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Talk About Acting with Adler Hyatt

  • December 7, 2018December 7, 2018
  • by josephafederico

My third guest, the young, handsome and talented Adler Hyatt, is an actor. See, I’m attempting to spotlight all walks of life and professions in this here blog series.

Read on, because things are about to get interesting…

Whether I knew it or not, I was always a performer growing up. I always loved playing as TV characters when on the playground as opposed to football. When I discovered the stage, I was hooked. My journey took me all the way from my New Orleans home to the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland to get my bachelor’s degree in Acting. I dedicated my life to the role of a performer, and I wish I could go back and teach myself all the things I know now… to make my personal course a little smoother.

The biggest question I had as a young performer is, “What is my method?” I thought I should know what I needed to do to prepare myself for a role naturally, but an actor’s method is a unique thing. It’s like a fingerprint, but even more personal, since it can’t truly be categorized. The one thing every person in the entire industry will tell you about acting, is that an honest performance is key to every lock for actors.

To get an honest performance, you need to have a grasp on your process. But, which process is the right fit? I’m a firm believer in the fact that different people need different things to be able to access the pool of emotional openness needed for that honesty. Whether you are a Stanislavsky Savant or a master of “The Method”, the constant truth of acting is trueness in the emotion, in the scene, in the character. To find this trueness, one needs to find what way the character fits into their personal process and method.

I know actors that give tear-jerking performances after light skimming of the words, and actors that discover honesty in the words after in-depth textual analysis and a breakdown of the scene through bookwork. Neither of these actors are better than the other; they both are simply using different processes to open their portrayal of the characters to the audience.

For myself, I always thought that my need for bookwork was a weakness… that the actor that needs to put more effort into the book is not as effective as an actor that just releases their emotion to the world with ease, but that isn’t the case. If it gets you where you need to be as a performer, bookwork is a fantastic tool.

Now, one of my favourite things to do when getting new characters is the bookwork, whether it is necessary or not. It helps me find the person in the character and that person is what I can bring to the stage or screen or radio or wherever I find myself as an artist. What the audience receives is the most important part of the job of an actor. How the actor gets there is the process.

A lot of the words are interchangeable: process, method, technique; they all, in essence, mean the same thing. What we need to remember as actors, is that all the feeling, and working and connecting is done to bring ourselves and the character together. Whether that is done by being the character or being yourself and knowing how to inflect delivery to get the desired sound and physicality.

The best thing is what works for the individual. An actor’s method cannot be dogma. Through my own training, I picked and chose pieces from each of the famous methods we studied until I discovered what brought me emotional trueness as a performer. Doing this not only helped me find my own truth as an actor, but I also discovered personal growth as a human being.

Sincerely,
Adler Hyatt

Care to be my next guest blogger? I’d sure like to have you on! Email josephafed@yahoo.com for your chance…

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Conversations with Jason Cobb

  • December 4, 2018
  • by josephafederico

My second guest in this blog series is a man, a legend… on Instagram and in real life. The true reason I reached out to Mr. Cobb, was because I was intrigued by what story he had to tell, that I just knew he had hidden behind his somewhat-scandalous story and platform wall. He’s not a many of many words, but what he shares is one of love and self-truth.

Ladies and gents, I’d like to officially reveal Mr. Jason Cobb!

I was supposed to be a high school theatre queen, having been in every musical, touring troupe, and theatre production I could find. So, fast forward past college and logically, I became a lawyer (sarcasm intended). I came out of undergrad the way most people worked their way through – undecided. I knew I wanted an advanced degree, if only because I knew I was capable. What form that took was mostly irrelevant for the longest time.

But several years out of undergrad, I found myself married to the first guy I ever asked out (a guy I met at my telephone customer service job), and he had legal dreams. So, after watching him tackle his first two years of law school, I was very much into “that’ll do.” So, I quickly followed after.

Fast forward through a few houses, a few mortgages, several dogs, and a kid. After fifteen plus years, I decided to get gay-divorced before that got trendy, too. And at forty, I found myself largely unsure of myself and what I had to offer anyone on the dating front. I got a quick education. But first, I got a mustache. Duh.

It sounds silly, but growing a mustache had a LOT to do with me owning my own appearance, and accepting that I didn’t want to try passing for a young man. I looked like what I looked like, and that was fine. My goal was to be genuine. Frankly, my life had gotten really complicated in a short amount of time, and the last thing I had energy for was creating an alter ego.

But, choosing to present yourself in a genuine fashion necessarily requires a large measure of self-acceptance. And part of my journey of self-acceptance was realizing that I was fine just the way I was… that not everyone was going to be into me, and that I didn’t need everyone to be into me. And mostly, that I wasn’t my own type.

