Knock, Knock. Who Is It? Real Life. Um ... I'm Not Home!

After a second audition I got two more terrific cast members, and a possible third. So that means I still need 2 or 3 more cast members. But at least I'm getting there. I have eight weeks until we start rehearsals, so I'm not worried ... yet.

Seems I have plenty more to worry about in its place.

Now that my birthday's passed, the working drafts of my script and score are done, and my multiple simultaneous housesitting gigs are through, I have no more reason to avoid -- Real Life.

For (especially) the last six months I have been dodging, weaving, putting off, hiding from and generally trying to ignore the rest of my daily life. But the pardons, the excuses, and the extensions are all coming to an end this month.

Sure, I could still tweak the rehearsal CD which I need to get to my cast, but there's no getting around the fact that some big things must change.

This month.

I must find a full-time "real job" regardless of how miserable it will make me. Yes, I'd be appreciative for the money, but I've had my lion's share of completely unrewarding jobs. My body's falling apart. I'm not 19, just starting out. I know people, damn it! People in high places!

Just not any that can hire me ...

And I need to decide what will be over my head starting in October. I've lived in this apartment complex most of my semi-independent life and the idea of moving is as attractive to me as a root canal. Well, less, actually. I've had a few root canals and I know what I'm getting there.

Yeah, "change is good", yadda-yadda-yadda, but the only place I can go is down. I'm not living in a penthouse, but my little second-story, one-bedroom apartment has a nice view of the foothills and I've never been robbed in 23 years here ... I really like this area of San Jose.

And then, of course, there's that "first, last, security deposit, application" thing.

I think of how many writers had little or nothing for so much of their lives, and how they supposedly wrote their best works in shacks, shanties, or under trees. The struggles they endured to find enough food and shelter as they wrote the next War and Peace or Evangeline. The hardships they endured just to get one work of theirs published or produced.

And I sit back and think to myself:

Well, fuck that!

The legends I like are the ones about how some writers and artists had patrons, which allowed them the luxury of writing at tiny tables at outdoor French cafes, or composing melodies in their heads as they drove with lovely companions in carriages through the European countryside. (Hell, I'd settle for riding a burro through Vasona Park.)

Now, I have had many, many incredibly wonderful people help me out during this huge Dip in My Life. And I intend to mention each and every one of them when I'm onstage at the Tonys ... or at least in my last will and testament. But I've gone through some absolutely horrendous mental and emotional crap, too, which frequently sucked every molecule of creativity out of me, and I want it over and done with. (By the way, just how does one use the expression "over and done with" and not use a preposition to end a sentence with?)

I want to be able to enjoy preparing, writing and directing The Poptimists. Not just "fit it into my schedule" because a crappy job is taking up most of my day and my energy. Is that really too much to ask?

I don't want the distractions of Real Life hanging over my head. So much of Real Life has ruined what otherwise should have been incredibly happy moments and events in my life. (I was fighting incredible depression while acting as the Narrator onstage during my second show of my music and lyrics.)

Been there. Done that. Don't wanna do it anymore. I'm just not wired that way!

I realized quite some time ago that the reason I accept jobs I don't want is to punish myself for not being successful at what I truly want to be doing because the jobs I take don't help in that regard and take too much energy away from the things I really want to be successful at.

Got that?

Maybe there's a way I can break my oddly neurotic circle and be free of what most Americans can't be free of. Maybe there's a way I can manage to cheat until the day I finally exit this worldly stage. Maybe I can --

Hold on.

Target's on the phone. This could be about the $9/hour Night Janitor job.

Xeroxing Makes It Official

Well, my libretto and vocal book are being copied off almost as we speak.

Tomorrow (Saturday) are the second (and hopefully final) auditions for The Poptimists. Some of the performers already cast are showing up for an early dinner afterward and I wanted to be able to give them their materials.

Two months before we start rehearsals. Occasionally, I do prepare ahead of time.

Now, since this is a world premiere, I'm a little more paranoid about giving out the materials in an age of Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and MySpace. It was hard enough to keep control over my materials before the internet was even around for the average Joe. Now you send something out there and within twenty seconds it's downloaded by some tribal chief in Chad.

