[ Thursday, September 25, 2003 ]
Just so everybody knows, this coming Saturday is my birthday.
That is all.
posted by Rob on 10:07 AM |
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[ Monday, September 22, 2003 ]
FIRSTS
First best friend:
Charles Denny, back in Bolingbrook, Illinois, when I was ten or eleven. We actually hooked up again a few years ago, and sadly, have lost touch again.
First real memory of something:
There's a picture of me as a toddler, lying on my dad's leg as he took the picture. I seem to remember him taking it, but I don't know if it's a real memory or a false memory generated by the picture.
First date:
I don't know that prom should count, so I won't. I did once ask a girl named Jennifer Patterson out on a date--and that was my first "asking someone out" deal. I would have been 26 at the time. The other people I ended up with, I just knew, so there was no real "dating period."
Anyway, the date must not have gone that great, because the second one she defused by inviting a friend over (fairly clearly at the last minute). We played Boggle for less than an hour, then it was decided that I should leave. As I walked out, the door, she told me, "well, have a nice life." I heard her friend snicker behind the door.
Yeah.
Ouch.
First real kiss:
There was one with a truth-or-dare game with a girl named Bridget Meredith, but I'm thinking that doesn't count. No, my
real first kiss was with my first girlfriend, Nicole Sheller. She had mono, but I was feeling reckless.
First Break-up:
Well, that'd be Nicole, again. It's all in the story "Fat Scrumping," if I ever finish the goddamn thing.
First Job:
The first "on-the-books" job was working for my Dad's company, at ProScience Labs, doing odd jobs and helping them set up everything. The coolest part was wiring the security system, because I got to climb up into the ceiling like Judd Nelson in "The Breakfast Club," while people below shouted out where the wall was. I had to walk along the wall to keep from falling through and killing myself.
First screen name:
Mister Six. It's from a "
Prisoner" episode called "
The Girl Who Was Death." At the end of the episode, one of the kids calls Patrick McGoohan "Mister Six," and I liked how it sounded.
First self purchased album:
Again, I'm not sure, but it was one of two albums, both equally embarrassing. It was either the
Joe Piscopo comedy album "New Jersey," or the
"Back To The Future" soundtrack album. I remember that when I bought the album, it had a scratch, so when I exchanged it, I asked if the could play it for me. So in this record store,
really loud,
blasts Huey Lewis and The News' "Power Of Love." I caught another guy look at me, like "what is this SHIT?!?" I was mortified.
First funeral: I've actually been to more wakes than funerals. I don't even remember the name of the relative. I don't even think I knew him. I just rememeber that there were a couple of other kids there close to my age (I was about 12 or 13) and we spent most of it playing cards. War.
First pet:
Poody, a tough-ass brown tabby cat.
Poody was awesome.
Poody was an outdoor cat, too. We used to let him outside, and he was the kind of cat that would sometimes bring fresh kills home.
I'll never forget when Poody came home one night with a half-alive bunny rabbit in his mouth.
Everybody freaked. Poody dropped the bunny and looked at us like, "What? It's for
all of us!" My mom jumped on a chair, an we all backed away from it.
It screamed. That's how I learned rabbits can scream. It was a high-ptched squeak.
I was bawling, my my was freaking out, and my poor dad was left to be the one to deal with it. He picked it up and threw it in the trash. My mom kept me from looking, but I wanted to see if it was still alive. I'll never know if it was, I guess. About a year later we lost Poody to leukemia.
First piercing/tattoo:
I never got any piercings or tattoos. The closet thing is when I was 12 and got stabbed in the thumb on my left hand by a caligraghy pen nib. The mark is still there, though faint.
First credit card:
Oh, a Capital One Master Card, I think. I only finished paying it off a couple of years ago.
First true love:
Hmm. Does this mean first crush? If so, then it was on Jennifer Wulf, in the second grade. Then again, I'm to remember
everyone had a crush on her. When Charles and I met up again a few years ago, we went back to Bolingbrook to check out the whole neighborhood, and dicovered that the Wulfs still lived there! By coincidence, she and her younger sister were there, visiting, so we all got to catch up, and even hooked up with
another friend, Mike Holtz.
And yeah, Jen was still pretty freakin' cute. And I think Charles and I
both had crushes on her sister.
But, anyway, if this means first
requited love, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say my second girlfriend Joanna Mack. Like many other spurned lovers, I lost her to California. Which is where she wanted to be. So she packed up all her stuff and moved to Berk-e-ly.
First enemy:
Franky Sperna. I actually couldn't remeber why he was such an enemy of Charles and I, but Jennifer filled us in during our reunion: simply put, he was kind of a spoiled jerk. All I remember was that we just didn't like him, and all jokes led to slamming him. We once had a go-cart race that he chaleenged us to. He had this really nice one that his father bought and built for him, and we had one we made ourselves, out of a wagon, a laundry basket, and a series of cradboard boxes.
