Canvasing

An unexpected -- read: contrary to every weather report -- rain shower kept me from working in the yard, and I did what all manly men do instead: I painted.

This is the painting after I slapped down some simple brown patches for the meat. I was still trying to clean up my proportion in my internal struggle of abstracting the photo versus maintaining a semblance of realistic dimensions.



Then I focused on the bottom corner. I plan to work clockwise. I obviously need to vary my brown tones more. I tend to work dark, and I'm fighting that. Also, the paint seems thin and requires many coats.


The state's primary is today, and we got four campaign calls yesterday alone. We watched House last night, and Your Sis finally managed to skunk me in identifying a guest actor from a previous role. She totally identified the patient as the Samantha's model boyfriend from Sex and the City. She's frazzled from school, to the point that she's depriving herself of fun movie time. She's now downplaying her enthusiasm for Speed Racer, a film she's been dying for since last year.

Iron Horses Running in the Garden of Eden. And A Painting.

Saturday morning was spent weeding the garden. We put down tarps to burn away the overgrowth, but it didn't work. We created instead a greenhouse. A lush forest of weedy weeds. I ripped through them with the weedeater. I found a lot of vine root clusters, and I'll dig them out as soon as the dead weeds turn brown and thin. I'll clean up the garden enough for us to rent a tiller this weekend. We also need to rent a wood chipper for the winter branch debris and use that mulch throughout the yard.

Your Sis was too busy to watch Iron Man with me, which is a shame as I'm sure she'd love the gadgetry and improv-style dialogue. It's a great comic movie. In fact, it gets weak only when it becomes most like a comic: the big climactic fight. The rest, however, is chock full of nods to comic fans and the history of the characters. The post-credits extra scene made me gasp; it sets the stage for big things. No one is mailing it in here, and that energy makes for a fun two hours. The majority of audience members were older folks, and I spent part of the credits answering questions about the comic book.

We did watch the Kentucky Derby together and enjoyed it until the philly had to be killed. This is the second catastrophic horse injury during a Triple Crown race in a few years, and questions abound regarding breeding criteria. The horses are becoming fragile.

I ran Sunday at the school, chugging through three miles on the track. That's almost 2 5ks within four days. The knee held up, and this week's garden work will replace running.

I did a bit more on the painting. I'm making a four-square grid to somewhat match the photo, but I don't want to be too rigid. I don't want to replicate the picture.


I started reading the Bible again. My Parents gave us a copy for Christmas. I haven't read the thing since college. It sparked a long debate with Your Sis last night about the physics of the creation story: if God created light, that meant all was dark beforehand. But would that make The Void itself darkness or would "dark" only be defined by the creation of light?

Iron Man

So, yes, I ran when I got home. I made myself run for 30 minutes or until I finished a new circuit of the neighborhood. I was trying to run for time, but I finished the lap in 29 minutes. The Superman theme really helps me get up the hills. The knee was fine; in fact, it bothers me more when I walk in jeans than when I run in shorts. I got home, cleaned up, and met up with Your Sis and another couple for a long, long supper. We got home after Lost had started, and I watched the recording while Your Sis slept. She'll probably catch it tonight. I made myself stay up late so I would hopefully stop waking up at 4 a.m. I hung up a new blind in the workshop and plotted the next painting strategy.

Motion Picture of the Day



Iron Man is getting rave reviews, and I'll see it tomorrow morning, come hell or Hiawatha. It's not a property that immediately makes for a sure-fire film franchise. The hero is a drunk control freak, and he has a weak rogues gallery. In fact, his greatest enemies stemmed from the character's foundation as a 1960s creation. Iron Man fought commies. He road-to-Damascus moment was during the Korean War and not in whatever Middle Eastern country this film uses. His heyday was the early '80s as the Soviet Union still lurked over the horizon. Off the top of my head, I can remember five Soviet villains and two of them wore armor suits. He also fought a Chinese imperialist and literal corporate spies. In the days of Dallas and Top Gun, Tony Stark was comics' JR Ewing. He had the Tom Selleck mustache, the fast cars, the slinky gals, the armors (lots of variations), and he threw back cocktails in board meetings.