Really. I realized that as a gay man sizing up every other gay man, I didn’t need to meet my own standard or checklist of what I was looking for. I wasn’t into me. But solely as a preference, not a judgment as to my worth as a human being. Just because I wouldn’t date someone like me didn’t mean I wasn’t worth dating; it just meant I was looking for someone with a different taste in men. I came to accept it as perfectly normal for someone to see things in me they find impossibly sexy, attractive, and loveable, that I simply didn’t appreciate at all, or that I even found unattractive.

This approach also freed me to feel validated about my own needs and desires. And so, @notgettingyouapony, my Insta handle, was born. I was fine being a daddy, but I already had an actual son who wanted me to buy him things. I wasn’t looking for another bill, or another tax deduction.

Having never really dated before shacking up and getting married the first time, I quickly appreciated that I also lacked any dating skills… as in, I can’t take a hint, I don’t understand when someone makes a pass at me, and making repeated passes usually results only in the same reaction. I’m that dense.

So, I decided to try just being nice… to be honest about my feelings, including with myself, not sleeping with anyone I didn’t actually like at the moment on some level as a human being, and trying not to unnecessarily hurt anyone. I didn’t always succeed, but I feel a lot better about myself thinking I did right by most people. Fight me.

My little midlife dating adventure led me and my boyfriend together a few years ago. He’s everything I could have dreamed for, and surprises me every day. And even though he tells me constantly, I still haven’t the damndest idea what he sees in me. But, I love him for it. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk (said with full appreciation that it sounds like a dad trying to be cool…)

Hi, I’m Jason.

Interested in becoming my next guest blogger? Drop a message to Josephafed@yahoo.com and we’ll get you squared away. Don’t be shy, now.

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Guest Blogger Stephen Gillhespy of Possessed Radio

  • November 27, 2018
  • by josephafederico

Joseph A. Federico started this guest blogger series to assure the world knew that different perspectives existed from all walks of life. Whether you’re a doctor, dentist, entrepreneur, belly dancer or a police officer, we all have a story to tell. Imagine how boring the world would be if we just kept our traps shut and didn’t share the very core of who we were as human beings.

Joseph A. Federico would like to introduce the first of many guest bloggers… Stephen Gillhespy.

Hey there, my name is Stephen, and I’m the host of the podcast/website Possessed Radio! Possessed Radio is first and foremost a podcast dedicated to horror in any form. I’ve talked to filmmakers, video game developers, musicians and more.

The project started off as a medium for me to discuss some of my favorite movies. Since I spent most of my time typing giant paragraph responses in horror groups on Facebook to argue about movies, a podcast seemed like a much more practical approach. After the first month or so of rambling to myself on movies, though, I decided to branch out to doing interviews. I interviewed the fantastic people behind Midwest Horror Fest (better known as HMM Films) and from then on, was introduced to the wonderful world of independent horror!

Before I touch on that story, though, here’s what you need to know about me: I’m obsessed with horror. Whether it is fictional, historical, or anything in between. I don’t care if it is in English, Japanese, Spanish, or event silent. The larger the cultural scope, the more diverse and original the scares become. When I was 4, I saw my first horror film when I watched the original “Halloween”. From that moment on, I was crazy about the genre. My father would rent me the latest films or previous classics every Friday growing up.

This love affair continued along with my love for aging films, when I found the Roger Corman adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe, starring the great Vincent Price. From there, my taste spiraled down a never-ending rabbit hole much like Dante traversed the depths of hell; nothing was too dark or obscure. Price led me to Cushing, Cushing to Hammer Films, Hammer Films back to the original Universal Classic Monsters with Karloff, and on. I also discovered Lovecraft through one of my all-time favorite films, “Reanimator”. His written works would complement my childhood readings of Goosebumps, and my home state hero Jonathan Rand’s Michigan Chillers.

While I enjoyed films and novels throughout my life, I also found another beloved pastime in video games. When I was 11, I was introduced to “Resident Evil”. I entered into the golden age of survival horror gaming, making regular stops to “Raccoon City”, “Silent Hill”, and the “Roivas’ Estate”. The terror I felt during those late-night childhood gaming sessions with the lights out in the basement, solidified my love for both horror and gaming. I quickly gained a reputation for being the kid with the scary games at home, and there were many kids my age who wanted to see what they were all about, since most of them were not allowed at home.