Franky ended up calling it off when he saw that we had also loaded it with acorns (for throwing). We had suspected treachery. He had told us not to throw acorns during the race, and we thought it was odd that he'd mention that unless he was planning to do it himself. We decided it was best to have the acorns and not need them, then to need them and not have them.
First big trip:
My parents and I used to visit our relatives in Honolulu and Maui all the time. That kind of tapered off when they got divorced.
First play/musical/performance:
A college production of "You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown," when I was five. I was blown away. To this day, I've always wanted to play Snoopy.
First musician you remember hearing in your house:
God help me, it was ABBA.
LASTS
Last big car ride:
The trip Buck and I just took to Chicago.
Last kiss:
My wife Betsy, this morning before going to work.
Last good cry:
I don't know that I've ever had a "good" one.
Last library book checked out:
Like everyone else, it's been years since I've even been to the library...I think it was "Misery."
Last movie seen:
"Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind," which I loved. Maybe it's not for everybody, but it blew me away.
Last beverage drank:
I'm currently drinking a Swiss Miss Vanilla Cappuchino.
Last food consumed:
Picante Chicken Ramen, last night.
Last crush:
On my wife, Betsy. Duh.
Last phone call:
Local: Buck Hakes, last night.
Long Distance: Seth Mangum, sometime last week, where we groused about matters of the day.
Last tv show watched:
Last one I watched all the way through was "
Dead Like Me," which is a show I like, but I can't for the life of me figure out what they were thinking having
a clip show last week before they've even finished their
first season. That said, last night's episode, which was a simple little slice-of-life story about
data entry just blew me away, and was their best episode so far.
It's like, the problem with the show was that they've got all these great characters, and they couldn't figure out what to do with them. Last night, they realized was that all they needed was to leave them alone and let them talk to each other, and it was the most fascinating episode, yet, as well as having the best dialogue of the series.
Cynthia Stevenson's line about how she and her husband work so hard to make all of this money so they can spend it all on fun to make up for working so hard is going to haunt me for the rest of the year.
Last time showered:
This morning. You're welcome.
Last shoes worn:
The same black velcro sneakers I wear every damn day.
Last cd played:
The second week house music mix for "Psychos In Love." I put together a different house music cd every week for that show, and that week was "The Lebowski Mix,"
which had several quotes from "The Big Lebowski" on it.
Last item bought:
I just bought a prop gun for fifty bucks on
eBay, before I realized I didn't have the money to pay for it. I ended up selling a bunch of DVDs so I could pay for it on time.
Last annoyance:
People who come through the drive through at the bank and
can't be bothered to fill out
any of the slips, all while people behind them are waiting and waiting and waiting. They next time you're waiting at the drive-thru at the bank and it seems to be taking fovever, well, that's why.
Last soda drank:
RC Cola. Cheaper and better.
Last ice cream eaten:
An extra-thick vanilla malt from Griff's restaurant.
Last time scolded:
They all kinda blend together.
Last shirt worn:
The
Japanese American National Museum shirt that my dad gave me as a gift. At some point, I really have to get a
"Camp Mon" shirt.
posted by Rob on 11:25 AM |
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[ Monday, September 15, 2003 ]
I got bored, and so I decided to make some more t-shirts and swag.
For the first time, I've made products that are specific to this very site! Yessir, the seven or eight people who check this place for updates can proudly wear a shirt or drink from a mug that has some goofy thing that I've said on it.
Like this goofy thing I said at the Shedd Aquarium to Buck last week.
Or maybe you were a fan of "Psychos In Love" and would prefer
this one?
Or maybe
you were kind of hoping to read a review of my last show...
(I know, I know. But it wouldn't
truly be a Rob Matsushita product unless I pissed off all the wrong people at some point.)
posted by Rob on 9:46 PM |
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[ Wednesday, September 10, 2003 ]
"So Rob's final Broom Street show closed and we don't get a single comment from him. The hell?"
Yeah, I'm a bad, bad boy.
So here are some general thoughts:
Obviously, it was bittersweet. I was happy that the closing night went as well as it did--we had a lot of people (41 paid, I'm told), and luckily, Scott Feiner was taping the show. (People who are owed tapes, I will be contacting you when
I get one. Promise.)
Alex Peterson, who ran sound for most of the run, seemed the most melancholy about it. He told me that his first experience seeing a show was
one of mine, and his first experience working on a show was
also one of mine. He was sad, but was also glad that his last Broom Street show should be with me, too. (Alex is going to be going off to college.)
