Letters to Holly

Friday, March 16

Pork, Picks, Play

We had dinner at the local barbecue place, a pleasant eatery we always forget about unless we walk past it. We strolled the neighborhood earlier this week, noticed it, and made mental notes to try it again. We went last night and found ourselves the only people there, maybe the only customers they had all night. The food was good though. I don't think we have any plans for St. Patrick's Day, and that's OK with me. There's things that need doing around the house.

Despite paying little attention to the season, I made out a March Madness bracket. Out of sixteen picks, I got one wrong, choosing Davidson over Maryland. I wouldn't be this successful if I was a bigger sports fan.

Haven't heard back from the Montford people yet, and I'm not terribly surprised. They probably won't contact me until within a few weeks of the show, and I may not be available then.

Moving Pictures of the Day
You can see previews of This American Life's new Showtime series here. The pet bull story raises a question of how they shot footage for an item they covered almost three years ago. Did they go back and re-interview the involved parties? Are they airing unrelated new footage over their original audio?




In The News
The new to-do over the administration prosecutor scandal percolates because new emails show the White House was involved in the organization and employment of federal prosecutors despite sworn testimony to the contrary. Also, there's new questions about the administration destroying documents that would have been used as evidence in investigations into lobbying connections.

Thursday, March 15

Cranky People

I got an email this morning that I didn't get cast in the show. My first unsuccessful audition. It's a blow to the ego, I admit, but seeing the style they leaned to, it's probably best I didn't get it. I don't know if I could listen to the comedy team for three months. I'm not sure what I could have done differently, and it's possible nothing I did would have mattered. This may be my first example of a "closed shop," a theatre reluctant to cast new people. Ironically, I heard that label applied to at least two companies that cast me in my first try (including the Hot Tin Roof group) but hadn't heard that at all about Montford. This gives me time to work on the painting and mini-comics instead, and maybe, if my optimism returns, I could try for Montford's Much Ado About Nothing in a few months.

And you know, I was offered a non-speaking role (read: filler) that, what the hell, I'm gonna accept. I won't have to be there for the rehearsals, and perhaps I can pick up tricks to get in the next show. I think it would be unprofessional to shrug off an invitation, and maybe I can impress them with my professionalism.

I grilled steaks and baked potatoes before "Lost" aired, but right before the show we got a wrong-number call. An older lady was trying to call someone she met at a casino a few weeks back. She claimed she had the number in her purse but it was too far away to reach. She also claimed she dialed correctly and asked if I could help her reach this person. I assured her we had been at this number for years, there was no person by that name, and suggested she check her purse for the number. She didn't want to. She called again. And again. She was desperate to reach this lady. Now, I suspected she was a prank early on, but she kept in character. No punchline arrived. She seemed genuinely addled, even asking if she should use her Life Alert bracelet to get help from them. I steered her away from that.

When she did retrieve the number, she said she couldn't read it because it was dark. You have to picture an old woman (81, by her account) sitting in the dark trying to call someone who she doesn't know nor does she know where the intended callee lives. I suggest she wait 'til tomorrow when it's daylight so she can read the number. Then Your Sister, thinking a prank or a whackjob, adopts a nag character and demands to know which hoochie mama I'm talking to. I, play along and excuse myself quickly ("oh, crap, the wife's mad. I gotta go."). The woman calls back, indignant that someone was screaming in the background at her. And now, finally, my patience is gone. I tell her I can't help her anymore and relay the stupidity of the situation (old, in the dark, insistant that a stranger make her magic talking machine work). She gets mad. She asks if she being insulted. I confirm this. She then says, "well, I never," to which I say, "you will probably never will" and hang up. She calls back, but I hang up immediately. She doesn't call again. I expected her to call back at the crack of dawn, but I heard nothing. And the local phone company says they can only block collect calls. Maybe she'll call again tonight when she's drunk, bored, and sitting in the dark.

I've suspected similar odd calls are the work of students, but they seem sincere in their mindlessness. We live amid old people with waning grasps on reality, and the assumption that they will be rescued by anyone for any reason. Remember when we took the books to the post office? A lady in a fogey scooter came in and asked me to grab the package she slid under her seat so she could mail it. Now what if no one was around? She planned to require help. Earlier this week, that same woman took up the entire sidewalk while I was running toward her. She could see me from a half-mile away, and she never moved aside. Maybe it was she that called. That woman is trying to become my nemesis, and only a steel cage match can end this feud.