I'm keen on this film because the cast is impressive. Love Downey, love Bridges, love Howard and Paltrow. I'm surprised the director seems to have crafted a big moneymaker; Jon Favreau is best known as an indy guy. But, to be fair, so was Chris Nolan, the guy who made the latest Batman movies, and Sam Raimi, who made the Spider-Man films.

I'm also happy to see another Stan Lee/Jack Kirby creation get a shot at the big time.
Iron Man is of the same brood as Hulk, Fantastic Four, Spidey, X-Men, and dozens more. They had no idea what would work with the readers; they used every conceivable gimmick. Iron Man took, and he remains the most successful armored character in comics. The film essentially preserves the origin, complete with his retro-cool gray armor.

From what I hear, if you stick around after the credits, you'll see a big-name actor appearing as another comic character, the same character as which he also cameos in the upcoming Hulk movie.

UpDad

I did a little exercise when I got home. Esquire, the one with Jessica Simpson shaving on the cover, ran a 7-day tune-up schedule for men, including a series of exercises. They are deceptively simple. I find myself laughing at my exhaustion after 25 reps of a seemingly easy series. I did not get to paint, but I did stop by the downtown Asheville store for a tube of Nickel Oxide Brown, I think they called it. It's a yellow-brown.

Dad called after his chemo. His red blood cell count is down, and his heart is working too hard. They're giving him injections to help this. He's growing black hair again, but his legs are getting weak. When he's tired, it's hard to talk with him; I couldn't get in any questions to ask specifics as he was practically babbling from the drugs. I'll try to get more out of him this weekend.

The knee is settling down more each day, and I intend to run when I get home. I watched a recent Nova experiment where 12 sedentary people trained for the Boston Marathon. One had to pull out because of stress fractures, but the rest finished the race, averaging a little over four hours. There's a local race here at the end of May, and I'd like to take a crack at it, but I need to get back to 3 5ks a week beforehand.

Picture of the Day
Threepio is helpless against the forceball.

Bedsheets in the Garden

The wild swings in nighttime temperatures require us to cover up the budding flowers often during the week. The neighbors are doing it too, and the yards seem to be holding slumber parties.

I had the need to exercise and realized just as I pulled up to the house that the yard was a jungle. I mowed it without favoring the bad knee and have changed the diagnosis from Grody Joint Chasm to Mild Inconvenience. Gone are the gauze pads and palm-sized Band-Aids. I'm now wearing to layered regular Band-Aids. The limp is no more as well.

I painted very little. My Dad called, and we talked about his upcoming chemo today. I dabbed red paint where the red peppers should go on the canvas. Next, I'll dab on the yellow and then sketch up the other stir-fry ingredients.

We watched last night's American Idol. In case you're not watching, the show is down to five people:

Brooke -- the hippie sunshine girl
Syesha -- the brassy belter
David Archuletta -- the high-school kid who sings like a Disney character
David Cook -- the stadium-rocker
Jason -- the dreadlocked slacker

Cook is ready to tour right now. Syesha might rule Broadway. Everyone else is a waste, an embarrassment of minimum competence and oh-shucks desperation for votes. They sang Neil Diamond songs, and only Syesha and Cook can sing above a whisper. Your Sister is amazed that Simon and I say virtually the same things just minutes apart.

Picture of the Day
This barely made my high standards for picture posting.

Painting Myself into a Corner

I moved the easel into the workshop, between the drawing table and the door. I put in the Fight Club DVD and listened to the commentary and painted for about half an hour. I still agree that Fight Club is my generation's The Graduate; however, I wonder if it's too much of a guy movie. It makes fun of male-esteem movements, but wallows in that philosophy so much that it is mistakenly seen as a true male-esteem platform. What did you think of it?

Again, I'm working on the corners, and I feared I had overdone it, but looking at the photo at this size, the corners look OK. Not perfect, but not bad. I will definitely work on the interior next time.

