- I'm conducting interviews with the Bay One-Acts (BOA) playwrights for the BOA blog. First two interviews (with Bennett Fisher and Anthony Clarvoe) are up now -- more are on the way!
- Twitter! Yes, I finally joined. Find me @MarissaSkud.
- I'll be at the Cafe Royale tomorrow night for the Super Secret Kickstarter Fundraising Party for BOA! OK, not sure why the event title includes the word "secret," because we want LOTS of people to show up and help us reach our Kickstarter goal! And if you're not in the Bay Area or can't make it tomorrow night... you can donate online here.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
La vie est ailleurs
Having one of those insanely busy weeks where I am being hit with about a dozen deadlines at once, so even though there's a lot of stuff I'd like to blog about here, I'll have to put that off. In the meantime, you can find me elsewhere:
Thursday, April 5, 2012
New Favorite Song: "The Chapter In Your Life Entitled San Francisco" by the Lucksmiths
"Is it April yet?
A valid question (to which the answer is "yes") -- but I'm not asking you that. Rather, I felt like quoting the opening line of "The Chapter in Your Life Entitled San Francisco" by the Lucksmiths -- my new favorite song about my favorite city.
Why have I lived in San Francisco for nearly 4 years and never heard this song (it came out in 2005)? Why doesn't everyone I know consider this their theme song? Why did it not become a massive smash hit? Ah! It's so good! Intelligent lyrics! Sunny melody! Cute Aussie boys with cute Aussie accents!
I love how the Australian perspective informs the lyrics, too -- it's a song about loving someone who's in a different hemisphere, with different seasons and "unfamiliar stars." A friend of mine who's been to Australia says that that's the most disorienting thing -- to step outside and literally not recognize the constellations.
If I had a cabaret act I would perform this song in a medley with the Magnetic Fields' similarly-themed "Come Back From San Francisco," naturellement.
I actually learned of the Lucksmiths yesterday when reading Alec Nevala-Lee's blog post about the Magnetic Fields, to which a very enthusiastic commenter named Darren Goossens had responded with a lengthy comment implying that if you love the Magnetic Fields, you'll also like "the great Australian wordy-pop band, the Lucksmiths." (It seems that Mr. Goossens merely moonlights as a pop-music enthusiast and in his day-to-day life, he is a nuclear scientist. Curiouser and curiouser!) The quoted lyrics greatly appealed to me, so I investigated the Lucksmiths further. They put out several acclaimed albums in the '90s and '00s but disbanded in 2009.
"The Chapter In Your Life Entitled San Francisco" comes from the Lucksmiths' 2005 album Warmer Corners, which I listened to today and warmly recommend to all lovers of well-crafted guitar pop. Other standout tracks: "A Hiccup in Your Happiness," "The Music Next Door," "Sunlight in a Jar," and "Fiction." After hearing this last song, which is about a girl with the word "fiction" tattooed on her arm in typewriter font, I now have my answer to that recent AV Club Q&A about mandatory pop-culture tattoos...
A valid question (to which the answer is "yes") -- but I'm not asking you that. Rather, I felt like quoting the opening line of "The Chapter in Your Life Entitled San Francisco" by the Lucksmiths -- my new favorite song about my favorite city.
Why have I lived in San Francisco for nearly 4 years and never heard this song (it came out in 2005)? Why doesn't everyone I know consider this their theme song? Why did it not become a massive smash hit? Ah! It's so good! Intelligent lyrics! Sunny melody! Cute Aussie boys with cute Aussie accents!
I love how the Australian perspective informs the lyrics, too -- it's a song about loving someone who's in a different hemisphere, with different seasons and "unfamiliar stars." A friend of mine who's been to Australia says that that's the most disorienting thing -- to step outside and literally not recognize the constellations.
If I had a cabaret act I would perform this song in a medley with the Magnetic Fields' similarly-themed "Come Back From San Francisco," naturellement.
I actually learned of the Lucksmiths yesterday when reading Alec Nevala-Lee's blog post about the Magnetic Fields, to which a very enthusiastic commenter named Darren Goossens had responded with a lengthy comment implying that if you love the Magnetic Fields, you'll also like "the great Australian wordy-pop band, the Lucksmiths." (It seems that Mr. Goossens merely moonlights as a pop-music enthusiast and in his day-to-day life, he is a nuclear scientist. Curiouser and curiouser!) The quoted lyrics greatly appealed to me, so I investigated the Lucksmiths further. They put out several acclaimed albums in the '90s and '00s but disbanded in 2009.
