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November 2007
1. What is your code name?
America’s Sweetheart
2. What are some of your favorite quotes?
“I do not agree with a word you’ve just said, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” – Voltaire.
“My cat’s breath smells like cat food” - Ralph Wiggum.
3. What is your spirit animal?
The penguin. Is that too obvious?
4. Do you have an allegiance to any particular fictional character, cartoon, or celebrity?
Bamm-Bamm Rubble.
5. What is the first thing you'd buy with a million dollar inheritance from a long-lost relative?
A shuttle-plane trip into near-space to experience zero gravity. Plus a REALLY big box of cheese crackers.
6. If you could have a super-power, what would it be?
The ability to control a blinding flash of light to appear on one of my front teeth, accompanied simultaneously by a high-pitched “DING!”
7. What were you hoping no one would find out about you?
When I was a kid, I thought volleyball was called “ball-ee-ball.” I also thought orangutans were called “Orange Gootans.”
8. What would be the title of your first book?
There the Puppies Went.
9. What are your power foods?
In the summertime, orange creamsicles.
10. And in winter?
Mmm… hot polenta.
11. What is your theme song?
Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on my Head.
12. Are you a ninja, a pirate, or a cowboy?
I am a Pirate KING!
13. Do you “double” as anything else?
A robot animal pop-star from Showbiz Pizza, circa 1986!
Saturday, February 23, 2008
In the midst of rehearsing for Just Say DA!: Direct Object, Kirk talks about his relationship with objects over the years…
For about a year, I think during kindergarten, I was obsessed with a magical drawer in my (pre-renovation) childhood kitchen. Like the rest of the room, it was painted a questionable shade of late-60’s avocado green and it had an awkwardly peeling, slightly off-center crimson knob. The drawer itself wasn’t important, except for the function it served as a treasure chest for the fantastic delights resting in a happy hodgepodge within… spatulas, melon-ballers, corkscrews, turkey basters, a heavy-duty ladle that didn’t mess around, and a set of tongs to build a dream on. And dream I did. These culinary accoutrements became the major players in a rich storyline which, by five-year-old standards, was truly epic.
All of the archetypal characters were there: the heroic melon-baller (his name was usually Melvin) who had to leave the comfort of his home drawer to journey to Fruit Bowl Island (and beyond!), an adventure fraught with peril and colanders; his ballerina corkscrew girlfriend and best friend spatula (the floppy one for cake-spreading, not the rigid one for flapjack-flipping - that was the teacher/mentor figure, obviously) sometimes came with him, but other times it was a solo adventure, requiring all his naive pluck and inborn melon-balling instincts to make it past the chamber entry and into the dark, uncharted territory of … the living room. How many wondrous afternoons were whiled away with just my stories and a jumbled handful of utensils?
Eventually, I moved on from imagining our kitchen as Wonderland, at approximately the same time that the room underwent a major overhaul, the puke palette replaced by more tasteful cabinets of blonde wood accompanied by smoky sky-blue countertops. But as other rooms and other drawers came and went, no utilitarian items ever quite captured or enraptured me in the same awkwardly makeshift yet thoroughly engrossing way. When I visit my parents house now, I occasionally open their newer, blander equivalent of the erstwhile drawer and am shocked to find it organized and shiny, but with the lingering palpable presence of a few old friends…
April 2008
Kirk shares his thoughts about “dating” (and creating!) different objects during the process of development for his portion of Just Say Da!: Direct Object.
It was hard to say farewell to that foot.
Don’t worry, I’m not speaking of a gangrenous amputation tragedy. The foot in question was buoyant, squishy, and plastic, and unlike most feet, it was not connected to a body; indeed there was no ankle nor even a traditional leg. It was a bizarre and cartoonish contraption attached to a firm set of collapsible handles (for easy kick action!). In fact, it was a prize from a childhood visit to the World’s Fair, one of my favorite toys of both past and present (and, admittedly, well into the foreseeable future).
Alas, as much as I loved it, I simply could not engage it as a scene partner. For my first foray into object work, I discovered that I needed to play with something a little more flexible. I considered returning to one of the first objects I played with in our second DA meeting ever, a beaded curtain— but it was a little unwieldy. All right, a lot unwieldy, requiring a second person even to lift it reasonably off the ground. I didn’t trust myself to handle it alone without damaging self, bystanders, and countless innocent beads. And at this point, a 1:1 ratio of human-to-object felt like a more appropriate standard to explore (except in Tom’s case, where he and the pencils squared off at a minimum of 1:12).
So… what to choose??
I explored the items in my house one late night before I went to bed, slowly moving from shelf to shelf. Nothing presented itself. Then I quite literally sat upon the answer.
I was wearing my most beloved set of pajama bottoms.
And I realized something: yes, sure, many of the fascinating objects which whirl about us on a daily basis are vital and significant, absolutely. But when you get right down to it, what’s more essential to us or more iconic than a favorite pair of PANTS? Pants = Love.
I wanted to expand that love into the greatest pants of all: pants that could contract into a ball but could also extend to the far reaches of the known universe; pants with a soul of their own. So I brought Jamie, our resident designer, one yard of elastic, three yards of blue polyester, and a dream. She stitched these into reality, and a new friend was born.
Finally, after months of getting to know each other (sprinkled with several days of healthily ignoring each other’s existence), those pants and I were able to tell a story that just had to be told: the tale of a renegade pair of alien trousers from a distant galaxy that ate a young child (played by me) in order to fulfill their dream of starring on Broadway.
Or, as we called it: Pants Pants Revolution.
Hmm. Looking back, maybe I was hasty in bidding that foot adieu…
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BIOGRAPHY
Kirk German
is a third-generation Austinite who has been
performing since the age of nine, chiefly in central Texas and central Vermont. In Austin, he has been seen in Guys and Dolls, Floyd Collins, and My
Favorite Year (Zilker Theatre Productions), Damn Yankees and Kiss
Me Kate (Austin Playhouse), Big River and The Music Man
(TexArts at the Paramount), Cosi Fan Tutte (Austin Lyric Opera), Batboy:
The Musical (Arts on Real), Mrs. Bob Cratchit’s Wild Christmas Binge
(Different Stages), Hello Muddah / Hello Fadduh at the J (2006 B. Iden
Payne Award for Outstanding Cast), and The Page and the Caterpillar
(2007 B. Iden Payne nomination) with Second Youth Family Theatre.
...read more
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PROJECTS
Heron & Crane Manhattan Bound!
Kirk continues to love working on DA!'s kids show, Heron and Crane! He is thrilled about the ongoing collaboration with Heather, Michelle, Jude, and Lisa, and he's very excited about nesting the production in NEW YORK in August as part of FringeJR! Kirk facilitates a discussion with the young audience before the final scene of each performance, and he is constantly delighted by the varied responses he gets at the different schools, his favorites so far being: "My mommy and I like to make cupcakes together!" and "YOU ARE A RABBIT!"
Easy Street in Zilker Park
Mr. German is pleased beyond words to be performing in Annie this summer in the villainous role of Rooster at the Zilker Hillside Theatre as part of Austin's oldest and biggest performing arts tradition! The free show runs from July 9 through August 14, so take a dip in Barton Springs, bring a picnic and some bug spray, and come enjoy the show!
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DA is a not-for-profit collective under the sponsorship of HPT
DA! Theatre Collective 511 W 43rd St Austin TX 78751
512 479-7530 x 5
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