Trust is even more important these days. I've instructed my staff and will instruct my cast that NOTHING from this show is to be posted ANYWHERE, or even duplicated. I am not, though, without heart. So cell phone photos of rehearsals will be allowed ... as long as I'm not in them.

I have no clue as to why I feel that way about the last thing. I just don't like people seeing me working with the actors. I want them to see the final result and then tell me if they like it or not. I suppose it's a little because I assume a lot when watching a rehearsal, and I just don't want others to do the same to my project. Yeah, it's a slight violation of an offshoot of the Golden Rule, but I just don't like showing anything that's not ready to be shown.

Neurotic? A tad.

It's strange not hurrying to fine tune or polish anything these days. Certainly things will change once we start rehearsals, but the material is "set" for now. As a matter of fact I have the extra time to type this entry since I'm not futzing over dialogue, music or lyrics at the moment.

But I am getting to do a few last-minutes things for auditions, so my "stress" jones is getting satisfied -- at least tonight.

I'm hoping to finish the casting tomorrow, but am fairly sure there's one role I won't be able to fill yet. So that means I might have to play it. Think I could be convincing as a 22-year-old, buff-but-slender black male who can sing the shit out of a song?

[insert cricket sounds]

Hmmmm ... I might get letters ... and besides, I want to get laughs where they're supposed to be.

Corner. n. A Place Out of Which It Is Hard to Get.

Well, the rewrites and the finishing and the polishing and the tinkering are all going along pretty well for The Poptimists.

One of the ways I manage to keep going during a writing or composing session is that when I hit a snag, I just jump past it, keep going, and finish the first draft of whatever it is I'm working on. I'll continue through the project and then go back and attack those stumbling blocks later, during the second pass.

Yes, it's possible to procrastinate even as you're actually sitting there and writing what it is you're trying to put off ...

Now the second pass is where I realize just how big the original problem was and I get angry with myself for not fixing it the first time through. And, of course, sufficient time has passed so sometimes I can't remember just exactly what it was I was going for at the time I originally passed over the creative bump.

Right now, it's a musical problem. I'm working on the "macho" number for the boys called B.M.O.C. It's a jazzy kind of thing that modulates up (changes to a higher musical key) near the end of each verse. The problem is, I can't figure out how to modulate back down in time for the second verse.

Fortunately, this has happened to me only a few times in nearly 40 years of composition. (Why yes, I am over 40. Thank you for the compliment.) Had I actually studied composition, I'm sure the answer would be simple and elegant. As it is now, it's abrupt and clunky ... but still musically sound.

Yes, it seems I am ... the Rocky Balboa of musical theater composition.

My arranger says he can easily "fix it" when he does the arrangement for the band. But the thing is, I need a piano score version to rehearse with, so that means I've got to fix it (which the stubborn Leo in me insists on doing anyway).

The "fix" usually ends up being so simple that I either think of it right away, or would never come to it in 500 years.

I think I have it licked, though. I just have to make sure it's smooth enough so people hearing the song don't sprain their ears and necks because it's too abrupt. Likewise, I don't want them so mystified that I end up with audience of RCA dogs. (Heads slightly cocked to one side with a confused expression their faces).

[insert cricket sounds]

So yes, I have every confidence that this problem shall be conquered.

On the third pass.

Now I'm Bookin' Along!

It's 3:15am and I just finished my first rewrite of the book for The Poptimists.

I was worried the book was a little thin, but after my tinkering it went from 31 pages (not bad for a musical revue) to 40 pages! My characters started taking over and it just flowed out. I love it when that happens!

As a result of wanting to finish the book, I also finished the remaining lyrics to two of the songs, so I got that done, too!

One of those sessions when I really feel like I know what I'm doing ... they're rare so I'm going to relish this as long as I can ... well, as long as I can stay awake, that is.

Of course I still have to hear everything when it gets on its feet. Hearing and watching the actors perform my stuff is like being in another universe. The material ceases being a series of typed characters and becomes actual stage stuff!