"The Chapter In Your Life Entitled San Francisco" comes from the Lucksmiths' 2005 album Warmer Corners, which I listened to today and warmly recommend to all lovers of well-crafted guitar pop. Other standout tracks: "A Hiccup in Your Happiness," "The Music Next Door," "Sunlight in a Jar," and "Fiction." After hearing this last song, which is about a girl with the word "fiction" tattooed on her arm in typewriter font, I now have my answer to that recent AV Club Q&A about mandatory pop-culture tattoos...
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
"Bernadette" and False Endings
Oddly enough, I'm reading two novels in a row that mention/discuss the song "Bernadette," by the Four Tops.
From A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan (this is in the infamous PowerPoint chapter, so I can quote the text but not the formatting):
The trouble with listening to songs on YouTube or an iPod is the little bar that indicates how long the song is and how much more of it remains, meaning that the false ending can't surprise you the way it could on the radio or an LP record. False endings and hidden tracks are becoming a thing of the past. Music is more convenient than ever (I mean, how nice that I could look this up on YouTube instantaneously!) and yet less able to surprise us.
Then again, when you read a book, you always know exactly where you are in it and how many pages remain, and that doesn't ruin your enjoyment of it. Why should it be any different when you know exactly how many seconds remain until the end of a song?
And now this is making me think of the "Aria with Diverse Variations" dialogue in Gödel Escher Bach where the Tortoise and Achilles discuss exactly this problem.
I don't have a Kindle, so I'm curious to know: on an e-reader, do you know exactly how much of the text you have remaining, or is it left mysterious? Wouldn't it be funny if the iPod caused this problem for music (of always knowing how long the work of art is) but the Nook or the Kindle eliminated this problem for books?
From A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan (this is in the infamous PowerPoint chapter, so I can quote the text but not the formatting):
Right now, [Lincoln's] obsessed with rock songs that have pauses in them.From Anthropology of an American Girl by Hilary Thayer Hamann:
Songs with Lincoln's Comments:
"Bernadette," by the Four Tops: "This is an excellent early pause. The voice tapers off, and then you've still got 1.5 seconds of total silence, from 2:38 to 2:395, before the chorus kicks back in. You think, Hey, the song didn't end after all—but then, 26.5 seconds later, it does end."
The jukebox finished a song, then whirred to a new start. It was the Four Tops.I couldn't recall ever hearing "Bernadette" and had no idea that it was so widely known for its false ending/mid-song pause. So I looked it up. Here it is for your listening pleasure:
Bernadette. People are searching for—
the kind of love that we possessed.
Some go on searchin' their whole life through
And never find the love I've found in you.
"Do you know the lead singer's name?"
"Levi Stubbs," Mark said matter-of-factly.
I reached for his sleeve. "Listen," I said, adding his name, "Mark. I love this part. The false ending. The way he screams her name. Bern—a—dette."
I sighed. "I'll never be loved like that."
He shook his drink, looking into it. "I doubt that."
The trouble with listening to songs on YouTube or an iPod is the little bar that indicates how long the song is and how much more of it remains, meaning that the false ending can't surprise you the way it could on the radio or an LP record. False endings and hidden tracks are becoming a thing of the past. Music is more convenient than ever (I mean, how nice that I could look this up on YouTube instantaneously!) and yet less able to surprise us.
Then again, when you read a book, you always know exactly where you are in it and how many pages remain, and that doesn't ruin your enjoyment of it. Why should it be any different when you know exactly how many seconds remain until the end of a song?
And now this is making me think of the "Aria with Diverse Variations" dialogue in Gödel Escher Bach where the Tortoise and Achilles discuss exactly this problem.
Tortoise: You've undoubtedly noticed how some authors go to so much trouble to build up great tension a few pages before the end of their stories--but a reader who is holding the book physically in his hands can FEEL that the story is about to end. Hence, he has some extra information which acts as an advance warning, in a way. The tension is a bit spoiled by the physicality of the book. It would be so much better if, for instance, there were a lot of padding at the end of novels.(And then, because this is Gödel Escher Bach, it all gets very meta.)
