Day Three: Reading Act Two

Because another theatre group is using the building for their Christmas Carol, we move a few blocks over to the Arts Council office to rehearse. I've had a week off while the Act One folks design their stage movements (this is called "blocking"). Gooper is only heard in Act One. He strides the stage in Act Two briefly, but again becomes one of the Greek chorus voices during the Brick/Big Daddy throwdown.

All three acts occur with not time passing during intermissions. Act One starts with Maggie telling Brick the family is walking into the room, and Act Two starts with them entering. In this act, Big Daddy hits the stage, owns it, proclaims his philosophies, confronts Brick about his drinking, and learns he is dying of cancer. Our Big Daddy actor is making his third run at the character and is already performing during this, our read through. We're seated at a small table, intimately arranged and going through Act Two like a radio production. The director reads stage directions aloud.

We still haven't seen the person cast as Reverend Tooker. He hasn't appeared at any rehearsals, and I assume it's because of lingering family illness. I hope he would have told someone if he planned on dropping the show. Speaking of dropping, Cory (Big Mama) shows us a calendar of actors from a recent area production of The Full Monty. She tells us that one actor quit the play in the last weekend because he thought his sister was treated shabbily by the theatre. She brought a small baby to the show and was told to sit in the far back so she could remove the kid if it made noise. She took offense and left. He took greater offense and quit. The theatre was in the right. I've tried to act over screaming kids in the audience. All you can do is wait for them to inhale so you can get your lines out.

The reading goes well. We eat some of the cookies Victoria brought, and after the read we discuss the act. The big question concerns the brothers: Just why does everyone hate Gooper? He was their first child, he's eight years older than Brick and should be a shoo-in for primogeniture. But he's a dick. Big Daddy says repeatedly he hates Gooper (and his wife and kids) and manages to admit he respects Brick even as he's yelling at him about his marriage and drinking. It could be anything really; Williams offers no hint as to why Gooper is bad, and I prefer it that way. He simply is. We know that he's closer to Mama but that even she prefers Brick and calls him "her son" to the exclusion of Gooper more than once. It does explain why Brick feels such weight; he's expected to make up for Gooper's churlishness.

The actress playing Mae suggests Gooper is a bit queer in every sense of the word, and she makes sure I understand she means the character not the actor. I laugh it off. I don't mind giving Gooper a degree of softness, and I even think it's needed to contrast with Brick. There is a direction that Gooper utters a high, shrill laugh offstage, and I've already thought of imitating that of Big Mama, to underscore his (relative) closeness with her and show that he takes after her while Brick takes after Big Daddy.

There's some talk about what the brothers would have done on the estate, all 28,000 acres of it. Leslie estimates that at 45 square miles. What could they have done? Act as overseers? That reminds me, Big Daddy has already dropped That En Word from the script and now refers to the fieldworkers as "field hands." We still don't know if we're gonna smoke onstage as the script demands. Gooper lights up a cigar early on, and it will kake for a great props. Cigarettes are the best friend to an actor. You can use them to dramatically adjust your breath for line delivery, and it gives you something to gesture with. I've smoked onstage before for Glass Menagerie, and aside from a brief period of smoking with my college girlfriend (she thought it was sexy), I don't smoke. But rehearsing it didn't give me an addiction, and I chucked my last pack when Menagerie ended.

But audiences lately have become downright bitchy about smoking onstage. Even dry ice will induce some folks to cough, and worse, exaggerate their coughs as a form of protest. Theatres nowadays will post warnings in the lobby about smoking, alongside notes about nudity or language. Do we use fake cigars? Do we just not light the ones we carry? This decision will not be made by me, but I can go either way. I've never smoked a cigar and don't know how much different it is from the Camels, Basics, and bongs (again, college; they did nothing for me) I've puffed before.

My concern now is practicing that laugh.

Previous entries:
Day One
Day Two

The NFL
Her Teams
New England (9-3), NY Jets (7-5), Oakland (2-10)
Philly (6-6), Detroit (2-10)

My Teams
Miami (5-7), Pittsburgh (5-7)
Philly (6-6), Carolina (6-7)

Carolina may need a new QB as Delhomme is throwing it unwisely and giving away points. They have to win this week's game with also-shaky New York to have a prayer of making the playoffs. But if they don't fix the QB, they shouldn't bother. New England remains the best out of our picks, but they are not even in the top three teams in their conference. That would be Indy, Baltimore, and Cincinnati.

Moving Picture of the Day
This is good. Liu Kang and Ric Flair have a whoo-off.

Christmas Rasslin'

A late pub dinner on Friday prepared us for a Saturday of movement. Your Sis called me Friday ngith as I left work to say the work shed was standing wide open and a window was busted. I told her to take pictures of it and send them to my cellphone before we call the police. Then I called her back to ask her if the house looked OK. It did, and she added details of the shed that made it clear that it has nod been broken into. The lock had rusted off the door, causing it to swing open, and it was a flower box below a window that broke. I picked up a new staple and hasp (the technical terms for the door lock components Saturday morning. We had a quick lunch and hit Asheville for shopping.

Asheville has a new used bookstore that is loaded with good title for about $1. I filled my arms with goodies and even picked up -- oh my stars and garters -- a PS2 game that recreates 60 Intellivision games. This was the system I grew up with, my first video game console. And it was $6. After that shock, we drove to Asheville Mall, which wasn't as bad as you might think for the first weekend in December. I found some items for my parents and one for my college buddy, Mark. Your Sis found a booth selling German roasted pecans, a discovering rivaling my Intellivision game. She was aglow over this. And she immediately scheming her schemy schemes for how to hook you up with it. She dropped me off in front of the Civi c Center for a rasslin show, and I met up with Kathy and Travis there.

The Civic Center's auditorium is a lovely warm venue for concerts. We saw Tom Waits there. But the arena below is a dilapidated relic. The rows aren't labeled. The seats aren't numbered. There's one concession stand. It was chaos. The show itself was pretty good as a number of the WWE Monday roster hit the ring. Kathy and Travis dug it a lot, and Travis demanded we get ringside seats next time. I think he wants to harass the bad guys personally.

On Sunday, we had more pub food; that place is becoming our favorite hangout despite our original love for Mexican. Groceries were bought, papers were graded. I fixed the shed door in a most manly manner. Yes, I'm an English major who reads comics and does plays, but power tools just make me all warm and deep-voiced. Your Sis is now making arrangements with Your Mom for the Christmas visit in a few weeks. A few weeks!

Picture of the Day
Rasslin and nachos. Mmmm-MM!


In The News
CBS reports that our U.S. ambassador to the U.N. has quit. John Bolton was packaged as a no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners hard-ass who was gonna clean up corruption in the agency. And now he's gone. He was never formally approved for the position as Bush gave him an appointment while Congress was in recess, and it was widely believed he had no chance of going back to the U.N. now that the Dems took over both Houses.

Sparse Doings

Even after just two rehearsal nights, I already have an appreciation for my nights off. We ate at the local Mexican restaurant (while there are three, we only ever eat at one), and Your Sis went to bed. She was headed for a quick sleep but was distracted by a PBS special on warplanes, and we cuddled on the couch. Military porn brings a couple together, you know. After she was tucked away, I worked on new comic project that's so brilliant that I dare not mention it online.

Moving Picture of the Day
The brilliant "Terry Tate: Office Linebacker" campaign from Reebok. The shorter version remains my favorite Super Bowl ad ever.



In The News
For a long time, conservative talk-show hosts have blamed administration ineptitude on White House moles embarrassing them with leaked documents. While I'm never one to give them credence, the emergence of a memo defining Iraq's prime minister as useless just hours before Bush was to meet the man raises eyebrows. The planned extended summit became a curtailed conference, and Malakhi bailed on a planned event with Bush and the press yesterday. Did someone sabotage the meeting or does this underscore suspected bureaucratic incompetence in the executive branch? This couldn't have happened at a worse time. A bipartisan panel is about to announce its recommendations on Iraq, and, reportedly , they will say we need to leave. Also a clutch of Iraqi officials (including six cabinet ministers and 30 congressmen) boycotted the prime minister for talking to Bush. It sounds like both sides recognize the PM should be ditched, but he was elected. We made a huge deal about free elections in Iraq. How do we maintain that support for the process but not the result? My cynicism says we should watch for some type of scandal that will remove him from power.

+ + +

Speaking of cynicsm and jaw-dropping administration policies, check out this transcript of a press briefing as Tony Snow and adviser Dan Bartlett change identifications and become Senior Administration Officials to avoid connecting them to their comments on Iraq. If you go here, you can see more examples of the White House issuing transcripts without identifying the official liaison to the press.

