Getting Better

I really will try this without so much of the whiny pout-pout.

I was the first to get the hall and open it up. When the lights and fan are off, the hall is pleasantly cool. But once we crank up the stage lights and computers, the broiling begins. I suspect the ceiling fans are set to push down warm air.

I tried out my new sound file, and it worked slightly. What sounded like an even volume at home was again at three settings at the hall. I showed the sound tech how to work it, and it's at least easier than juggling three files in under a minute.

I also loaded up my WWII-song to finish the play. As I told the sound tech this, she showed me her CD of sax music. The last play mentions sax music, and I had heard the liaison mention using sax music to end the play and show, but it was never played during rehearsals. I asked the director (who's also acting in the play) about closing with some sort of music, and she seemed fine with me bringing in some music. I went with We'll Meet Again. It's a great tune. But last night, when given the choice, the director picked the sax music chosen by the sound tech. It's a light jazz version of I Will Always Love You.

I reminded myself that it's the director's choice, and that I'm not the director. The song isn't a bad idea, itself -- the title does fit with the reunion plot -- although it's about letting someone go to love someone else.

The actors asked a number of questions I couldn't answer or could only answer via whim.

When do we set up for make-up? Let's not wear any. Y'all look fine in the stage lights.

What about tickets for the open dress rehearsal? I've heard nothing about them.

Aren't we supposed to tell actors to park somewhere else? Are we? I guess so.

Why aren't the board members giving the opening speech? Why are you doing it? You've got too much to do. The assumption was that I'd do it. I'm trying to weasel out of it. But I've got my notes ready.

Why do the backdrop pieces look so ramshackle? They weren't designed to be backdrops, and we'll be lucky if they last the entire production.

Why aren't you doing (theatre tradition)? I didn't know about it.

This is why I insisted that I needed to apprentice before doing stuff like directing or managing. This is my fourth show with this company, and two of them were in a courtroom and a country-clubhouse. Everyone else knows more about what I'm expected to know. It's like a total-immersion language courses. Or shepherding older shepherds. Someone with more experience should do this. I answer so many questions with "I guess so" or "oh, right." Dammit, Jim. I'm a set mover, not a producer.

The show did run smoother last night as we tightened the set changes. I recruited two people to help me open curtains as the show opens and closes. And when the show actually begins, I'll have much less to keep track of. I'll be behind the curtain like the Wizard of Oz. Handing out trinkets and calling people "good deed-doers." When I did other shows with extended time backstage, I read books. This time, I need to keep an ear and eye out for tech trouble.

I make stage managing sound like shitwork. It's not. Not really. But it's a hundred times smoother and easier when the routines are established sooner in the rehearsal process. When I stage managed before, I had a blast doing it. I got my actors ready. I was their cheerleader. They knew I had their back, and the director knew I would make the play go like clockwork.

This is so slapdash and last-second that a veteran hand is called for. People appreciate my effort, but they are unsettled as things work differently because I don't know the precedents. I don't mind being overruled. I want this to go right. I'm obviously as out of the loop as they are.

Cripes, I AM Jack from Lost.

Picture of the Day
This is from the Saturday rehearsal. This is my play. The guy is proposing with a toy ring that's about to accidentally squirt his fiance with water. Behind them are the triangular towers. The gaps between them are unavoidable.

Only Nine More Times

Earlier in the day, I made checklists for each play on the back of business cards. I have two cards with two plays each, and an arrival/departure list for the power and equipment. For instance, I should unlock the bathroom door for the cast. Very important.

I got emails from my liaison not long after. He wants as much warning as possible before I cut the troublesome one-act. I assured him I would do that only if necessary. I said that, if there was another tantrum, I would bump that play to the end of the rehearsal, and they can leave last. That will keep them about an hour longer than if they behave and go second. He also sent me bullet points for the speech I'll make each night. I'm nervous about that until I remember that we'll only have about 20 people in the audience if we're lucky.

He discovered a few hours later that his backdrop scheme has a hiccup. We have four triangular towers on the stage. Each side is part of a larger backdrop scene. Before each play we turn them to to next play backdrop. But we have four plays, you say. There aren't enough sides. Right. That's why we plan to attach the fourth play's backdrops as panels to the triangular towers. He discovered that his plan would work if the towers were built stronger, and they aren't. Now he has to rethink their attachment. I will be the person hooking these things on before that play each night. He's not joyful. But, hey, he isn't working with the cast and crew.

I got to the hall half an early and met my liaison. My dinner rendezvous with the missus fell through, and I grabbed a Starbucks drink for dinner. Theatre diets are crash diets. We talked set design and tech stuff. He said he'd talk to the actress and suggested I keep her one-act no matter what. We agreed that it would be cruel to her teenage costar to cut the play at this late date. But still.

The actors petered in, and I showed my cast the change I made to the backstage area. They would now have an easier time getting the set offstage while I set up the next set. People are volunteering to help out with things like curtains and props, and it's a big help. Also, very heartening.

The actress presented no problems last night, and I wonder if my liaison mentioned my idea to her. Or maybe Saturday's tech was just a bad day. I think it was. We got along fine while we checked the props and set up her play. Her Elvis-themed play has three separate sound clips to start her show. The sound person has big trouble with this, and I saw why. She doesn't understand basic computing. Not that this program is all that convenient. For each track, she has to prep it to play, click it at the proper cue, and adjust the volume immediately. It takes fast reflexes. We got the timing right on the third try, but I told the actress I could make them into one track with one volume level. She was eager for that, and I told both of them I'd bring it in tomorrow. The two Elvis play actresses will close our curtains to end the first half of the show.

The light guy offered to help me set up the stage during intermission. Our triangle towers are not holding up well. They weren't made for this kind of activity, and our rapid turns are bruising them. We got through the last two plays, and I asked the final play cast if they wanted music to end the show. Currently, they end the play and our show in silence. They said yes. It's a play about two older strangers squabbling on a parkbench. As the show ends, they realize they were wartime sweethearts separated by happenstance and still madly in love with each other. I wanted a WWII song to end with, and I picked We'll Meet Again, the song from the end of Dr. Strangelove. That movie ends with that song playing over video of various nuclear explosions and the world ends. I don't think anyone will catch my audio comparison. But it's intentional.

This is the first summer show in the hall, and it's blazing hot. There are ceiling fans in lieu of air conditioning, and the stage lights are roasting the actors. I spend the entire rehearsal walking around and moving set pieces and talking to offstage crew and cast, and my feet are dead when we finally close up at 10. I think we'll lose audience members at intermission. They won't take the stifling air for a second hour.

I was exhausted when I got home, and it didn't help my mood. I am now convinced I was suckered into a shit job. Clearly no one wanted to do this. I've also been given the duty of the opening speech each night. This means I'll be the face of this show for the audience. I'll be the one they think of. It'll be seen as my product. I'm a scapegoat. That enrages me. I'm disappointed in my liaison for begging me to take this on. It feels intentional now, and I'm, well, I'm hurt. It's only my sense of professionalism that restrains me from walking away.

I made that sound file this morning and downloaded We'll Meet Again from Amazon. That feels like an accomplishment and another bit of Spackle applied to a barely cohesive production.

I need to make new card checklists for all things I realized I missed last night. We spent a good five minutes trying to turn on the stage lights. I control the master lights with a circuit panel backstage. This last-minute job requires much learning on the fly.

+ + +

I started my suit shopping before the Chicago trip. Men's Wearhouse offers a two-for-one deal on some suits, and that will do me nicely. My problem is this: Suits are built for chimps. I have a two-dimensional torso and my arms are too short. When I put on a slim jacket, the sleeves are at my thumbs. When I go up a size and could sneak a bison in my inside pocket, the sleeves fit fine.

Your Sister lost her bike license plate, and she spent much of yesterday looking for it. That why we couldn't have dinner. She's leaving Friday, and I'm missing all this time with her because of the damn play. I can't take her to or pick her up from the airport. This play confounds me at every turn.

In the News
I'm watching the Sotomayor confirmation hearings, and she's holding up with good spirits in the face of Senatorial grandstanding.