My knee is still aching, and I'll have to see a doctor if it doesn't start scarring soon. I think I'm developing an adverse reaction to so much Neosporin. I forced my knee to bend to keep the joint from stiffening.

This morning, I dropped by the college art building to see the senior exhibit and check the classrooms. I saw the photo teacher in passing and then I drove into work. I'm listening to the president's press conference and his answer to the economy is to drill in ANWAR. I don't know how anyone can be sure how much oil is there when it hasn't been drilled. And I don't know why he thinks anyone will believe his assertions after the WMD fiasco.

500 Posts

Wow. That's a lot of blabbing.

I'm starting the painting this weekend based on this photo.

With Your Sister out of town, I'm set up the easel in the kitchen and watched the NFL draft as I began the canvas. I had no idea how to start this as the detail is beyond my interest. I finally decided to simply slap down colors to build the approximate hues in swaths close to that of the items. It'll be very abstract. maybe. I'm winging it. My first passes on the canvas were horrible; my painting muscles were worthless.

Here it is now.

I have a ways to go.

Weirdest thing happened before I started painting. I drove out for dinner and decided on a burrito place I never go to. Walk in the door, and there is my painting teacher from college. Right before my first painting in ten years. I talked to her and her husband -- the photography teacher -- and they asked if I'd perhaps talk to their students. Odd odd odd.

I also listened to the Superman commentary, and it reminded me just how very much I adore that film. Pitch-perfect in every way. The effects hold up, the tone holds up, the jokes still work. It's a timeless film, really. Gene Hackman just nails the role of Lex. He's hitting home runs in every scene.

When she came back home, we searched for lasagna and settled for pizza instead. I ignored the painting on Sunday to let it settled down, and I might try it again tonight before wrestling and pizza. Or we might forgo wrestling and watch a new House instead. Yes. Yes, I think that's what we'll do.

In the Local News
We're bombarded by campaign ads and robo-calls for the May 6 primary. We even got a live call from a local Obama supporter. I intend to vote next Tuesday, but I'm still undecided who gets my vote. I have arguments for and against both of them.

Mix CD

I handed over a new mix CD for Your Sister. I listen to a regular podcast called Coverville dedicated to playing covers or originals of songs many don't realize are covers. It's hit and miss, and the host tends to get into ruts; how many covers for Umbrella, Crazy, Hey Yeah or Hallelujah can one hear? The variety of the podcast makes it consistently interesting as familiar songs swoop through bluegrass or ska translations. I've listened to it for a few years now and kept the best episodes to hear particular songs. But thanks to the free Audacity software, I can clip those songs and ditch the rest of the file. This is what I did for her, making an anthology of the most effecting covers.

1. Hot Rod Lincoln Bill Kirchen
I don't know the original, but this cover distinguishes itself when the band imitates dozens of other musicians halfway through.

2. Changed the Locks Tom Petty
Originally by Lucinda Williams

3. Don't Stop Believing Petra Hayden
A one-woman a cappella cover.

4. Girls Just Want To Have Fun Greg Lazwell
A very slow cover using only the piano.

5. Creep Clockwork
A capella. Radiohead's Creep may be the best song of the '90s, the immediate descendant of the Police's Every Breath You Take. The simple chord structure helps it move to other genres smoothly.

6. Better Be Home Soon Casey Chambers
Originally by Crowded House

7. Something About You Anthony David
The original, by Level 42, is one of the best '80s songs. It never lost its luster.

8. 3 is the Magic Number Jellydots
Originally from Schoolhouse Rock. I didn't get to see the ACT production.

9. Somewhere Over The Rainbow Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
This is the Hawaiian version, the one sung note-for-note recently on American Idol. I first heard it in Season One of Lost, back when each episode ended with a musical montage.

10. Short People King Singers
This is Randy Newman's infamous song, done a cappella.

11. Hope That I Don't Fall In Love Amiliana Tourini
Originally by Tom Waits.

12. Hey, Jude Wilson Pickett
Originally the the Rolling Stones. No, Sex Pistols.

13. Mama Told Me Not to Come Randy Newman
This is actually the original. Three Dog Night covered it and made it famous.

14. The Gambler Johnny Cash
Originally by Kenny Rogers.

15. Take On Me Sarah Bareilles
Originally by A-Ha. She's the women whose Not Gonna Write You A Love Song is everywhere now.

