Gr33n Hamzies & Eggoes | BorderLight 2026

Dan Zanes was lead singer of the Del Fuegos and a wild garage rocker and swiller of Miller High Life until he started having kids and that's when he started recording children's music. I, too, had not considered the child audience until I started fathering them.

Fathering. What a terrible verb. I digress.

Faye Hargate and Renee Schilling collaborated on the Visual Theatre Award winning Her Mark for BorderLight 2023 and they (with Joan Hargate and Jeremy Paul) have devised a new exploration of motherhood with the creation of Gr33n Hamzies & Eggoes, an original and exploratory art installation for the very, very young.

I felt a bit odd, I knew I would, appearing as an adult without a child escort, but they don't judge. The space had just opened and there were already five kids with their two adults, and Hargate and Schilling, costumed as what appeared to me to be DIY store associates were making suggestions and accommodating needs as the child audience explored and commented and created.

Dan Zanes with my family (2005)

I was provided with stickers I was told I could put anywhere I liked (I put hem up high, there seemed to be no stickers up there for some reason) and was offered a basket of "dream boxes" the team had created previously in collaboration with a CHUH school.

In fact, dreams were a theme, the walls featured trees that asked "Where do you go when you dream?" with answers like, "I hear music in my dreams," and "I see my dog, he is no longer with us."

The night before I had dreamed that we lived in a society where cannibalism was permissible, but it was unseemly to discuss it. You had to be very discreet when disposing of long bones. I didn't write any of this on the trees.

Before I left there was a group activity where our hosts read the Dr. Seuss book which inspired the title of the installation. There were many questions from the children. How did you set this all up? What is that? Are you a rapper?

It's a calming, welcoming room, and the kids I saw appeared very happy to be there. This is an non-ticketed event. I recommend bringing a young person. 

BorderLight Theatre Festival at Playhouse Square, July 8-11, 2026

Ten Good Moments in 2025

At the close of 2016, I found it necessary to reflect upon all the good moments in what was otherwise a year of dreadful turns of event. This year it seemed even more important to recall and share the personal moments that remind me how things are good even when they seem awful. 

1. Josh Johnson

Josh Johnson is that good. He writes an hour’s worth of solid material something like every week and just puts it out there, on stage and then on YouTube. He makes it look like it’s all just coming off the top of his head, like that one person you know who just can’t help being hilarious, but you know it’s not spontaneous at all because it can’t be. The timing, the execution, and the fact that he is riffing on something that happened literally yesterday, he’s just incredible.

We saw him live at the Mimi Ohio where the subject was AI – it was bleak and also hilarious. Josh Johnson kept me sane throughout 2025.

2. Greater Cleveland Food Bank

Mother was dedicated to the food pantry where she volunteered. When she began losing her cognitive abilities, and her ability to even write, that was one of her great anxieties. She was responsible for a great deal of organization, placing orders, and so on. When the company manager at my place of employment presented the opportunity to work a shift at the GCFB, I was anxious but also excited. It was only an hour or so, assisting folks in pulling items from the shelves.

America is a shameful place, one of the few nations where poverty is seen as some kind of personal failing, rather than the result of systemic inequity, a situation which seems to have only gotten worse over the course of my lifetime, and much more dire over the past year. I need to get back to that place again soon.

3. Big Band and Combos

Our youngest continued his studies in jazz at the Conservatory of Music at the University of Cincinnati, and one of the perks for me is visiting Caffè Vivace to enjoy flatbreads and cocktails and listen to aspiring (and seriously talented) young musicians.

4. Zelda’s Commencement

I was complicit in creating two beautiful humans. I cannot take credit for their achievement, only that I did my best to keep them fed and safe from harm. That they are both artists is probably also something I helped inspire, in equal measure with my spouse and basically everyone we know.

Watching our elder child cross the stage at the Convocation Center at Ohio University was a moment of great pride for us, especially when they snubbed the university president, refusing to shake her offered hand. Anyone in a position of authority that cannot stand up for the most vulnerable among us does not deserve our continued respect.

5. Dinner at Mina

There are a surprising number of Michelin star restaurants in Bilbao, Spain. I had never been to such a designated pace, none of us had. I could elaborate upon the menu, the wine pairings, the fact we all believed that it was Athletic Bilbao’s keeper Unai Simón who arrived late to the nine p.m. seating (he’d had an afternoon match).

But when people ask what I remember best from that evening was that the four of us sat together, phones down, from nine until one am, talking, laughing, eating, drinking, telling stories, relaxing into moments of silence, and observation, my wife and our two adult children.

6. Diwali

Our son’s boyfriend needed a home for his tortoiseshell cat Diwali, now that he would be attending university. My concern was for our rangy old cat Tiger, who nearly died from anxiety after we adopted a young kitty (who we named Masha) at the beginning of the year. Tiger recovered, but I worried another cat would end it for him. My wife theorized that another cat would occupy Masha and that together they would leave Tiger alone, and she was right!

Not only that, but Diwali has become my new favorite sleeping companion.