Picture of the Day
Why didn't I listen to Ackbar?

Someone Had to Do It

Tech rehearsal is always a blur, and I'll try to recall what I can (and what is worth the memory), but the top story is this: I'm the stage manager.

I don't want to. Nobody wanted to. That was the problem. I saw a rehearsal where no one was in charge, and I've never seen that before. I've seen directors lose their authority through incompetence or bitterness. I hadn't before entered a rehearsal with no ringleader. My liaison was a default mutual contact. He constructed the set and served as a hub for communication because he led the artistic committee, and this one-act anthology was arguably his creation. But he had also no interest in shepherding the show.

We were halfway through the first rehearsal of the entire show when he approached me sand said, in essence, if I didn't do this, the entire show would be a shambles. I could understand why. For three hours, I saw tech people, actors, and directors ask each other how the anthology would be stitched together, and the constant answer of "someone needs to ______" drifted through the legion hall. We had to organize the transitions between the one-acts, we had to catalog the props for the shows, we had to manage the progression of the rehearsal.

The incident that sparked my decision was this: a theatre stalwart threw a tantrum. Oh, I hear you. "What a rarity." And I can excuse her behavior as stemming from exhaustion. She took on too much. Two elements worked against her: her decision to act in a one-act she directed; and the desire of other actors to provide feedback. I don't like directors appearing in their shows. They need to stay removed to manage the production. Her show is very weak. It's 45 minutes of two people sitting and talking. It's lifeless. It's written badly, and I suspect it has no stage direction. Because of that probable flaw, the director has an immobile interaction. But that's not the worst part.

She doesn't project. She never has. She has a thin voice with a prominent accent and only total immersion allows you to grok her speaking style. When the first rehearsal was over, the major feedback (from too many eager helpers) was that she was inaudible. It was the truth, and she took it personally. Again, I think her schedule has left her weak and defenseless. I also think she too quickly pulls the martyr trigger. It's true the sound quality in not great in this old building. We all struggle with it. We have stage mics to help, but we all must project more than in other venues. It's a chore for us all. She reacted badly and threatened to quit. That was when my liaison had enough and asked me to step up. Not because I could win her over, but because this could incite a fatal spiral for the whole show.

So I said yes. The news spread quickly without a formal announcement. I could feel the relief. They just wanted someone at the wheel. We still had two one-acts to rehearse for the first of two times. We had been there for three hours already, and my first thought was to get this shit moving.

Let me go back to the beginning of the day. I went to the local charity furniture shop and officially picked out the table for my one-act. We'll use it free in exchange for a sponsor listing in the playbill. Turns out I had a painting class with the woman behind the counter. It's very small town.

I went to the legion hall to drop off my sound effects CD for the show. There I learned of the sound person, and it's the director from the courtroom play. The director who had a dramatic long-running argument with an actor and the same woman who had such trouble with the sound board for Scrooge. The theatre must be in dire, horrible straits if they must rely on this person to push the buttons. You might also remember that she called me to take the mom part in my one-act. I took her number, promised to keep her abreast, and blew her off. So here she is. Great. She never mentioned the part, to my relief.

The theatre soundmaster copied my files and adjusted files for the other shows. I watched the set construction and listened to concerns about the lack of coordinator. I again deferred. I needed first to see what how complicated the other shows were. The effort to get backstage help failed; there would be no extra people to move sets. It would be the actors and whoever was dumb enough to agree to be stage manager. I went back home.

At two o'clock, I met with my cast for a linethrough at the warehouse. It went OK. They're getting more lines straight as I bestow memory tricks. ("Your line is 'sit in your place of honor and put on your crown.' You have Place and Put. Two Ps. Use that.") We gathered up the props for this show and the other featuring two of my actors. This is the departure from the rehearsal space that underscores that we're creeping closer to opening night.

There was confusion about the time the rehearsal started. Some said 3, some said four. I had told my guys three for a long time, and I stuck by that. We had a regular volunteer who wanted to photograph the rehearsals for the newspaper, and she spent the first runthrough of shows snapping pics from a respectful distance. We couldn't start right away because the table set hadn't arrived yet. I had warned the actors that we'd adjust to the stage size and the new table and the presence of the rotating backdrops. It's a pinched space, and our first runthrough was awkward. There was a lot to adjust to, and they had no energy. As the second play started their rehearsal, I pulled my guys aside for notes.

The second play is what led to the tantrum and my decision. The third one-act is about fifteen minutes long, and the director of that play had to read for an actress who couldn't make it. That's inexcusable. We already had to bump our open rehearsal on Wednesday because someone won't be there. And it was here that I mentally made the distinction for my responsibility. I can't make the sound guys improve their competence, and I won't brush aside the directors for my own notes. I will help the one-acts take and leave the stage. I will cue the tech guys when the actors are ready for to go onstage. I won't micromanage.

I started taking notes of the other plays' props and sets and began mapping the backstage area. They won't require as much floorspace as I feared. My play clearly has to most props and furniture. The fourth play only needs a park bench, and it's the only piece not from my play that will sit on that side of the backstage area.

Now my understanding of a double-tech is different than what the tech guys expected. In my notion, you move only through the sound and lights cues for the first go-round, and then you rehearse the full plays. We didn't. We did the entire show twice. That didn't help the day end quicker, and if I had stepped up sooner, that would have been my first decree. Instead, I took the stage after the fourth play ended, asked for attention, and announced we were going to start again immediately, and that if actors weren't in that one-act, they could take half an hour to eat. We'd be through in 45 minutes, and the next show (featuring the crying actress) would start.

I showed my guys how I had arranged the play's furniture backstage and told them this is where it would return when we were through. They learned it, and we began. My demeanor had changed. I wasn't counting the seconds until I could go home. I was taking notes, walking throughout the hall, and talking louder. I was declaring and asking if people were ready. I was managing. I did it years ago for a musical with a ton of props and small set pieces. But I sat in on that show from the auditions. I didn't even have scripts for the other three shows. I relied on the actors/directors to tell me when they tech people missed a cue.

We started the second round of rehearsals at 7-something and ended at 10. Most of that delay was when the crying actress issued an ultimatum. If she was going to do the rehearsal without a body mic (which no one else was using) AND someone said she wasn't loud enough, she was quitting. Before I could tell her to go home, the sound guy worked up a body mic and spent that play's rehearsal adjusting the speakers. He was pissed, and he should have been. She did the show, and she refused to talk above her normal Southern mumble. So she'll have a mic and remain barely audible, and her interminable, inaudible one-act will be the dog of the shows. It's a shame. She and the younger actress have learned a shitload of lines.

I also decided that another such ultimatum will remove her one-act, and we'll do the entire show without an intermission. I don't intend to address this Monday unless she pulls this stunt again.

When I addressed everyone about eating, I asked them to ask the tech crew what they wanted to eat and grab it for them. The theatre would reimburse them. I had no idea if this was how it worked, but the crew gotta eat. They can't leave like the offstage actors can. Well, that request didn't happen. They didn't eat. I didn't eat. If you're keeping score, that's seven hours without a meal. So if someone tries to relive the diva fit Monday for some sort of cathartic confrontation, I'll remind him or her that they abandoned the crew. So we'll let Saturday stay in the past.

I continued to make tech notes as the one-acts continued, and I gave the fourth play some feedback only because they asked for it. They took it very well. They also have the best projection, and we'll need them to use their clear voice to wake up the audience.

The soundmaster showed me how to close up the hall, and I got home to find Your Sister waiting with a pizza and a 40 of Smirnoff Ice. I love Your Sister. I ranted and apologized for the late supper and crashed heavy for the night.

Your Sister said accepting the manager position makes me Jack from Lost. I shall now cry every other sentence.

On Sunday, I met with my liaison, the guy who gave me the hard sell about managing, and we exchanged notes. I told him of my notion to cut the second-one-act if the actress makes the ultimatum again. He wasn't happy.

"What about the posters? We promised four plays."
"What about the other actors," I said. "What about the people who showed up on time, ready to rehearse? I can't let them sit while she decides IF she wants to rehearse. I can't reward that behavior."