16. Common People Joe Jackson and William Shatner
Originally by Pulp. Shatner speaks his lyrics, and the production is stellar.

I'm gauzed up, and the wound continues to seep.

Lost comes back tonight at 10 p.m.

Picture of the Day
A scarf that looks like bacon.

The Story of My First Running Accident

Well, now I know that I have declared war against someone who employs voodoo.

I decided to run a different route yesterday and turned onto a road that sprouted off into gravel. A car was headed in my direction and stopped suddenly when the driver saw the gravel. Tuesday was a weird day for drivers as I had close shaves in both commutes, and I was sure he'd back into me. I kept my eye on him but didn't stop running, and I stumbled in a pothole. Down goes Frazier.

I scraped my knee, and it wouldn't have been so gruesome had I not banged up my knees with bike wrecks when I was younger. I have thin scar tissue, and it went away easily. I was half a mile from home, and there wasn't much pain; I decided to run as much as I could. It turned out to be a bad running day. I had breathing trouble, and a bug flew into my eye. But I jogged for close to 20 minutes. My knee was a horror movie by the time I got home to clean it up, and I hope I increased my street cred by running with this caked mess on my leg.

It's not so sore this morning. I'm bandaged and limping slightly. This is nothing compared to those crashes of yore such as when the bike rusted apart into two pieces, and I belly flopped on the road. That required the good people of the emergency room.

Dad called. He had another chemo yesterday. His blood work is fine, and he's gained four pounds in two weeks. He aims for 1,000 calories a meal. He's halfway through his chemo and plans to go back to work in June.

Picture of the Day
I'm in a Hanks mood lately. I watched Cast Away twice recently and picked up a free copy of Philadelphia when I bought the Cloverfield DVD.

The Story of My First Comic Book

So, you can say you ran in the Boston marathon. And I, the itinerant jogger, can only claim measly local 5ks.

Fine. I see how it is.

THIS MEANS WAR.

I'll go to Chicago or New York and sneak into their marathons too. Or I'll run in drag in the women's Olympic race this summer.

I'll show you all.

Your Mom, you should know, is tickled that her daughter and son-in-law are doing any kind of running.

During a downtown stroll this weekend, we ducked into the local antique store. They sell old magazines and whatever comics someone has brought in. While the comics are usually piddling, they all sit on an old-fashioned spinner rack -- the kind that used to stand in grocery and drug stores -- and I would kill to have one. The store won't sell theirs though (I've asked), and it taunts me whenever I walk by the front windows of the store.

I checked the rack this weekend, and someone had brought in their load of 1970s horror comics: Godzilla, Man-Thing, Tomb of Dracula, and assorted others. I didn't really care for them, but I will keep my eyes open for work by particular artists. When Marvel started their horror comics, they were handing them to whoever could slap together a script and dribble ink on an artboard. I never heard of some of these folks, and the comics didn't crank my engine.

However, I did find something I never, ever thought I'd find. It was so random and weird that I had not once considered I'd ever find it. I've scoured back-issue bins for decades, looking for bargains and specific titles to complete my collection. But I never looked for this issue, and here it was, in my hands just after I had eaten lunch and shopped for shoes for Your Sister. It's a copy of the oldest comic I remember owning. As far as my brain is concerned, it's my first comic book.



The copy I had was so beaten up that I don't ever recall seeing the cover. It was gone. The pages were battered from being shoved and piled in a cardboard box from the grocery store. My grandparents used to babysit me while my parents were at work, and I kept a pile of comics at their place instead of schlepping comics back and forth. This comic was one of those. I don't think I have that original copy anymore. I hadn't thought of it for at least 15 years.