As it sounds though, I was sort of an outcast growing-up with my tastes in horror. Many people my age wouldn’t develop that interest until much later, if at all. Much of my interest in horror sprung from my fascination with cemeteries and death as a child. I often played in the cemetery that was next to my country home growing-up and loved reading the headstones. My mother found it so odd, she even asked my pediatrician if she should be concerned. This fascination would only grow as I entered my teen years, with adverse health conditions which left me hospitalized often. I spent many days home alone from school, surrounded by the monsters that gave me comfort.

My health struggles ultimately led me to pursuing a long college career to enter the health field. This followed me from undergrad, through my work in the cadaver lab, hospital, and straight through grad school.

By 2017, I was in my sixth year of college and utterly drained by the studies, so it seemed like a fitting time for an escape, leading me to creating Possessed Radio. Named in part after my favorite film, “The Evil Dead”, made by Michigan filmmaking legend Sam Raimi (and of course, Bruce Campbell). And in many ways, the indie film inspired title was only a precursor of what was to come.

Following that introduction to independent horror, I became obsessed with the genre. The stories could be darker, the effects were gorier, and the ratings were less restrictive. And despite these dark independent horrors, the community behind them was more inviting and friendlier than I ever could have imagined.

My podcast now focuses on the voices of horror that take that creative edge to new heights and diverges from the often mundane and stale triple-A releases. I believe that the salvation of modern horror lies in the voices who are not melding to industry standards, but instead, creating new and unique stories to creep us out for years to come.

As such, my podcast will continue to cover my opinions on all forms of horror, while simultaneously promoting the up-and-comers behind stories that deserve to be heard. I’m even working on my own stories now, and dabbling in filmmaking as well, with many projects on the way. I appreciate everyone who stops by to listen, and active participation is encouraged.

I love to hear the opinions of others, and always love a respectful debate as well. So, take pride in your spooky passions, and as always, keep the lights off.

Connect with me on:

  • My website
  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • YouTube
  • Instagram

Interested in becoming the next guest blogger for JosephAFederico? Have a unique story to tell? Contact Joseph A. Federico here, and the rest is history!

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Talking About Being on Television

  • August 23, 2018
  • by josephafederico

Many years ago, I’d met a young man named Scott; he was a regular at a local club I used to frequent during my “wild” days. He eventually settled down and began dating a fine young lad by the name of Mike. So, long story short and into the realm of synergy we go, I eventually met Mike’s mom, Doreen.

I drove to Doreen’s humble abode in New York State one fine afternoon, flowers in hand, to discuss energy and life path choices, and we really hit it off. She was such a beacon of light and positivity, that she did wonders for my self-esteem at the time. And little did I know that Doreen was well-connected to all walks of life – from world travelers to queer artists and everyone in between.

Skip to present day – a few months ago – and I received a group message on Facebook. It had been from Doreen, and she copied two other gentlemen. She gave a short, sweet and somewhat vague introduction, then left the conversation shortly after. It was her style to set an intention then leave the group to do what they may.

One gentleman, I never connected with, and the other was Eric Faria. He immediately private messaged me on his own regarding his line of work – which is in television and running a talk show – and wanted to know more about my debut novella and also inquired about me being an upcoming guest.

Having labeled 2018 as “the year of continued opportunity,” I immediately jumped at the chance to reply with a “yes” and gave Eric detailed information regarding my first self-published book. He responded quickly and set-up a conference call to discuss it further.

About two weeks later, Eric called me and we hit it off right away. We shared our special stories about how we’d met Doreen – the proverbial glue that cosmically brought us together – then he conducted a pre-interview in order to learn more about what I’d bring to his talk show as an upcoming guest. Well, it went swimmingly, to say the least. All I had to do then was pick a date and time of my appearance. I was ecstatic – not only at the thought of being on television, but also because I’d been given the chance to take advantage of a unique opportunity t0 share my newly-evolved, authentic self with people I’d never met before.

If you know me, you probably know the story of how I was on the once-popular children’s television show, “Romper Room,” in the 1980s for my third birthday. I was a special guest that day, and thanks to the technology of the day and to my brain for filling in the gaps, as we humans tend to do, I recall it being pretty fucking special. I mean, come on, it was the day of my television debut.

And, if you read one of my older blogs, you would have gone on another journey with me – one that took place last summer… a journey of being in my first feature-length film. That was an experience to say the least… You really should check it out sometime – both the blog and the film.

Right, so, yes… Once I solidified  plans to travel to Mamaroneck, New York, I began working on preparing for my spot on “I Am” with Eric Faria. My assistant interviewed me in the style similar to how Eric interviewed his past guests. It did wonders because there was no way I would have gotten through a full hour of taping without some preparation. And let’s face it, I always like to put my best foot – in this case, best face – forward.