If they don't like the way I stage-manage, they can find someone else. They wanted me. They got me. This play is on my schedule now. And that's when I realized my new role is a thrill. I GET to be stage manager. I get to make the decisions. I get to spank divas and reward hard workers.

My priority is to ensure these actors don't feel they wasted their time. I can't make the show perfect in less than a week. I won't try. But I can help the actors get through it.

My liaison said he'd call the actress, play dumb, and hear her side of the story. He'd also remind her to be a professional. I hope it works. Again, tech rehearsals are never fun, and I'd love to keep Saturday behind us.

On Sunday, Your Parents came over to fix the dry wall when it was damaged from last year's water-heater explosion. We fed them for their trouble, but I was distracted by mental organizing for the show. I even dreamed about it. I don't want to reinvent the wheel. I just want to make it run smoothly.

But, secretly, honestly, I hope the diva says something. I've got my speech ready.

Starting tonight, we assemble ten times, including the performances. Ten times, and we're through. I've been in shows that had more performances than that. This is do-able.

Oh, speaking of ultimatums (ultimatae?), I told Your Sister she is not seeing this show. She'll be gone most of it for a vacation, but still. I never issue decrees like this, but it's for the best. We need to minimize exposure to it within the house.

Remember, they asked her to stage manage this show too. What if the diva had pulled that shit with Your Sister? I would have to hide the body in the forest.

Picture of the Day
Did someone say House?

Not My Job

I got confirmation that the traditional Wednesday open dress rehearsal will be moved to Thursday next week. One of the other one-act actors has a conflict and claims she mentioned this upfront. It is a bit unusual in that the theatre always has an open Wednesday rehearsal before a show opens on Friday. The Thursday is left open for the cast to rest up after a week of rehearsals or to add an additional rehearsal if the show is weak (we used our Thursday for Scrooge; didn't help.). This is a theatre tradition. I wouldn't expect the theatre to bump that for me if I had a conflict. I would not have signed up for the show in this case. It's yet another hiccup, but it does provide my cast with a possible extra night to rehearse if they want it. I'll let them decide. Unless next Monday and Tuesday are horrible, and I'll mandate it.

My theatre liaison called me to say he thinks he found a table and chairs set for us to use in the play. We've been using the generic aluminum trim folding table for practice and our reading-format performance. I won't see it until Saturday, and that doesn't give me much time to find a replacement if that doesn't work. I need a big table for all our props. Four people sit around this table for a number of pages; they need elbow room. The theatre has to consider future shows when it buys furniture, and our needs can't override that consideration.

When I got to the warehouse, the cast was seated and running the script. I sat off to the side to offer lines when needed. I pantomimed the lines to spark their memory. When the responsible daughter cried out that she loved her fiance, I clasped my hands under my chin and made moon eyes. I could do that for the whole show in a hidden box at the end of the stage. That's a noble tradition of the theatre we need to bring back.

I passed along the notes about the table and dress rehearsal to the cast, and they all wanted to know if the theatre had picked a stage manager yet. I said no. As we set up for a full rehearsal, my cell phone rang. It was a longtime backstage manager asking me to stage manage the one-acts. She said she already called Your Sister and learned she was out of town during the show. That's how desperate they are. Nothing against Your Sister, but she hasn't worked with this group at all.

Would I do it, the voice asked; we really need you to do it. I explained that I wouldn't do anything that would distract me from my cast, and I'm not confident about learning the sets and props for three other shows less than a week before we open. I gave her a "qualified maybe" only because we do need an overall stage manager, and my half-assed effort might be better than no one. But I can't be impartial. If a conflict arises backstage, I'm going to advocate my guys. That's my priority.

I again refer to the multitude of shows running in a short span. We have run out of people (why this voice couldn't do the job was never explained; she was supposed to stage manage Rainmaker for these exact same dates). I don't want to arrive at the theatre 90 minutes before the show starts. I don't want to be responsible for the other shows. I feel responsible for my one-act and its props. Why don't the other directors feel the same way about their shows? Why would they concede responsibility to me for these things? I'm stage managing my show. They have to manage theirs.

A stage manager traditionally shadows the director as soon as rehearsal starts, sometimes as early as the auditions. The stage manager learns the show as the actors do and makes sure they can do their jobs onstage. They rely on the stage manager. The position is crucial. You don't pick someone a week before the show starts. That handicaps their ability to understand what the cast needs during the performance.

I might still do it if only to make this goodbye to the stage more impeachable. After directing a show for four months -- four months! -- and buying all our props with my own money and possibly taking on stage manager duties for three other one-acts at the last second, my subsequent refusals to stick my neck in the lion's mouth will have more heft. Saying yes to this would seal the deal for me. The ultimate straw in a long line of crushing weights.

The rehearsal went OK. The cast have about a dozen lines they trip over, but they still have time to fix that up. We agreed to meet before Saturday's double-tech to run lines, and we could still assemble Wednesday before Thursday's open rehearsal. I got some nice comments about directing when I suggested tricks to remember lines. We compared the length of the table found by the liaison to the table we've rehearsed with for months. The new table sounds way too small, but I'll measure it tomorrow morning. If it's too small, we'll use a practice table and cover it in a table cloth. One of the actors offered four matching chairs for us to use, and we may, despite my reservations about using personal items for props. They'll break. Stage use is tough on props.

There's no rehearsal tonight, and I'll make another sound FX CD and rig our empty beer cans to keep them from falling over so easily. I'm not looking forward to tech, but it's one day closer to the beginning of the end.

+ + +

We continue to pluck squash and cucumber from the garden and gobble them in salads. I'm going to sneeze seeds soon.

In the News
The 9th Circuit Court of Appeals overruled a lower-court judge who said pharmacies can refuse to offer Plan B. The defendant pharmacies cited religious convictions that Plan B is too similar to abortion and couldn't prove it in good conscience. I can see that argument from a simple POV. Small-business owners shouldn't be required to carry wares they object to. In a broad hypothetical, no, the local gas station doesn't have to sell Toyotas. But, when pharmacies have to follow the state department of health that requires "the dispensation of legal medications, including Plan B, for any pharmacy," then the argument is over. The result is the proper conclusion, anyway.

It's not a new debate. Pharmacists have refused to full out orders for the Pill on the same objections. And that's retarded. Pharmacies don't prescribe and they can't un-prescribe. They literally follow the doctor's orders. If a pharmacist refused to fill out a doctor's slip, there should be repercussions. If a waitress objects to me ordering meat and refuses to carry the sirloin to my table, she's gone. No difference. You go into business for distributing medicine, you can't veto the doctor that prescribes the medicine. That's how the job works, and they knew that when they attended and graduated pharmacological schools. Get another job.

Also, I'd beta lot of money the objecting pharmacies sell condoms.

Picture of the Day
Obama on D-Day.

Smoothing the Fur

I got to the warehouse just in time to start setting up the set for rehearsal. I bought a rear-view mirror from Target for the mom's walker. We still don't know when the open dress rehearsal will be nor do we know if we have real furniture for the play. If not, we'll use the folding table we've rehearsed with. We'll need a tablecloth for it anyway.

The rehearsal was much like Monday's. The mom actress doesn't have anyone to run lines with at home, and this is her only chance. She asked if we could add a practice, but the other actors have scheduled stuff on Friday. I suggested we meet before Saturday's double-tech and told them to think about it.

The cast realized they could meet before I came into town Thursday night, and they'll run lines without me. I'll show up, we'll run the whole play, and go back to tackle problem areas, like a normal rehearsal. We haven't been able to do this before because two of my actors rehearse their other one-act an hour after we start ours. But Thursday, they're meeting before us. That frees up the evening for our play.

There were some line problems, but again they know the meat of the play. They're fighting themselves over exact wording and delivering the line at the right time. I tried to hand them mnemonic devices, the kind of tricks I use. If an actor uses a word I use immediately after, I know my line is cued directly from theirs. I told them to consider the previous character's relationship to theirs. The basics of development and delivery. We haven't had the time to tighten these bolts until now what with holidays and summer vacations. I think we're in good shape to sharpen our play before we have an audience. We're clearly the most complicated one-act of the four; we have more people, more props, and more lines.