Picture of the Day
Fencing

Wednesday, March 14

Running on Fumes

To got my car back to the shop, I drove Your Sister's car to work and back, grabbed my car, drove it to the shop, and -- because Your Sis had a work meeting -- had no way to get home. So I ran. Some of it. I haven't tried an outdoor run this year, and I knew I would be rusty. But the conditions made it much harder than I expected. The air was warm (it was right at 75 degrees yesterday), the wind was very active, and the traffic soot was infesting. I was filthy when I got home about 45 minutes later. It's a little over 4 miles, and I probably ran two miles of that. I felt it most in my lungs. The iPod helped quite a bit. Today, I feel OK. No major leg pain at all.

I'm not having any trouble with the time change, and I relish all this post-work daylight. Thumbs up to the sun. We're cooking out tonight.

I'm still mentally going over the auditions even though I can do nothing about them. I'm curious to see what part will be tossed my way, and I'd bet money it'll be Paris.

Picture of the Day
I changed a panel in the comic. It never looked right to me, and it didn't convey the imagery I wanted, and I felt it was the weakest panel of the three pages. The art ends at the top of the second panel because the I already know the text box reaches that far down.


In the News
The new scandal for the administration comes from the Justice Department. Attorney General Alberto Gonzales is facing calls for resignation over the revelation that federal prosecutors were fired for political reasons. The phrase making the rounds is "serving at the pleasure of the president," which means the boss can fire you when he sees fit. And that's not a matter anyone is debating. Also mentioned often is that Clinton fired all the prosecutors when he took office. Again, that's his prerogative. But the fired lawyers say they were canned because they wouldn't push indictments against Democrat congressmen before the November election. Now comes the allegation that a prosecutor was fired because he was investigating Jack Abramoff, the administration-connected lobbyist who starred in his own scandal last year. Now that's stinky. You don't fire lawyers when they start sniffing around your friends. Nixon did that. Congress has also learned that the president was advised to fire all 93 prosecutors after the elections. While that is his right, doing so in the middle of his second term is suspect.

Here's what I think was going on:
1) They wanted to fire those who were close to charging political friends.
2) Firing everybody would hide that.
3) It would also clean the slate for all the failed cases against terror suspects after 9/11. Federal prosecutors have passed on investigations because of flimsy evidence and questionable legal bases. This hasn't made the administration happy.

Gonzales said he won't step down. Adviser Karl Rove may be called by Congress to testify because everyone hates Karl Rove.

This comes in the same week that the Joint Chiefs Chairman declared homosexuality immoral and said it had no place in the military. This can't help the armed forces boost enrollment in the face of depleted and exhausted troops.

Tuesday, March 13

Rage, Drink, Rock

As I made my way to work, I discovered that the interstate was closed down for a five-mile stretch. That routed all traffic to 191, a road not meant to handle that kind of business, and it took me two hours to get to the office. I was driving Your Sister's car as mine has to go back to the shop again. You know the kind of day Your Sis had, and we decided to walk the neighborhood to clear our heads and enjoy this new, later daylight. And then we got drunk.

We both cracked open the 22-ounce beers we bought from the new alky-hall store in Hendersonville to go with out wings and fries. But no rasslin. No, for last night was the live broadcast of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony. Velvet revolver gave a dispirited speech to introduce Van Halen, represented ironically by two of the three members who were kicked out: Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony. The Ronettes' lead singer Ronnie Spector managed to ramble in her speech despite a printed copy with a large enough font that the viewing audience could read. Patti Smith was gracious and sweet before rocking her ass off in the obligatory induction performance. Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five became the first hip-hop act into the hall, and their performance was strictly and gloriously old-school.

And finally, after about three hours, Eddie Vedder gave a fantastic speech on REM, and the band came out for their speeches and set. That's the one I wanted to see. REM was the first band I remember that was cool to like because they were smart. They weren't cool in the traditional sense (although many a girl fawned over Michael Stipe), but they had poetry floating over pop-rock twang and jangle. They could coo when they wanted and rock when they wanted, and that made for a great band. Also, Automatic for the People is one of the top ten albums ever made, and not just because it was one of my seminal college CDs.

Picture of the Day
In honor of Star Wars' 30th anniversary, the Post Office will unveil R2D2 mailbox covers. I think some related stamps will be issued too.