7. “I Hate This” in India

Our story continues to be told and reinterpreted. Many grateful thanks to director Denver Nicholas and his entire team for producing I Hate This a second time in Chennai.

8. Superman Walking Tour

Most of our actor-teachers this year are from out of state. Never been to Cleveland. And like most of us from the region, we cannot help sharing every Cleveland connection. The subject turned to the recent Superman film and suddenly I was offering to arrange a walking tour of filming locations.

There are a half dozen major shooting locations within a half-mile radius (e.g., The Leader Building, Public Square, The Old Arcade) and others I could point to in the distance, like the ballpark. I had even made a folder with images from the film, plus a few from other films that were shot downtown like Avengers and My Summer Story. The tour concluded by the new statue dedicated to the real punk rocker.

I should do this as a side gig.

9. No Kings Protests

Hey, you know what? Fuck that guy.

10. Cleveland Turkey Trot

Had not raced in some time. Had not raced in inclement weather for longer than that. Just walking to the venue from my parking spot was horrid, the wind coming off Lake Erie was almost unbearable.

I asked myself, why was I doing this? It’s not pleasant, it’s not social. I should be at home watching the parade, safe and warm.

I started far back in the pack, which was unfortunate. It took a while before I could actually run. My fault. But soon I was running freer and could focus on just enjoying myself. And it was pretty all right.

But I was even regretting choosing the five mile instead of the 5K ... until we split off around the second mile. At Carnegie and Ontario they took a right, and we continued onto the bridge. Oh, yeah. This is why. I would have missed that. Lorain-Carnegie, down West 25th and onto the Detroit-Superior. Worth it.

By the time I reached the finish line I was feeling good, and satisfied. My time was great, all things considered. And it was a well-organized race full of happy runners. But for a race like this, I really missed having a partner. Maybe next time.

Best wishes and a happy 2026 to you and yours.

Process LIV

During the shutdown, I would greet every Friday morning with the same thought:

“Just another fucking Friday.”

No plans, nothing to do. No shows, no concerts, no parties, nothing to plan for, nothing happening.

This week I attended two music concerts at the high school. Those still fill me with melancholy. I am grateful to see our son onstage, he’s turning into a truly fine musician. But I remember the last concert I attended before the shutdown, when mother was losing her mind.

But she was so happy to be there. I was terrified; that she would fall, or something worse.

Our eldest was cast as Celia in the spring production of As You Like It, which never happened. Their high school extracurricular life effectively ended. They looked forward to things that never happened. This is the curse of being human. We anticipate. We create fantasies of what might be.

Now I visit schools again, and rehearsals, and classes. On one day this week I visited actor-teachers at a school, picked up rehearsal cubes for The Witches rehearsal, attended an in-person class as a TA, and a virtual class for my studies, and drove my son to his School of Rock lesson.

A lot of driving, the kind of city driving which drives me demented. And yet, it was a full and active day, out in the world. And that was just one day.

A year ago this would have taken place entirely online, now I have to drive. I hate city driving. Almost getting into an accident has become a daily occurance.

And yet. At least it’s not just another fucking Friday.

Process XXVII

NEOMFA Playwrights Festival (2021)

Perhaps this is fortuitous, but this is the week I hit the wall. Maybe it is completion anxiety, or the expectation of great things unsatisfied. I want to leave town. I want to visit England with my family. I want everything unhappy to end.

Play a Day was very challenging this year. The reading was good, but it wasn’t about the reading. I was so busy with other things it felt like a chore, which is a shame.

The playwright’s festival was marred by technical difficulties and to be honest, it filled me with anxiety to be in a public space. The screening was held outdoors, and it was cold.

While I am thrilled about my daughter’s impending high school graduation, I am constantly reminded of everything she did not get to participate in during her senior year.

But, all right. The fiction writing workshop has come to a close. I am working on a half-hour radio drama for craft and theory inspired by the works of Firesign Theatre, that is due Monday. Then I can concentrate entirely on the comic book, which is due the following Tuesday.

And that will be two semesters finished. Classes on Zoom are no longer novel, none of this is. It is convenient, but soul-sucking, and I got a stress headache on Tuesday night trying to look at my screen outdoors, in the good weather.

Speaking of which, some guys have put in a patio. I spent last summer staring at a backyard covered in cardboard (to kill the grass) and I hope this summer will be very different, in so many ways. Last night, we got drinks and attended a movie. In a movie theater, It was weird.

Happy May Day!

Twenty Years On

William Sidman
"The Dead Sparrow" (1890s)

The events of March 19, 2001 are so close in my memory that it is difficult to believe that everything else has happened since.

Who was I, twenty years ago? A 32 year-old man, not exactly young, certainly younger than this. I had no steady employment, had none for almost three years. Managed a theater project. I had no children.

Twenty years ago I smoked cigarettes, every day. I drank beer and wine, but small liquor. I watched television from tapes, got my news from papers. Agonized at length over what the critics said, not just about my work, but about everyone else’s work.

I hated critics. I used to care about critics.

My concerns were narrowly focused. I was selfish, and took joy in that selfishness in so much as it meant I could concentrate on the two most important people in my universe, my wife and me.