I don't feel the pressure they do. They'll be onstage. I'm not. I want them to feel as prepared as feasible, and I've offered to help them run lines over the weekend. I've tried to be a good-natured director. When I give them specific direction, I refer to them only by character name. I whisper "good" when they've successfully gotten through a tricky page. I assure them the play is in front of me, and that they need only worry about giving the other actors the correct cue lines. They're beating themselves up sometimes, as good actors will, and I calm them down with a one-liner. I try to keep the atmosphere light. We're not dealing with accents or tricky costume changes or complicated movements. It's a simple show that asks for a lot of props, but those props are visual cues for lines and behavior.

The mom character has so many scripted laughs. It's designed to be a mocking laugh, a punctuation of someone's misstep. When it's time for it and the mom has blanked, I use my opera voice and yell "LAUGH OF VICTORY!" and she gets it and uses it and they continue.

We have three rehearsals after Saturday. Saturday will allow us one on-stage rehearsal after we establish our light and sound cues. That shouldn't take long at all. I have my CD of sounds to hand the sound operator, and we have only two light cues. The other one-acts will mark their tech cues, and then we'll run the entire show. This shouldn't take the whole night, but I'm afraid it will.

Your Sister picked some cucumbers and offered them to the neighbors. They had no idea we had a garden, so they were a mite surprised when she walked up bearing veggies, a nutritious Lady of the Lake.

Today in Cattiness
You might remember last year when I posted about the school's new volleyball coaches.

I said this:

The school hired a team of spouses to handle both teams. I know the husband coaches local volleyball in the offseason, and I think she may as well. To the relief of many parents, the varsity team now has a male coach, a development thought to magically make them better in the toughest conference in the state. I assume he can use a shorthand developed in previous years, and that may help, but if this team doesn't win their division or the playoffs, this season will be seen as a failure. For the vocal parents to be satisfied, these coaches have to surpass what Your Sis and the other coach provided. And keep in mind, Your Sis ended her final season with a 4-1 winning ratio.

They lasted less than a year. The newspaper has run employment notices for two new coaches since school let out for the summer. Your Sister is practically vibrating in hopes that someone will slink back to her and ask her to coach the team. It will be like Rorschach's speech from Watchmen. "The world will look up to us and scream 'save us.' And I'll whisper, 'no.' "And she will. She won't go back to the dumb parents and pouty players. She's not proud to enjoy the tiny tenure of professional coaches in the school system, but enjoy it she does.

Picture of the Day
My new run regiment chart.

Brief Transmission

I slept in today and didn't run. I'll regret that. I took Your Sis out for a quick burrito dinner followed by a sundae at the soda shop. We were surrounded by camp kids from the local college. She picked up some ceramic knickknacks for the play, and I've almost taken care of the entire prop list.

My Mom gave us her old piano books, and Your Sis is starting to play again. I'll crack them open in a few weeks when Your Sister is in Maine.

By the way, Your Sister is going to Maine.

I played the online game again. My free demo ends Saturday, and I won't play it anymore. It's addictive. I can't sit for hours in front of the screen again and rush to bed. It wrecks the sleep patterns. I see why full-time gamers chug Red Bull while playing; it's exhausting.

Moving Picture of the Day
Cooking With Villainy was but a taste of the untapped hilarity within Dr. Doom.

Glee and Gratitude

I called the Broadway revue director and settled the rehearsal mess. We'll skip Tuesday and rehearse Wednesday and Thursday. We'll take Friday off and run our double tech Saturday. The cast was amenable. I had the majority of props together and showed them the new stuff. They approved. I had to set up everything and find props moved by the youth camp before we started. That and the schedule explanation got us started late, but once we started, they blew me away.

They have clearly worked on their lines. This was our first run without scripts, and it's the universal clumsy rehearsal. Everyone stumbles on this step. You don't know that you know the lines. But you do. You get in your own way. You second-guess.The new props helped a bit to cue their lines. They were getting frustrated early, and I called time out to soothe them and explain that I'd feed them lines if they asked, but they had to relax. We still have time to learn this stuff.

They chilled and rolled through. We stopped a few times to straighten out lines and movement, but my end notes consisted of lavishing them with praise and congratulating them for getting through the hardest rehearsal of every play. I tried to keep it light and fun, and we laughed through it. It was a fantastic feeling. I have a great cast who understand where they need to be and what they have to do to get there. I was elated driving back home. The off-stage stuff drives me to murder, but the play work is the polar opposite. It's dizzying. They even offered to bring in props from home, but I fear they'll break. It's inevitable. I can get the rest of the props cheap at secondhand stores. But I appreciate the offer. We are going to destroy the other one-acts. I am confident beyond confidence.

I spent the evening playing an online superhero game with people through the state. I think I blinked five times.

I hit my fastest run time so far for two miles, 17: 19. That's 9 seconds faster than my previous record. We went to the local lawyer to settle my legal papers. It's the same guy who helped us sign our house and officiated our formal wedding. Great guy.

In the News
NPR posted a story reacting to an editorial mandate that Supergirl wear shorts under the skirt.

The man in question: DC Comics editor Matt Idleson. The pronouncement he issued was just eight words long, but such is its paradigm-shattering power that it will surely stand one day in the annals of comic book history, alongside "With great power comes great responsibility," "Truth, Justice and the American Way," and "Shazam!"

Thus spake Idleson:

"I never want to see Supergirl's panties again."

About time too. Supergirl's a teenager, and artists use her for blatant cheesecake. This link brought to you by Curmudgeon Airlines.

Picture of the Day
This is Jessie, and we hung out with her at DragonCon last year. She loves Supergirl and understands that she's part of the Superfranchise and has to uphold a reputation.

A Working Holiday

The minicomic story is done and finished and completed and over.

After a rough-draft rant of memory, I made 6 x 7.5 boxes to sketch out the panels. I then jotted down loose text boxes on each panel to see how the comic would read. I made my comic pages, scanned them, and applied the letter boxes in Illustrator. I colored it in Photoshop and printed it for proofing. I had it done before Sunday afternoon, and it's remarkably close to my initial idea. I've never made a two-pager this quickly.



I emailed it to my publisher Sunday and found out today -- the deadline -- that it's sideways. Fuck.

Here's the cover of the comic. It will be distributed exclusively at the nation's biggest geek convention.


Mom drove up on Saturday. We took her to the college for the fireworks. Your Sister made a picnic, and we arrived two hours early to grab a good watching spot. Much conversation ensued, including the debate of Sinatra vs. Elvis as Entertainer of the Century. Mom also suggested Sammy Davis Jr, and I'd argue he's pound-for-pound the best entertainer in his weight class, but the other two are heavyweights. I made pancakes and bacon the next morning before she drove home.

Your Sis and I sat down to watch coverage of the Palin resignation (more below), and we turned to the Wimbledon men's final for just a few minutes. That turned into 90 minutes as the fifth set was a marathon. I'm no fan of Andy Roddick, but this was his best match yet. If he can build on it for the U.S. Open in August, he could win his second major. That night we watched the director's cut of Das Boot but stopped after two-and-a-half hours. We'll pick it up again soon. It's good. Your Sis remembers seeing it in Germany. This version is dubbed, badly, in English.

I was given sucky news about the plays. Because there are now five shows in rehearsal and there is no schedule coordinator, I was told my planned Tuesday rehearsal will have to relocate. The new Broadway revue needs our space; the theater's piano is in the warehouse now because that's where the annual summer youth camp will be held. My calendar, however, says it was to be held in the performing hall. I'm finding this out at 8 p.m. last night. We can move to the performing hall for one night, I suppose, but we won't have air conditioning or our furniture. Also, the camp's presence in the warehouse means we have to pack up our props after each rehearsal this week. That cuts into our practice time.

I called the titular production manager to see what the protocol is for this. I don't know what my options are. I was told, essentially, I can have no rehearsal Tuesday or move it to another location. I got no support. Our one-act got no support, I should say. We open next week. The review opens in three. Seems they are the secondary priority.