In the News Kinda
There's a line in 300 where Leonidas dismisses the Athenians as "boy lovers." This line is straight out of the comic, and a reader took Miller to task for it, saying the Spartans also indulged in pedophilia. Miller agreed in a fairly dismissive way. You can read the initial letter and response in question here. But the debate continued in a later column for a Sin City miniseries, and you can read that here. The debate still simmers for some, and it blends in with a larger debate about Miller's style of storytelling. He praises fascism, some claim. He's misogynistic, others claim. This is the kind of mindset that resulted in the indirect online attack on Your Sister and the direct shot at me a few weeks back after I mentioned she liked Miller material. I'm of the mind that with all the potentially offensive things one sees in the comic and film that this one line is the most easily disregarded. It's a non-issue.

Monday, March 12

Verily, Yon Auditons Hath Cleft Mine Spirits.

We arrived at the Montford Center Friday night at 7. This is a youth community building with a gym and climbing wall and rooms apparently used for art classes. It feels a lot like a high school building, complete with similar bathrooms and flooring. It's meant to keep the kids off the streets, and the Montford Players were using the ceramics room for the auditions.

There were four tables set up. The director and company poobahs are seated at the far tables, and another has the reading copies. The first table was for application forms, asking for all the personal stuff and affirming rehearsal and performance dates and the possibility of hold-over performances. These sheets ask you to tell of any conflicts and which parts you want to read for. I walked in confident that I shouldn't even read for Romeo. I'm 34. I have gray temples. I do not look like a 14-year-old Italian, and I was sure every college-age kid with a 12th-grade reading level would try for that part. Romeo's the lead. He's the hero (kinda). He gets to smooch the heroine. I write down the name of every male role except Romeo. I wanted to try for the running buddies (Benvolio or Mercutio), the enemies (Tybalt, Paris, Lord Capulet) and the older men (the friar, the Prince). If I had to pick just one part, it's Mercutio. He's a smartass, a bon vivant, and a haughty fighter.

So what part am I given to read first? Romeo. OF COURSE. The director assigned pairs to read and sent us out to read in the hall to prepare. This is the kind of audition I'm used to. Your Sis told the director she can't work the play dates but would love to read against potentials. He agreed, and she was tickled to do it. We both stood in the hall, half whispering our lines to our partners. My partner and I switched off the roles to cover our bases. We went back in after getting a handle on the scene and watched as the director called up the pairs for readings.

This is her first -ever audition, and she's nervous even though she isn't trying for a part. She doesn't know what the common understood protocol is, and she gets a little frustrated with me when I tell her I don't know what these guys will expect us to do. And I don't. Every company is different in how they do this stuff, and all one can do is read the best they can at a moment's notice. Get your breath, talk loudly, stand up straight so they can see your face as you read, and don't worry about physical acting.

A trap of William's plays is what I call "acting Shakespeare." We're so conditioned to see people portraying deadly earnestness and enunciated solemnity with his works. And if you don't know the play well, you wind up sounding like Jon Lovitz's Master Thespian. "I SHALL EV'R BESTRIDE YON COUPL'D BLAHBLAHBLAH (throw you chin high, stretch your arm forward, eyes wide open)." And that's what happened to the Juliets. Almost all of them project the role with a thorough dirth of mirth no matter what scene they read. Your Sis enjoyed reading Lady Cauplet against them, but she didn't get much to work with. They weren't relishing the puns or the utter horniness of the character.

In my scene, Romeo is dismayed because Rosaline, his first crush, won't give it up. Benvolio tries to console him. Now, it's a chunky scene for Romeo. He has longish whines about reality and love and chastity and death. I decided not to read it as one-note as it could have ben. Romeo carries the scene; he can't be monotone and he shouldn't be maxed out in his sadness. He's gotta bring the heavy despair later. Also, I think this crush is based purely on lust, and when he sees Juliet, he falls truly in love, so his emotions for Rosaline also can't be shown at their height. He has to have something more to show when he meets Juliet. So I played it somewhat for laughs. Two buddies are talking about girls. And the scene isn't written as dour as one might play it. Romeo jokes with his pal in a sarcastic way. I do get some laughs, even when we switch and I read Benvolio.

A funny thing happened during the auditions. The pairs read their assigned parts and then switched roles. Everyone was also compelled to also trade standing places. It's silly and it's needless, but it's instinct. If I was going to then read that guy's part, I needed to be where he was standing. Everyone did it.