I, of course, bought this new one, and I read it that night as Your Sis cracked open a Wonder Woman. It's bizarre. In this 1975 comic, a pan-dimensional demon tries to invade our world but is denied by a centuries-old Scarecrow who lives in a painting. The Scarecrow leaps from the painting to fight demons (who just happen to stroll by the framed art), and his presumably straw-packed gloves dispense justice with fisticuffs. There's also a giant mutant fish and a fight in a lab. I'm not sure the artist and writer spoke the same language, and I'm convinced drugs were imbibed before and during this comic's production. It's pretty damn crappy. It's a bad comic. It's a dopey premise. We can't tell if the title character is a good guy or not. The magic has no rules.

I had to be three when I first got this comic, and I probably asked for it because there's a scarecrow on the cover. He was my favorite character from The Wizard of Oz. This comic, you may have guessed, has nothing to do with the Emerald City or Ray Bolger. And I think the comic scared me as a kid because it was so weird and unexpected. If I had read it now for the first time, I would have disregarded it. It has no value except sentiment. But it was my first, and now I have a decent copy of it.

You may also have heard that the three presidential candidates taped messages to appear on the WWE show last night. Obama may have won me over by cribbing The Rock's catchphrase: "If you smell what Barack is cooking."

Blogroll

Having throughly gotten the bug, Your Sister asked me for any Wonder Woman comics I may have. Out from the workroom sprang all the comics from the various volumes, and they pile about eight inches high. I suggested she skip through them if her eyes begin to glaze over.

We took Your Mom out for lunch Friday for her birthday, and, after work, the two of us hit the mall where I finally bought myself a pair of Chuck Taylors. I've always wanted a pair, but my flat feet kept me away for fear of hurting the arches. However, I've run in a variety of shoes for the last few years, and my arches are no worse. So now I am rocking the Chucks -- black with white trim. Combine this with the temperature-appropriate jean jacket, and I appear to have tumbled out of an '80s comedy.

This weekend, we watched Unforgiven and No Country for Old Men, making for a violent and dour movie experience. But they're very good films.

On Sunday, I weeded the yard by hand. I also attacked the ground ivy where the blackberry bush used to be. I was desperate for physical activity but wasn't eating right to take a decent run. I bought a running magazine to help me get back into that.

I went back to the dentist today to finish the cleaning, and they didn't take any teeth, to my relief. I don't go back until January for a regular cleaning. And now you know.

Picture of the Day
DJ German Dog

Geeks of a Feather

I made fajitas last night and proved to myself that I could eat without sloughing my teeth. So that was nice.

Your Sister has been a comic-reading fiend this week, gobbling up the recent Wonder Woman issues and the volumes of a metacommentary on superheroines called Empowered. That makes it sound more boring than it is. Anyway, I'm shocked she's getting into the books, but shocked in a pleasant way that reminds me that I married one nifty tamale. She's joining me in Asheville Friday to visit with Your Mom before Sunday's birthday.

Raging Geek Blasphemy of the Day
A movie based on the 1980s GI Joe toys and comics is in the works, and the first photo of Scarlett has been released. She was the lone female action figure when the Joe franchise went to teh same size as the Star Wars figures, just under four inches. Before that, the Joes were 12-inches tall and all man, baby.

This is the current version of her toy:
It's very similar to the original version, except now she has a sidearm. Scarlett was cool for us kids. Her biography on the back of the package noted her martial arts training and proficiency with weapons. She was no damsel in distress. She was sneaky and dangerous. Hence: cool. And the outfit, while making not a lick of sense, made her stand out from the drab-green uniforms of the guys. It also highlighted that she was fit rather than obligatory cheesecake. She was another descendant of Princess Leia; she could gab, she could fight, and she didn't cry. Like Wilma Dearing from Buck Rogers.

Here's the movie photo:

Sure, yes, OK. It makes sense for a sneaky military gal to wear an outfit that lets her actually sneak. But, and I can't mention this without sounding like a total nerd, the costume change just ain't kosher. They gave her Batman's outfit without the cape. I think she's holding a crossbow. All that black makes it hard to tell. As long as she's not the wilting hostage, I'll be OK with this. Really.

Clearly, I have nothing of substance to say.

