Or is it the two actors I’ve worked with who turn up in this video tribute?

Coincidentally, I just found out that the OFFICIAL video to this song (the Lionel Richie version) prominently features my friend Brendan Broms. (He’s the young guy in the scarf.) Brendan and I have been doing theatre together for 15 years now. (And we’re now trying to get a new play up — if I can just write the damn thing.) Here’s that version, with Brendan, but in the meantime, I’m wondering how many other friends are in other versions of “Hello.”

In my circle of friends (and with readers of this blog), my antipathy for “The Descendants” is well-known. So, of course, I got an email from a sympathizer aghast that “The Descendants” won a Golden Globe tonight for “Best Picture.”

Here’s what I think:

It’s good to bear in mind that “Citizen Kane” lost the Oscar to “How Green Was My Valley” (a film now more obscure than Charles Foster Kane’s sled).

And it’s also good to know that one year, the Nobel committee was tied between giving the prize for Literature to Beckett or Ionesco — until finally one guy just switched his vote to Beckett so they could go home.

I once won an award for a play that I wasn’t sure was the best in the festival; the following year, in the same festival, I lost, when I know I had the best play.

Awards:  meaningless.

Except as marketing.

And “The Descendants” still stinks.

I have a new play, “Dead Battery,” in next month’s iteration of “The Car Plays,” produced by Moving Arts in conjunction with the La Jolla Playhouse down in San Diego. Here’s a nice bit of press we just got from the San Diego Union Tribune (with a focus, naturally, on the San Diego-affiliated talent). I’m thrilled to have Paul Stein (I knew him when he was Paul Nicolai Stein) directing one of my pieces again; he’s a gifted director, and someone I always learn something from. (I’m always on the lookout for talented people I can learn from.) And I’m very proud of the ongoing success of the little theatre company that some of us founded back in 1992. We didn’t know it would be our legacy — we just wanted to do new plays — but when you’ve hit your 20th anniversary, I guess that’s what it is. I’m grateful to Paul for the car plays concept, and to everybody at Moving Arts who keeps our engine humming.

My friend Jason Neulander, a director and writer in Austin, shares two of my great passions:  comics and theatre. Here’s the latest very cool thing that Jason has done:  turned his radio play “Intergalactic Nemesis” into a graphic novel, which he then turned into — a live theatre piece combining elements of a stageplay, foley sound effects akin to radio drama, and visuals from the graphic novel.

In the 1990’s, I got to work with a “non-radio radio” group called Smugly Absurd several times, producing their shows at my theatre, Moving Arts; they were (and are) amazing actors, able to do numerous voices, ably accompanied by our late friend David Krebs, a premiere foley artist who could sonically convince you that you were boarding a train, scuffling in the dirt, taming a horse, or otherwise sharing in the adventures. I just wish we’d thought to produce a graphic novel and build that into it, too.

And here’s the low-budget puppet theatre version. All I can say after watching this is: I’ve worked with smaller budgets.

Imagine me sitting in one of the seats in this video, watching this show. Then you can imagine why I don’t do it any more.

And re this imaginary theatre’s bathroom, I’m betting that everyone in Hollywood instantly thought of a place we love… that we don’t want to go any more because it’s so difficult to, well, “go.”

My friend Larry Eisenberg writes about trying to put a live hen into his new production. Ultimately, he was too chicken (and so was she).

Here’s something that’s never going to get old:  that little lancet of joy when I learn that something I’ve written has been accepted. I just had a short play chosen for a festival in San Diego in February. (More about the particulars of it another time.)

Let’s be honest:  most successes, when you dig deeper, are countervailed by many, many failures. If I’ve never been quite as dogged as Thomas Edison (“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”), I nevertheless got used to rejection early on. At age 11, I started sending short stories off to magazines such as Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Asimov’s, Analog, Magazine of Science Fiction & Fantasy, and the like, and just as quickly, they’d come back, but even then my response was akin to: “Wow! They wrote back!” I was thrilled when some assistant would scribble a note onto the form rejection letter, as the time some kind woman wrote, “But thank you.” I still think about her. (Thank you, unnamed kind woman.) I never got rejected at school dances, because I just liked to dance, and would dance with all the girls — the big ones, the small ones, the pretty ones, the homely ones, the popular ones, the shy ones — in sixth grade, it just seemed wrong to leave any out. When I started actually dating, girls felt freer to reject me if they liked, and that seemed fine because there were others to ask. I wasn’t emotionally invested in it; I just wanted to go out with a girl and see how far I could get. (Results varied.)

When I started to get published, first in fan publications, and then with non-fiction and fiction in magazines and newspapers, it was thrilling. I liked opening a newspaper and seeing my byline. I liked getting some obscure little magazine in the mail and seeing my story (or, gasp, poem!) in there. Then I fell into the theatre and here’s what I discovered:  that live audience response trumped printed byline. How could seeing my name in print in a magazine — perhaps read, perhaps not, by unnamed and unknown people far away — possibly compare with actually being there when a live audience laughed out loud or was visibly moved by my play? One night, during a performance of my play Happy Fun Family, a woman literally Fell Out Of Her Seat laughing. To this day, I love her. Night after night, when women would sob at the end of About the Deep Woods Killer, I felt golden.

Rejection has never really bothered me. If it stings, it subsides almost instantly. I’m fortunate all around:  I’ve got a strong family, terrific friends, and the trappings of a pretty interesting life that I’ve snared and dragged back into my den. But acceptance is obviously preferable, especially acceptance of a play, which means that there’s going to be another audience experience with one of my plays, and if I’m even luckier, I can be there for it.

When Andre the Giant was a boy, Samuel Beckett used to drive him to school — in the back of his truck because that’s the only place he’d fit. All they would discuss was cricket. The absurdity of this situation — the future professional wrestler and adored star of “The Princess Bride” growing up carted by a future Nobel playwright of the existential — cries out for a play. Maybe I should write it. (I know Ionesco would have, had it occurred to him.)

In which our Olivier, William Shatner, advises all of us this Thanksgiving not to do what he almost did: burn down his house while deep-frying a turkey. Watch all of it so you don’t miss one moment of his holiday-hammy performance, or his Herzogian voiceover. (About turkey fryers, he intones, “But their power is unrelenting… in careless hands.”) Not to be missed (and I better make sure my friend Larry Nemecek knows about this!)