The majority of the two hours was given to the Juliets, and I spent that time reading the other scenes and preparing my inflections. Two possible Romeos really looked the part, but I didn't paying much attention to them as I was reading the scripts. I didn't need to size up the competition; I wasn't getting Romeo. I was finally assigned another scene, this one featuring Mercutio and Benvolio. Mercutio tells his buddy that the latter's moody and eager to argue. Benvolio shrugs it off. This is two friends talking shit to each other, and it's a funny scene. We partner up, read in the hall, trade roles a few times, and go back in. When we read, we get good responses and a few laughs.

The allotted audition time flew by, and I didn't get to read all the parts I wanted to (Mercutio has a killer monologue outside Romeo's bedroom, the Prince goes Godfather on the two families, and Paris has no idea Juliet is insulting him), but we're all encouraged to come back this weekend for more audition time. I felt really good about this as we left. We go to a local dessert bar to exchange notes. She feels she didn't give the director what he asked for in Lady Cauplet, and I agree but add that I think he wanted her to play a blithe airhead. The part, however, doesn't read that way. Lady Capulet is her husband, and in that scene, they want Romeo's blood for killing Tybalt. This is the first time she's seen me audition or read Shakespeare allowed and she thought I hit the marks. From someone like her who can quote the play like a revival preacher can quote the Bible, I take it as a big compliment.

And, hey, if I don't get a role, my hot wife and I spent the evening acting some Shakespeare followed by big slices of cake. That's a good date.

Sunday's rehearsal
started OK. I read the Tybalt scene with Lord Capulet, and while I don't think I gave the director quite the level of ten hate he wanted, I think I hit the marks. I nailed the Paris scene with the friar. I mean, I hit a home run there.

But then walked in a guy from the previous summer's Tempest. He played Ariel. He's young. He apparently loves Jim Carrey. And his friend loves Will Farrell. And they proceeded to act the Romeo/Benvolio and Mercutio/Benvolio scenes as if they were Dane goddman Cook. Mercutio has a solo bit where he mocks Romeo while trying to roust him out of bed. It's a funny bit, one I wanted to do Friday night. But these guys hit ithe scene like it owes them money. It's antic, it's loud (the second guy screamed Romeo's name at the top of his lungs and held it), and all their humor has not one atom to do with the material. They not only don't work the puns, they run past the lines without getting the words right. And the director is loving it. I finally get my chance to do the Mercutio scene, but it's right after them. I'm trying to work the script instead of playing it like Chris Farley's motivational speaker, and it gets nothing from them.

Then he tells them to work Romeo's play entrance so broadly and mopey that the audience would, in his words, want slap him. This is the first impression he wants us to have of Romeo. And so they play it that way, but in doing so, they make the two-minute scene twice as long. It's ham fisted. It's vaudeville. It's -- you know what it is? It's Shatner. They play Romeo like they're impersonating Shatner. This is not the right scene for this kind of humor. That comes later.

I'm not jealous of their apparent success of cracking up the director. I'm mad that we didn't get such direction Friday. I know Shakespeare humor appeals to the simplest and lowest denominator. It should work on such a level. But wit is involved in these lines, and wit is ignored by that style.

I also get to read the friar's role in the scene with Paris, and I think I did OK there. But I worked against an actress who sits down in every reading. When she plays Juliet, she sits in dismay. In another scene, she sits in surrender. When she later plays Romeo, she sits in sadness. This is her thing. She acts with her ass.

The director constantly told us all not to worry about movement, and yet these kids were everywhere with slapstick, and one guy, I swear to God, ended his scene by clopping his heels together in midair when his character is supposed to start a street fight. I'm working against fucking pixies.

Do I sound like Dana Carvey's Cranky Old Man ("In my day, we ate gravel for grits. AND WE LIKED IT!")? I don't want to sound indignant. I'm, well, I'm flabbergasted at the turn the play took with these auditions, and frankly I have no idea if I have a place in the production. I was there for three hours, and I left exhausted. I feel just like I did after the second Gooper audition. I'm drained and doubtful I helped my cause.

There was one weird moment when an older guy came in to read for the prince. The director hands him the Act One monologue, and the actor says instead, he wants to recite what he's prepared: the Act Five prince speech memorized, apparently from the late '60s R&J film. And he does, and he sits back down, and he says not one more word. So, hey, I'm not that guy. I did try to give the director what he asked for. I just got eclipsed by a comedy team.

We'll supposedly find out Thursday what parts we're cast.

We saw 300 that night, and it's a solid adaptation of the comic and a mas macho film. This is a hard-R movie, and the packed audience was into it. Also, it has a great ending-credits sequence.

Picture of the Day