Last Blog for ’07 – by Zena

What a time to take a holiday vacation!! Britney’s apparently pregnant again and who knows who the father is, Michael Vick lied and may go down for a full sentence for the naughty things he’s done and if you read Yvis’s blog you will see that there is no shortage of stupid people comedy bits being laid right at our feet, practically gift wrapped.

And yet, we must rest. And we must battle the fierce crowds to get the best Christmas and Chanukah gifts available for our friends and loved ones and that takes focus, people! We must take a little holiday hiatus because that’s what we voted to do and this isn’t a democracy if the wrong person becomes president… oops, that’s another blog for a more political page.

We here at Foe Pa wish all of you and all of yours a very merry Chanukah and a special Christmas. Give, get and drink plenty. We will be thinking about you and hopefully you will be thinking of us.

We will be back with blogs, videos and comedy galore in 2008. Happy New Year!!

Ch-ch-ch-changes – by Corey

Yvis has grabbed my package one too many times. I’m out of here.

Only one of those sentences are true and both of them kind of make me sad. They also fill me with excitement for what the future might hold. For now I can only dare to dream of a package molested.

Foe Pa has been great to me and great for me. So it’s bittersweet for me to have to leave. I say “have to” in the way a lot of people say “have to”. There’s something inside pulling me to do it. And I know I can’t ignore it. It’s the same “have to” that tells me I have to act. The same “have to” that hopefully tells others to be an actor or writer or director or dancer or painter. I hope there’s a “have to” inside you. And I hope you listen to it, too.

Of course maybe I’m overselling the whole thing. I’m not doing anything so dramatic or epic as giving it all up to hike to Alaska only to eat a blueberry with the wrong fungus on it and die. But what I am hoping to do is something that ideally is very unique and specific yet endless in opportunities for me to continue to create. Too vague? Okay, how about this? I love sketch comedy but I also want to make short films, documentaries, video blogs and so much more. I’m finding a way to incorporate all of this into one cohesive package while at the same time working with the right people for the right jobs, people that inspire and excite me. And yes, that definitely includes the members of Foe Pa past and present.

And speaking of them, I’ll miss my Foe Pa fellows. Never have I been so inspired by such funny, smart, and fearless people. I was honored when Zena asked me to help start the group. They have pushed me to constantly improve my writing and performing, which makes me so grateful. Our live shows have been a constant source of pride and exhilaration for me. I can’t wait to work with them again.

For the Foe Pa Faithful, thank you for coming to our shows, watching our videos, and supporting us. Your laughter is my favorite gift. I can’t wait to join you in the audience and laugh with you during the next Foe Pa show.

If you’ve enjoyed what I’ve done with Foe Pa (or if you’ve seen my work elsewhere and enjoyed that), I hope you’ll check out what I’m building in the coming months. Keep an eye on CoreyBlake.com or send me an email and I’ll make sure you’re among the first to know.

Oh and sorry for ripping off your song title for this blog, David Bowie. No hard feelings?

To Strikers Everywhere: Be Staunch. Walk Tall. – by Aaron

Answer to the mathematical human problem I posed on my last blog.

There are more opinions than assholes.
98% of the world’s human population has one asshole.
2% has no more than 3 assholes.
Humans have more opinions than assholes.
What is the fewest possible number of opinions?

FYI: When you read this, if today is not Sept 25th (at 5:00pm), then add 211,090 to the world population for every subsequent day. Yes, that’s right; we gain 211,090 people every single day.

ANSWER:

The fewest number of opinions on September 25th at 5:00pm is 6,627,668,821.

We’ve gained at least 11,302,254 opinions since then.

Today, November 20th, 2007 at 5:00pm its 6,638,971,075.

Now, to the blog:

I’m not a professional writer, nor am I getting paid for the words laid before you, so I feel confident that, by writing this blog, I am not crossing any picket lines.

And that, friends, is the subject of this blog. The WGA Strike.

The Writer’s strike and the Studios will resume talks on Monday, November 26th, and not a moment too soon.

If you’re not in New York City or Los Angeles, you probably have not seen the picket lines on Broadway and in front of the Studios. So you may not be aware that there are different strikes happening. You may not have yet felt any impact of this strike. But you will if you watch television. You most assuredly will.