The day of the taping of the show came and I felt like a star. I got a fresh haircut and gave myself a manicure. I even took it very easy that Friday, assuring I ate light and sat by the pool to get last minute sun for that extra glow. I was beyond ready.

Later, I left for New York with plenty of time to spare, just in case I got lost. The trip over the G.W Bridge wasn’t too treacherous; I had RuPaul, Jennifer Lopez and other pop stars to keep me company along the way. By 6:50pm, I made it to the studio. I took a deep breath, pushed the “lock” button to my car, and walked away with pride.

The nicest people greeted me and led me to the green room. There, I cleared my throat, checked my hair, and conducted facial exercises to assure I’d speak with exceptional diction. Then, Eric came to greet me and walk me to the studio itself. It was just about go time.

Once I was in my chair, staff powdered my face and mic’d me up, then did a soundcheck to assure the acoustics were where they were supposed to be. Before I knew it, I heard a woman say, “Three… two… one…” She pointed in my direction and began rolling. On went the plastered smile and I shoved the nervous butterflies away for another day. “Hi, I’m Eric Faria…” were the last words I remember coherently hearing for the better part of an hour.

GULP.

Before I knew it, the second of three segments had been in the can, and we were about the film the final one. Now, I’d been fine up to that point… but, for some reason, time slowed down during the third segment, and I became aware of my surroundings. “Shit, I’m on television. Don’t freak out,” I told myself several times. I only had a few minutes left before the camera crew yelled “cut.” I snapped out of it and finished up with gusto.

I blinked and it was over… one full hour of discussing Voudou Juice, publishing, and the ins and outs of being a writer. What a trip. The staff took my mic off, I posed for a few promo shots with Eric and was sent on my merry way. To say I was riding high the next few days would be an understatement. I was proud of my accomplishment, my preparedness and, well, even prayed that the editors would cut out a bit of my on-screen awkwardness.

My video and podcast should be released soon for you all to enjoy. If my words touch at least one person out there in TV land, I’d consider it a great success.

Signing off…

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Read Aloud

  • August 14, 2018
  • by josephafederico

So, on August 3, 2018, I was invited to participate in a book reading, hosted by Glen Binger and The Working Artist. The event was called, “Stories By The Sea,” and the reason said event was so fucking cool and dear to my heart, is because all who participated were – in one form or another – native to my home state, New Jersey.

I’d been invited last year by the wondrous Mr. Binger, but unfortunately had a prior engagement to attend. See, Glen has tenacity and sure puts on an entertaining show. When I was asked to attend this year’s event, I was honored and immediately added it to my e-calendar, then swiftly began preparing a chapter to read out of Voudou Juice.

As the big night approached, sure, my mind raced, and I asked myself, “But, what if they don’t like me?” I had also prepared like a motherfucker, thanks to my trusty assistant, Christopher. Not that what I prepared came out the way I had intended, BUT, that’s another story for another night… and par for the course, right?

And, truth be told, I was also a bit nervous, because, sure, I’d spoken with Glen over the years, but didn’t exactly know anybody else, except for those I’d connected with over Instagram. OK, I’m 35, but adults get nervous, too, alright?

There was this one fella, now that we’ve met in person, I’m proud to call him my friend. He’d been attracted to my online profile and writing ramblings… we’d connected almost immediately. Arthur J. Willhelm‘s the name, and writing poetry is his game. He was the first person I met formally after parking around the corner from The Working Artist. I felt like we’d known each other for ages.

So, OK, let’s now cut out the rest of the formalities, and skip to the good shit… After about 30 minutes of mingling, the event started, and each person read aloud for up to 15 minutes. The amount of talent in the room that night was immense… poetry slams, hot verbiage and tempered feelings poured out of each person’s mouth, one right after the other. And shit, the support we showed toward each other was a sight to behold.

Then, at about 8:40PM, after the last of us got up onstage, we went back to the meet and greet portion of the evening. Strangers even came up to me to say congratulations and told me what a great job I’d done. Then I, in return, passed positive vibes back to my fellow creatives. Truthfully, the ones I’d met that night, they’re going places. And, I can’t hardly wait to gather with them again next year.

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The General’s Libations of Freedom

  • July 17, 2018
  • by josephafederico

I had been to Mount Vernon before, a lovely trip it was, about four years ago. Now, as you’ve been reading here on my blog, I’m a historian – a mere man who vows to tell history like it was – but, my utmost calling is that of the bloody, exciting, and treacherous tale of the America Revolution. And, not to mention, my focus there, amongst the great leaders of that time, is and has been General George Washington.