Day Two: Act One

It's a smaller crowd today as we go through Act One. Except for short interruptions by Gooper's wife, mom and kids, this is all Brick and Maggie, and Maggie easily dominates. As I flip through the script, Act One runs from page 17 to 63, and I'd say 75% of the text is Maggie's lines. I think we have a good Maggie, someone who can (as Williams commands in his stage directions) hold the tension until the first intermission. Williams also says she has to talk in a sing style, always a little out of breath, and with the cadence of a liturgical preacher. This constraint of style seems daunting at first. Williams is known for psychological realism but character abstraction. This means movement and dialogue may seem nonlinear and even nonsensical, but the cumulative emotional wallop is supposed to ring true. And our reads prove that despite Brick virtually ending every sentence in Act One with "Maggie" and her tendency to sway so quickly from resolved to silky to frail to desperate. From what I've heard so far from our Maggie, she can pull it off.

So tonight it's her, Brick, Mae, Mama, Doc Baugh, and me. Baugh and Gooper do not appear onstage but act as a Greek chorus with their comments outside the mansion. While Brick and Maggie argue about securing Big Daddy's estate or having kids, everyone else is outside playing croquet and making parallel comments about competition and strategy. The actor playing another character, Reverend Tooker, has yet to appear as he has a family illness to contend with. Susan the stage manager reads his lines and that of the kids.

Before we start, Leslie the director offers his philosophy on direction. There is no finalized version of the production in his head, and we're free to work with him to create our characters. For the leads, well, they're pretty well defined. But the supporting actors have leeway, and he notes that kind of freedom can terrify volunteer actors. I've seen that before. Some folks, while they enjoy the rigors of performing, want to follow a strict definition provided by the director. Without it, they become anxious, and that makes for insecurity among the cast. How much can they allow for accidents and the chemistry and performer? Is that person gonna freeze up? Can they adapt onstage to mishaps? I have no idea if we have any such people in this cast, but everyone seems experienced enough for that to be a concern. They don't know me, however, so I need to prove quickly that I'm not a loose cannon (the original definition, not the '80s cop movie version).

I look forward to building Mae and Gooper with Lysa. She seems sharp and clever, and I think we'll be able to define these characters into something fun to play even if we avoid obvious comic relief. They have to be conniving and unctuous to contrast with the sex and power of Brick and Maggie. Ideally Gooper should be a short, fat guy. But I can bring a desperation to the role that underscores his need to prove himself against Brick's universal appeal. Leslie makes reference to "unschooling," a home-schooling theory of allowing the student to pursue his own studies of interest. That's what we'll do here with some discipline when necessary.

He notes that this is the third version of the script Williams created, and this debuted for a 1974 New York production starring Fred Gynne (Munsters, My Cousin Vinny) as Big Daddy. I would have paid big money to see that. Because times had changed since the original stagings, Williams could add harsh language, but he didn't change the details about Skipper and Brick's alleged homosexuality. He wanted it vague, but in my readings I think Brick is proven to be a heterosexual but sensitive man lost in social standards of machismo. He never fucked Skipper, and I don't think he would ever have considered it. But do we keep that rough language? We'll see.

We talk about the setting of the play, and Leslie thinks 1950. But some of us get confused in the references to pro football, television, and specific places. This is a needless concern for me. We all agree that Williams doesn't stick to physical realism. In Glass Menagerie, he commands that the events proceed in a dream-like fashion as the play resides totally in memory. This production should exploit the hazy establishment of place and time, to be as mercurial as Maggie's logic, Big Daddy's passion, and Brick's confidence. We're not sure what music to play before the curtain rises, and Victoria offers to Google some time-appropriate tunes. I'd go with Ray Charles, the early stuff.

During the read-through tonight, Gooper is mentioned more than he speaks, and I note the comments made by Maggie. Before you ever see Gooper, you hate him. Maggie denounces his horrible children and obvious movements to take the estate. It's a lot like my role in Glass Menagerie; the gentleman caller is built up for an hour before he walks onstage so you got to live up to that. Gooper's offstage lines here are pleads for Mae and Mama to come back outside, and I can deliver them in high and whiny Southern tones. That's my plan now, but of course as we mold the play, that may change.

I get a rehearsal schedule for the next two weeks and see I have, in that period) only three more dates to rehearse Acts One and Two. That gives me a lot of time at home to memorize the lines. That'll be easy. I also learn this is the third time our Big Daddy has played the part, and I confess to the assembled that I was terrified he was bringing that kind of resonance to a cold reading, a measure of how much he would eclipse whatever skill I may have. Thankfully, no, so the chasm between us isn't that broad. That curtails a measure of intimidation I have working with this group.

What I feel mostly is a rush of glee. I'm back in a theatre, and we're working as a group to put on a show. This is exhilarating.

Day One: The Read Through

Last night saw the beginning of the rehearsals for the play. The curtain opens on Jan. 19, giving us just under two months to be ready. While that will not be a problem for me, the principals will have to shoehorn in a shitload of monologues into their brains. Maggie and Big Daddy especially talk and talk and talk some more. I actually feel a little bad for the guy playing Brick; he has to spend the majority of stage time listening, which can be boring for an actor.

And just so we're all on the same page, here's what happens in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof:

Maggie and husband Brick are staying at his father's house for the latter's 65-year birthday party. Big Daddy owns land, lots of land, under sunny skies above, but doesn't know he's been diagnosed with cancer. Neither does his wife. In fact, they've been told the opposite; Big Daddy thinks he only has a spastic colon but otherwise is in prime health.

Brick's brother Gooper and his wife Mae are positioning themselves to get Daddy's estate. To that end, they have plopped out five children (with another on the way) and sucked up to Daddy and Mama. Brick and Maggie have no kids and many suspect he's gay. He won't even sleep in the same bed with Maggie and has started rinking heavily. The gossip is that Brick lost his will to live after the death of his best friend (and suspected lover) Skipper. In many ways, Brick is barely present. He just wants to drink himself into tranquility. This is why much of his time is spent listening to his wife and father ramble on about his decline.

Big Daddy confronts Brick about this and forces Brick to admit Skipper's death has diminished him, but Brick states Skipper's friendship was the only good thing he had in his life. He can't stand Maggie. And because Daddy wrenches info out of him, Brick drops the cancer bomb on him. Daddy goes apeshit. Mama has to be told of the cancer, and moments later Gooper and his wife swoop in to make their pitch for the estate. Mama is in hysterics. Daddy confronts his children, but Maggie has her ace card: She tells Daddy she's pregnant with Brick's child (a lie). Gooper and Mae are outraged. Daddy and Mama are giddy. Maggie then locks away the liquor and tells Brick he can only get to drinking again is he makes a baby with her and then they can get Daddy's estate. Brick surrenders to Maggie. Da end.

I was anxious all day to get started. My stomach was a mess, and I had a headache from my perpetual vibrations. I hadn't done a play since April 2004, and this is my first work with this group, a theatre whose work I've ever seen. I don't even know what the performance space looks like. I arrived a little early last night and met Victoria, the lady who escorted the applicants to the audition room. I also meet Linda, the costumer. She and Victoria cackle it up, and I hang back. We move to the audition room which is now our rehearsal space. We set up chairs and tables as other members of the cast arrive. I know no one, and short introductions are made.

I've seen some of these folks before. All the actresses in my last reading of Gooper were cast in the parts they read. The gal playing my wife, Mae, is a spitfire; she added some sass to Mae that could leads us to more comedic performances. And that's fine. The play will need some comic relief and this scheming, sniping couple can be it. Think the Thenardiers from Les Miserables. Or Frank and Hot Lips from the first seasons of MASH. In fact, the latter parallel is not far off at all. Just like those two bitching to Col. Blake about Hawkeye, we go running to Big Daddy to whine about Brick, the drinking golden child who doesn't have to play by the rules. All the while both couples want the boss figure to vanish so the whiny male can take over.

Turns out the calendars we picked up at auditions are for theatre availability, not cast times, and the director will arrive half an hour after us. Linda measures us for costumes. I may get a bowtie, and that's fine because I know how to tie one after Glass Menagerie.

The director arrives and we're introduced to each other and the crew. Some of the kids are there. The actress playing Big Mama has a son who will play one of Gooper's "no-neck monsters." I give a small wave. The actress playing Mae sits next to them to get acquainted. we move into the lobby to see the mock-up of the stage, and it looks great. Williams was very specific of his sets and stage directions (there's a page-long block of text describing Brick's emotional turmoil), and the stage looks very Williamsy.

We move back to the rehearsal room and begin the run-through. Susan the stage manager times us. Act One clocks in at 42 minutes, Act Two at 53, and Act Three at 35. Maggie, a gal from Wisconsin, has a genuinely sexy lilt to her Southern accent, and a clear stage voice. She's a good choice. Big Daddy is played by a man who performed the role before (where, I don't know), and he is delivering a top-notch acting job during our first read. Everyone strikes me as solid. Gooper has a few lines scattered about until Act Three, and then he makes his sales pitch and barks at Mae. One of the Gooper children is brought in to read her small part, and she promptly skedaddles afterward.

