzzles. The Deranged just run at people with a hatchet, but the Bored will sit outside your window all night before he runs at you with a hatchet.

The typical Serial Killer looks just like your average Joe, but be on the lookout for possible differences, such as: missing fingers or limbs; a shed full of cutting devices; a swastika in the forehead or other part of the body; crazy babbling to self or others (not to be confused with That Guy’s incoherent babbling); and, finally, blood on clothes or body. These are all signs of possible Serial Killers, but none of them guarantee a Serial Killer, so don’t attack your uncle just because he is a butcher and has supplies in his shed, okay?

If you ever see a Serial Killer at a party, watch out, cause he is scoping the place. Not for hotties to take upstairs, but for hotties to take upstairs and flay alive. He’ll be in the corner, drinking his self-made concoction of beet juice, acetaminophen and liquid cocaine, and watching for whichever person best suits his desire to kill in the name of his talking dog. So, you know, look around you when you’re at a party next time, will you?

There aren’t any variations of Serial Killers, because each one is a variation on their own.

Breakdown of Serial Killers
Average Age: 56.
Average Height: 5’7″; 5’3″ hunched over.
Average Weight: 160 — bony, really.
Philosophy: The dog is telling me to kill everyone, so I must.
Favorite Food: Human organs.
Favorite Drink: Human blood.
Favorite Store: Macy’s.
Favorite Sport: Hunting poor, innocent people, usually women, and leaving behind cryptic-yet-ultimately-traceable clues about his next victim’s location.
Favorite Drug: Heroin mixed with LSD and paint thinner, then injected into a woman’s eyeball that he eats.
Favorite Band: Charles Manson.
Favorite TV Show: Dexter.
Favorite Movie: Snuff films.

So there you have it, the five Types of Dudes. Next time you’re out at the mall, ready to buy whatever crazy shit that you wear these days, take a look out for these kinds of men. You’d be surprised how many fit into these different archetypes (hint: it’s all of them).

Until next time!

The greatest irony for me with regard to applying for jobs is that I have a great writing voice, and yet I have no place to showcase it on an application. I probably completed the greatest application online ever recently. It was for DirecTV. I got sick of repeating the same old stuff I’ve been writing for everyone, constantly looking at my lack of experience, my terrible job history, and so when I filled out this online application I noticed that they had actual text boxes for me to write in, instead of radio buttons or check boxes. So I wrote and actually injected a little humor into the whole thing. I hope it works. I mean, come on, those people know that there are millions of people right now writing out millions of applications, typing countless accomplishments into countless computers as they update their resumes on careerbuilder. They have to know that this process is time-consuming and generally shitty. They have to. It’s not about the job itself, it’s about the process of getting the job. The job could be fighting mountain lions in a pool filled with ice cream sandwiches (best job ever) and I’d still get pissy about filling out the application form. It’s just draining.

And, you know, when I do finally get an interview it will allow me to be cool with a real live person, but even that’s daunting. I have a good personality and all but job interviews aren’t having coffee at the Dawson Taylor’s across the street, you know? You have to sit in a room and impress someone within five minutes of meeting them. You don’t get a chance to shoot the shit, or get to know the person. You just have to say, “I have certificates in every type of Microsoft software known to man. I can decode Windows 3.1 in two minutes flat.”

I can’t imagine being a hiring manager, just because I would want to get to know everyone, and it would be impossible. Instead of asking them about their qualifications, I’d be askind them what their favorite soft drink was. Instead of their job experience, I would inquire about their abilities in making sandwiches.

I wrote a short play called “Myspace Resume” which will never ever be produced, but was about a young goth kid who used a myspace survey for an application. So the boss calls him in for a job interview just to set this kid straight and the kid’s such a sorry sack of shit that the boss hires him out of pity. I only bring that up because I think I’d rather read someone’s myspace survey than their resume. It just seems so much more personal, and I’d rather hire someone who I could like and did the job well than someone who was excellent at the job but was a complete jackass.

But then again, I’m the unemployed one, aren’t I?

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Now playing: Hercules & Love Affair – This Is My Love
via FoxyTunes

The advent of the Internet has created a huge dilemma in networking today. It has, in effect, destroyed the interpersonal connections needed in order to get a good job. This creates a strange effect in which employers use sites like craigslist and careerbuilder to send out a mass request for workers, and yet they cannot discern if the people who reply are actually cool or not. All they can do is look at a resume.

This contrasts with the traditional job hunt because people everywhere will tell you, “Get your foot in the door,” to make yourself known to your potential manager or hiring manager. To look presentable. To shake hands, maintain eye contact. To, in essence, be a human being (leaning towards being yourself, but not necessary).

Everyone thinks that the Internet is the new hip place for finding work. There are hundreds of job sites and resume building sites out there, and there are also thousands of potential employers hunched over their computers typing out the latest position they need filled. Craigslist alone has tons of ads for work, and people who surf craigslist are just as eager to get the job they’re looking for. But there’s always a catch.