Most of the time I've been lucky. The performers add so much to the material, and it really crystalizes what changes need to be made.

So no long-winded prose this time around. Just a milestone reached and a book we can now start working with ... and I still have over two months before rehearsals start!

Hopefully I'll enjoy this a little while longer until I fall asleep and my face hits the keybo--

n;oaiuerwn38$%*(cvnuiaiertqm10fbjki7ttttmnvn[' 'a'ihj'ij'kjjrg l943mfle

And the World Goes 'Round

Well, I'm going to figuratively put the pen down for a little while on this one, (Right. As if I've been strictly writing only about writing to this point), and get a wee bit too personal.

So ... Two score and fourteen orbits of the Earth ago, my mom gave me the distinct honor of experiencing childbirth from the inside out. Literally.

I've always felt it's the mother who should get the cake and presents on one's birthday. After all, they do all the work. All we do is appear ... and try not to fall on the floor of the Delivery Room.

To quote one of my lyrics (and you know how much writers love to quote themselves): "If they [men] had to have the babies, then we'd all be extinct."

So thanks, Moms! From the initial push out into the world, to the inevitable push out the front door into the world. We couldn't be here without you.

I've noticed two things that happen on my birthday the past few years:

1. I miss my mom a lot more.
2. I do the mid-year self-evaluation thing. (New Year's Eve is usually the other day I partake in this always-humbling activity.)

So here's this birthday's session.

My last two birthdays have not been particularly good ones as far as Life In General goes. I still have my three wonderful sisters and their families. And I still have an amazing collection of extraordinary friends.

Also, the lack of full-time 9-5 employment itself doesn't depress me. But the lack of money from the lack of full-time employment does. (I'm always "working". It's just the pay scale dramatically changes from day to day). Over such an extended period of time this time, it has affected me in very profound ways: a few good, and some horrendously bad.

I've never measured success by wealth. It can be achieved in many ways besides good, hard work and ingenuity. Inheritance, Enron and venture capital without actually producing anything come to mind. I wrote an entire show about that last one. (Don't get me wrong. To anyone who has achieved wealth through good, hard work and ingenuity, my hat's off to you and you have my utmost respect.)

But I do associate failure with poverty. At least, for me. True, money doesn't make the man. Money can't buy happiness. But the lack of enough money over extended periods of time can wreak havoc with self-esteem. When one has to daily juggle the mental and financial pressures that come with a lack of sufficient income, the good stuff sometimes takes a back seat to the bad.

So, I occasionally wonder: if my 20-year-old self could see his life 30+ years later, what would he do? What would he change?

1. I'd hope he'd ease up on the Reese Cups and the Macaroni & Cheese. That alone would have avoided a lot of problems.
2. I'd hope he'd have the courage to move to Los Angeles or New York, where all writers of either TV/film or theater should be ... at least when they start out.
3. I'd hope he'd have the courage and confidence to date more ... and to call back the next day and give a few women at least the chance to say no to a second date, instead of expecting that to be the foregone answer.
4. And I'd hope he'd never lose his passion and humorous cockiness.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda. (Now, don't worry ... this entry has an upbeat ending)

But I also hope he'd be blown away by what he accomplishes over 30+ years as well.

1. He set out to be a writer and composer, and while it hasn't turned into the vocation he had hoped, it has turned out a number of wonderful, albeit non-financial, victories and stories.
2. He has met a few world-famous people and gotten to work with them or their material.
3. He has gotten to work with, befriend, dance with, and on rare occasions even kiss a few of the most beautiful and amazing women he (or anyone) could ever imagine.
4. He has, over the years, met four extraordinary men he wishes he could adopt as his brothers.
5. And despite the way he sometimes feels about himself (too much lately), he still knows he is loved.

So make a wish, Ted. But you'll find almost all of them have already been granted.

And what could possibly be a better birthday present than that?

The "Cowardly" Deed Is Done

Well, my entry for the Noel Coward Prize is on its way to New York. Amazing how so much of my work has made it there before I have. Maybe someday.

