Monday, June 06, 2005
fucking marsha norman.
i went to see Crazy Agent Man last week. he's less of a lecher-clown in his office, although he's . . . dotty. hard to follow a couple of times. the monkey asked his agent about this guy (i just wanted to make sure he wasn't a porn person or something) and she said,
"he's still alive?"
it turns out this guy is primarily a literary agent, but he's kept his franchise and does work with a few actors. he nattered on for a while, and then clued me in on the way he "did business": actors call in at 4:30, he tells them what there is for them in the breakdowns that day, and then they do the actual mailing--he gives them his official-looking mailing labels and authorizes the use of his name. so . . . i guess the envelope *looks* like an agented submission, even though all the clerical work is done by the actor.
and then he said that if i was interested, i should prepare the opening monologue from Getting Out and come back to see him in a week or so.
this whole operation sounds a little less than ideal, but i'm hardly in a position to turn my nose up at it, i guess. the kicker, though, was the piece he asked for. i have a terrible history with plays like that one. anytime some character is an ex-con or high school dropout, tough, severely damaged and speaks with an accent, i suck. i was assigned a scene from danny and the deep blue sea in grad school, and six weeks later was summarily kicked out of the program. at one point while we were working on it, the teacher yelled out, "you're not in private school! lose the diction!"
no can do, apparently. so i think this frog-molesting monologue is not necessarily going to show me off to great advantage. the monkey said, "it's good. it'll be a stretch for you." except stretching is not really what you want to do in the guy's office. you would prefer to nail it, even if as an agent, he makes an excellent self-serve gas station.
on top of it all, i suddenly want to go home so bad. again.
and if i want to be in seattle so stronly, maybe this grad school idea is a bum one. i've been hearing a lot about the terrible awful academic job market. if it's really true, and i'd be lucky to get a teaching position somewhere in KillMyself, Alabama, i'm not sure i'll be happy. if a view of puget sound is absolutely necessary, maybe i should be training to be a ferry captain.
"he's still alive?"
it turns out this guy is primarily a literary agent, but he's kept his franchise and does work with a few actors. he nattered on for a while, and then clued me in on the way he "did business": actors call in at 4:30, he tells them what there is for them in the breakdowns that day, and then they do the actual mailing--he gives them his official-looking mailing labels and authorizes the use of his name. so . . . i guess the envelope *looks* like an agented submission, even though all the clerical work is done by the actor.
and then he said that if i was interested, i should prepare the opening monologue from Getting Out and come back to see him in a week or so.
this whole operation sounds a little less than ideal, but i'm hardly in a position to turn my nose up at it, i guess. the kicker, though, was the piece he asked for. i have a terrible history with plays like that one. anytime some character is an ex-con or high school dropout, tough, severely damaged and speaks with an accent, i suck. i was assigned a scene from danny and the deep blue sea in grad school, and six weeks later was summarily kicked out of the program. at one point while we were working on it, the teacher yelled out, "you're not in private school! lose the diction!"
no can do, apparently. so i think this frog-molesting monologue is not necessarily going to show me off to great advantage. the monkey said, "it's good. it'll be a stretch for you." except stretching is not really what you want to do in the guy's office. you would prefer to nail it, even if as an agent, he makes an excellent self-serve gas station.
on top of it all, i suddenly want to go home so bad. again.
and if i want to be in seattle so stronly, maybe this grad school idea is a bum one. i've been hearing a lot about the terrible awful academic job market. if it's really true, and i'd be lucky to get a teaching position somewhere in KillMyself, Alabama, i'm not sure i'll be happy. if a view of puget sound is absolutely necessary, maybe i should be training to be a ferry captain.