I thought of myself as a writer, but I did not write. I had written one produced play - I had written one play, and had it produced. I contributed small pieces to other shows. But I did not write. I kept journal entries. I wrote about me.

I had no experience with children. I knew no children. I was terrified of children.

My experiences in education were poor. I did not possess a twenty year history with one company, I had not visited scores of schools. I did not know how to create a lesson plan. I knew very few people with children.

I had little patience. I had little compassion. I was not kind to people. My interests were small, I wanted to reach outside of this but I did not know how.

I had an illusion of the future. I had no vision for the theater company I was shepherding, no artistic philosophy of which I was confident. I was blithely ignorant of my place in the larger society.

And I did not know how a child would be part of this. We were in our thirties. If we were going to have a child (only one child) this was the time to have it.

Why? I did not know. Why did I want a child? I did not know. How did I imagine a child to be part of all of this? I did not know.

Everything I think, everything I know, everything I want. Everything I am part of. Every emotion I have. Every expectation of every morning. My awareness, my understanding, my self, my love, my happiness, my hope, my belief in the future. Me. I was born, the person I have become, whoever he is, started on that day, the day I learned my child was dead.

Process I

Now summertime has come to an end
So I've gotta get back to my studies again
And make a grade so I can pass
And go-o-o up to the head of my class
I washed the dishes and scrubbed the floor
And taught me to love what I'd began before 

Now I'm so glad the summers past
And school is in at last
- Josie Cotton, “School Is In”

Our school district has committed to nine weeks, at least, of remote learning this fall. My children, a sophomore and a senior, are at their desks during the day for synchronous learning -- the girl at her desk less than the boy, as she is attending some in-person classes at the university downtown.

And I am also at school, taking three graduate school courses. So, in addition to my work Great Lakes (more on that in a moment) I am spending almost every waking moment either reading or writing. Mostly reading, though. And I feel more myself than I have in years. Or more like a person I remember wanting to be.

I was a mediocre student in high school, and a downright shameful one in college. I always enjoyed reading, but I resented assigned reading. I like to write, but writing assignments were a chore and a bore.

There was a little voice in my head, a child’s voice, saying, “No! I won’t do that! You can’t make me!” It was there far longer than it should have been. Now I spend my mornings, evenings and weekends, reading. Novels, short stories, and play scripts. And I am digging it.

My morning pages ritual remains, but the goal is the free-writing itself, not to produce a short play script. For the better part of a year I have been posting short plays at New Play Exchange, and I may actually take many (though not all) of them down. It was always an experiment in practice and motivation.

Attending weekly playwriting workshops, in addition to my theory and literature classes, I have not the time nor interest in extracurricular pursuits. The process is now focused on the craft of writing longer scripts.

I also have less time for ruminative blogging.

We have something very special in the works at my place of employment, though I suppose that is true pretty much everywhere. We are all and have been figuring out new and original ways to provide our services.

Since 2001, I have spent four September weeks in rehearsal for the school residency program. This year I am not. Instead, we have reimagined how to provide these lesson plans to area schools, and my colleagues and I have been dressing up as famous characters from Shakespeare, recording scenes in the park. 

Tonight is a cool Saturday in September. My son and I sat out by the firepit, and together we read.

The Short Play Project: Parenthood Series

Since we started having living children time has collapsed. Just last night (it was a very hot night, I could not sleep) I was thinking of the rooms in our house, and the different uses they have had.

My wife and I each had our own office, which were sacrificed; one room for the children, one for a playroom. Then two rooms for the children. Layers of paint, the acquisition and letting go of various furnitures. The music, the craft, the arguments, the injuries. And finally, coming to terms with the reality of their one day moving on.

Several writing prompts inspired reflection upon the condition of parenthood, lovingly interpreted by these performers.


"Mail"
Performed by Emmy Cohen & Moira Cohen


"Hero"
Performed by Tim Collingwood


"Deck"
Performed by Derek Koger & Evelyn Koger

You can watch the entire Short Play Project here.

Play a Day: Seeds

Donna Hoke

"Yesterday, we didn’t know anything about him, and today, I don’t know anything else."  I could have written that once, but I did not. That is from Seeds by Donna Hoke which I read today and is available for download at New Play Exchange.

In the past three days I have read plays about sex, death, and childbearing, each unique and original works, all of them touching on aspects of the human experience I can entirely relate to.

I think this is why I am doing this.

At that point in my life, when we were breeding, and we were surrounded by a cohort of likewise single-minded colleagues, getting on with our lives with also focused and engaged in the act of procreation, gestation, ideally successfully birth and the rearing and care of entirely helpless infant humans.

Except for those who did not, could not, or could not yet conceive or bring to term a child. There have been plays on this subject. This one succeeds in that it is not about that one thing, but how it affects all things, past, present and future combined, and that the more control you believe you have over the creation and development of life, the greater the chance for disillusionment, heartbreak and loss. Who, after all, do you think you are? God?

AIDAN: I have a son.
ALICE: Always.

Thank you for this.