David Salcido is big on titles. As a flack for Artists' Theatre Project, the smallish local troupe he co-founded, he's known as the Master of Hoopla and Revelries. At the underground zine Blue Food, he's called the Chaos Coordinator. And in all seriousness, Salcido's playbill bio refers to him as "one of the most prolific published authors working today" (take that, Joyce Carol Oates!). Here, he considers less consequential facets of his titled life.
I knew I wanted to be in show business when the circus came to town. I grew up in a very small town and we didn't get a lot of sophisticated entertainment like that very often.
The worst thing about being a theater flack is drama queens, divas and critics. Actually, I jest. The worst thing would have to be dealing with Theater Standard Time. Nothing is ever on time in theater, which drives me nuts. I'm a stickler for deadlines.
What people don't know about my job is it's so glamorous I have to fight off supermodels with a stick. Really. It is!
The happiest day in my life was the day I got my first byline in print. That was soooooo long ago. Hard to believe there was ever a time when I thought that would be difficult.
If I could be anyone other than myself, it would be some other guy just like me, I guess. I really am very happy being me. I just don't tell myself that very often. Don't want to give myself a big head, y'know.
It's not entirely true, but I sometimes tell people that I'm gay. It simplifies matters, especially when it comes to explaining my boyfriend of 12 years and my fondness for Shirley MacLaine movies.
The fictional character I am most like is Fritz the Cat. Or Satan, depending on whom you ask . . .
I am utterly terrified of Jedi squirrels. Next to telepathic cats, they're the worst.
I laugh uncontrollably at horror movies. Drives my dates crazy.
The one thing I absolutely refuse to do to promote a play is sing. Nothing would drive people away quicker.
Something I have never admitted to anyone before is I'm allergic to stupidity. Makes me break out in fits of sarcasm. I wonder if anybody has noticed?
Currently I am reading If Chins Could Kill, the autobiography of Bruce Campbell. Deeeelicious.
The first time I got drunk, I probably fell down and made an ass of myself. I've killed a lot of brain cells since those days of amateur drunkenness. I'm quite the expert now. Just ask any of the voices in my head.
Like my mother used to say, "If you can't do something right, don't do it at all." Which probably explains why I'm so anal-retentive.
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