Achilles: Padding?
Tortoise: Yes; what I mean is, a lot of extra printed pages which are not part of the story proper, but which serve to conceal the exact location of the end from a cursory glance, or from the feel of the book.
Achilles: I see. So a story's true ending might occur, say, fifty or a hundred pages before the physical end of the book?
Tortoise: Yes. This would provide an element of surprise, because the reader wouldn't know in advance how many pages are padding, and how many are story.
I don't have a Kindle, so I'm curious to know: on an e-reader, do you know exactly how much of the text you have remaining, or is it left mysterious? Wouldn't it be funny if the iPod caused this problem for music (of always knowing how long the work of art is) but the Nook or the Kindle eliminated this problem for books?
Saturday, March 31, 2012
"A Visit from the Goon Squad": Coming Full Circle
I picked a good week to read A Visit from the Goon Squad, which my mom gave me for Christmas. It felt appropriate to read the 2011 Morning News Tournament of Books winner as I eagerly followed the 2012 Tournament. Appropriate, to read a book centered around the music industry the week that I attended a concert, something that I don't do all that often. Appropriate, too, that I had it in my bag when I met Emma Straub, and then I read an interview with her where she mentioned it as one of her favorite books. Weirdly appropriate, that on the day I read one of the book's oddest and funniest chapters, the one about the self-loathing magazine journalist who is assigned to write a profile of a teenage starlet and ends up assaulting her in Central Park, I should read this Gawker article about the sexual politics of the celebrity profile, which covers many of the same themes.
And, I guess, most appropriately of all, that I started seeing weird connections to this book and its themes everywhere, when it, itself, is a book about weird connections and some of the world's biggest, most pervasive themes. Maybe every week is a good week to read A Visit from The Goon Squad!
This book has received a lot of awards and acclaim, so you probably already know about some of its distinctive features (is it a short story collection or a novel?; no two chapters have the same protagonist; the PowerPoint story). And I know I'm not going to be able to write a blog post that does justice to the book as a whole. So, herewith, some disjointed impressions, as a way of saying "I enjoyed this book and I'm still thinking about it."
The book covers a roughly fifty-year timespan -- the earliest story, "Safari," takes place in the early 1970s, and the last two stories take us into the near future of the 2020s. But the characters in every story feel equally real, human, and relatable. The stories that take place in the '70s don't feel like "historical fiction," and the stories that take place in the future don't feel like sci-fi, but a plausible extrapolation of how things might be in fifteen years or so. (Even if Jennifer Egan's predictions don't come true, her novel will still have value as a record of how people in 2010 envisioned the future would be.) I did find the references to Clinton's inauguration at the beginning of "Out of Body" a bit forced, an awkward way of letting the reader know that this story takes place in 1993. But then Egan does such wonderful things with the second-person-singular voice in the rest of the story, I am powerless to resist it.
While the major theme of the book is how the passage of time affects its characters, the emphasis is less on how they are affected by big historical events and more on how they are affected by new technological innovations and gradual shifts in cultural attitudes -- which feels more true to the way that people's lives actually change. The same goes for Egan's attitude about the future: it's not a utopia, it's not a dystopia, it's just a place where people will continue trying to make meaningful connections with one another, the way they have always done.
The way that minor characters in one story will become major characters in another, the way that time grinds them down, and the overall structure of the book (complex, circular, surprising) are heart-stoppingly good.
And I doubt that anyone will ever come up with a better metaphor for the conspicuous consumption of the early 2000s and the 2008 stock market crash than: "scalding oil [fell] onto the heads of every glamorous person in the country and some other countries, too. [...] Her guests shrieked and staggered and covered their heads, tore hot, soaked garments from their flesh and crawled over the floor like people in medieval altar paintings whose earthly luxuries have consigned them to hell."
And, I guess, most appropriately of all, that I started seeing weird connections to this book and its themes everywhere, when it, itself, is a book about weird connections and some of the world's biggest, most pervasive themes. Maybe every week is a good week to read A Visit from The Goon Squad!
This book has received a lot of awards and acclaim, so you probably already know about some of its distinctive features (is it a short story collection or a novel?; no two chapters have the same protagonist; the PowerPoint story). And I know I'm not going to be able to write a blog post that does justice to the book as a whole. So, herewith, some disjointed impressions, as a way of saying "I enjoyed this book and I'm still thinking about it."