Now some clarification. In New York, you have both the Writers Strike and the Stagehand strike. The Stagehand Strike has (very-effectively) shut down the Broadway Theatres and has bruised NYC’s tourist trade, but it has not yet hit our television sets as the Writers’ Strike soon will. However, the Stagehands Strike has seemingly been very good for Off-Broadway productions. So at least the theater lovers still have productions to see.

But in New York and Los Angeles, writers have also hit the streets.

Because of this, we will all be left without shows to watch away our time. Unless you like Reality Television. Then again Reality Television is somewhat scripted. But more than that, directors, camera operators, grips, editors, and many many many more people are going to be out of work. Advertisers will also be hit. And with the invention of DVRs and Tivo, they’ve already been ignored my many a television viewer.

Actors will also fill the effects. Johnny Depp, Penelope Cruz, and Tom Hanks probably won’t feel the pinch as much as the actors that I know, myself included. But, why, is all of this happening?

“The writers were screwed 20 years ago in a deal that ended up paying them about 5 cents per DVD; the studios sell each new release for about $13. The writers (and actors and directors) deserve a raise on this predictable, lucrative ($17 billion in 2007) line of business,” wrote the Silicon Alley Insider.

Added to that, there is a new contention over the non-residual paying internet broadcasts of all the shows seen on Network TV.

For more in-depth information, go to WGA.org.

I work at The Antaeus Theatre Company, so that means that I don’t catch any Prime-Time Television. There are shows I love (House, Pushing Daisies, Heroes, Monk, Journeyman – just to name a few). But I never see them on my television. I see them on my computer. Its new technology, and the streams aren’t perfect, but I can catch up on emails, write, and work in my office while watching these shows. I DVR some stuff, but I don’t get a “relaxing in front of the tube” moment in my living-room too often.

The writers do not yet get paid for the words the actors say every time I tune in to watch ‘my shows’ on the Internet. It’s time for that to change. Friday, I will watch a movie on my DVD player. The writers aren’t getting their fair share when we watch the actors speak their words.

Writing is one of the oldest advancements in human evolution. The Internet is one of the newest. If the Writers are evolved enough to put down their laptops and strike, the Studio exec’s should be evolved enough to sit down at the bargaining table. There is a fair, decisive deal that benefits everyone involved. It just has to be found. Because this strike is hurting everyone in the Entertainment Industry – from the biggest executive to the most struggling of struggling actors.

To all of you not in the Entertainment Industry: You may reap some benefits. Maybe you’ll spend more time with your kids. Maybe you’ll listen to the radio and discover new music. Maybe you’ll read a book. Maybe you’ll work on that novel you’ve been putting off. And that novel will get purchased by a Studio. And once the Writers Strike is over, your novel will be made into a major motion picture.

To all of you writers and stagehands: Be staunch. Walk tall.

Needing a Paris Fix – by Shawn

Over the past two weeks, I’d been getting progressively more and more antsy. I’d begun to snap at my friends and co-workers. I’d gotten even more irate than usual on the freeway.

I couldn’t figure out what was happening. Was I ill? Had I been abducted by aliens and had my brain altered dramatically while I slept? Was I more rapidly slipping down the slope of spiteful codgerdom?

Then it hit me this morning, like a 15 pound trout to the kisser. I was being isolated and neglected; tortured if you will (and god knows our government will). I was being driven mad by the absence of the one true gift I’d come to rely upon from our glitz and glamour glazed garbage-heap of a news media. I hadn’t heard word one about Paris Hilton! Nada! Zilch! And this absence hadn’t been for just a day. Not even just two, but nearly 14 FULL DAYS WITHOUT PARIS!

My heart started beating irregularly. I began to twitch and sweat. I turned on the T.V. news. Surely I would get my Paris fix before I went into full-blown toxic-withdrawal.

But the news was barren; a dessert filled with useless words instead of sand. There was some B.S. about Pakistan being in turmoil and a war in Iraq and… I mean, who the hell cares about that stuff? Where is our drunken idol sliding out of a Ferrari in some gesture of solidarity with the rest of humanity? “If you can drive drunk, people of America, I, your plastic queen, can join you! Huzzah!”