But Brick's actor has a pronounced New York accent. And while he's doing some fair Southern enunciations, that accent comes through when Brick's mad. Especially when Brick says "fucking." And hearing this sparks the petty brain voices that say "you could have read that bit better, you could have really hit that delivery." And this isn't fair to him or me. I'm happy with Gooper. It's a sterling asshole role, and this guy looks like a Brick should. He's tall, he's handsome, he has strong eyes. But we're gonna have to work on that accent.

I don't chat too much during our first night. I watch the other people and pick up their dynamics. I'm going to buddy up with the Mae actress, obviously, and eventually that will spill over to the rest of the cast. I don't believe one has to extend any acting method to mirror their character's relationships with that of his to the other actors. I believe a close company will be more comfortable on stage. If they trust you, they don't have to worry about you onstage. That's important. I learn the Brick guy did a play in Brevard with the actor playing Doc Baugh. He comments on the commute from Asheville, the same commute I have to work. He also mentions a Brevard theatre snafu that saw a performance scheduled on the same night as a wedding in the same rented rooms. That show had to move to a matinée, and now I'm very glad I didn't try to work with that company.

The read ends at 9:45ish, and we close up for the day. The director (his name's Leslie) tells us we'll start work on Act One tomorrow. Probably simple blocking and character progressions. Big Daddy is excused for Tuesday as he's not in that act. That actor asks about pronunciations for certain proper names like Louisiana. We need to be consistent. He also asks about the harsh language. Can we say fuck and nigger? Should we say the latter after the Michael Richards incident? What about "field hand" instead? Leslie says we'll decide later. Linda walks in and admits that she had a problem with the language during our reading and objects to "goddamn." She deems it against a commandment (which it isn't), and she notes people objected to it in a run of Menagerie ten years back. She's afraid of people leaving. She's afraid of losing their audience of respectable older patrons. Leslie notes that no one walked out during their mush more recent run of A Few Good Men. Linda pushes her point, and the actors are noticeable tensing. It's not that we don't think Linda shouldn't be concerned, but she's harping now. And it's not her call. Leslie says a decision will be made later, and that gives us a chance to withdraw.

I walk out with the Brick actor (I'll have names as soon as I learn them), and we congratulate each other on tonight's reading. I get home about 10:50, scarf a bag of popcorn, chat with Your Sister, and go to bed.

You can see pics of some of my earlier productions here.

Traveling Weekend

Your Sis and I work well on a lot of levels, but maybe the most convenient is that we travel so easily together. A six-hour car ride with her just flies by even if we're quiet. A fine time was had by all this Thanksgiving at Your Brother's house. He fried a turkey very well, and we ate dinner around 4 p.m. It was a huge spread, and I'm borrowing recipes to make the side dishes for my parents at Christmas. We spent that Thursday evening having drinks on the back porch and playing with Your Brother's thermal vision goggles. Brooke is assimilating everything she hears. I have no clue how bright 22-month-old girls are supposed to be, but she may wreck the curve. She understands directions and the gist of conversations, it seems. She strikes me as perceptive. Also, cute as hell.

We all ate at a local Mexican restaurant Friday night before returning to their house for an unscheduled foosball tournament. Your Sis and I played a bit before letting Your Brother in against the winner, and then Your Dad joined in and we split into teams. When Andrea came down the two of us played against them and were demolished right quick. I never played before, and it was fun. For ten minutes, we weren't in-laws or parents or spouses, but four young people playing a game, and it was spirited and loose. Maybe my best memory of the trip.

We left Saturday morning for home after having breakfast with Your Parents. We stopped by My Parents to take them out for dinner, and we talked about the upcoming play (rehearsals start tonight) and the new James Bond film, Casino Royale.

This is a good Bond film. Daniel Craig is asked to do things other Bonds were not, and he makes for a good new version of the character. It's as shocking a change from Brosnan's style as Moore's was from Connery's, but I wish Brosnan could have had his chance at the film. I think he could have done well. Craig's appeal is that he isn't a prettyboy, but that in no way diminishes his appeal. It adds grit, and the film maintains a new realism because of his work. An early parkour stunt sequence steals the film, but the low-key scenes of quiet tension (either sexual or combative) hold your attention just as well. This is the goods.

We got home about 10:30 and crashed hard into the bed. I spent most of Sunday helping Your Sis correct rough drafts of student papers while watching football.

The NFL
Her Teams
New England (8-3), NY Jets (6-5), Oakland (2-9)
Philly (5-6), Detroit (2-9)

My Teams
Miami (5-6), Pittsburgh (4-7)
Philly (5-6), Carolina (6-5)

Carolina couldn't beat a weak Washington team, Pittsburgh was killed by Baltimore, and the Patriots beat an energetic Chicago team in a game filled with turnovers.

Picture of the Day
Found on a Russian LiveJournal blog. No idea where it comes from.

VH1's Greatest '80s Songs

We saw the final episode last night, the one listing the top 20 '80s songs and it was as shocking as it was sobering. Choices were obviously made by giddy web browsers who were remembering which one they loved while living in the '80s. Whereas I would vote on the top songs to have survived the decade and remained a classic song. So I've dissected the top 25 songs as voted by the Vh1 faithful.

1. Bon Jovi / "Livin' on a Prayer"
No. No no no. This is a fun song. This is a good rock song. But this is not the top song from the decade. No, that song is of course, "Every Breath You Take" by The Police. Overplayed, you say? Ruined by radio dedications on adult contemporary stations, you say? Yes. The song quickly was diluted by those who only glanced at the lyrics and heard what they thought was a romantic testament. It's not. It's a spooky-ass obsessive confession. But it's also a perfect pop song. It's without filler or flash, but it does feature a jarring, desperate plea followed by the chilling repeating chorus. VH1 had it at No. 46, which proves something depressing about humanity. I would put the Bon Jovi song in the top 20, but Your Sis would replace it with their "Runaway." Me, I prefer "Dead Or Alive."

2. Def Leppard / "Pour Some Sugar On Me"
I'm stunned this ranked so high, but I recognize people are assigning it a high number based on cheese factor. It's a goofy song. The lyrics have the cleverness of a high school bathroom stall. And Joe Elliot's high notes are a karaoke killer. But, and this is a big but, Sir Mix-A-Lot, the song rocks. The skittering lead guitar in the second verse is only a hint of the energy that awaits you in the song's concluding chorus. The guitar break is the weakest section, sadly, as the combination of words and percussion bombast make this an irresistible singalong. But this isn't the best raunchy sex rock song o f the decade. For that, you look to the pristine guitar and gravelly singing of ACDC's "Shook Me All Night Long."

3. Duran Duran / "Hungry Like the Wolf"
I can't complain with this. Thank God it wasn't "The Reflex." That song's fun, but it doesn't hold up to repeated listens. "Hungry" does. It's a song with the electronic sound to suggest an emotional detachment, but the rhythm section demands you dance.

4. Michael Jackson / "Billie Jean"
I've tried to describe how it felt to hear this song for the first time. And the best I can do is say it was like music we'd expected to hear ten years into the future. It was like Michael pulled this through time and unleashed it, and hearing it through our obvious inadequate stereos and TVs made it sound that much more unearthly. Exposure was a religious experience. We all became St. Teresa, mesmerized and agape. We had to dance. We had to somehow communicate our body-encompassing glee. But what makes the song great is that it still holds up. That bass line is vicious, and the tight drums underscore the pop-funk at work. Jackson could have sung about anything, and as long as he kept that lyrical cadence, we would have warbled along as best we could. This song is simply engineered by genius. Credit producer Quincy Jones, the same man who gave us the theme from "Sanford and Son."

5. Prince / "When Doves Cry"
An odd duck of a song. The production is almost doggedly soulless, and that allows Prince to inject the soul with his falsetto and clipped delivery, and even he's often singing in a flat tone. This shouldn't work. And it's not even the best song of the Purple Rain CD. That's "Let's Go Crazy," a song that proves Prince is one of the best players to ever pick up an electric guitar.

6. Hall & Oates / "I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)"
I love me some Hall & Oates. And I can't complain with this pick or placement. You can't help but move to the music even as we fail to match John Hall's high notes. Proof that skin color means nothing to making soul music.

7. Guns N' Roses / "Sweet Child O' Mine"
Maybe the best rock ballad ever because the band does everything it can to keep it rocking and refrain from the cheesy sentiment found in their later "Patience." The guitar is barely restrained, and that drummer offers no clue he knows he's playing for a love song.

8. Madonna / "Like a Virgin"
I hate early Madonna, but this is at least better than "Lucky Star," "Holiday," and "Borderline." And that squeaky voice processing is jarring today. For cultural impact, yes, there is no bigger Madonna song.

