Jose Chung Taught Me to Read

Here I haven't posted in a couple of weeks and once again death drives me to do so. This time it's the passing of Charles Nelson Reilly, who I discovered--as many did--on the classic game show Match Game. He was a regular fixture in the upper right seat, (presumably) drinking cocktails with the rest of the loutish band of miscreants like Richard "Newkirk" Dawson, Fannie "Fried Green Tomatoes" Flagg, and Brett "I Married Jack Klugman" Summers. I watched this game show a lot as a kid, even before I entered the public school system proper, and I'm convinced that Match Game and Charles Nelson Reilly taught me to read (with a little help from The Electic Company, but that's another post). These happy, laughing people making jokes I didn't get (and later, would be glad for not getting) saying a word and then holding up a card with that word on it? That's edjumacational.

Years later, in the late '90s, I wrote my first (and as yet, only) produced play--a piece of goofy, amateurish late-night comedy called The GenEx Files. Naturally I had the opportunity (as one might imagine) to watch a lot of the TV show with the similar name. And there, again, was Charles Nelson Reilly, playing a conspiracy-minded writer named Jose Chung in one of the classic episodes written by Darin "Flukeman" Morgan. It was, as they say, a revelation--here was the silly, flamboyant, fuh-LAME-ing Mr. Reilly in a completely different persona almost unrecognizable as him. When "Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space'" led to a spin-off Darin Morgan-written episode of the dreary Millennium that saw the end of the character, I was saddened. In retrospect, I was glad to see Jose Chung go out with a bang rather than become a tired recurring character like the Lone Gunmen. Toward the end of his life he wrote and starred in an award-winning autobiographical show call The Life of Reilly that I wish I'd caught. Or known existed. But that's the kind of relationship he and I had.

So g'night, Jose Chung. Here's hoping you and the trolls of Central Park are enjoying cigars and martinis at the pearly gates.

Daisey, Meet Crazy.

S.P. just sent me this article at the Gothamist containing a YouTube video from a recent Mike Daisey monologue at the American Rep. Mike's...well, not really a friend, I don't know him that well and doubt he'd be able to pick me out of a line-up. But we have mutual friends (like Cory Nealy, the Evil Cory) and used to work in the same theatrical circles. I was on Mike's mailing list back in September 2001, and got back in touch with him for a while when he was emailing folks in real time about his experiences in NYC the day the towers fell. The guy's a brilliant monologist (monologuist? monologian?) and his shows are like watching a really energetic Spalding Gray who's, you know, my age. He got a lot of press for his one-man show based on his experiences working at Amazon.com, 21 Dog Years.

This is all preamble to yet another video link. Mike was recently performing his new show Invincible Summer when a strange, bizarre, and freaky event occured. Seems some self-proclaimed Christians (denominational loyalties as yet unknown--yes, I'm know there are Christians who aren't intolerant idiots, but the intolerant idiots happen to be awfully loud these days) bought up a grundle of tickets for the sole purpose of walking out en masse in the middle of the performance, and in the process destroyed Mike's original notes for his show (he works off of those notes instead of a script, as he points out). And rather than show the courage of their convictions, they appear to have all squirreled their way out of the theatre after bravely storming a lone, seated man onstage and physically attacking his work. What would Jesus do? According to these courageous souls, Jesus would pour water on your notes without even the common courtesy of turning it into wine.

Those alleged Christians are quite lucky, I think, that Mike Daisey is such a class act. Just watch (and be aware some of the monologue leading into the March of the Living Idiots contains language that's probably NSFW, unless you work for Paris Hilton).

Reading "Daughters"

We're holding a reading of S.P. Miskowski's new play, Daughters of Catastrophe, tomorrow here at home. It's "An intelligent and twisted comedy that reflects the social, political and personal implications of living in our often amoral times."

I'm going to help fill out the reading cast. I don't think as one of the titular daughters, but you never know.