Tara Randl, who ran lights for about 5/6 of the run, asked me if I'd ever come back. I told her I honestly didn't know if I could--if I'd have the inclination to return, or if (and I'll be honest) I would be allowed to. Time may tell, I told her, but the big thing now is that I need a break. Make the situation right to be able to do this full time. "Joel, I bet, secretly hates seeing you go," she told me, "I bet he really wants you to come back."
Time will tell on
that too, I told her.
I talked to Colin Gagnon, my one fan, as well, who saw
Psychos probably at least seven times. He gave me a cd that he and his string quartet did (which I really liked) and I told him that, yes, this was my final show for Broom Street, after which he asked the question that everyone asks me:
"Well, what are you going to do now?"
That's still a question I'm never sure how to answer. I mean, I'm still writing, and even have a couple of plays I want to do (one is "Welcome To The Terror Dome," which
if you've been reading this weblog from the beginning, you already sort of know about), but nothing is set in stone or anything. I'm working on a screenplay (my first in a
while), and someday, praise be to all, I'll finish my novel,
Fat Scrumping or finish another chapter of a web story
Potch and I are doing called
Killer High.
But right now, I'm chilling out.
Last weekend was my first weekend in a long time that didn't have some form of theatre in it. I'm still unsure how it felt.
My wife Betsy kept asking me on closing night how I was doing. I told her I just didn't know.
Broom Street has meant so much to me--good and bad--at so many different times in my life, I'm just not sure how to feel.
At strike, I was sort of in a daze. Different directors said goodbye to me, like
Callen Harty and
Brian Wild, who both hugged me and wished me well.
John Sable didn't come and see the show during the run, but that didn't stop him from telling one of my cast members "good show" afterwards. Well, I guess it's the thought that counts. Come to think of it, it's not like I went to see "
Candyland, You Slut," so I really don't have a leg to stand on.
After shaking hands with Ron (and letting him get on with his strike), I wandered around the theater pretending to look for any stuff I was leaving in the theater, but really I wanted to take a last look at the place from this perspective. Looking around, I found the big poster for "
Yoshi's Heroes," my first Broom Street show. Two of the cast members from that show, Molly Vanderlin and Tracy Grzybowski leaned over, saying "awwwww," as I cut the poster from the frame with a razor, rolled it up, and took it away.
Yeah, that show was in
1998, which to me, these days, seems like forever. We all seemed so different then. I was different then. I thought about how the 1998 me wouldn't believe the 2003 me was deciding to leave the place.
Well, the previous night, the Saturday before closing, I talked to my friend Bob Moccerro, whose banning from Broom Street by Joel had helped to spur on my decision to leave. Again, the operative word is
melancholy.
Both of us were stunned at how different Broom Street is to us, now. Maybe it hasn't really changed, or maybe we have, but we both agreed we missed the days when it seemed like BST was our home, and our family. I also honestly told Bob that I didn't think my leaving Broom Street would spur on too much change, there--some have suggested that my leaving will be felt deeply at the theater. Considering all that Broom Street has survived, I think my quitting the place isn't going to leave them licking their wounds. Already, they've got two new directors in Matt and Tracy Grzbowski, as well as Callen, and Brian, and Ron, and Queue (if she does another show), and John, and, of course, Joel himself. It's not like I'm leaving a skeleton crew behind.
And hell, I'm still gonna
see shows there. (Admittedly, perhaps, not
all of them, but...)
(Oh, it's a damn joke.)
Joel Gersmann could not come to the strike--he was out of town. And he and I basically said our goodbyes anyway. (Or at least as much as we're
going to say them.
After I packed all my stuff in the car, some of the cast and I went to a bar to..."celebrate," I guess.
We all talked for a while. I even found a few subjects about Broom Street that I was still quite passionate about--like:
I'll be honest. I
don't like that Broom Street will be shut down when Joel either passes or retires. I really don't. I think that it's an insult to everyone who works there, especially the directors there who bust their asses to put up their shows.
Again, that's
my opinion. And I know, I know, I'm not there anymore, I don't have to worry about that, blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda...
But I admit it--it hurts my heart to think that Joel will take the place down with him. I think it shows a lack of faith in the other directors, and I think it's a mistake. Broom Street shouldn't die with Joel. If anything, it should immortalize him.
So, after yelling on
that subject for an hour, I still felt weird inside. I mean, I left the place--how can I still care about this stuff.
I dunno. I just do.
God, what am I gonna complain about now that I won't have Broom Street, right?
Whew.
That kinda poured out of me.
Anyway, that's how closing went.
By the way, this Friday is the opening of
Frankenstein! Schmankenstein! I'm Makin' A Friggin' Monster! Go, go, enjoy, enjoy.
posted by Rob on 11:19 PM |
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