To, quite literally, stand where the father of our great country stood, and touch items that Washington touched, is an important honor, one that most don’t understand and should, in my opinion, only be bestowed upon a few who are actually deserving. Having visited Washington’s home changed my life.

Years ago, during my first visit through the museum, I’d challenged myself to trivia about the General’s life and enveloped myself into the time when one of the greatest men that ever walked the earth lived. It was an exciting time, a time of great change and utmost uncertainty. And, Washington withstood it all, from start to finish.

One of the most educational experiences for me that stood out during my first visit, was learning about George Washington’s death, and how out young country handled the aftermath of such a profound man’s existence. The sadness I felt, the loss millions felt back then, took its toll on me. By the time I got to the end of the exhibit, I was practically in tears.

This time around, however, during my second visit and probably my last one for a while, I took away two important experiences. The first being learning a little unknown fact while on the “National Treasure” tour. Bob, our tour guide, told us, at the end of the trip, with the mighty Potomac to our backs, that Washington insisted on being called “General Washington.” The once-president, having served his two terms, had recently retired, and told guests that visited his estate, that only the current president of the time was to labelled as so, and he was, in fact, just the General.

I found that so humbling and my love for the once-southern gentleman grew leaps and bounds that day.

The second item that stuck with me is one of authenticity. After my group finished touring Mount Vernon, was spent some time at the Mount Vernon Inn, enjoying each other’s company and local libations. After sampling some popular cocktails and Budweiser’s Freedom Reserve (Red Lager) – the drink that was recently released under one of the closest recipes to that of George Washington’s back in the day – I was in the mood for something stronger, more authentic.

I turned to the bartender and said, “I’m in the mood for something colonial… you know, something strong… something the founding fathers would have had.” So, without hesitation, she turned back to me and said, “How about the Fish House Punch?” Legend has it, that after the war was won, Washington took to a local tavern with his men and toasted the 13 colonies… 13 times… with steins full of Fish House Punch. Now, Washington was an impeccable record keeper, but after his party, he didn’t keep any records for three days. There had been a mysterious jump in time when no words were written whatsoever. So, when I say that the punch was lethal, it was strong!

And now, without further adieu, here is the recipe for the drink that forced time to stop in its tracks…

Ingredients
Jamaican rum, 2 qts
Cognac brandy, 1 qt
Loaf sugar, 3/4 lb
Water, 2 qts; spring water is indicated
Lemon juice, 1 qt; lime would have been even more delicate
Peach brandy, 1 wine glass

Directions
Mix ingredients into a clear punch bowl and refrigerate for three hours. Serve cold with fine slices of citrus fruit.

Have you been to Mount Vernon? What was your most memorable experience there?

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On the road to glory

  • July 9, 2018
  • by josephafederico

It was Forth of July weekend, 2017, and I prepared to travel to Setauket, Long Island – the historic location where the spy ring formed so many centuries ago.

I had been working with Nicholas Dalrymple – a young reenactor who’d been portraying Joseph McCracken since he was but a boy – on historical projects of my own, and it just so happened he had been chosen to portray the great Alexander Hamilton in a full-length feature film called, “One Life to Give.” Before I knew it, because of my proximity to the lad, Michael Tessler, the film’s writer, had invited me to partake in the festivities.

The heat took a heavy toll on me that evening as I left the comforts of New Jersey for the Long Island shores, but my spirits were high. After all, I’d always wanted to be in a live action movie, and the opportunity had presented itself… I wasn’t going to turn it down by any means. It took approximately three hours to get to the farm, the filming location and historic battleground where part of the Battle of Long Island actually took place. But weeks before, historians found a cannonball that dated back to the 18th century. Talk about authenticity…

As I pulled into Setauket, ghostly fifes and drums banged around in my head, as if my soul had recognized the area and had been there before. The sky drew darker and a local radio station blared factoids regarding Washington’s and Jefferson’s love and obsession for ice cream. Then approximately twenty minutes later, I arrived at the mouth of the farm; I took a deep breath, as if preparing to meet the Commander in Chief himself, and climbed the dusty winding road.

Three men greeted me upon arrival – Sam, a privateer reenactor, a glorious young man we called “Nugget,” and Jeff, a makeup artist. We exchanged introductions and salutations, as unwritten plotlines unraveled in our mind’s eyes as to how the rest of the weekend was to play out. Then, Master Tessler greeted me with a strong handshake, bear hug and a big “thank you” for quite literally taking part in history. Shortly after that, those still filming wandered from behind the scenes to join the rest of the cast and crew at home base.