I mean, Iraq? Please. Any country that doesn’t know you need to put a “u” after a “q” in any real word doesn’t deserve top-billing. And what the hell is a Musharaff or a Bhutto? Unless they’re the latest in awe-inspiring fashion strapped to the feet of America’s wealthiest ice-sculpture, I don’t want to hear about ‘em.

The television was a lost cause. All those reporters and not one with his or her finger on the pulse of this nation; I was appalled.

I quickly turned to my computer. I clicked and clicked, madness biting at my heels with its diamond studded choppers. Where is she? What greatness has this Perfect Wonder (that Barbie only dreams she could be) wrought on the world? How has she graced the planet today with her perfection? I would know or die trying.

And there she was! The milk-dud in a bowl of apples. The sweet truth of life made whole! Thanks to the brilliant catch of writer Wasbir Hussain of the Associated Press, I found an article about the Angel of America and her latest crusade against injustice.

Paris? Fighting the big fight directly? Why yes, yes indeed. And a bigger fight than you or I could dream of. “”The elephants get drunk all the time. It is becoming really dangerous. We need to stop making alcohol available to them,” the 26-year-old socialite was quoted as saying by the World Entertainment News Network’s Web site.” She’s fighting for the rights of elephants in India! Apparently, the poor pachyderms have been breaking into food-stores of local farmers and getting schnockerd. The look of concern on her perfectly carved features has to be seen to be comprehended:

With my Paris fix met, life began to swirl back into alignment. I was no longer dizzy and disconnected. I was again sitting firmly on my own two cheeks.

But before I’m lulled into a false sense of equilibrium, I must implore the media-sources in this country – nay, the world – to get their act back together. We don’t care about war. We don’t care about murder and injustice. We don’t care about the rights of the oppressed of the world. We care about our idiots, er, I mean, our idols and what they think matters. Even if it doesn’t matter at all. Please keep us sedate and stupid. Life’s too short to have to think all the time. Peace, love and Paris.

Shawn MacAulay, not as Paris Hilton, but as sketch character Dirk Rager:

Reflections of an Old Fart – by Yvis

So usually I rant and rave about things going on in the world, whether it be about celebrities or some sort of earth shattering event. But this time out I decided to take it down a notch and write about something I never really like talking about…ME.

The reason for this self-reflection is because I am turning 36 this Saturday (sounds like a bit of a shameless plug but really…it is). I was thinking of the legacy that I have left so far on this mortal coil we call life. In the past year I’ve had a few friends turn 30 and they talk about how they haven’t reached their goals yet and how frustrated they are. How they are not homeowners or higher up in their careers or marriage (usually the latter is from women; they tend to get the old maid syndrome while men tend to worry about money and career and how they are going to support said women or at least hook up with a hot gold digger). I listen and I tend to scoff, usually blasting them with lofty phrases like “You are young, be patient” or “You’ll get there”. Damn I should be a motivational speaker with advice like that.

Now, you are probably thinking, “OK, this blog is boring. He tries to sound smart which is kind of cute; like watching a retarded kid try to spell cat with blocks. But what the hell is your point??” I’m getting there. Jesus, just relax… Sheeeesh. Since the big 3-6 is looming over me, I started doing what my younger counterparts were doing; talking about the things that haven’t happened yet, thinking about my personal life and how I’m still single, in other words… I started depressing myself. When you sit down and start really thinking about what you don’t have, man, that dark cloud stays with you for a long time. But last night I had a revelation, an epiphany if you will. I started doing something that not many people do… OK brace yourself… I started thinking about what I DO have. “Yvis, you mad man, what’s this crazy talk you’re spewing?” I know I know, it freaked me out too. But there it was, in all it’s glory; the fact that for all intents and purposes I have a great life. Could it be better? Of course it can. I think you can ask Bill Gates if his life could get better and I bet you he would say yes. (Now it may involve disgusting sexual acts but hey whatever floats your boat, right?)

My point is, don’t reflect about what you don’t have, think about what you do have; appreciate it, hold on to it, love it (ummm not that way, put it away…thank you) and realize it can only get better. OK enough of this touchy feely stuff, I promise next time to talk about Halle Berry’s milk filled fun bags… Mmmmmm milk filled fun bags, drool.

Zena in Secret Gift

Zena Leigh and Foe Pa alumni Shelley Wenk participated in this past weekend’s Instant Films Festival. Shelley won for Best Director.