The book covers a roughly fifty-year timespan -- the earliest story, "Safari," takes place in the early 1970s, and the last two stories take us into the near future of the 2020s. But the characters in every story feel equally real, human, and relatable. The stories that take place in the '70s don't feel like "historical fiction," and the stories that take place in the future don't feel like sci-fi, but a plausible extrapolation of how things might be in fifteen years or so. (Even if Jennifer Egan's predictions don't come true, her novel will still have value as a record of how people in 2010 envisioned the future would be.) I did find the references to Clinton's inauguration at the beginning of "Out of Body" a bit forced, an awkward way of letting the reader know that this story takes place in 1993. But then Egan does such wonderful things with the second-person-singular voice in the rest of the story, I am powerless to resist it.
While the major theme of the book is how the passage of time affects its characters, the emphasis is less on how they are affected by big historical events and more on how they are affected by new technological innovations and gradual shifts in cultural attitudes -- which feels more true to the way that people's lives actually change. The same goes for Egan's attitude about the future: it's not a utopia, it's not a dystopia, it's just a place where people will continue trying to make meaningful connections with one another, the way they have always done.
The way that minor characters in one story will become major characters in another, the way that time grinds them down, and the overall structure of the book (complex, circular, surprising) are heart-stoppingly good.
And I doubt that anyone will ever come up with a better metaphor for the conspicuous consumption of the early 2000s and the 2008 stock market crash than: "scalding oil [fell] onto the heads of every glamorous person in the country and some other countries, too. [...] Her guests shrieked and staggered and covered their heads, tore hot, soaked garments from their flesh and crawled over the floor like people in medieval altar paintings whose earthly luxuries have consigned them to hell."
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Meeting Emma Straub
Between the time I bought my ticket to the Magnetic Fields concert a few months ago and the time I attended the show on Saturday night, I had developed a secondary motivation for being there -- beyond my desire to see one of my favorite bands perform.
See, when I read The Millions' "Most Anticipated Books of 2012" article at the beginning of this year, the title that intrigued me the most was Laura Lamont's Life in Pictures by Emma Straub, "about a Midwestern girl who moves to Los Angeles and, at great cost, becomes a movie star in 1940s Hollywood." I'm writing a play about a '40s movie star, so of course I thought "I have to read this novel when it comes out!"
And it just so happens that Emma Straub is on tour with the Magnetic Fields as their "merch girl" and maintainer of their tour blog! When I realized this, I decided I'd try to introduce myself to her at the concert and let her know that I am truly excited about her book.
So, during the opening act, I went out to the lobby and recognized Emma Straub from her author photo -- she was standing near the merch booth. Though I'm always a little nervous in situations like these, the friend I was with cheered me on, and I went up and introduced myself.
Because the Fox Theater insisted on using their own employees as merchandise vendors, Emma didn't have anything pressing to do and I was able to chat with her for a few minutes. We talked about '40s cinema (we're both Hitchcock fans) and how fun it is to watch old movies and call it "research." She also asked me a little about my play and the Olympians Festival.
According to Emma, Laura Lamont's Life in Pictures actually spans several decades in the life of its heroine, from the '20s to the '70s -- so the blurb on The Millions was a little misleading. Nonetheless, I'm still super excited to read it, and Emma couldn't have been nicer or more approachable.
Laura Lamont's Life in Pictures will be Emma Straub's debut novel, but she is currently represented in bookstores with a short story collection called Other People We Married -- which I want to read now, too! Here is a video where she reads some of her fiction and Stephin Merritt plays some of his songs, in a joint appearance at the NYC Barnes & Noble earlier this month. She is also chronicling the Magnetic Fields tour for the band's official blog and for the Paris Review blog.
See, when I read The Millions' "Most Anticipated Books of 2012" article at the beginning of this year, the title that intrigued me the most was Laura Lamont's Life in Pictures by Emma Straub, "about a Midwestern girl who moves to Los Angeles and, at great cost, becomes a movie star in 1940s Hollywood." I'm writing a play about a '40s movie star, so of course I thought "I have to read this novel when it comes out!"
And it just so happens that Emma Straub is on tour with the Magnetic Fields as their "merch girl" and maintainer of their tour blog! When I realized this, I decided I'd try to introduce myself to her at the concert and let her know that I am truly excited about her book.
