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CONTACT:
Harris Spylios
Davis/Spylios Management
212-581-5767
dspylios@verizon.net
Performance Reel
ELI JAMES is an actor, writer, songwriter and standup in New York.

His Broadway credits include the National Theatre of Great Britain's "One Man, Two Guvnors," directed by Nicholas Hytner, and Alex Timbers's and Michael Friedman's "Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson." His solo show "William and the Tradesmen" has been performed at Ars Nova, La Mama, and The Drilling Company. Further stage credits include "Rutherford and Son" and "Temporal Powers" at The Mint, "The Four of Us" at Manhattan Theatre Club, "Becky Shaw" at Boston’s Huntington Theater, and the world premiere of Jason Grote’s "Maria/Stuart," directed by Pam McKinnon. His TV credits include "Gossip Girl," "Lights Out," and "Murder in Manhattan." He co-founded, wrote and performed with the sketch comedy group Quiet Library at The Upright Citizens Brigade Theater, and currently performs with improv team Pleading Softly. His essay "Finding the Beat" was published in the Random House collection "Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers," a Boston Globe Bestseller.

Friday, November 14, 2008

The Man Whose Teeth are Clean and Whose Towels are Folded and Window Sills Dusted


I got all dressed up tonight but didn't play.
I went to the city but didn't stay.
The slot they gave me was far too late.
For what, I wonder? Shit, let me think a minute.
Well, I mean, I have a place and I feel I need to be in it.

And now I'm home and I've folded all the towels
That were balled up in a laundry bag in the corner
And I've put away, or rearranged, all the mic stands I pulled out yesterday
And sang into all day today
I looked up a recipe for roasted chicken
It's good to be in my place.

I know some people who are in pain
Literally, in pain, pretty much every day.
Not pretty much, but really every day. Every day there is a day.
In pain. All over. Above, below, behind.
I get a sore throat for a week and I curse the day I was born.
'Cause that week's ruined. I can't do anything. I can't sing.
I can't hum.
I can't croon.
I can't shout.

I'm reduced to checking out MySpace profiles all day.
Checking on people I've met who are more successful than me.
People who look like nothing, I've met them in clubs, (similar to the one I left tonight) - people who clearly don't fold their towels like I do, or dust their window sills, or, you know, do squats at the gym, or even go to the gym at all - well, I check them out, and listen to their music online, and see when and where they're playing, not because I'm ever going to go - but just to know for sure how far I've fallen behind. I'm into measuring now. I'm no longer into catching up. I'm just into measuring exactly how far behind I've gotten. It brings me a certain satisfaction - I'm not making that up - it's brings me a certain pleasure to know I was right. That not sticking with things leads to having no tour dates and no significant increase in "plays" on my MySpace music player, and other such vitamin deficiencies. And that sticking with things and putting oneself out there every night leads to the kind of man I dreamed I'd be when I was a kid, back when I knew deep down that I was smarter and cooler than every single person in my school.

Look at me now.
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