One member of the cast, Laura, portraying a nurse, was the first face I’d recognized, as we’d met unofficially on Instagram, and the second was Nicholas Dalrymple. He sure was hot and sweaty, but his face lit up the moment he saw me. We formally introduced each other, as we’d only met over the phone, and he gave me a big hug. It was comforting to be surrounded by those I knew, even of they were friends from the internet.

I grabbed a quick bite to eat, then had to get kitted up shortly after. Nicholas wasn’t messing around and I was anxiously awaiting to head back to the 18th century. Now, as intricately as a man may have dressed back then, it was no easy feat actually putting the clothes on, and, to a modern man, the process was a bit risqué, especially in such heat, to say the least…

First came the stockings then the shirt. The shirt served as yes, a shirt, but also as a man’s underwear, covering the buttock and genitals. It tucked into the breeches, which came next. Honestly, it’s best to tuck the boys in comfortably, if you know what I’m saying. After you’re snug in your breeches, the cravat was put on next, then your vest. Nick assisted me and with each piece that was placed on my person, the modern world melted away quicker and quicker. Unfortunately, the more dandy-esque vest was too small for me, but what I had on did the trick nicely. I buttoned the buttons on my breaches by the leg openings and popped on the tricorne hat. That was the last piece of clothing that made the transformation complete. Everybody around me was quite impressed and I not only felt like a movie star on location, but also like a true soldier about the fight for liberty.

I then made my way over to some unfamiliar cast and crew members to get acquainted with them, as the rest of the crew prepared to film a scene in George Washington’s tent. Actor David Gianopoulos was there that night, too, playing the Commander in Chief.

The rest of the night consisted of watching Nicholas, Mike, David and other men film said scene, which was pretty wild, and catching up with extras by candlelight. Essentially, it was night number one of a very specific adult summer camp.

Several hours later, the scene finally wrapped and I was off to a local college with Nicholas and his crew. Although the shower had been locked, it was heavenly to have a bed all to myself, running water and air conditioning. What a treat it was and quite the respite that was needed in order to gear up for the following day.

By, let’s say, 10:00AM that next morning, it was time to get back on set. Now, I won’t bore you with the gory details, but here are some of the highlights I found most memorable: 1. Watching the fort come together out of thin air. 2. Listening to the Declaration of Independence being read on Fourth of July weekend. 3. Singing “Drunken Sailor” at the top of my lungs during tavern night.

Now, what I didn’t quite enjoy, however, was sporting a wool overcoat, wool cap and a million pound musket throughout the day on Saturday. Jesus, I must have lost my weight in sweat that day, but I will say, that as a historian, it gave me a much deeper appreciation for what those soldiers and founding fathers went through for many moons ago, fighting or freedom. And hell, I did look pretty authentic so, it wasn’t all that bad.

After tavern night, I was beyond exhausted and my eyes literally were popping out of my skull due to extreme exhaustion. The pup tents were set up by the cars, so I immediately grabbed one and set my belongings inside. I disrobed, peeling off all my historical garb, then changed into lighter sleepwear.

The weather was balmy and sticky, so I got into my sleeping bag and prayed to General Washington that I’d make it through the night. Approximately several hundred ants then decided to hatch under my tent, so I had to battle with God’s beasts for another hour, getting nowhere, of course. Those bastards bit every inch of me, as I threw feet and fists their way just to attempt to get somewhat decent shut eye. Alas, to no avail… I passed out in frustration and deeper exhaustion, while visions of fireworks blurred through my head.

I awoke somewhat unscathed from the battle I was thrust into the night before. I really did have the best intentions of muddling through the day and partaking in the big battle scene, but I just couldn’t take it. I ran to the John almost immediately after waking up, then went back to camp to try to salvage what was left of the morning. Mother Nature had other plans for me, though, and decided to allow a tick to crawl up the back of my leg… I had to scrape the thing off my skin and throw it back into the dirt where it came from.

Needless to say, that was the last straw for this soldier. I gave the garb back to Nicholas, passed out business cards to my connections, hugged Mike, threw my shit into the car without so much as even packing it up neatly and headed for the hills! I’m a city boy who likes creature comforts and was just done.

As I headed back to society, I stopped at a local bagel place and fueled up for the ride home. About ten minutes later, I attacked a plain bagel and cream cheese and had slop running down my cheeks. I yelled lyrics to a familiar reggae song that came in from one of the only stations on the island.

To say I had a revolutionary experience that weekend would be an understatement. I learned what it was like to finally be in a movie, got a newfound appreciation for 18th century history and met some interesting people along the way. I most likely won’t become a reenactor anytime soon, but may wind up being a historical interpreter as a permanent fixture in years to come, teaching passersby about book binding and the printing press.