But it better be soon, I suspect ...

Anyway, it always feels good once a script has been mailed or a resume sent. It's nice to have active stuff "out there". Makes me feel a little more validated as a writer and jobseeker.

The only thing that makes me feel even more like a writer is when I finish a work. Then I usually go out and have a little celebratory pizza. I smile as I think about my private little accomplishment and then I think: So what next?

Like my friend the shark (see earlier post), I realize I have to just keep going. You throw enough darts and one of them is bound to hit the target. I've never ...

Good God, how many metaphors can I put in a single paragraph?

Moving on.

So I'm getting ready for my second round of auditions for The Poptimists on August 29th. And for some reason I'm hustling on getting the word out more than I usually do. I went to a show last night and gave out audition info to a few prospective cast members.

I'm a terrible salesman (just ask about 20 ex-Star Trek producers and writers I pitched to at Paramount), so I don't know just where this burst of marketing energy is coming from. Likewise, while I enjoy hearing about praise for my work, I generally try to avoid getting the compliments face-to-face. The writer in me wants to stand off to the side and observe, not be a participant.

Must be the part of me that comes from Switzerland. Mr. Neutrality.

So I'm baffled by my sudden little burst of enthusiasm.

My best guess is: fear. Fear of not getting the cast I want, therefore not the show I want, therefore not doing the most I can to guarantee the audience the best show possible. I feel overwhelming pressure to make sure everyone who spends even a dime on seeing my show feels they haven't wasted their time or money.

I know what it's like going to see a show and feeling "Well, that's three hours I'll never get back." I am absolutely terrified of causing that same feeling in anyone seeing my work.

So I'll enjoy this little passion aberration. Like the surfer, I won't question where the wave came from, I'll just ride it as long as I can.

Okay. Now that's three sucky metaphors in the same post ... actually, two metaphors and one simile. Damn my knowledge of these literary terms!

So I've mailed in my Noel Coward Prize entry. And I've eaten my pizza.

So what next?

Oh, yeah ... that little show I'm doing in December ...

New Words, Same Guy

Well, I started the rewrites on The Poptimists this afternoon. I always carry a binder with my current work in it, and whenever I eat out I get out the binder and do more work at one sitting in the restaurant than I do in four days at home.

So I'm reading through the book and I'm thinking: "Hey! This is funnier than I remember it."

Always a good way to start.

I read some of my previous notes and notations and agreed with all of them. I love it when I'm right.

So halfway through my soft bread sticks, I realize I'm really going to have to bulk up the book to get the flavor of the satire I'm going for. As it is, it's a good 60-minute show. But since we're expanding it to two acts, the book's got to do most of it.

Because of the great cast I have so far, I'm already getting ideas on how to better use and exploit them for the show's benefit. I'm a user and proud of it! (But in a good way).

And I find myself working the basic staging into the actual stage directions, which makes it easier since I'm getting senile. Also, while not as retentive as the guy who wrote Forever Plaid, if my show ever becomes available for other productions, my stamp and concept will be left on it. As well as the concept which will make the show work. Satire is tricky. If you try to do too much with the production, you can kill it daid.

I saw a production of one of my plays once, Golden Gates, with which I had no contact until opening night. The director had done almost everything wrong. He had actors stepping on punchlines, doing stage business which detracted from the comedic set-ups, it was painful.

[Insert cricket sounds]

Yeah. That's what it was like. Or at least what it seemed like.

It's very hard to hand one of my babies over to someone else when I have the sensibility of how it was created and could be best presented. Objectivity? With one of my scripts?

So now I write it into the script but do it in such a manner that it doesn't look like I'm trying to direct the show in absentia.

Then again, there are Award-winning playwrights who put NO stage directions in their plays. Like David Mamet. But Mamet directs his plays, too, so it doesn't count. Nyah!

So I'm off and rewriting. What I absolutely love to do. [Said through clenched teeth]

But The Poptimists seems to be going more smoothly than past rewriting, so I'm hopeful.

I just may never go see it if someone else directs it someday.