My Name Was Stolen! – by Zena

Back in the day when I got a fancy notion in my head that I had to get myself a website to advertise ME! I bought my name domain: zenaleigh.com. Then I found out that I don’t know how to make a website and that people who do know want money for that knowledge.

Well, I figured that come hellfire or damnation I was gonna keep my grubby little paws on that domain until I obtained the knowledge of how to build a website (probably through osmosis and most likely while I was sleeping) or until I had serious ‘fuck you’ money and I could just throw cash at someone one dollar at a time (like at a strip club) to build my website.

For two years my husband and I diligently scrimped and saved to set aside the $9.95 we needed to keep my domain registered and then BLAMMO! in the blink of an eye, or several months, life happened and one or the other of us neglected to pay said money to the domain holders and it expired.

Once I got a new bug up my ass to get my name back I went to the domain holders, proverbial hat in hand, and said, “Please, sir, may I have another… go around with my own name domain?” to which they replied, “Hey, buddy, in four days it’s up for grabs. So get it then at $9.95, or, you know, if you want, pay us a hundred clams now and we’ll just give it back to you.”

So I sat back to wait the four days cause money is mostly comprised of linen and does not grow on trees. And then I checked every day anyway just to make sure it didn’t come early. Sometimes that happens, it’s nobody’s fault. And then, in the wee hours of the earliest morning on Monday, October 22, some dark vulture of the intarweb (Foe Pa in-joke speak for the internet, but you probably guessed what I meant all on your own and I didn’t even need to digress. Damn me!!) swooped in and stole, STOLE! my domain name and parked it with stupid ads for stupid things made and sold by stupid people. It’s utterly stupidified and I hope that they make all kinds of money and then get hit by a car and all the money goes to a worthy charity like nameless children or cancer or AIDS. Not very nice, I know, but it’s my own name and I can’t help but feel proprietary over it. My daddy gave it to me mere days after birth and not that many people have it. Not like John Smith. Good luck getting your name on a website, John Smith.

Me, I’ve soldiered on, managed to muster some ounce of fortitude and gone out and bought myself a shiny new domain: zenaleigh.net. Don’t go there today (10/31/07) because apparently it takes a little time to show up on the intarweb once you buy it. But I used google page creator to spiff up a happy little webpage all by my own self. A very simple one that looks pretty neato if I do say so myself. Which I do; say so myself, that is. It’s all ready to go, pals. All ready to go. That’ll show them.

The moral of the story, my friends, is to buy your name domain now if you think you will ever want it and then hold onto that sucker for dear life. Unless you are John Smith. Then maybe get a hobby that doesn’t require anything to do with the internet and doesn’t require a name based website for you. Good day to you all, except the bastards that own zenaleigh.com.

Okay, this picture has nothing to do with the story, except that my expression is similar to my face when I saw that my name had been bought by someone who was definitely NOT named zenaleigh or zenaleigh.com. Film still from the short film, Mental Maid by Vernon Wilbert 2007.

11/4: Good News Update!!! I got my domain name back. See, sometimes a little complaining can be a good thing! I got zenaleigh.com back, registered it and put up my webpage. You can view it at zenaleigh.com any old time of day.

Patience – by Miranda

I had to call technical support recently and I found it very interesting that I don’t do well with silence on the phone. If I’m hanging out with someone, fine, no problem, I can sit with a nice silent moment any time. But, when the operator kindly asked me to turn my computer off and then re-boot it, I actually broke out into a sweat. I knew it was going to take upwards of four minutes and that’s so awkward to have to just sit and wait. The guy would patiently ask, “Is it up yet?” I finally found myself doing the fake sniffle just to provide some ambient noise so he knew I was still there. I never realized just how many screens my computer needs until it is truly running, connected to the internet, and ready to go. I felt like a color commentarian, saying, “Oh, the arrow just turned into an hour glass again.” However, I did find that every one of the operators with which I worked was extremely patient. They must be used to this. It’s part of their job.

Just like me, with my job as a speech language pathologist, I find I need to give my clients extra time to process information and organize their thoughts. I have had family members comment on how patient I am allowing them to answer without jumping in and finishing their sentences. I don’t mind that someone takes thirty to sixty seconds to answer a yes/no question. It’s work and my job is to be patient.