This might be my really and truly last straw. I may finish this show and never take that stage again. It's not worth this level of frustration to weave together basic competence and communication. I can do comics instead. I might stay on as publicity director, if that job is ever officially handed to me, because it takes relatively so little time.

I bought small props for the show but not the ceramic knickknacks. The local store for such stuff was right next to the theatre's street-festival booth this weekend, and I wanted to avoid it.

In the News
If anyone knows the real reason why Sarah Palin quit, they ain't saying. The conservatives have dismissed her as a "quitter" who can no longer even claim to be a on-term governor if she does try to run in 2012. Many rumors are flying about kickbacks regarding a local construction business. But that sounds like small potatoes compared to everything else that dogged her on the White House campaign.

My guess: She has for all intents starred in a reality show for over a year. She got more attention than she wanted or rather she got more bad attention that she wanted, and she's tired of it. it's not fun anymore. That's my most benevolent assumption. The worst assumption is that she actually signed to a new reality show to follow her large family.

Out Here in the Fields

I'm writing this in the middle of the afternoon. I'm off from work for July 4, and I've spent much of the day in fourth gear.

I got home yesterday to find Your Sister grilling veggies. She asked me to get more, and I strolled the 30 yards to the garden, found a squash and cucumber, plucked them the vines, and handed them over. And we ate them. That will never get old. She grilled the squash, and the cucumber went in a salad. They were good. Framer Greg has had a good year so far.

Got up this morning and went straight back to the garden. I planted two more rows of corn with the now-regular ritual: hoe, manure, seed, compost, dirt, water. It's the opposite of toil. It's work, sure; my Cubs hat is a ratbag mess. But it's a calming ceremony. I've found a method of serenity punctuated by cursing the weeds and chopping the dirt. The iPod helps too. It helps everything. I pulverized the charcoal from last night's dinner and added the dust to the compost bin. It's alive with worms. Fat, pale worms joyous with our dirt. If crane to listen, you can hear them sing the American Bandstand theme.

I washed off my sneakers and decided I wasn't enervated enough. That's what farming does to me; it gives me enough of a high to run 3 miles on whimsy. I chucked off the dirty clothes, threw on the running togs, whispered bye to Your Sleeping Sister, and ran a 5k course. I'm willing to admit I may be stupid. I encountered high-school track girls and felt decrepit, like a running numeral 6. See that number? Just give it feet. That's me, I'm sure they thought.

I got home, cleaned up, and bought Your Not-Sleeping Sister Starbucks tea. I found the rare and treasured free bag of coffee grounds and snatched it up with an audible gasp. They had two bags. I got one. No need to be greedy. That stuff will go on the veggies tomorrow. She worked on the front yard weeds while I started the mini-comic. I type this having the entire thing penciled already, and now I hope to ink it before I go back to bed and rest my sore bones. We stopped for Mexican lunch, and she's on the couch reading some math textbooks.

Picture of the Day
Might as well jump. Go ahead and jump.

One Rehearsal This Week

This week's only rehearsal gave plenty of time in the days before and after for the actors to work on memorization. And they did. I was impressed with what they brought to the warehouse and patted them on the heads for their effort. We did one runthrough, as as the habit now, and the play is starting to take flight.

The biggest difference is the mom actress. She wants to develop the character more than the script calls for, and I may have to rein in her anger. I didn't worry about delivery so much this week. As I told them nay times, we'll start tightening next week. We'll work with props, get the lines exactly right, and adjust the moments between characters. Not this week.

With scripts out of hands (and a walker in Mom's), new things emerge. For instance, when the suitor of the responsible daughter offers flowers, the mother didn't take them in hand. She stared at them with suspicion. The script doesn't say she takes them (there are so few stage directions), and her refusal to touch them cracked us all up. I don't think it was a conscious choice; the mom wanted to keep her hands on her walker at all times. But it worked so well, I want to keep it. Things like this happened all through the practice.

I adjusted the rehearsal space to mirror the stage set-up, and that required us to alter our entrances and exits. Nothing big. It does allow the responsible daughter to kiss the mom goodbye as she leaves. It also lets the irresponsible daughter indulge in more comic acting as she follows mom out the kitchen door at the play's end. The actors say they like where we're headed. We've got two weeks from tomorrow before we hit the stage, and I think we'll be just fine.

I like directing, I have to say. This show probably will ruin me for any future assignments. I have a simple set, a small cast, and a short script. We collaborate and compromise and try new things. They've learned to work with me as I have with them. I'm glad to have had the chance. Not so glad to do this two times in a row, mind you, but I do get essentially an immediate do-over for which I'm grateful.

Your Sister is a weeding machine, and she was out in the yard with gloves and wheelbarrow as I left for work. I didn't run today; I did arm and stomach exercises instead. She made a curry dish last night using a recipe you brought back from South Africa, and it was good -- baby corn, rice, cilantro, and chicken thighs. I couldn't finish it before rehearsal but did as soon as I got back.

Alexander McCall Smith is announced to read from his works next April in Greenville, and I think she wants to go. The same venue is presenting Wicked, and I'd gladly see it if I could wear thick earplugs. I want to see how they move the stage pieces, but that music is a curse on humanity. The big song, Defying Gravity, was made famous by the original actress's ability to hit a money note, and I bet many a ticket-goer will be disappointed when the touring actress misses the mark. One of the NY Times reviewers lamented that modern productions demand such vocal acrobatics that performers burn out and shorten their careers. I believe it.

The touring performers are quite good, and many come direct from the Broadway version of their traveling shows. But that slog has to affect their skills, and I don't fault them for staying in a lower gear onstage at times to maintain their energy. The same house is offering South Pacific, and I want to see that again for a a technical stunt: When the lead sings I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair, she actually showers onstage. When the show debut on Broadway, that piece of stagecraft alone got a standing ovation. Yes, many a stage version of Singin' in the Rain has a piped-in rainstorm, but the other show's actress has to sing while lathering her head.

+ + +

The news over here is the same. Jackson rumors fly around about his will, his kids, his estate, his ex-wife. It smothers all other events. The healthcare debate continues. California and New York are in budgetary standstills. Mark Sanford seems to have finally decided to stop talking about his loves.

Another round of Tea Party protests is scheduled for Saturday's holiday. A local representative was interviews by the NPR station and asserted that the founding fathers guaranteed "the rights to life, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness." That third one sounds new. I mean, I get the idea, especially for the entrepreneurial minded, but it's not an inalienable right as enumerated and can't be casually lumped in. Not if you're arguing for strict interpretation of the Constitution as conservatives profess. Most important, that inalienable rights bit isn't in the Constitution. It's in the Declaration, a document that asserts rights but has no strength to establish them. These details are important if you want to win people to your side.

Picture of the Day
The attendees of the annual Glastonbury Music Festival in Scotland. I stopped counting at three.

A New Project

There's a 5k race this weekend, the traditional Firecracker Run. It's one of a handful that go downtown. I considered entering it; I am running all the time now, and this would be a good test of my progress. But I received this email from the race organizers:

This year there will be a little congestion problem. It seems that the Tail Gate Market will be set up adjacent to the FINISH Line and will be taking up most of the parking lot along S Gaston St and Varsity St. There is still ample parking in the area. You will be given further instructions about the problem on Varsity St as you are coming into the FINISH Line.

Maybe I'm reading this wrong, but it seems to say that runners will be told of the course's end only after they've started the race. Screw that. We've seen this exact cock-up a few years back, and runners turned the wrong direction about a quarter-mile from the finish. I'm amused that no one thought to schedule this against the tailgate farmers. They practically predate the streetlights.

The races were recently taken over by the local rotarians, and this kind of confusion is the new norm. The first race they organized featured a drink station that consisted of a six-inch-tall cardboard box and a woman who hadn't made any drinks beforehand. I saw a runner do laps around her while she poured his drink. I'm not encouraged to give them my registration money, not when I can simply run through downtown before the shops open.