To those I’d met on set last summer, Huzzah! May “One Life to Give” bring you all great success.

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Drink like an author

  • July 2, 2018
  • by josephafederico

As I was cleaning out my home office, preparing to make a major move this August, I came across an old – like, 2012 old – copy of Esquire. And, in that magazine, I dogeared a page that had instructions on how to make delicious cocktails galore.

It’s no secret that, historically speaking, writers, authors, playwrights and other creatives love a good, stiff cocktail. Those range from Shakespeare, who was probably drunk on honey wine constantly, to the great Fitzgerald, who, as you know, came into his infamy in the 1920s… that should speak volumes on its own, no?  “Write drunk and edit sober” they say.

And, I agree.

So, the article, originally written by David Wondrich in his column, “Drinking,” pieced together the perfect formula for a combination of sour drinks. That formula states that 3/4 oz citrus juice (personally, I say that lemon is the best…) + 1 tsp super-fine sugar + 2 oz almost any liquor equates to “the basic sour formula.”

Wondrich states, “…A drink with superfine sugar stirred  into lemon juice is clean and vibrant. A modern drink with, say, three quarters of an ounce each of citrus juice and syrup has a slick, almost plastic texture. Score one for the wisdom of ancients.”

Do you agree or disagree with Wondrich’s statements? Personally, I can live off a good sour, sporting a good, old fashioned cigar jacket and sucking on a fat Cuban in the midst of a fancily decorated library.

And, with that being said, here are the recipes you’ve been waiting for, again, courtesy of Esquire:

Basic Whiskey Sour

-Stir 1 level tsp superfine sugar and 3/4 oz lemon juice together in a cocktail shaker. (It’s easier to dissolve the sugar without the booze.)*
-Add 2 oz American whiskey of any kind.
-Fill shaker with ice, shake like a jackhammer operator, and strain into chilled cocktail coupe. Drink. Repeat.

*If this is too tart for your taste, better to pull the citrus back to 1/2 oz than increase the sugar. That stuff will kill you.

New York Sour

-Stir 1 level tsp superfine sugar and 3/4 oz lemon juice together in a cocktail shaker.
-Add 2 oz straight  rye whiskey.
-Fill shaker with ice, shake well, and strain into chilled coupe.
-Carefully float 1/2 oz cabernet sauvignon or other dry red wine over the top by pouring it slowly out of a small container over the back of a bar spoon.

What’s your cocktail of choice when you hit the page with ink? Let me know in the comment section below, you devilishly amazing writer, you.

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It started with an obsession

  • June 29, 2018July 1, 2018
  • by josephafederico

When I was in high school, not to date myself or anything, but a substantial amount of years ago, is when my obsession – LITERAL obsession with America’s south – began.

My family and I had taken my then-next door neighbors up on their offer to vacation at their condominium on Kiawah Island. We lived in Ridgewood, New Jersey at the time, and had only vacationed in Florida up until that point. We’d taken the quintessential family trips to see Mickey Mouse and live fantastically but for weeks at a time.

Other family trips included, but weren’t limited to taking weeks off during the summer and living on our now-semi estate in Margaretville, New York. But, the times I had up there, the wild freedom I’d come to love and appreciate later in life, must be saved for another story.

We had rented a van – aqua green, I believe – mom made a shit load of chicken cutlets, and we packed up and left in the middle of the night. I vaguely recall the lead up to this because I had been hanging out at one of my friend’s houses in a neighboring town, drinking like a rebellious teen. Also, back then, my metabolism was SMOKING, so I could’ve been drinking one minute, then driving to the southland the next without skipping a beat.

The absolute most memorable parts of that road trip, obviously, were mom’s homemade cutlets… and it was one of my first times driving on a highway, so that was fun. I was cruising down I-95 to “The Dark Side of the Moon” which was pretty badass at the time.

And then, as we hit the deep south, I had just awoken from a dreary nap… we hit a back road and I suddenly perked up for some reason. Old oaks were lined on both sides of the streets with the most fascinating Spanish moss. I had only seen it on the covers of old, rotting books or in horror movies, but shit, I’ll never forget that sight. It was the early afternoon and the moss-covered trees cast the most curious shadows between the beating sun’s rays.

And, just because it’s hilarious, I recall passing my first Piggly Wiggly. That Porky Pig-esque head smiled down, welcoming me to a place that no longer resembled Kansas anymore.

Nothing particularly extraordinary happened that week in Kiawah, except my own personal realization awaking in me saying that I had a thing for beautiful young men – blue eyes and blond hair with perfectly tanned skin – a “phase” I’d not soon outgrow. But really, though, I fell in love with the south – namely Charleston.