9. Run-D.M.C. / "Walk This Way"
The song turns to crap when Tyler sings the chorus. But when the rappers control the mic, this is pure gold. And that stuttering guitar lick to start the song is the best guitar sample ever heard.

10. AC/DC / "You Shook Me All Night Long"
Maybe the best rock song ever. Shamelessly joyous and infectious. Should have been higher on the list. Every heavy metal and hair-band song that came after wanted to match this song, and only my beloved Def Leppard came close.

11. Journey / "Don't Stop Believin'"
Yeah. It's that good. It's easy to mock Journey as dated and embarrassing. But these guys created a template for rock ballads. Steve Perry's voice is as sterling as you could hope for.

12. Whitney Houston / "How Will I Know"
At least it wasn't "Greatest Love of All."

13. U2 / "With Or Without You"
The only slow-tempo wail of despair to compete with "Every Breath You Take." I love that guitar work and the wounded "huooooo"hoping to say something words can't.

14. The Bangles / "Walk Like an Egyptian"
"Hazy Shade of Winter" (written by Simon and Garfunkel) was better. So was "Manic Monday" (written by Prince). But the girls had a solid groove going here.

15. Van Halen / "Jump"
The most inoffensive Van Halen song of course could reach a wider audience. Not their best song, but their most famous. It's not bad, mind you. The drumming is criminally under appreciated.

16. INXS / "Need You Tonight"
If any Top 40 rock song of the '80s could be called devil music, it's this.

17. Whitesnake / "Here I Go Again"
A cliche '80s song, a thoughtless inclusion. Still, it's the forerunner of Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams."

18. Dexy's Midnight Runners / "Come On Eileen"
Maybe THE default '80s song. A novelty tune with web-thin lasting appeal beyond the singing style and violins. It's just goofy.

19. Cyndi Lauper / "Time after Time"
A standout love song. Almost impossible to reconcile with her other hits of the time.

20. Rick Springfield / "Jessie's Girl"
Not nearly as good as "My Sharona," another song about wanting the unattainable girl.

21. Michael Jackson / "Beat It"
I think a lot of people were afraid to say how much they didn't like this song at the time. The rhythm is simplistic, and the chorus is lifeless. The weakest song on an album that includes the almost painfully Caucasian duet with Paul McCartney.

22. The Cure / "Just Like Heaven"
One of two Cure songs everyone knows. The other is "Love Song." Everyone should know "Lovecats," but what can you do?

23. Cyndi Lauper / "Girls Just Want to Have Fun"
She's the only gal with two songs in the top 25, and she deserves it. The song just works.

24. A-Ha / "Take On Me"
Another disposable song famous for the decade in which it was released.

25. Go-Go's / "Our Lips Are Sealed"
The best California song Brian Wilson didn't write.

I'd add "Rock the Casbah" by The Clash, "Heart of Glass" by Blondie, "Once In A Lifetime" by The Talking Heads, and "What Time Is Now" by The Smiths.

Trivia

Some of Your Sister's coworkers joined us at Jack of the Wood for trivia night. Among them was the school's art teacher who asked me to talk to two of his students about cartooning. They draw comics and seem to want to pursue that as a career, but he's not sure how to advise them. I said I'd be tickled to talk to them. I can show them a range of comic styles and art options available to them f they decide to go that route. This was sparked by a book I picked up before we all met at the bar. It's Jeff Smith's Bone, a series published recently in one volume. It's huge. The page numbers stop at 1,32something. The trivia gang couldn't believe it was all one story.

We didn't do so hot at the trivia, but there was one round devoted to Harrison Ford movies, and we owned it. Utter domination. The rest, not so much. We found ourselves against a team we were beaten by when we last played trivia at Mellow Mushroom a few months back. So there are trivia pros lurking about town, and we must drive them off with torches and pitchforks. or hit them with our giant Bone comic books. Jack of the Wood does have good burgers and pumpkin cheesecake. Oddly enough, as I walked to the bar last night, I passed a series of open but empty establishments like Tupelo Honey Cafe and College Street Bar and Grill. There was no one strolling the streets of Asheville yet Jack of the Wood was packed as packed could be.

Picture of the Day
Amazon's depiction of said book. Yeah, it's about that thick.

In the News
The U.N. says almost 40 million people worldwide have HIV.

Weekend Notes

It was a mild weekend here in Mayberry.

We ate at Jason's Main Street Grill, the restaurant that catered the wedding, before heading home for TV couch time. Your Sis is in deep, deep love with "Six Feet Under." We made chocolate chip cookies from a large freezer tub of dough.

On Saturday, I ran about two miles outside before grabbing Mexican lunch and heading off with Kathy and Travis to watch the OSU/Michigan game. we again met the local OSU alum group at a local bar to chant and eat. This was Christmas and Thanksgiving for them as OSU played their hated rivals for the right to play in the national championship game. It was a good game, but the two of them were nervous in the second half as Michigan kept it competitive. But because the bowl ratings system is so screwed up, it's possible these teams will play each other again for the outright title. i took the library's copy of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof back to its home and surprisingly felt a little sad to see it go.

Sunday saw us proof rough drafts of research papers. As per my suggestion, her regular class is no longer writing about persecuted people but Nobel Peace Prize winners. We started watching the post-World Series "House" episodes, caught the newest "Simpsons," and watched a bit of VH1's"Top 100 80's Songs" which I'll write about later. Your Sis was oddly desperate for buffalo wings, so we baked up a batch and ate them throughout the evening. We won't have them tonight as we're heading out to a trivia night at a local bar. My rehearsals start next Monday so last Monday may have been my last wings and rasslin' night for a few months.

My parents will not be able to go to Alabama fot Turkey Day, and we'll try to catch up with them next weekend. It was snowing like crazy as I dove into work, but it didn't stick and seems to have stopped now.

The NFL
Her Teams
New England (7-3), NY Jets (5-5), Oakland (2-8)
Philly (5-5), Detroit (2-8)

My Teams
Miami (4-6), Pittsburgh (4-6)
Philly (5-5), Carolina (6-4)

Philly lost its all-pro QB this week, and Carolina's 6-4 record is good enough to put them near the top of their rickety conference. Miami and Pittsburgh seem to be rallying their way into potential playoff runs.

Picture of the Day
The new poster. I love the film version of Voldemort. I wouldn't have cast Ralph Fiennes based on the book version of the character, but he does a great job.


In the News
The Congress and White House continue to settle down after the elections. The GOP Congress decided that the elections were a protest vote on the administration's policies and retained its recent Senate and House leadership, eschewing the chance to freshen up its hierarchy. McCain is the most prominent GOP presidential candidate-to-be, and he's the only one from the GOP Congress with the chance of a substantial campaign. But he's swinging hard to the right by saying Roe v. Wade should be overturned and courting Falwell's audience.

A Comment on the PlayStation 3 Insanity

There are hardcore gamers who will do anything for the latest technology.

Then there are gamers loyal to Sony and will buy anything that brand unleashes.

Then there are the people hoping to sell it on the secondary market.

I am a generational gamer. I've had a console system since I was in single-digit ages. I had an IntelliVision, Mattel's system that melded the availability of Atari 2600 and the graphics of the ColecoVision. I loved that machine. Love it. I played it so much (only child, remember) that I killed the unit and had to get another to replace it. It was reluctantly that I moved to Nintendo, but from that I had a Sega Genesis and then the PlayStation. I worked at the daily newspaper when the PlayStation 2 was released, and it was because of my paper job that I got one on Launch Day.

The paper sent its youngest newsroom workers to spread over the local stores and cover the people lined up to buy a system. And of course we decide to line up too. But I had a plan. Sony was only releasing a certain amount of systems. I divided that number by the number of major franchises and then factored how many stores were in each franchise. For instance, Best Buy had X national stores, so each store would get a minimum of Y units. And Best Buy had fewer stores than Circuit City and Wal-mart, so they would have more units per store.

I was assigned to cover an area Wal-Mart, and so I stood for a few hours before being informed the store had allocated its slim supply to the first people in line. The next morning, I went by Best Buy. There was a line of about 30 people outside the locked store, and I knew that Best Buy would give more units than that for each of their stores. I got in line. About 15 minutes later, the managers handed out numbered paper to correspond with each unit they had. They had about 50 to sell, and I was standing among the 40s. I had a PS2. A few hours later, the store opened, and I walked right up to the counter and was handed my PS2. Other paper people were in line for hours and hours. And while I had the shortest wait, we all grabbed on. That week, I wrote an article about my ex-wife hooking it up to our stereo.

And I loved the Ps2. I still have it, and it runs fine. We played Katamari Damacy, Mortal Kombat and Rampage on it. We had to get a DVD player because the newer DVDs surpassed what the PS2 could play. I just bought a new game for it last night (wrestling, naturally). I don't have the urge to get a Ps3, and it's possible the Ps2 will be my last console. I just don't have the time to devote to that focused a gaming experience. Games that require 20+ hours of gameplay could take me a year to finish.