We'll host Mom this weekend, and I'll do some prop shopping for the show. I also have a new sudden deadline. The comic publisher is slapping together a Michael Jackson-themed comic for the nation's biggest convention, ComicCon in San Diego. I agreed to do two pages at mini-comic size for July 6. It's to be b/w with no mention of his kid trouble. I'll probably write about my summer camp/Thriller story.

...

I just took a break to jot down a first draft. It came easy, and this should be a feasible assignment. I wanted to do a memoir comic again, and I'm flattered to be asked by the publisher.

Your Sister thought I had rehearsal yesterday and made an appropriate light dinner. This is despite the fridge calendar screaming the rehearsal date for today. She couldn't get it right even after we ate.

"So, you're leaving soon, right?"
"What?
"Rehearsal? 7:30."
"That's still tomorrow."
"Oh. Okay."
"Do I need to go? Is Mark Sanford coming over?"
"No, no."

Speaking of, this guy's a schmo. He now admits to seeing his mistress more than he confessed in his mea cupla conference. Also, he says he's "crossed the line" with other women without, he says, "crossing the ultimate line." Now that's a loaded phrase for a Christian adult. The realm of activities that may not constitute his notion of sex could be crowded. It's an ambiguous term. For him, "does the ultimate line" mean full-hearted love?

He's obviously tomcatting around. We don't know what his wife knew, and I don't want to see her grilled. She's made it clear she won't tolerate adultery. But we don't know if their relationship is harmed more by his affairs of the pants or the heart. Seems clear that he stayed married for his career; he's on the record as saying this other woman is his soulmate, but he's trying to fall back in love with his wife. His words. That's sad. It's downright brutal for his kids, and for that forced ignominy, he should be launched into space.

But to treat Your Wife this way, to say things best not plastered in papers and on cable news, it sounds mindless. Or completely calculated. If he pretends to want reconciliation, he wants pity after she inevitably and rightfully drops his lying ass. "I wanted it to work," he'll say. "But she wanted something else." Sanford, was wronged, he hopes we'll say. He 's no longer working to earn our respect for Doing the Right Thing. He wants sympathy for a plight he wholly created.

I'm not bothered by his affairs. That's between him and his wife to deal with. I'm bothered by his public packaging of the matter. I don't like his proud humility. He wants very much for us to see him gladly burdened by consequence and remorse. A hairshirt happily donned isn't the punishment it's meant to be. His comparison to King David is a sly way of saying he's as much a sinner but also as prominent a ruler.

An interesting proposal was made last week that the Democrats should now push for a national gay-marriage law. The Republicans have lost the moral high ground with the Nevada and South Carolina governor affairs. Gingrich and Limbaugh can't talk about the sanctity of marriage to the mainstream, not with their six combined marriages. What argument is left? These prominent disregards for the vaunted institution undercut the common objection to gay marriage. They can't possibly taint matrimony any more than these hypocritical finger-waggers.

I never understood the logic of gay marriage harming straight marriages. It will take more than gay married neighbors to affect what Your Sis and I have. Bunches more. Maybe alligator ninjas.

She spent much of yesterday rearranging the garage and workshed. She says she can't bear to sleep in while I get up and run. I think she needs to muddle through chores so she can allow herself to play online later. That's fine. I work the same way.

Picture of the Day
I miss new Lost.

Lots of Much.

Setting up a laptop is serious business. Your Sister's has a fingerprint scanner for security and provides a touch screen similar to that of an iPhone. But it does not simply turn on and get rolling. It's a Vista Windows machine too and, she's learning why Vista has its reputation. She learned she can watch some Netflix movies on her laptop via the new modem, and she's interested in the Tudors series from Showtime.

I used the magic modem to try an online superhero game, and it's a blast. You make a costume, assign the powers, and immediately get to beat up thugs. The game has a tutorial -- unlike World of Warcraft -- and it's right up my alley. I now have to pry myself out of the workshop.

Our Saturday morning theatre meeting was sparsely attended and accomplished little. The crunch of shows is evident as we look for show runners, stage crew, tech crew, and street festival volunteers. This is just what I feared would happen. No one wants to raise his hand; everyone is burned out. I got to see the stage and measure our movement space. It's not as bad as I thought, but the limited curtain options restricts our entrance choices. I also learned how to set up a sound board from the Scrooge actor. He knows his stuff.

I learned last week that all theatre positions are volunteer. No one gets paid. Here lies a fundamental problem. There's is no incentive to do the best work consistently, and there is no penalty for failure. The theatre can't dismiss people; they need the warm bodies. Every theatre needs, at least, people on retainer for such positions. Now I know why the posters all use clip art. Why should a publicity director spend hours on artwork if he's paid the same amount to find something online?

We bought ourselves a ventless gas stove as part of our master plan for the living room. Instead of my mural idea, Your Sister prefers a wall of bookshelves. We talked to a local cabinet company for designs, and the stove will anchor the structure. We also need to stamp our books with our hyphenated library name.

I staked the tomatoes in the morning. The garden is that time period when the plants explode with food. I mowed the yard and weeded the borders, and the flying grass turned me into a green Wookie. Ares of sod washed down the shower drain. That much yardwork replaces a run as far as this correspondent is concerned.

We watched much sport this weekend. The National track and field championships were held at the University of Oregon, and we watched the US-Brazil soccer game from South Africa. The constant horns in the audience are infuriating, and I might not last the whole World Cup if they're blaring every game.

Sunday night, we returned from an outdoor dinner to survey the mowed and weeded yard. We plucked our first produce: two yellow squash and a cucumber. This squash has fuzzy hair on it unlike last year's butternuts and acorns. They will be grilled later in the week. We decided that there was no need to wait to pluck and gobble as we'll be up to our belts in squash and cucumbers, judging by the vines.

I stood in the backyard with my bride, holding my meager garden harvest, in a summer day with light breeze and fading light. It was a good moment. The night got better when I signed and stamped the last check for my student loans. I'm all paid up. It's done. We cracked open Smirnoff Ice and toasted the memories of school and career, and I drank too much to run the next morning. I can live with that.

In the News
Michael Jackson is all over the radio. This American Life used song titles for their segments, and the NPR money show uses his songs for bumper music. We heard Thriller as we drove home last night. I downloaded Scream for running music. The BET Awards was dedicated to his legacy.

Sunday, we lost Billy Mays, the bearded TV pitchman who liked to yell. He entertained me and had a good sense of humor about his place in TV culture.

Picture of the Day
A volcano eruption seen from the space station.

New Technology

Your Sister bought herself a laptop. She browsed models yesterday and found one that had all she wanted, including a touch screen with stylus. Her late school version had the same feature. It's an Hewlett-Packard, and it was on sale. The Macs were too expensive and alien for her. We saw an HP PC last year and were bedazzled by its Mac-like structure (the tower is in the monitor), but it was priced as much as a comparable Mac desktop.

She also offered to buy my next digital camera, an upgrade I need for the work convention next month. In just a short amount of time, cameras have become incredibly small, and the memory cards can swallow piles of pictures. I love the camera she bought me seven years ago. It was just what I needed. But it's on the threshold of picture resolution for magazine printing. I need a new one, and the prices are almost half what my current camera cost. She's offering to buy the camera as an early birthday present. I'll also need to buy a suit for the convention's posh dinner of honors. I knew I needed a new one, but I didn't want to buy a new one until I slimmed down. Here I am, a svelte 173 pounds. Your Sis is a bit amazed.

The rehearsal last night was just one runthrough with the new actress following her movement notes. She did OK. The veteran actors from the first performance are playing with delivery in a relaxed manner, and it's bringing out the comedy. I encourage it as we're so early in rehearsals. I noted their efforts and reminded them of our one rehearsal next week. They said they'd come in for that meeting with many lines memorized. I won't make them play with props then; we'll save that for the following week. Even though we don't have much time before we take the stage, we're already in a good place. I have the rare opportunity to direct a show with actors familiar with the material and a new actor walking in and energizing the veterans.

In The News
The national media dropped everything to cover Michal Jackson's death. ABC replaced Grey's Anatomy with reruns of Jackson interviews and live coverage from the UCLA Medical Center. MTV went with live news coverage and Jackson videos. The cable news networks stopped their programming to cover the reaction to his death and recap his later scandals.