Unfortunately, my patience is all used up by the time I get home. I have to take the dog for a walk and he sniffs and walks in circles, looks up, hears other dog’s barking-until after about thirty seconds, I’m yelling, “JUST PEE!”

I Devirginize, As I Write – by Marisa

This is my first blog. Ever. A scary endeavor but also an empowering one. At least this is how I am looking at it. I have so many things I would like to write about but they flutter in and out of my head. Ok. Stop. The first thing that pops to mind (and this scares me why it’s the first thing) is…

Jessica the Hippo. Never heard of her? Well then you are not part of the over 1.2 million hits on youtube for this video documenting the domesticated hippopotamus who likes massages and allows the family dog to snuggle up next to her when she is taking a nap. It’s definitely “outside of the box” and that always grabs my attention…and she’s kind of cute too.

And while I am on this hippo subject, you have to check out another video from youtube, Hippo Beat. It‘s a scene from Garry Marshall’s film, Raising Helen with Kate Hudson and my good friend, beat boxing extraordinaire, Alec Nemser.
[Editor's note: Embedding disallowed, click on the screen a second time to view the clip.]

Ok. So who would you rather have living with you?

Something to ponder as you are trying to fall asleep. Hopefully, not from this blog.

Oh…I know how to wake you up.

Deal Or No Deal. I feel an urge to write about this too. Not because it’s an international phenomenon. Not because Charlize Theron is addicted to it. Not because the online competitive traffic monitor and intelligence service Hitwise recently announced that NBC’s Deal Or No Deal website was one of the most visited broadcast television show websites this week. And not because I am impressed that Howie Mandel remembers all of the models’ names. The impulse stems from the fact that I work on the show as one of the models…umm…briefcase holders. Number 18. I bet Charlize Theron doesn‘t even realize that I handed her two Oscars at The 78th Annual Academy Awards in 2006.

Number 18 = LIFE. Did you know that this number in Hebrew translates to the word “chai” which translates to “life”? Let me take you through a math quiz. The two Hebrew letters that make up the word “chai” (aka “life”) are chet and yod. In Gematria, the numerical value of Hebrew letters, chai = 8 and yod = 10. Therefore, chai + yod = 18.

I know there’s a joke in there somewhere. Keep saying “therefore chai yod 18” really fast. You’ll sound like the midget on David Lynch’s Twin Peaks.

I worked with David Lynch, by the way. My first gig out here 10 years ago. Yet another devirginization. Oh wow. Now that’s a very interesting story for my next blog. My experience with David Lynch and perhaps a look into the genesis of his Mulholland Drive flick.

I quickly digress to my Italian heritage. Why? Because I have a film to plug. Everybody Wants To Be Italian. Out in theaters March 7, 2008.

Until then…Toodles!
Yep…I’m bringing that saying back into the 21st century. DEAL with it.

Pre-Show Jitters – by Corey

So our September show went great! Lots of laughs, lots of claps, lots of praise! Another success!

It doesn’t always look like that before the show from the actor’s perspective, though. For this actor, anyway. Sure, I knew some things were funny. Or at least they were a couple of months ago when we first started rehearsing. Man, back then they were high-sterical! Oh my God, if Miranda said “Mommy makes maple syrup” one more time, urination was a strong possibility.

But then the focus turned to lines and blocking and character and props and costume changes and… AAAAAAH!!!!

Despite all of that, my belief is that if there isn’t at least a little anxiety, a little excitement, a little nervous tension about doing a show, something is wrong. That is part of what fuels that feeling for the audience of watching someone (or a group of someones) walk a tight-rope for an hour. It’s part of the magic of live theater. So those feelings are a good thing.

But sometimes they get away from you. And those little demons inside all of us latch on to them. And before you know it, you’re cowering in the corner weeping for forgiveness at blowing the most important line with the most important punchline in the whole show, which leads to getting kicked out of the group and getting blacklisted and maligned across all of Los Angeles, preventing you from ever finding work again, and forcing you to move to a small town in Wisconsin and putting on feeble sketch comedy shows for the same 15 people that make up the population of your new town where you will grow old and bitter and die without anyone even caring and all memory of you gone and forgotten forever.

…Speaking hypothetically, of course.

Not me, though. I’m a pro.