“Why has the brilliant writing of the mighty Joe Kloehn ceased?” wail the masses, shaking their internet-enabled devices in futile anger.

“The great blog, a font from which once sprang a torrent of wit and wisdom, has run dry.”

They refresh the unchanging webpage until their fingers bleed and their touch screens shatter.

“We lived by his word. Now all we have is silence.”

At long last, they turn their eyes to the heavens.

“He has forsaken us.”

No, my friends.

I have not forsaken you.

I have simply been working on a master plan, one which was going to propel me out of the shallow waters of storefront theatre and into an ocean of fame and fortune.

I was going to attend the School at Steppenwolf.

No, this ten-week summer residency at the Steppenwolf Theatre Company may not sound like the key to fame and fortune to you, but I had it all planned out. I was going to arrive at the school and stun my teachers with my overwhelming talent, range, and raw sexuality. They would have no choice but to make me a company member right off the bat. I would debut in a show where Gary Sinise, John Malkovich, and I all shout terse, manly dialog angrily at each other for two and a half hours, and it would become a huge hit, eventually getting me cast as the villain in the next Fast and Furious movie. By the end of that movie (titled 8 Fast 8 Furious), Vin Diesel and I would come to respect each other, and I would become a permanent member of the team. I would then ride that franchise off into the sunset, collecting billions along the way.

However, after applying for the school, auditioning, and then waiting several weeks, I have hit a minor hitch in this plan.

On the first of this month, I received a rejection letter. It explained that this year was highly competitive, that Steppenwolf had auditioned over 250 people for 24 openings. It assured me that these decisions were not easy to make. It thanked me for my “preparation, professionalism, and patience.”

“How disappointing,” I thought. “But, there’s nothing to be done. I suppose I ought to craft a brief response that graciously thanks them for their consideration while best displaying the alliterative qualities which they noted in their letter.”

This is, word for word, the email that I wrote to Steppenwolf:

APRIL FOOLS!

Right?

…right?

 

*sigh*

 

Thank you for considering me,
Joe

Now, you may be sitting at home saying, “Joe, this email does not seem terribly professional.” However, you, my simple-minded reader, are overlooking the inherent advantages in this response. They are as follows:

1. On the off-chance that the rejection letter was indeed an April Fools’ joke, I have my bases covered. Perhaps, in catching them in their joke, I will have displayed my great wit to Steppenwolf, making me a clear front-runner in the real selection process.
2. If the rejection letter was not an April Fools’ joke, my response at least shows Steppenwolf that I take failure with a dash of levity and humor, making them chuckle, think back on my audition, and realize that they made a grave mistake in rejecting me. This would, of course, cause them to immediately call me up and beg for my participation in the School at Steppenwolf this summer.
3. If they cannot see the humor in my response, then maybe they would sense that only an overwhelming mixture desperation and dread could drive someone to write such a bizarre email to a school which that person would like to attend. They would take pity on me, and welcome me into their hallowed halls with open arms.

You see, what seems like gross unprofessionalism to the naked eye is actually a clever bit of maneuvering. Now Steppenwolf has no choice but to rescind their rejection letter and admit me, probably tuition-free.

I have not received their response yet, but I’m sure it’s coming.

Any day now.

But, it’s not all dark and gloomy here in Joe Land.™  For instance, I am currently in the first scene of a play about child dismemberment. So there’s that.

And I’ll try to be better about the blog.