So, no, I have no desire to get into that mad crowd of PS3 fanatics, but I wish them well-behaved camaraderie and warm feet.

Speaking of shopping, I order Your Sister's Christmas gifts from Amazon this week, and she's gonna plotz.

I Got The Call

They offered me Gooper. Rehearsals start Monday night after Thanksgiving.

Fuck, yeah.

Anxiety, Humility, Doubt

And that's why we love the theatre.

I spent a good portion of yesterday reading over Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I read both Brick and Gooper felt I had a good handle on them both. I didn't see any portions of dialogue that I would have a problem with, nothing felt inconsistent with the characters and I thought I could deliver the material well. I arrived at the callback at 6:30 and found myself amid a small group of guys. Half were obviously there for the Big Daddy role and there were maybe four who could read Brick and Gooper.

The assistant, Victoria, told us what pages to prepare for our auditions and explained that we would be called in pairs to read Daddy/Brick scenes. And off they went. And I wasn't called in. The director came out to survey the attendance, looked at me, and said "I'm sorry. We won't be needing you for a while." I was confused. What had I said to suggest I didn't want to read for Brick? He commented that I had a good feel for the character in the first audition. So I waited a bit. I'm a new guy. I don't know how to ask about this with this new group. In the meantime, I was confused. Should I ignore the Brick pages and focus entirely on maximizing my Gooper script? Or should I keep practicing the Brick material in case I did get a shot?

After 15 minutes of going over both roles and making nonproductive eye contact with the stage manager, I approached Victoria. Maybe I said something to suggest I didn't want Brick, I offered. I don't know the protocol, I explained. She said she couldn't help me in this and that I should ask the director. I was afraid she'd say that, and I understood fully that I did not want to put her in the middle with any appearance of advocating any applicant. But I was concerned that by the time I got in there, it would be too late. And indeed, before I was called in for Gooper, the director called in all the Bricks and Big Daddies for some sort of final line-up.

By this time, some actresses were arriving for their callbacks. The men exited the audition room, and most of them left. I was soon called in for a Gooper scene. Victoria let me pass by as she chose a few gals to read Big Momma and the wives. As she did this, I snuck in to the audition room, greeted the director, and asked the question: Had I disqualified myself from a Brick callback. No, he explained simply, it was nothing I said. And that was the simple truth. I just wasn't in the running. Fair enough, I thought, and I thanked him.

Now I knew it was a longshot to get that role. I'm new. I'm fresh off the street with these people, and they have no idea how responsible I am. Also, I've got gray hair. Brick should be about 27. I'm physically closer in age to Gooper. And looking at the Bricks that auditioned, it's easy to see I don't have the classic leading man looks that Brick should have. He has to be a golden child of sorts, and I'm a naturally darker type of actor. The director did go out of his way to apologize and say the callback should have been clear on that point, that I was reading for Gooper only. He didn't have to say that. So, it was Gooper or bust.

And I did get to read the scene about three times with a mix of actresses. Some, as had been the case Sunday, didn't know the play much less the scene, and each had to be walked through it a little bit before we started reading aloud. I'm a married man who commutes two hours a day, and I have time to read the script weeks before the audition. I wonder what they're doing to keep them from cracking open the play before they show up. Maybe these are people holding down two or three jobs. Maybe they all have kids.

I thought I did pretty well. I was slower, and that helped hold my accent. I was clear in projection, and I was consistent in each reading. Sometimes I think of a famous, great actor auditioning for the role and imitate them. For this, I was thinking of Gene Hackman in Mississippi Burning. But more of a jerk. In fact, if one can ever somewhat imitate or channel Hackman, I think they'll deliver a good performance.

In the last read, the stage manager asked which form of my name I prefer. I say what I always say (I like Gregory, but I'm not picky), and she said she wanted to get into the habit of saying it right. I immediately was gladdened as this suggested I'll be around, and I joked for her to please let me be around enough for that to be necessary. Again, I enjoyed it. I got to read the prime dickish Gooper line a few times. As I was leaving, however, the director asked if I would be willing to play other roles in the play, and I said sure. And all would be well in my head and gut had he not asked me that. That suggests I auditioned myself out of the part. I don't know what I could have done to not make the lines work. I think I grasp the character. I thought I could communicate that. He's who I gravitated toward initially. I would feel worse seeing someone else play this part than any other role in the play. There's only two other roles in the play I could do: the preacher and the doctor. Much smaller roles. Certainly manageable, significantly less fun.

So I drove home, dissecting mentally the callback and trying to spot my weaknesses. Maybe he's asking just to allow himself as many options as possible, I argued. Maybe I hammed the accent too much. Maybe, I admit, I'm just not good anymore. I've been out of theatre for two years. Maybe my acting muscles have atrophied. And I'll confess, it got a little pouty in my head, but I reminded myself (eventually) that all I wanted was to be satisfied with my audition. That's distinct from them being satisfied with it. I know that I had a good reading of Brick and Gooper. That was my initial goal. And if they offer a smaller role, it will be an investment of time and effort to the next role I audition for with them or another local theatre.

I did notice though that the in-town theatre is gonna present Broadway Bound which was my first show with Spartanburg Little Theatre. If I don't get anything with Hot Tin Roof, I can throw myself at a rebound audition. But I want that Asheville show. And now I wait to hear back with some measure of anxiety and a scoash of hope that Gooper isn't out of my reach.

Tick tock, tick tock.

Six Hours 'Til Callback

Of course, I'm nervous.

There's two roles I'm aiming for: Brick and Gooper

Me as Brick
Pros: I can act. I look fairly young. I'm in fairly good shape.
Cons: They don't know me. I'm a little old to play Brick. I'm not in former pro-QB shape.

Me as Gooper
Pros: I can act. I have no problem playing a dick. I'm about the right age.
Cons: They don't know me. They might prefer him to be a wimp. I'm maybe a bit young to play a father of five.

I'll hang around town tonight, read the script again at supper, and go to the theatre at 6:30. I wore a shirt that shows off my shoulders, and I'm trimmed the facial hair back a bit.

All I can do, I suppose.

Called Back

I made the first round of auditions as I was asked to come back tomorrow night to read again. No idea which part I'm in the running for. But, as with Sunday, I may know the play better than the other hopefuls. That could give me an edge. Either way, I made my first call back. And that's worth at least a touchdown dance.

The NFL
Her Teams
New England (6-3), NY Jets (5-4), Oakland (2-7)
Philly (5-4), Detroit (2-7)

My Teams
Miami (3-6), Pittsburgh (3-6)
Philly (5-4), Carolina (5-4)

Picture of the Day
The first extraterrestrial hurricane was captured by the Cassini probe at Saturn's south pole. The storm is 5,000 miles across.

Initiation, Caffeination, Audition

On Friday, I was made an honorary member of the fraternity. It was a short ceremony, involving me and another initiate. I'm now a Friends of the Arts. I got a nice pin to wear. The national officers were there to watch, and we chatted afterward about convention and initiation details. It was very pleasant. We drove into Asheville for the ceremony and bummed around town for the rest of the day. We bought a frame for the certificate so I can hang it in my office. We ate lunch at Mellow Mushroom, stepped inside the comic store, and bought a new phone for the living room at Target. It was a pedestrian afternoon.

I helped Your Sis stamp textbooks on Saturday and read Cat On A Hot Tin Roof a few times. I started to think I could play the lead male even though I initially aimed for the supporting male role. Can't say what triggered that change. That night we caught The Prestige, the Hugh Jackman/Christian Bale magician thriller. It's a nice idea but ultimately a satisfying movie. It drags a bit in the second half. It looks great though, and it doesn't insult the audience. We hit Krispy Kreme, and I wolfed down four doughnuts and a cup of coffee. Sugar rush? Oh, yes. Oh shit, yes.

Sunday night was the audition, and it was by far the most formal I've been in. The previous auditions all had the applicants in the same room, reading with each other and auditioning in front of each other. We could adjust our strategies based on what the other guy did. Not this time. The applicants entered the lobby and filed bio sheets and any resumes and headshots we made. I made a photosheet that afternoon to show them what I looked like with and without the beard. I also listed my shows in Spartanburg and Greenville. There were many more women there for that lead role than men. But this was the first of two days of auditions, and tonight's may be an all-male affair.