His last musical hurrah was this 1995 duet with sister Janet. It has all the hallmarks of his big hits: the staccato drums, the background harmonies, Michael impersonating James Brown on the verses. The video proves that while Janet was a game dancer, Michael had total physical control. The man was an entertainment machine.





I'm not moved by his death because he stopped being musically relevant a decade ago. Also, he at the very least was wildly inappropriate with children. He devolved into secluded psychosis, and he lost his golden musical touch. Efforts to work with current, hot producers failed to hook the young audiences. He was of course incredibly popular overseas as the total sell-out of his questionable 50-date London tour proved. He was coasting on past success.

But what success to milk. An NPR interview today suggested he was the synapse between black and mainstream music. I certainly don't remember a young black performer having his prominence even before Thriller. It was said more than a year ago that Jackson's acceptance by white audiences paved the way for the marketing success and cultural adoration of Michael Jordan and then Tiger Woods and Will Smith and then Obama.

I remember our Baptist summer camp going crazy for Thriller, and the cassettes were passed around hourly. I hated camp, but that cassette got me through. I was hypnotized by Wanna Be Starting Something and played it over and over in the dead, hot air of the log cabins. This music from a future alternate dimension transported me and seems to have done the same for people the world over. Billie Jean remains a fascinating composition, a no-bull masterpiece of pop music.

His death is compared now to that of Elvis and Lennon, and I can't swallow that. Just doesn't have that heft for me, and I feel somewhat plugged in to pop culture. I do remember seeing high-school kids perform Billie Jean as a 1600s folk dance tune during our Shakespeare honeymoon in Virginia. They even had a dancer with the hat and glove.

Buncha Pictures of the Day
The Big Picture covers soccer in South Africa. The American victory over Spain was of mild interest to some here. Not much of a ripple. It's covered like the opening rounds of Wimbledon.

The bigger sports story was the NBA draft and the trade sending Shaq to play with LeBron in Cleveland. Shaq relied on the Phoenix Suns' medical staff to keep him mobile. Without their help, he may not be as productive. But those are two powerful guys sharing the ball. Highlights will abound.

Hansbrough went to the Indiana Pacers, and that's a nice franchise for him. He can learn the NBA pace in a good division facing quality opponents and gradually improve. He won't have to carry the burden of immediate title expectations. A really good team for him. Also, if he does really well, he and Peyton Manning become tandem state icons.

Keep It Moving

Last night's rehearsal centered on giving the new actress her movement. Instead of walking through the entire script, allowing actors to deliver their lines as normal, I gave them their cues to move. She would take her notes, we'd flip to the next page, find the next cue line, and make her movement notes. That took the hour we scheduled. The mom actress said the play felt differently -- better -- then she initially thought. It's still a sitcom plot, and the awkward weaknesses remain. But she feels more confident of the tone of the play and her obligations to it.

Another actress asked if she could tackle a scene more broadly, play it bigger. I was initially against it, but the character has so little to do that I feel bad for the actress. She wants to join the fun, and I should at least see what she has in mind. It's rehearsal. We're supposed to play around. During the swift rehearsal, I started to change actor placement before we realized we had it right the first time. Much erasing ensued.

I get the feeling that the play could be longer. Not three acts necessarily, but definitely two. The script we have -- submitted for the play competition -- may be a stripped-down story. I easily imagine the playwright scrambling to salvage the pieces of a potential full script, condensing it down to one act, and hoping for the best.

Your Sis rode the new bike to Asheville and back, but this was her first night ride. It gets cold, even in the summer. Her skin was even more cadaverous when she got home. But the grin. The grin could not be contained by her helmet. She saw what she considers the best Shakespeare production the Montford Park Players have slapped together.

I had returned home before she did, and I played with the new online access. Oh. Oh, it's glorious. I was voice-chatting with online friends, and I even tried a World of Warcraft demo. It didn't win me over, but I can see the appeal bolstered with voice chat. I also set my iTunes to download my favorite podcasts -- Coverville, Savage Love, etc. -- something I've always used my work PC for.

When I dragged myself away from the PC, I watch the coverage of Mark Sanford. I lived for a few years under Sanford. He was a Congressman before he ran for governor, and he didn't leave much of an impression. He was a soft candidate as McCain's VP until he blew a TV news interview by blanking on any distinction between the McCain and Bush budgets. He recently made headlines by refusing federal stimulus money and then fighting the legislature when they overrode his veto.

Now this scandal has seemingly scuttled his governorship. The missus gave him the boot a few weeks back, and I can't see him recovering credibility. It's just so outlandish an affair. He didn't woo an aide or an aide's spouse like normal people. He pursued an online romance with a divorced mom on another continent. Points for novelty.

I ran a 5k course this morning. My time was off, as expected, but I'm content to just have run the whole thing on a half-glass of water and a teaspoon of peanut butter.

The garden is busting out all over with tiny tomatoes and pepperitos. I'd like to plant more items this weekend.

Picture of the Day
Always keep your bat clean. This is not a euphemism.

Starting with a Readthrough

These guys are good. They're so good, in fact, that I'm going to cut back on our rehearsal days. Their readthrough last night showed me we're in good shape, and the new Mom came to play. She's bringing the funny.

She was worried, as they all were at first, that the mom would be wizened and senile. She isn't. She's spoiled. She works her daughters to her benefit and realizes in the play that she's losing that. That's why she pouts and cajoles and feigns a heart attack. She's not stupid. Or goofy. She's desperate.

I worry that the stage dimensions will make our movements look pinched, but I don't want to sweep across the stage just for the sake of using every inch. I do want to let the blocking breathe more. The performance space we had originally was tight and made for stylized movement. Now we can spread out. I'll have to get the actors to walk and talk. If they move, stop, and then talk, the humor will be dead.

We'll meet twice more this week to give the new actress her movements (they help cement line memorization), and we won't touch a prop until next week. She needs time to learn the lines, but I don't want the cast burned out. I prefer to plan for lots of rehearsals and eliminate days if we're on a good groove. I also think that rewards the cast for doing heavy lifting early on.

+ + +

The piano tuner is fixing up my Granny's piano as I type this, and Your Sister's school laptop has died. She is going to buy herself one and is considering a Mac. I suggested she ask you for tips. She'll need the magic double-OS program to run school-based Windows programs.

I set up a voice-chat program on my computer last night and configured my home iTunes to download podcasts. No more schlepping them from work to put on my iPod. I feel myself adhering to the new high-speed online access.

Picture of the Day
Another photo of the memorial lanterns set alight after the Indonesian tsunami. The heat of the candles lift them to the air.

Speedy Delivery

We have the quick net now. Your Sister carried her school laptop about the house to check signal strength. She was so hypnotized by the quick, rapid speed of it all that she made a Facebook account. This shocks me more than the motorcycle.

I didn't get much chance to play with the new router before we left for a dinner at a teacher house. Ping-pong and discussions of Harry Potter ensued. A great grilled meal was followed by a board game called Sequence, which combines bingo and poker. They want to see Shakespeare in the Park on Wednesday, and I'll be in rehearsal. That starts tonight, and my new silly hope is that my cast is so strong that we don't have to rehearse every weeknight.

I did not run this morning. I instead sprayed pesticide on the garden. It's called Liquid Seven, and the directions/warnings make it sound like Supernova Lava Acid. Long sleeves, eye protection, latex gloves -- the bottle demands I wear this stuff. Our cucumber leaves are feeding various bugs, and I want to deflect the caterpillars that ate my tomatoes last year. I think I'll get a hazmat suit for the next spraying.

We magically sprouted tomato berries since Sunday. On the stalks, I mean. All this rain has ensorcelled the garden, and I wish I had planted much more now. There may still be time. I do want to try more corn this weekend, and perhaps we can do underground foods like carrots. Maybe the wireless signal is mutating my crops.

Yous Sister is feeling yesterday's run, and I warned her I would skip running today so I could spew death juice on the garden. She decided to tackle the front-yard beds as I drove to work.

