TJ

Written by George Ding
Narrated by Nicolas D. Frantela
Music – Haunting by Cerulean Crayons

(Heads up – It had to be split into two part.  If you have YouTube Annotations on, a link to the second part should come up.)

Why is it that so many of my friends are authors?  Here is another talented friend that I met in college.  George and I met on the very first day at college when I had just moved into the dorm.  We were in line to get “complimentary” pizza (when you pay $160,000 on a college education, I don’t consider anything complimentary; you’re paying for it all), and started to chitchat a little.  I mentioned that I was an actor and he asked what plays I had done.  Not knowing how acclimated to the world of theatre he was, I picked well-known pieces (Gypsy, Anything Goes, Death of a Salesman), to which he gave no reaction.  I decided to tell him some of the more abstract pieces I had been in (Marat/Sade, a circus show called Anonymity, No Exit), even though I was pretty sure he would also stare blankly back at me.  Instead, his eyes went wide, he gripped my shoulders with his hands, and said louder than I think he realized, “YOU ACTUALLY SPOKE THE LINE ‘HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE’!”  Turns out that George was an existentialist and loved Sartre.  Extremely smart, with a dry wit that can actually cut you, George is a writer and director, and one of my best friends.  I just wish the bastard would move back from China already.

George has his own column (er, page) in The Bejinger, and also writes for Vice and The Ministry of Harmony.  You can also check out more about him at GeorgeDing.com.

Death of a Salesman

Why is it the things we did in high school seemed so awesome at the time, but looking back you can only see how you could have done better if you had a few more weeks of rehearsal . . . or if you weren’t high almost the entire time?

In any case, my senior year in high school, two of my friends and I did a class project that told a rough history of Theatre in the Western World.  It was a fun project, and I remember liking the rehearsals for it more than the performance itself.  My high school years were great and were defined by many friends, but my last year seemed to be defined mostly by the other two people in the performance.  One of my fondest memories was the three of us, sitting in a locker room at the back of the school that was only used as storage space for props and broken desks, laughing hard at something I don’t recall anymore.