So, during the opening act, I went out to the lobby and recognized Emma Straub from her author photo -- she was standing near the merch booth. Though I'm always a little nervous in situations like these, the friend I was with cheered me on, and I went up and introduced myself.
Because the Fox Theater insisted on using their own employees as merchandise vendors, Emma didn't have anything pressing to do and I was able to chat with her for a few minutes. We talked about '40s cinema (we're both Hitchcock fans) and how fun it is to watch old movies and call it "research." She also asked me a little about my play and the Olympians Festival.
According to Emma, Laura Lamont's Life in Pictures actually spans several decades in the life of its heroine, from the '20s to the '70s -- so the blurb on The Millions was a little misleading. Nonetheless, I'm still super excited to read it, and Emma couldn't have been nicer or more approachable.
Laura Lamont's Life in Pictures will be Emma Straub's debut novel, but she is currently represented in bookstores with a short story collection called Other People We Married -- which I want to read now, too! Here is a video where she reads some of her fiction and Stephin Merritt plays some of his songs, in a joint appearance at the NYC Barnes & Noble earlier this month. She is also chronicling the Magnetic Fields tour for the band's official blog and for the Paris Review blog.
Monday, March 26, 2012
The Magnetic Fields at the Fox Theater, Oakland: Love and the Lack Thereof
I was at Oakland's gorgeous/kitschy Fox Theater on Saturday night to see the Magnetic Fields' tour in support of their new album Love at the Bottom of the Sea (my review). Their 90-minute acoustic set included seven of their new songs and plenty of older favorites.
Stephin Merritt is famous for his world-weary baritone voice and deadpan stage presence. Both were in ample evidence on Saturday night. He delivered such quips as "You can never have too many revenge fantasies," and provided short, sardonic intros to the songs: "This is a song about a dead animal" (cue "A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off"), or "This is a song about a horrible, horrible town that some of you may have been to" ("Come Back From San Francisco").
After Shirley Simms sang the brief ditty "Boa Constrictor," Merritt commented, "You know, I think that's my favorite one of the 69 Love Songs." And then promptly launched into everyone else's favorite song from that album, "The Book of Love." We all sang along, quietly, during the choruses. The atmosphere was almost worshipful.
He introduced the beautifully bleak "Smoke and Mirrors" ("That's all love is / Behind the tears / Smoke and mirrors") by saying, "This is a song about love and the lack thereof," which raises two questions:
We attendees of the Oakland concert got a special treat: the normally five-person band was joined by a sixth member, accordionist Daniel Handler. Handler plays on Magnetic Fields records, but presumably his commitments as a well-known novelist (under his own name and that of Lemony Snicket) make it impossible for him to tour with the band. He lives in San Francisco, though, so he came onstage and played on several songs. Most memorably, he capered around with his accordion while Claudia Gonson sang "The Horrible Party" and Merritt played a noisy kazoo.
Gonson was a cheerful presence at the piano and the mic, singing "Reno Dakota" and "My Husband's Pied-à-Terre" with great enthusiasm and some hammy gestures. The band's other female member, Shirley Simms, played her ukulele like a trouper and tended to sing the more country-flavored numbers like "Fear of Trains," "Drive On, Driver," and (from the new album) "Goin' Back to the Country." The two women harmonized beautifully on "Plant White Roses," another sad country song.
Indeed, the all-acoustic instrumentation (cello, guitar and harmonium in addition to the aforementioned piano, accordion and uke) made clear the Magnetic Fields' debt to country and folk music, even if many of their albums draw on synth-pop. It also seemed to make the quieter moments and slow ballads more effective than the more upbeat or humorous songs. Though the witty lyrics of "Andrew in Drag" definitely made the audience laugh, the live performance felt less invigorating than the recorded version.
But what really stands out for me is the band's performance of the gorgeous "Busby Berkeley Dreams." In the album version (from 69 Love Songs), the chorus lies at the top of Stephin Merritt's vocal range, and the song gains much of its emotional power from the way his voice sounds like it could crack at any moment. Saturday night, Merritt elected to sing the chorus down an octave, which lessened its soaring sadness, and made the final note so ridiculously low that you couldn't help but giggle. Then, after the instrumental break, he sang one chorus in the original, higher octave -- and the effect was absolutely heartbreaking. And then he got so discomfited by people taking photos that he muffed the lyrics, and we got so discomfited by his discomfiture that we applauded before the song was actually over, though we knew it by heart. From the ridiculous to the sublime and back again, in the course of a three-minute pop song.