We were given short clips of the script to read for each part we wanted. I grabbed copies for the two male roles I thought I could manage. An assistant, Victoria, escorted applicants into a small room where sat the directors and what appeared to be interns reading cues. I went in about half an hour after I arrived. I greeted them shook hands with them, explained where I worked and lived. The house is an hour away, but my office is five minutes up the road. I read the lead role first, and it involved some of the most emotional actions he has. I thought it went just OK; I may have rushed it, and my accent might have slipped. I had dry mouth, and my heartbeat was going nuts. I felt stupid. I had auditioned maybe a dozen times, but it had been two years since my last play, and I had never stepped foot into this building before. I was told I had a "good footing for the character," which was a tidbit they didn't have to share. So I felt pretty good. I asked to read for the supporting part and was asked if I could hang around until they watched the rest of the applicants. I did. And about 90 minutes later, I was escorted back in to read that bit. I was the last person to leave. In the meantime, I chatted with folks, most had worked with this theater before. Victoria checked on me to see if I would wait a little longer each time, I and I assured her I was fine. Of all the places I could be at that moment, I was back in a theater. What was to complain about? We also had a chat about the use of "ma'am," and she made it clear she was not a "ma'am," she was Victoria. But it was friendly conversation, and I appreciated her concern. Many of the others had significant stage experience; some were professional actors. I was surprised by how many people showed up without knowing the play. Parents brought their kids to try out for roles without knowing what kind of situations they may be involved with. The play has some strong language and adult material. I gave one guy a complete rundown of the play right before he walked in and read. I performed my second read better than the first as this was the one I focused on for weeks. I think my accent held better, but I still felt like I rushed it. I thanked Victoria, left the building, and called Your Sis with the details. They don't need me to come back in tonight to read, and now I just wait to hear any news. As I left they said we'll see you Tuesday or Wednesday, which may be what they tell everyone. I can't make assumptions.

I'm content with the experience. I wanted to audition, and I did so. I found a play I wanted to try for, read it, practiced a bit, showed up, read, and didn't embarrass myself. That's all I wanted. Anything more than this is gravy. The rehearsal schedule looks like plenty of time to prepare, and I have no conflicts with it.

Moving Picture of the Day
The trailer for Spider-Man 3. I can't tell you excited I am for this. Sandman may be my favorite Spidey villain, and I can remember reading about him when I was four.

You Can't Handle the Tooth!

I'm scared of dentists. I had bad experiences with my last one, back in high school. He not only used me as a guinea pig for his first application of braces (and thought he could save time by tightening them to get two years' worth of correction in eight months) but he was convicted of selling drugs out of his office a few years later. So I haven't seen a dentist for half my life.

Since then, my wisdom teeth grew in and one of them turned on me this week. The pain was so bad, I couldn't sleep at all Tuesday night; neither ibuprofen nor Anbesol would work. I called Your Sister's dentist this morning to beg for relief, and they indeed squeezed me in for a quick extraction. That's right, it had to go. And I would gladly kiss it bye-bye if it meant I could sleep at night. And I shall, for, lo, the bad tooth, she's a'gone. Tooth extraction feels like someone hooking a coat hanger under your cheekbone and lifting you off the floor. But I was properly numbed, so I was more fascinated than panicked. I got a prescription and took the pill last night. Mix a sleep-inducing painkiller with a guy who was awake for 40 hours and you get a coma. I slept fantastic. The numbness from the gum shots hasn't worn off yet, so I'm doing OK. I got a referral for an oral surgeon to yank my other wisdom teeth, and that scheduling will depend on the success of my audition this weekend. I also will gladly go back to this dentist for my regular teeth duties. They were nice people who helped a poor sap in a crunch.

I have the tooth in a bag next to my bed. It looks quite horrible. But the x-rays showed the rest of my chompers are stylin' and profilin'. I've lived in terror that my teeth have slowly decayed into mashed potatoes, but nope, I've still got years and years of chewing ahead of me. This morning, I feel fine. Well rested and hungry for solid food. There's slight pain between medications but nothing like what I felt Tuesday night.

The NFL
Her Teams
New England (6-2), NY Jets (4-4), Oakland (2-6)
Philly (4-4), Detroit (2-6)
Man, Your Sis is mad at me for rooting for Indianapolis against New England Sunday night.

My Teams
Miami (2-6), Pittsburgh (2-6)
Philly (4-4), Carolina (4-4)
Unless Pittsburgh wins their next 7 games, their season is done. Miami knocked off the previously undefeated Bears (but they're out of it too). Philly, Carolina, and the Jets had the week off.

Picture of the Day
I finished up another mix CD for Your Sis. That's her boy cat on the cover.



In the News
It's a bad week to be Bush. Not only did he swiftly change his tone about Democrats on Wednesday, but the press hammered him on the 180-degree turn. And Bush could only claim he said things in the heat of campaigning. While he refused to agree he was out of touch with voters, his habit of praising an official before firing them became painfully obvious when Rumsfeld was shown the door. Bush claims he held off on the Pentagon change until after the election according to his plan. But some GOP campaign advisers are saying that they could have held the Senate had he done this a month ago. And now Bush says he can get the immigration package he wanted from the Democrats that he couldn't get from hardline Republicans.

It's also fun to hear the talk-show hosts sing a different tune after the election. Even Limbaugh threw the GOP under the bus and claimed he's relieved to not carry their water anymore. No one wants to look like they couldn't see the tide turning to the Democrats after spending the last 6 years calling that party conciliatory cowards. Those contrary voices and bloggers who said a grassroots effort would throw out the GOP now don't seem so cultish and fringe. This may further legitimize the Pajama Media.

Bachelor Weekend

Your Sis drove down to Greenville to visit a college buddy, leaving me to roam the house and neighborhood unsupervised. I finished watching Donnie Darko Friday night. It's an odd movie, one made up of moments that could work as music videos and an ending that doesn't spell out what the film is really up to. I understand that the director's cut explains everything and makes for a less fun film. I don't think I'll see it, but I want the soundtrack very badly. Good acting abounds here.

On Saturday, I finished the director's cut of the Dawn of the Dead remake, and it was a solid horror movie. Easily in my top five. I was impressed with the time taken to let the impact of events seep in, and the end credit sequence my be the best I've ever seen. I've never been a fan of zombie movies. OK, to be precise, Ive never been lured to a movie based solely on the premise that its about zombies. I liked the notion of the first Dawn of the Dead as it sounded clever: survivors hide in a mall and zombies return there out of habit. That's cute. The remake ditches the consumer commentary, and the zombies head to the mall to simply eat the living. Still, it retains enough cleverness to be a fun movie.

I worked on the cover art for a new mix CD for Your Sis and maybe finished up her Star Wars drawing. I'll take another look at it tomorrow. I took advantage of the alone time to eat badly: KFC, Wendy's, and Burger King. But I ran yesterday morning for the first time since the race, and you know, I'm thinking about running in the December 5k. Maybe not. We'll see. I made lasagna Saturday night, and we ate it last night. I thought it turned out a little bland even though I added a chunk of spices. We went through a bottle of Sangiovese (from Biltmore) with the meal. Sleep ensued.

Picture of the Day
I hope this is a joke.


In the News
The elections are tomorrow, and virtually everyone agrees the Democrats will win the House. The question is by how much; some projections suggest a 35-seat swing. They might take the Senate majority, but that's a point of debate. As we learned in 2004, polls mean nothing. The Democrats were projected to win then too. There's no way to spin the election any other way than as a referendum on the administration, specifically the Iraq occupation. And Bush said last week he has no plans to oust Rumsfeld if the Democrats win tomorrow. Democrat representative Nancy Pelosi kept a low profile last weekend so the GOP couldn't use her as a target for their campaigns. She is a top contender for the Speaker position if the Democrats win the majority, and the GOP makes too much hay out of prominent female Democrat candidates. So if the Democrats win as much as some say, who does the GOP blame for it? Bush will already be a lame duck for his last two years. Rumsfeld has Bush's backing (but so did the head of FEMA). The current Speaker of the House will already lose his job if the majority switches. The Big Mean Liberal Media will catch some shit for reporting that Iraq isn't going so well, but the unions aren't really a factor this year unless someone tries to blame the domestic car company losses for scaring voters. Local gas prices here were holding at $2.18 for about three weeks and then shot up seven cents overnight last week. Will that have an effect? If the Democrats win, will this be seen as much as a revolution as when the GOP took Congress in 1994? And will the Democrats likewise screw up their win by trying to pass a heavy handed list of cultural mandates?

Me, I'll just be glad all the damn ads are gone.

Halloween

It was dusky as I arrived home and found Your Sis in the driveway setting up the jack o'lanterns. She made lunchbag luminaries, filled them with wet cat litter, and we set them down the driveway to make a path leading kids to the door. We set some candles in the windows, opened all the candy bags into our plastic cauldron, and waited for kids. Two arrived right before 7 p.m., and then we ate supper as we waited for others. We watched "Six Feet Under" with the front door open in view of the TV, and would you know it, a lone six-year-old walked up right as characters were talking about sex. I don't think it registered with her. We had two large groups arrive within a few minutes of each other.

