Though I do not believe there is a single reader of this web-log (a claim disproved by the lone comment on the first entry, written by what I must assume is an astute and articulate hip fellow who knows what is awesome when they see it and is not afraid to point that out. I thank thou.), I feel a certain pressure to post regularly. As you may be able to see, I have not held up this standard, though the production has been moving along. I would rather wait until enough events, anecdotes, or achieved goals have accumulated in order to produce a solid, substantive entry. But that’s not what you desperate monkeys want is it? Okay, then. Duly noted.
This week I focused on two goals: eliciting outside collaboration, and acquiring props. Let’s just say the more tangible of these goals came out for the better. First, the bad news (well, not bad per se, just inconclusive and somewhat disappointing).
In my spare time in the City, I visited bike shops soliciting donations for the play. I typed a nice letter of introduction explaining my situation and proposal—and even included a copy of my acceptance email to authenticate my story. (Yeah, since I just go around scamming bike shops out of money with a story about a play. Let’s just say my time would be better spent actually working.) So I hit up four shops in Chelsea after work. First, let me just say, I felt a tad uncomfortable walking into these places asking for money and talking about a play of all things. Or maybe I actually didn’t get any strange looks, but only saw what I wanted to see. Still, I just felt weird.
At the first store, they told me the guy to talk to was away on a business trip and wouldn’t be back for a few weeks (oh, how convenient). The second shop dismissed my idea as ludicrous in this economic climate. While they had helped races with certain supplies, the idea of a little shop on a deserted street in Chelsea giving out sums of money … well, I just left. The third shop, while not “just right,” did give my proposal serious thought. The nicest shop I would visit that week—a huge place with ridiculously expensive gear and gleaming bikes in glass cabinets, and a few friendly dogs roaming the premises—the guy listened to my spiel and took my packet in exchange for a card. Yes—a contact and a potential sponsor. A few days later, on the Upper West Side, I had a funny exchange with a few guys in a shop (something about one of them trying out for the role), and they actually gave me their card as well. So I’ve done some legwork, and now I’ll just have to see what comes of it.
Directors. Hmm, yes, I would like have a director by … yesterday. At the beginning of the week I asked for recommendations, and I received a few names; I contacted them, and … I’m still without a director. Time to be a bit more persistent it seems.
But now to the good news: teh b1ke. On a cold Wednesday eve, which would see the mighty Terrapins of Maryland fall to the lowly Duke Blue Devils on the basketball court, I trekked to a Crown Heights walk-up to purchase a trainer stand. Dogs and the smell of a delicious meal greeted me at the door. And thus I received instruction on operating the apparatus (a lot of nodding and “Oh, yeah, sure. Looks simple enough” from me—as if I know what they hell I’m doing). But the guy was really nice, and his guest interested in the production, so it was a pleasant experience all around—craigslist ain’t too bad. Well, then there was the trek back to Jersey. The trainer didn’t look so heavy and awkward to carry in the picture; and then of course there were the looks I got on the subway. I did survive, but I definitely will recommend carrying it into the City as little as necessary.
And as of this evening, we are in possession of a bicycle. Wheel-less though it may be, it is a major piece of the production, and a sign that the wheels are actually in motion. Can’t wait to put it together and take it for a spin … well, with my luck, I should probably wait until after the show. I can’t afford to damage the only prop, or myself for that matter. In the meantime, I can annoy my roommates with a spin on the trainer every morning at 6am. Actually, I think I stand a greater chance of bodily harm with this kind of regimen. Daylight hours it is, guys.
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