It wouldn’t be until years later, that my parents would decide to invest in a timeshare at Ocean Creek Plantation and Resort in North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The first few years, they ventured down there with my sister. I’d be home from college and didn’t want any part of that place. You’d catch me, instead, hosting Tiki parties and playing host to (not so wild) soirees. Besides, I thought my job at the town pool, flipping burgers, was like, the absolute shit, and I had to “earn money” for the upcoming semester. Yeah, I regret not spending more time in my beloved south in retrospect, a place I’d like to move to much sooner than later.

I started dating my now-boyfriend and future husband. We’d only been dating, oh, five months, and in hindsight, we were crazy for planning such an extensive trip so early on in our relationship. I remember it like it was yesterday; we studied articles out of then-Details magazine that offered up tips and advice on how to survive a road trip with a significant other, and he and I discussed our likes and dislikes when it came to music and vacation musts, etc. Yes, we drove down that year and only used to stay one full week. We grew wise and now, we go down south in class – we fly – and stay two weeks.

That year, though, I was released… something in my soul clicked and I was hooked. I was hooked on Spanish moss, southern cooking, affordable real estate and just the literal “Southern charm” of it all. The obsession grew year after year.

Then, in 2012, that’s the year the south – the charm, the history, the ritualistic undertones – crept into my writing, Folklore and religion were what I was after, so my man and I went on local ghost tours, attended local plays at Brookgreen Gardens – ones held under spooky live oaks – and I’d grab local authors’ books just before returning to the northeast.

I’d try to emulate  the southern dialect at home and attempted to scare myself by writing short fiction with southern gothic undertones. Actually, one of my first short stories actually would wind up being the grandfather to my soon-to-be breakout novella, VOUDOU JUICE.

So, right, summer of 2012… that was the summer I started to write VOUDOU JUICE. Oy, the time I spent speculating and mapping out plot and characters’ names… and yes, the book, in fact, was named after one of the drinks from the beach club at the plantation.

The book originally was set in South Carolina, based around a hot, young southern boy I’d met at Ghosts and Legends Theatre at Barefoot Landing that summer. You know the type – a little pudgy but not fat by any means… with frosted man bangs and a southern drawl you could listen to all day and allowed your mind to wander in the most glorious ways. Yeah, he was the basis for my main character.

VOUDOU JUICE would be a summer-specific project for the next two years; I’d only bring the handwritten manuscript out at the beach or by the pool if I had a couple of adult beverages bubbling through my system. That all changed, though, in 2014… I finally made it down to New Orleans with my best friend, Melinda.

One night, completely blitzed at Oz nightclub, the gay watering hole, I received an otherworldly vision that would change the course of writing VOUDOU JUICE forever. The inner courtyard, flashing lights, gay thumpa and wrought iron balconies called out to me. And, as a person who believes in signs, I wasn’t one to ignore the message.

The night I came home, after literally spending hours sadly bellowing over the fact I was no longer on Bourbon Street and obsessively reviewing the minute details of my trip, I got to writing, changing scenes and creating newfound characters that begged me to make an appearance in the new and improved VOUDOU JUICE.

The manuscript came out more frequently than a mere few weeks during the summer, and the story began to take shape – something big was brewing. Something was happening on the pages I wrote but also to me, the author; my literal blood, sweat and tears were being weaved together.

A year later, in Myrtle Beach, I had taken more of my recent memories and fun surroundings, i.e. the view of the gorgeous southern lifeguards that patrolled the beaches, with their tight asses and million dollar smiles, and weaved them into the story, too. A book doesn’t write itself overnight, and this one in particular, my first novella, took time to speak to me.

Finally, at the beginning of 2017, I made a conscientious decision that it would be the year the public would get to meet Riley Clarke, Cody Shrine, III, and my Voodoo priestess, the infamous Mama Julia Brown. Their stories were almost completed, but, night after night, they’d visit me. With some help from Spotify playlists and one Mr. Christopher Rice’s words of wisdom, I managed to get through it.

Mid-April of 2017 was when I received my first copies of VOUDOU JUICE and I was floored. My fantastical journey through South Carolina, several mixed drinks, nightclubs, New Orleans and well, the 18th century, was finally sitting in my greasy little palms. I was a proud papa, wanting to share the news with the world. And, the rest, they say, is history.

I’m still promoting the book and, thanks to my trusty assistant, am working on preparing VOUDOU JUICE for its second printing as well as taking it on the road to New Orleans in October 2018.

It truly was a labor of love that all started with a small obsession with my now-favorite place, America’s south.

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