We also had a lone teenage boy arrive sans costume. He was carrying a pillowcase. He range the bell, and said nothing as I opened the door. Just stood there and held up his bag. Now, I believe in age limits for trick-or-treaters. I do. I wouldn't allow any kid over 12 to do it. But I'm willing to give candy (and we had plenty) to someone who has the right spirit. This boy had none. He just wanted free grub, and he was offering no effort to get it save walking to doors and announcing himself. I held the candy cauldron on my hip, lowered my lids, and said "I need to hear the phrase." "Trick or treat," he mumbled, and I gave him one piece of candy. One. Everyone else got handfuls.

Kathy and Travis came over a little later to show off Anna Claire's pumpkin costume. We ate candy and watched the remake of Dawn of the Dead. While we didn't get to see all of it (Your Sis went to bed, and they left), it had the makings of a fun horror film. I wanna see the rest. I'm also about halfway through Donnie Darko, and I have no idea where this film is going.

Oh, my official 5k time is listed as 31:03:06. I can beat that. I know I can.

Pictures of the Day
Her jack o'lantern. It's much better than mine.


In the News
I'm so fucking tired of the the campaign ads. But John Kerry is a friggin' idiot for botching a lay-up punchline and handing the GOP a bulletin board sound byte to rally around.

The Rest of the Weekend

I woke up dead tired Saturday morning and drove down to Greenville. A small comic convention was held there, and I picked up my comp copies of the Wide Awake anthology with my four-page story. The other Wide Awakers there had nice things to say about my stuff. The con was giving away copies as door prizes, and we sketched inside the front covers. It's a nice comic. The paper stock and colors are top-notch. This is professional printing all the way. I'm proud to be a part of it. I was asked about doing mini-comics and distributing them through Wide Awake at conventions. That's something I can definitely do. I got my first X-Men comic I ever bought signed by the artist (Dave Cockrum, who designed Storm, Nightcrawler, Colossus, and other iconic X-characters), and I bought an original Archie Comics page for $10. A bargain, I dare say. I shot the shit with the Wide Awakers and had a gay old time.

But I had to scurry off to Spartanburg, and I dropped in on the parents for a few hours. I then headed to the local comic shop where the annual Halloween party was also the store's tenth-anniversary party. I love that comic store. It's pound-for-pound the best in the country (yes, even the ones in Harvard and Kenmore Square). Clear lighting and floorspace, clean presentation. It's a slick packaging of many geek wares. The owners is a great guy and dutifully ships my titles to me each month. And if not him, one of the filthy lackeys. I met up with my comic gang, and learned to my shock that Chris and Jared had a baby. They made costumes for the evening (henchmen from "Venture Brothers"), and we returned to the store, ate some snacks, and then went to a local bar. I love my guys, and I miss them something awful here in Mayberry. Your Sis stayed home and graded papers, and everyone wished she could be in town. I drove back home late Saturday night and slept heavy.

On Sunday, we grabbed groceries and ate at the pub. Coffee, of course, followed, and she went back to work while I lazed about the house. She got back that evening, and we carved pumpkins on the back deck while minding the fire pit. Your Mom called, and we talked about the race. Kathy, Travis, and Anna Claire dropped over for a few hours, and we traded race stories and talked baby stuff. A great night. Not too cold, which is good when your elbow-deep in gourds.



The NFL
Her Teams
New England (6-1), NY Jets (4-4), Oakland (2-5)
Philly (4-4), Detroit (1-6)

My Teams
Miami (1-6), Pittsburgh (2-5)
Philly (4-4), Carolina (4-4)
Carolina couldn't catch a cold Sunday, and their defense was too exhausted to stave off a Dallas flurry in the fourth quarter. Pittsburgh needs to rest their QB for a few weeks, and Philly just can't get it together. Miami? Don't talk to me about Miami.

The Race (post almost as long as run)

Friday was a really long day. I was anxious to get a'runnin' but had to go through a full workday and then kill seven hours before I could start huppin' up the road. Heidi couldn't stay awake and hit the bed at 9:30. I started stretching at 10:00. I watched some TV and eased my way through throwing a leg this way and leaning that way. I drank some warm water. I had eaten a heavy lunch at 3 p.m. and had a six-inch sub at 8 p.m., and that was all I was eating. I seem to run better when I'm hungry.

The weather was not as bad as the early forecasts had stated. It was in the high 40s and drizzly. I wore a sweatshirt -- oh hey, I took a picture:



So, I had my sweatshirt, my Chris Benoit shirt, my luchadore mask, my toy belt, my leather gloves, and the shorts and shoes. Travis, my Brevard buddy, called me at 10:30 to confirm when we were gonna meet up at the race location. After an hour, I packed up some towels, water, camera, extra masks for Travis to choose from, and out the door I went.

The parking lot of the Child Development Center was packed already with cars. Travis had just picked up his registration bag (complete with disappointing race t-shirt and race number). I picked up my bag, and I let him pick out a mask to run in. He chose the La Parka.



I assume the race number was based on order of registration. He was 91. I was number nine. I was told the number paper included a "rip strip" which the officials would take after the race so they could log our official times. I saw about 50 people around the center door, staying in and out of the rain, waiting to start the race. Some had costumes, like this lady in an inflatable airplane:



I chatted with some Travis buddies, all of whom had run before. Of them, I was the lone newbie. Included in them was a triathlete. An older gent.

We moved to the race starting area at 5 til midnight. The organizers yelled out instructions on how to handle the car traffic, which chute to run in at the end of the race, and general thanks for showing up in the rain. I think we had about 60 people at the race start, and we were milling around and chatting. I was near the back of the pack. Suddenly, I heard "GO" and the front of the pack zoomed away.

Travis and I started our boot-camp jog pace. To my relief, I discovered we had the same run rhythm, and staying with him wasn't going to be a problem. I didn't know if he'd be slower or faster than me. The front runners were GONE; they hauled ass down the road. It was very thin around us. Maybe 10 people within 20 yards of us. We hupped down the road for about half a mile before we met up with the older triathlete. He was decked out. Had his super-sheer jacket and a fancy wrist computer for heartbeat and pace stats. He slowed down to match us, sidled next to Travis, and I deferred to them and ran a bit behind. I felt OK with their pace.

My ankles started to hurt first which was unusual. Had to be the downhill angle. I also knew I was going slightly faster than I would prefer. Travis and his friend were starting to quicken, and I kept up with them. We turned onto another road (marked thankfully by a cop blocking car traffic), and we started a slow uphill grade. Cars rolled past us in both directions to our left. Folks stood by the road to watch us. We chatted with other runners who admitted they hadn't done this course before. My quads started to complain, but it was manageable. What surprised me most was I was breathing heavy. I didn't have trouble breathing unless the cramp popped up or I was on the soulkiller hill. I chalked this up to running in a full mask and at a slightly faster pace than I would prefer. But I felt like I was OK with half the distance to go. I made it this far, I thought. The belt acted like a girdle and kept my back straight. But it was heavy and shifted as the clothes settled on me.

We turned onto another road, stopping for a driver who ignored the race signal-folk and drove right through the course. A short turn right again, and we were hitting a steep grade. Travis asked over his shoulder how I was doing. I gave him my quick diagnosis, and he said I was doing great for a first race. This made me feel a little better, and I decided I was gonna tough this out. The grade leveled out, and we turned left to a steep downhill. I had trouble evening out my breath while bounding a little to slow the descent. I was breathing harder than I should have. We had another short uphill, and then a flat stretch before another turn. The rain came down her quickly and then vanished. But I was very wet, and the breath was not there for me. I felt stifled. I took off the gloves and pulled up my sweatshirt sleeves a bit.

We turned left, thanking the cop stopping traffic. We were now back on the main road where we started. But we were right at the bottom of the Jailhouse Hill, and I was already in lung trouble, and my thighs were hardening. I slowed my pace and let Travis and the guy go ahead. I didn't have to keep their pace to finish. Halfway up the hill, I heard cheering and realized we were getting support by people who had already finished and doubled back to watch. I was in some pain here and was split on how to feel about this. It was a nice gesture, but it was a bit condescending. Again, I was hurting here and getting cranky. My legs were locking up, and my breath was gone. I was tempted to take off the mask. I had to switch to power walking to continue moving and alternated jogging with this. Travis and the other guy were gone. I got to the top of the hill, felt my legs loosen up a bit as the grade flattened and went back to the run. It hurt. My head was light and wobbly, and I was squinting to see the finish line. I knew I didn't have long to go so I just threw my legs out in front of me and pumped my arms. My form was shot.

I heard "slow down and move right" and realized I had made it to my chute. I saw a short line in front of me and stopped to be processed. Someone grabbed my ripstrip and took it. Someone else asked my age (and I gave them the wrong one initially; my brains were gone) and told me to walk out from under the tent and back toward the kids center. I knew nobody, and I was dead beat tired. I moseyed toward the center. Some old guy behind me made a comment about the wrestling mask, and soon I was caught by a babbling geezer telling me about living under Ventura's administration in Minnesota. I broke off and walked away.