Next: Not sure. Gotta make it through Wednesday first.

For Valri & Gracie -- They Know Why

This was the debut performance of the finale from It's Your Year, Charlie Brown, ten months before it was performed at the opening of the Charles M. Schulz Museum.

It was also the finale of my first evening of music and lyrics, Out of My Trunk, Out of My Mind in October 2001. I hope you find it in keeping with the tradition set by the finales of the two previous Peanuts musicals. "Happiness" and "Just One Person."

©2001 by Ted Kopulos

Next: Something without a video embedded.

Why Sharks Miss Out on So Much

One of my favorite Woody Allen lines is, "Relationships are like sharks. They have to keep moving forward or they die. I think what we have here, is a dead shark."

Everyone under the sun has since used a form of it, but the original still makes me laugh.

Right now I'm listening to my iPod and one of my favorite compositions ("Mom" from The Musical Calvin and Hobbes) just popped on. And I had to stop and listen to it, though I've heard it a gumbillion times.

I guess I'm just proud of it. And my friend Mary's performance of it just melts my heart. My female singer friends have that effect on me.

©1992 by Ted Kopulos

[NOTE: This clip is from an evening of my music and lyrics. The Calvin and Hobbes musical has never been produced. A copyright thing, you know. I've yet to even approach creator Bill Watterson about getting the rights.]

So what has this to do with sharks? Hang in there.

I used to be a person who thought about the past a lot. Things were better in the past, so I thought. I was so much more consciously passionate about my writing back then, I had more confidence, less real-life worries ... I could look down and see my feet.

Then I thought to be grown up meant to completely let go of the past. Man, was that wrong. Memories really can be great company sometimes. As King Arthur says in Camelot, "There are times, Mordred, when the only true vacation spot is the past."

I've learned during a very hard past two years, that it's a balance. The good things about the past help you keep going into the future. And the bad things in your past help you learn.

Holy crap! This sure turned into an Ann Landers column, didn't it?

Anyway, I suppose I'm saying that despite my penchant for dumping old projects without a fair shake at marketing them, I still like going back occasionally and listening to my work from years gone by.

So you see, sharks never get to go back and enjoy the places they've been or the things they've done ... or the people they've eaten. They just keep going forward, hoping things will somehow work out, and they'll run into a slow surfer before dinner.

Okay, now I'm just sounding like Craig Ferguson ...

I guess it just comes down giving myself permission to reminisce without guilt. As long as I don't stay there too long.

One of the songs I originally wrote for The Poptimists (see that tie-in?) sounded really familiar. And if something sounds too familiar I dump it-- unlike a lot of knock-off "composers" (but that's a rant for another day).

I soon realized I had already written that almost same melody 20 years ago. But since it was part of a score that was never produced, I wondered if it would be okay to use it for this score.

But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I know it's common for composers to use older unpublished songs when they need them for new projects, but it just feels like I'm cheating somehow if I do it. I want to write new stuff from the moment I get the idea for the project.

I'm sure it's a symptom of some kind of a yet-to-be-named neurotic disorder, but it just feels right to me to not grab things from my trunk.

Okay, it's 2:45am and I have no idea where I was going with all this. I just reread it and seems like half way through I started smoking something. I think it was originally supposed to be something about looking back is okay, and sharks can't look back.

So I guess the moral was going to be something like: I'm glad I'm not a shark.

Even if that wasn't going to be the point, I still am glad I'm not a shark.

Next: I'm not on meds, but perhaps I should be.

Meanwhile, Back at The Poptimists

Well, I couldn't find a piano player in time to announce my second round of auditions. I figure you owe potential auditionees at least a week's notice so they can prepare and work their schedules to make it.

I think summer is second only to December for unavailability -- of anyone. Since The Poptimists plays the first two weeks of December, I want to round up everyone now -- before they find something better -- or more fattening.

So I'm hoping to have the auditions the last weekend of August. Now I need to approach all the same accompanists again, and ask them the same thing I just did this past week. Nothing like deliberately forcing others to experience déja vu.