I'm still a little paranoid about my exposure to the pesticide. Every little itch strikes a dramatic musical sting in my head. (Hey, my head itches. Dundun-DUN! My arm is kinda tingly. Dundun-DUN!)

Picture of the Day
The grocery store is carrying much more exotic produce these days.


Maybe the store has been invaded by alien pod monsters. Dundun-DUN!

Geek Show

Friday night saw us wolf down pizzas at the new local Italian place. Your Sis drove to Your Parents' house and back to show off the bike. They trust her on it, and that was the biggest worry we had. We watched another Netflix film (the third Bourne movie), and I packed it in early. I had a big Saturday to prepare for.

Because it was HEROESCON, the Charlotte nerd prom. I woke up extra early to get a haircut, clean up, grab croissants, and hit the road by 9. I've been close to ten times now, I'd say, and it's become more fun as it's national prominence has grown. It's known as the friendliest show for creators to mix with the commonfolk; we're well behaved and patient. The organizers have the set-up down by now, and they have enough contacts to get big-name creators to appear.

The con floor.

A heavy-looking Iron Man costume.

Panels are available to hear the latest on comic/movie plans and attendees can ask direct questions about specific characters.

Big-time comics writer Brian Michael Bendis does not take criticism well.

Illustrator Adam Hughes is a top draw at every show. He and many others do free sketches.

My haul.

1. The con program. I carried it all day and cracked it open maybe twice.

2. My MapQuest directions based on the address on the Heroescon website. They led me instead right to their store.

3. The directions they wrote for me to get to the con.

4. My list of items I found at booths to return and buy later. It's a gamble. The items might not be there. So I wrote down the other booths where those same items are. There's two reasons for this: a) I might find it cheaper at another booth; and b) If I buy the item later, that's less time I'm carrying it around. And that leads me to my epiphany. Why don't cons offer airport lockers? Let's make our own, I say -- a do-it-yourself coat-check for con items so they aren't clobbered by the heavy foot traffic. And we'll call them Con-Tainers. We'll be gabillionaires.

5. Creative Loafing Charlotte had the con as its cover story.

6. I bought a bundle of three minicomics from the Center for Comic Studies booth. I was directed there by my publisher J. Chris Campbell of Wide Awake Press. The CCS booth was often obscured by the lines to see creator Jeff Smith. He never had a small line.

7. A set of Japanese monster postcards for a guy whose work appeared with mine in in the Athens Fluke con anthology.

8. A card for Tariq Hassan one of the Revolver Studios artists. His acrylic stuff looks like watercolors, and I don't know how he manages that.

9. My scrawled-while-driving directions for getting home. It's hard to find 85 South and 74 West without road signs.

10. CCS brochures for their cartoon programs.

11. The animated Bizarro figure I've wanted for two years.

12. Viking No. 1 sold to me by a creator sales pitch.

13. Bossk and IG-88 bounty hunter figures. The first booth has Bossk for $12. The second had him for $5. It pays to window shop.

14. A promo card for Capes and Babes, a webcomic. It was handed to me by the creator while I waited to talk to John Anderson who co-colored ...

15. this issue of E-Man. I know John from an online forum.

16. A promo card and lottery ticket for a free trade drawing by Ultimate Comics. The promo girl caught a group of us standing near the Adhouse Books booth, and we all signed up. None of us won. I knew exactly where the booth was because I had jotted down their location on my shopping list. I told the girl they were right under the Aisle 300 sign, and she gasped. She finally had an easy way to direct people there.

17. I bought David Mack's kids book, and he explained how it began as a book inside his Kabuki comic. I confessed I didn't know the comic, and he signed and handed me a stack of Kabuki issues. Free. The man knows how to win over fans.

18. The Wonder Girl and Starfire min-statues I wanted for a while. This was a good con for getting long-sought knickknacks.

19. A copy of Fell volume 1 and the two Justice trades. These were bought at one of the many booths offering books for either 50% off or buy one, get one free. This was the show for trades.

20. "I Will Feast on Your Whore Heart," a string-bound mini that caught my eye.

21. Two minis by Josh Latta, another Wide Awake artist.

22. Two little toys made by another Wide Awake guy.

23. The card handed out by the Imaginism people.

24. The card for Girls with Slingshots, a webcomic by Danielle Corsetto whose portfolio was really good. We also chatted in the Starbucks line, and I sold her on their shaken iced tea lemonade. I think we were sparking a little, and then I remembered that I couldn't convince Your Sis to come along.

The convention center also hosted a car show next door, and the bouncing vibrations from the car stereos pounded us all day. The artists inking sketches complained that the tables were vibrating.

I had dinner with people I know from online and drove back home, returning at 11:30. I was dead tired, my feet hurt, and my voice was shot, but it was as fun as I hoped.

The next day, Your Sis tackled her closets, and I weeded the garden. I was officially asked to join the theatre board of directors by email, and by email I declined. I cited my full dance card and offered to help with publicity in any way I feasibly can. If I was asked a few weeks back, I might have jumped at it. I was told the board had moved their meeting times to evening so I could join them, but they scheduled it the same night as a rehearsal. I couldn't go anyway.

Oh, I also invented a new drink at the soda shop: Sweet iced tea with dashes of Tabasco. I call it a Hothouse Flower. You can feel the spice in your throat, but the taste is hidden.

I debated running this morning and crawled out of bed only because Your Sis woke up early. I ran. It hurt. I was on my last quarter-mile, right as I turn to go up the rassem-frassem hill when I spied a runner in white turning the corner downhill. It was Your Sister. As soon as she saw me, she threw up her hand to playfully hide.

I thought something was wrong. Your Sister doesn't run. I thought the house/school/cats were exploding/collapsing/stepped on by Godzookie. I stopped and turned to follow her, and she said she wanted to give running a try. Did I mind? DID I MIND?! I turned off my stopwatch and iPod and jogged alongside her. We slowed to a walk a few times and did about a half mile. I'm thrilled by this. I never thought she would run with me. Even if this doesn't happen again, we had this morning. I'm proud of her.

I Have No Feet and I Must Scream

I ran this morning in a shaggy, shoving way that convinced me I was falling apart. I couldn't find the breathing rhythm, and my feet were yelling at me like a pouting teenager. I sounded like Speed Buggy (Please tell me you remember Speed Buggy. Assure me I'm not a geezer. And, no, it wasn't the live-action dune buggy show. That was Wonderbug.).

It was the hardest run of the week, and I suspect I had nothing in the tank despite my snack and water. I was so cranky that I couldn't find a decent song on the iPod. It was just that kind of morning. I heaved my way up the final hill, checked my time, and discovered I'd gone faster than ever. 17:28. Eighteen seconds faster than Thursday, and a minute and eight seconds faster than my run Sunday. I'm taking tomorrow morning off as I will be in Charlotte at a geek show and on my feet all day. Next week, I'll try running longer distances.

Your Sister is driving her motorcycle to see Your Parents today. I don't think they know about it. That should be a fun conversation. Now that school is over, she has packed her days with Things To Do, including but not limited to upgrading my closet (from cave to wardrobe), designing bookshelves, and installing a gas stove. She thinks she's lazy in comparison to me because I run, and I give her a look that says "I'm giving you a crazy look because you are crazy and this is the appropriate crazy look one gives to crazy people."

The street work outside our house is not for high-speed internet but for new cable lines. It won't affect our internet installation on Monday, or so I was told. We found out just last night that DirecTV gave us virtually every premium channels for a year, and I showed her the Mystery Science Theatre 3000 movie.

In the News
Two new studies suggest autism may be caused by a deficiency of Vitamin D. The studies follow Somali immigrants to Sweden and Minnesota, and the rapid development of autism in those communities.

Moving Picture of the Day
Remember when I told you that Chewbacca was a symptom of the Bigfoot mania of the 1970s? Basically Han was a moonshine runner with his pet Sasquatch. It's actually a chunk of genius for Lucas to take that cultural scofflaw type, pair him with a hillbilly monster, and put him in space. Here's the opening for the Saturday morning Bigfoot show. This both fascinated and scared the poop out of me as a tyke.




There was also a bionic Bigfoot that fought Colonel Steve Austin.