Right now I’m looking for work. I’ve tried both sides: the traditional path of walking to a location, filling out an application, and handing it to the appropriate person (or, at the very least, talking to them on the telephone), and I have also tried the Internet sites. The former option could be more successful in showcasing myself (and dim down the fact that I have shit for work experience), but the latter is just more quantity, and easier to apply for, that the appeal outweighs the risks. You mean all I have to do is hit “apply” and my pre-loaded resume and cover letter will just be sent to them? Or that I have to e-mail someone and attach my resume? From the comfort of my home? Done and done!

It shouldn’t surprise you that 95% of the jobs listed on craigslist are entry-level or worse. General labor. Housecleaning. Babysitting. Why should they be anything else? What CEO of a major corporation is going to go to craigslist looking for his next VP? What jewelry store owner is going to consult a faceless Internet crowd of hooligans for their next manager, the man or woman who will hold the keys to millions of dollars of jewelry?

There isn’t, nor will there ever be, a way to properly network yourself on the Internet. Until the day Facebook fully incorporates business into their profiles (which seems like it would cause a lawsuit), all you will be when searching/applying for a job is a Name and a Resume. In a way it highlights the resume like never before. Now is the time for fancy fonts and creative exaggeration. If only business resumes were like acting resumes, where at the very least you got to see the person’s face…

I’ve gotten a couple of responses via the Internet job postings. The quickest one came from Quiznos. No surprise there. It was like the instant I hit the send button I got a reply — “Can we get an interview tomorrow?” and all that. You’d think a food service place would be the first to try to get some solid information about a person before they up and hired them. I guess that’s what the interview portion is for, but still. I’m only going because I’m desperate; I hate the food service industry and because of it’s strict laws on food handling, coupled with the finicky nature of most people these days regarding their meals, it makes me totally nervous. “You only wanted one tomato? Well this sandwich has two, so … okay, okay, one tomato, got it. No need to yell.” That sort of thing.

The perfect job for me would be a data entry job where I could type out shit for 45 minutes if I was guaranteed 15 minutes to browse the Internet. That would be awesome. That plus a lunch break and free sodas would make me the happiest person alive. Alternately, the exact opposite would also be great — some kind of outside job where I got to hangglide or something. Wrestle bears. Spelunk. Too bad I don’t have any experience with any of that.

I forgot to mention the other stupid part of the Internet job-hunting sites: spam. In a way I like it because it forces me to study the ads closer so that I don’t, you know, get twenty viruses on my computer or something.

In truth, I’m partially terrified because if I don’t get a job quick, I’m not going to have rent money, and that would be bad. On the other hand, I can’t be too worried or else it’ll fuck me up in other ways, like lack of sleep and headaches and all that. I hate that. Plus I know if I can’t make rent I can always live with my parents, but that would be shitty for my roommates. And I don’t want to live with my parents.

Somehow things always seem to work out for me in the end. Let’s hope that luck continues until the end of the month.

And that, my friends, is that.

Most people, for example, don’t know the sheer amount of business knowledge that a theatre major receives during our collegiate career. By the time I graduated I basically knew how to run a theatre company, and I sort of know the odds and ends in getting money from sponsors and grants. Technical theatre is about learning carpentry, electrics, and sound engineering. Playwriting is about English skills, proof-reading and creative writing. Directing is about management. In a way, the only truly useless person in a theatre company is the actor, because all they do is utilize their bodies for the show. They don’t build, they don’t manage. They are fodder for the audience. It’s surprising that they get so much attention.

The problem is that while theatre students learn all these different aspects, we don’t learn enough. We go into the job market with okay skills in everything. Our only boon is that we work well under pressure, since that’s what a rehearsal schedule is — two to four weeks of rehearsal, and we open, no matter what. But employers don’t see that. Employers see an actor who doesn’t have any job skills whatsoever. A bunch of roles in various plays doesn’t mean you have what it takes in the real world. In fact, it suggests the exact opposite — that you like playing in a fantasy world, and thus couldn’t handle real problems.

This, of course, couldn’t be further from the truth. Theatre students are fully capable of handling any problem thrown at them, because they usually are at some point in the production process. We work well with others, and form bonds easily because that’s what we do. Some actors are prima donnas, yes, but those ones are shunned by the theatre community as well.

I graduated Boise State with a Theatre Arts degree, and my work resume is a hapless mishmash of three or four jobs I’ve worked since 2001. It looks like the resume of a 16-year-old. What it doesn’t take into account is that I spent most of my days in school, for twelve or thirteen hours, going to class and then going to rehearsal. Or that point a couple of years ago when I had to work to live in Boise, so I would go in at Hastings at 7:00am, leave at noon to go to class until 4:30, and then rehearse from 6:00 to 10:00. Most people who are business majors don’t do this. I don’t think anyone works as hard as people in the arts. I don’t think they even understand the amount of work we put in, on top of our jobs and extra-curricular activities. I’m not complaining. I’m actually happy about all of it. It’s tough but the end result is fantastic: opening night of a show you worked your ass off for, and now people get to see it. It’s great.

I just wish that employers knew what we did, so that they could understand what we can do for them.

And on that note, I should go and look for a job.