Maybe I should just put them on retainer. You never know when you may need a pianist on a moment's notice. (I'm really resisting about four or five great comebacks to that last statement.)

Also, I'm housesitting this weekend, so that usually means one or two marathon writing sessions. I'll be finalizing my audio CD for the Noel Coward Award competition (see a few entries below), and so I can submit my show on Monday before the judges get the onslaught of last-minute submissions at the end of the month.

Also, there are two melodies in The Poptimists I want to rework and get to my arranger.

"My arranger".

Wow, it sounds like I'm doing a real show, doesn't it? I haven't had my own official arranger in about twenty years. I'm lucky enough to have people like Brad Handshy and Michael Johnson who can take my leadsheets and play wonderful arrangements almost on the spot.

You may have noticed that I rarely use names of my actual friends in my entries because I feel it's a little intrusive since my entries are usually so risqué.

[Insert cricket sounds]

I also mention Brad and Michael out of gratitude for all Brad and Michael have done for my musical efforts.

And of course the fact I'll be asking Brad and Michael to play for my new auditions dates is just a wild coincidence.

Next: A longer post.

Heigh Ho, Steve-arino

Sometimes it's very difficult for me to accept compliments about my work.

It could be for a number of reasons, I suppose.

Since I don't earn a living at writing, perhaps I feel in some way that if my work is in fact "good" that I get a little ashamed of myself for never being able to make it my full-time occupation.

Or if a work was written in a short amount of time, maybe I feel guilty about being complimented because it came too easily and therefore isn't worthy of the praise because I didn't sweat and toil over it for weeks or months.

Or maybe I'm just nuts.

One of the best compliments I've ever received was from a long-time friend of mine. We're not particularly close on a daily basis, but have known and liked each other for almost 40 years.

She said I reminded her a lot of Steve Allen.

Most of my peers will know who Steve Allen was. For you younger people, he was:

• the very first host of The Tonight Show and set the format for late night television.
• smart, quick, incredibly funny, and a busy television star, writer and producer from the 50's through the 90's
• an accomplished musician
• a proflic composer/lyricist (4000 songs, it's rumored)
• a incredibly successful novelist
• a very popular guest on game shows and talk shows
• generally one of the best liked guys in show business
• married to a talented woman with phenomenal legs.

Nice compliment, eh?

While there's no way I could ever truly be mistaken for such an entertainment Renaissance Man, this particular compliment made me extremely happy, and does even as I write this.

Steve's general personality was always effervescent. On talk shows and game shows he was never at a loss for a smart and funny comeback or comment (but never mean-spirited). He wouldn't hesitate to make fun of himself if it made the audience laugh. And he was amazing at word play. Maybe even better than Neil Simon.

And he, like me, actually got a little crankier the older he got.

So this was one compliment I was happy to accept, regardless of its accuracy.

When you're a writer, people liking your material is nice. It's very nice. But if the person who likes it is in a position to buy it or produce it yet doesn't buy it or produce it, the compliment somehow feels a wee bit hollow. Think the classic overweight, middle-aged guy sitting behind his cluttered desk and chomping on a cigar: "We love your stuff, kid, but we just can't use it. Next!"

(Actually, these days, it would be more like an overly groomed twentysomething kid with his ears plugged into a phone headset taking a moment from a phone call which apparently is more important than your in-progress in-person pitch to say, "Ehhhhh, I don't get it. But thanks for coming in.")

I'm not talking about friends or family. It's always great having people you care about being entertained by what you write and compose. It's probably one of the main reasons I'm still writing these days. Getting out there and making tens of people happy.

And I'm always incredibly honored and humbled when they actually perform my work. They go out there on stage and perform something I wrote. Now, come on, regardless of financial success as a writer, how cool is that?

If, in what years I have left I could still manage to be remotely like Steve Allen in any of those ways, it would be great.

Composer, comedian, novelist, game show panelist, in-demand talk show guest. Any one of those achievements would be a dream goal.

But these days, I'd just settle for a talented woman with phenomenal legs.

Next: Writing Is Cheaper than Therapy