The center had a table of water bottles and bananas, and I realized I was starving. I gobbled a banana and walked back to the car for my camera. I snapped the finish tent:



and then walked across the street and saw (for the first time) the race clock. When I took this pick, it must have been five minutes after I finished:



I felt pretty good about my time. I found Travis, and we exchanged notes and moved back to the center. I learned some folks had taken a wrong turn and added a mile to their run. As we stood and chatted with other folks, the race organizers handed out awards. To my shock, I was announced as third place for my age division (30-34). Travis was second. We got little ceramic knick-knacks. All the official run times are to be announced later on this week online. The awards wear all given out (as Travis and another pal of his and I traded Chuck Norris jokes). The triathlete said we had averaged a 6.2 mph pace (much faster than my normal 5.5) and had topped out at a stunning 9 mph pace. Someone handed out flyers for an upcoming 5k to launch the town Christmas festivities. But it's a morning race, and I run better at night. It was now 1:20, and we were beat. We went home.

I chatted with a groggy Heidi and showered. As I took off the clothes, I noticed how bulky the clothes felt, and I realized only then that this stuff was heavy. I got on the scale, noted the weight, took off the shirts, and weighed myself again. Yep, the wet shirts added 5 pounds. I had saddled myself with bad running clothes, and that's why i was out of fuel.

But I did it.

I'm Almost Through Talking About Running

The race is tonight. I haven't run since Tuesday, and I only did light exercise Wednesday. Last night, I did nothing that could be described as exercise. I'll do some light work tonight, work up a sweat, and stretch an hour before the race. Travis and I will meet up not long beforehand, and I'll offer him a wrestling mask to wear. I bought more Velcro to adhere to the wrestling belt. It's meant for kids and barely fits on me. As if I didn't feel fat before all this started. I'm eager to end the day and get a'runnin'. I've anticipated this for two years. It's going to be wet tonight, raining all day and into the night, but not as cold as first forecast. I hope to have a heavy lunch today (work permitting) and snack the rest of the evening.

Picture of the Day
Art created with one sheet of paper. You can see more here.


In the News
An Australian Islamic cleric made a ruckus by suggesting that women who don't wear the veil bear responsibility for rape. Why is this news? Christian fundamentalists say the same thing. Christian radio host Dr. Albert Mohler (heard here daily) instructs brides to consider the male attendees of their wedding lest their dresses arouse lust. There's no difference.

She's Sick Again

Your Sis should enter the Olympics for cold catching. She stayed in the sick bed last night after watching "Studio 60" (a standout episode) and finishing off pumpkin pie. My gym rearranged their equipment so I couldn't use the weights, and they reduced the number of treadmills. I ran about 3 miles there yesterday, but I was bookended by people who apparently missed the other available treadmills. I don't like the kind of clustering; it's a small neurosis.

The NFL
Her Teams
New England (5-1), NY Jets (4-3), Oakland (1-5)
Philly (4-3), Detroit (1-6)

My Teams
Miami (1-6), Pittsburgh (2-4)
Philly (4-2), Carolina (4-3)
Carolina's losses to Minnesota and Cincinnati were caused by late turnovers. They should be 6-1. Miami is just horrible. Thoroughly, utterly bad. Pittsburgh can't get rolling, and their quarterback now has a concussion on top of his recovery from an offseason motorcycle wreck.

Picture of the Day
Now this is cool. This is what the shuttle launch looks like from the international space station.


In the (Geek) News
Lucas obviously cribbed material from Japanese filmmaker Kirosawa for Star Wars. Hunt down a film called Hidden Fortress and watch in shock. But a French site is now comparing Star Wars to mid-'70s European comics. The similarities are startling.

Fourth 5k

[Samuel L. Jackson voice] Yes, it was fucking cold out there. Yes, it was windy. Yes, I saw snow as I left work. But if I'm going to run in the mountains at midnight three nights before Halloween, I had to know how it would feel. So I ran. I ran 5k. In the muthafuckin cold goddammit. [/Samuel L. Jackson voice]

I got home from work, pulled on a sweatshirt, wore some baggy shorts, donned a ski cap, and, to quote George Thorogood, out the door I went. For the first half mile, I regreted not wearing gloves, but that pain faded soon. It felt like my lungs were leaking. I had less lungpower, and I blame the cold for that more than the wind. Once the wind died down, the run was not bad, but the wind made the air much sharper. The legs were fine, the cramping was minimal (to which I credit the inability to breathe deep), and my head felt OK with the cap. I think I'll indeed run with a luchadore mask Friday night. My legs were bright red from the run, by the way. I passed by two runners last night, both young women, and now I wonder if I've done enough to be considered a member of the running community. Maybe it's too early for that.

I was winded more than usual after the run, and again I blame the cold. Travis called to say he ran a little bit yesterday to acclimate to the temperature and would definitely be there for the race. I told Your Sis that she didn't have to be there. It's going to be a late night.

I've run 5k four times in two weeks. I'm 34 years old. I've never tried something like this before, and except for random leg aches, I feel pretty good. I'll hit the gym lightly tonight.

Picture of the Day
Saturn has been my favorite planet since elementary school. We studied them in I think third grade. I was a little space nut. I read Sagan's Cosmos, and I got space books for Christmas and birthdays because I was such the nerd. AndI read them all because I was such the nerd. Jupiter may have the Red Spot, and Uranus may have vertical rings (or is that Neptune?), but Saturn as the first God King and head of the Titans, and I read mythology too as a kid. Double nerd! Gaze upon the coldness of space. That's what it felt like last night. And with that, I shall cease the whining.

In the News
During the 2004 elections, Democrats called for a timetable to hand over control of Iraq security to that country so we could bring our guys home. That was packaged by the GOP as "cut and run." Two years later, the U.S. bigwigs in Iraq announced they have a timetable to hand over control of Iraq security to the country so we could bring our guys home. This can cyncically and appropriately be called "midterm election desperation." After three years of repeating "stay the course," Bush said in a recent ABC interview that he never said "stay the course."

We Got Movie Sign

Because it was very cold and Your Sis was tired, we did not go to the high school game but bought a pizza and rooted ourselves to the new loveseat. We watched House of Flying Daggers, one of about a dozen Chinese martial arts movies starring Ziyi Zhang. Everyone knows Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but my favorite so far is Hero. It's nonstop, eye-popping goodness. Oh, Daggers wasn't bad, but it couldn't live up to the Hero standard. And I'll happily watch Zhang for two hours.

Before I got home that night, I hopped into Wal-Mart to find a costume, and it was only when I strolled the toy section did it hit me. I found a toy replica of the WWE U.S. title belt, and I decided to put together as much of a wrestler costume as possible. I've got luchadore masks and wrestling t-shirts. I bought the belt and some athletic tape for my wrists. And that's really all I need. Costume finished. Now, I'm not sure I can run in that mask, but if it's cold enough, yeah, I think I will.

Saturday I finally saw the race route, and it's easier than what I've been running. In fact, right before I bought the new shoes, I ran 3/4 of the course. Look at the comparisons of the elevations.



The W in the top line shows where I turn around and go back up Jailhouse Hill. The only drawback to the race route is that the hill is closer to the end of the race than it is to the end of my regular run. When I run and hit that hill, I've still got a mile to go. In the race, we'll have half that. That means I have less time to settle back into my run and sail to the end. I worry about the traffic control because we'll be running during the first night of the weekend-long Halloween events. And of course the cold. We picked up most of some wine bought at the previous weekend's tasting and looked at stove wire for making candle holders for the front walk. Your Sis napped most of the day, and I worked on her drawing some more. That night we watched Dave Chappelle's Block Party, an energetic film that not only shows how easily Dave is funny, but also presents one helluva concert.

On Sunday, we put up Halloween decorations and bought pumpkins to carve later this week. I still have decorations given to me by the crazy ex-neighbor who emailed me a few months back about the divorce. We walked the older cat outside -- yep, on a leash -- for about a half hour. We hoped to have Kathy and Travis over for pie and coffee, but they had to cancel. Baby Stress. It happens. So the two of us instead watched Master and Commander and ate some pie. This is quickly becoming one of my favorite movies, and I'm still curious to hear the commentary. We've enjoyed the film itself so much we haven't gotten to the commentary yet.

I just returned the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof script to theatre. Holy ow, it's cold outside, and the wind is everywhere. Tonight I hope to run for the last outdoor 5k before Friday night. But this is gonna be a hard run tonight. This is gonna suck.

Picture of the Day
Here's what the belt looks like. It's actually a stylish belt plate, much different from traditional wrestling belts. It's a toy belt I bought, and it barely fits me.