Stephin Merritt is famous for his world-weary baritone voice and deadpan stage presence. Both were in ample evidence on Saturday night. He delivered such quips as "You can never have too many revenge fantasies," and provided short, sardonic intros to the songs: "This is a song about a dead animal" (cue "A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off"), or "This is a song about a horrible, horrible town that some of you may have been to" ("Come Back From San Francisco").
After Shirley Simms sang the brief ditty "Boa Constrictor," Merritt commented, "You know, I think that's my favorite one of the 69 Love Songs." And then promptly launched into everyone else's favorite song from that album, "The Book of Love." We all sang along, quietly, during the choruses. The atmosphere was almost worshipful.
He introduced the beautifully bleak "Smoke and Mirrors" ("That's all love is / Behind the tears / Smoke and mirrors") by saying, "This is a song about love and the lack thereof," which raises two questions:
- Why hasn't Stephin Merritt written a song called "Love and the Lack Thereof"?
- Would he mind terribly if I did?
We attendees of the Oakland concert got a special treat: the normally five-person band was joined by a sixth member, accordionist Daniel Handler. Handler plays on Magnetic Fields records, but presumably his commitments as a well-known novelist (under his own name and that of Lemony Snicket) make it impossible for him to tour with the band. He lives in San Francisco, though, so he came onstage and played on several songs. Most memorably, he capered around with his accordion while Claudia Gonson sang "The Horrible Party" and Merritt played a noisy kazoo.
Gonson was a cheerful presence at the piano and the mic, singing "Reno Dakota" and "My Husband's Pied-à-Terre" with great enthusiasm and some hammy gestures. The band's other female member, Shirley Simms, played her ukulele like a trouper and tended to sing the more country-flavored numbers like "Fear of Trains," "Drive On, Driver," and (from the new album) "Goin' Back to the Country." The two women harmonized beautifully on "Plant White Roses," another sad country song.
Indeed, the all-acoustic instrumentation (cello, guitar and harmonium in addition to the aforementioned piano, accordion and uke) made clear the Magnetic Fields' debt to country and folk music, even if many of their albums draw on synth-pop. It also seemed to make the quieter moments and slow ballads more effective than the more upbeat or humorous songs. Though the witty lyrics of "Andrew in Drag" definitely made the audience laugh, the live performance felt less invigorating than the recorded version.
But what really stands out for me is the band's performance of the gorgeous "Busby Berkeley Dreams." In the album version (from 69 Love Songs), the chorus lies at the top of Stephin Merritt's vocal range, and the song gains much of its emotional power from the way his voice sounds like it could crack at any moment. Saturday night, Merritt elected to sing the chorus down an octave, which lessened its soaring sadness, and made the final note so ridiculously low that you couldn't help but giggle. Then, after the instrumental break, he sang one chorus in the original, higher octave -- and the effect was absolutely heartbreaking. And then he got so discomfited by people taking photos that he muffed the lyrics, and we got so discomfited by his discomfiture that we applauded before the song was actually over, though we knew it by heart. From the ridiculous to the sublime and back again, in the course of a three-minute pop song.
Monday, March 19, 2012
My Copy-ous Free Time
Expect radio silence from me this week as I work hard on copy-editing the BOA Anthology. (And also take the time to attend some fun events, which I hope to blog about once we've delivered the anthology to the printers'.)
In the meantime, if you're free tonight, come to the Cafe Royale to see SF Theater Pub 3.3: The Odes of March! Including my contributions, Ode to the Props Master and Ode to the Costume Designer. (related post)
And remember that a $25 pledge to the BOA Kickstarter campaign gets you a copy of the play anthology.
And yes, I did write this post just so I could title it with an egregious pun.
In the meantime, if you're free tonight, come to the Cafe Royale to see SF Theater Pub 3.3: The Odes of March! Including my contributions, Ode to the Props Master and Ode to the Costume Designer. (related post)
And remember that a $25 pledge to the BOA Kickstarter campaign gets you a copy of the play anthology.
And yes, I did write this post just so I could title it with an egregious pun.
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