Oh, wait. We did see some of the Clinton/Obama debate last night, and both candidates had good moments. The race seems to be so close because these are really good speakers who can toss out details for their policies. Still, McCain is toast when it comes to a one-on-one debate with the Democrats. North Carolina's primary is in three weeks.

Mumbles of Vengeance

I saw the Mario theme video on Attack of the Show, GTV's daily geek-culture show. Your Sister is a fan of it too, although she doesn't know most of what they're talking about. TiFaux is great for this; I can pause the show and explain the references, like in a DVD commentary.

She made a dental appointment for me for this morning, and, well, let's just say it's been a while since I've willingly draped myself on their chair. OK, yes, I went for my wisdom teeth extraction when they, to use their sophisticated lingo, "bombed out." But I hadn't been for a normal dental visit in ages. And while I can blame my last dentist -- incompetent and stupid and now a felon -- my own laziness and silly anxiety kept me away. They scraped and wedged and advised to do more at home.

I survived and I have all my teeth, and now I'm afraid to eat anything. I may have to Starbucks my belly into silence.

Picture of the Day
If I have any more tooth trouble, I'll just have him knock them out.

Congratulations

A few weeks back, I found a satchel in the library parking deck. The ever-paranoid fret voice warned me against even touching it lest it go kablooey, but I gave a cursory check and could find nothing immediately identifying the owner. I threw it in my car and took it home to dig through more throughly. I found a car title transfer form with a name and address, but the phone company didn't have a line there.

I let the bag sit for a week before digging through it again. Inside, I found a jumpdrive and a marriage license and eventually discovered a business card with a phone number and the name on the title form. I called him up. We rendezvoused Monday morning at an Asheville coffeehouse (The Dripolator, and what an appetizing name that is). He showed up, thanked me, and took his bag out the door. The bag contents suggested he lived at loose ends, and his appearance didn't alter that notion. On the phone, he said he'd wear a certain hat so I could find him. When he showed up, nope, no hat. Genius. I finished my hot coffee and read the Mountain Xpress before heading to work.

For the second year in a row, Your Sister's Spring Break starts with a snowfall.

I hope your hangover is tinged with joy.

Picture of the Day
Professor Akito Marada and his failed prototype sexbot cheer you from afar.

Bachelorhood and the Page

Longtime Reader writes:

glad to hear your dad thinks this round of chemo will go better. glad, too, to hear that you'll play a role in show selection. did the director admit that he was testing you? did he use those exact words? how did the double date go, other than that?

Not in those words, no. But he did say he considered me for the committee because of comments I had made about the script during the rehearsals and cemented his notion when I told him at the party that I had concerns about "the plot, not the production" regarding the script he handed me. It's still possible he thought I could play the Young Killer, but, more directly, he wanted to know if Ic ould quickly read and comment on a potential play for the company.

The double date was fine. We sat down for dinner at a local eatery at 7 and closed the place down. we were the last customers, and we talked plays, marriages, jobs, and travels abroad (I, the simple boy, had the least of them.) We'd get together with them again at teh drop of a hat.

Since that Thursday, I've read three of the scripts he handed me:

1. The Nerd: A party-crasher spills havoc on a man obliged to board him indefinitely. It's an early '80s comedy that, like a lot of plays considered by community theatres, uses just one set. It's got a hectic first act, and while reading I found a Post-it from a previous prop mistress who was reeling from the near-hundred of items required. The play drops in quality in Act Two, and the script calls for a big role by a small child.

This play includes a scene that was my very first assigned material in my high-school drama class. We four actors who learned this scene and competed with it at regional theatre conventions didn't read anything beyond the ten pages we were given. This was my first chance to find out how our characters got to this bit of hijinks. It's a great scene for high-schoolers, but I don't know how it will play for the blue-hairs. It's also a character list that will skew young and could be a good way to woo new actors.

2. Night Watch: A woman thinks she sees a murder and spirals into anxiety and paranoia. This would make an excellent radio drama. It reminds me of Sorry, Wrong Number, which my seventh grade class performed and recorded as a group project. It calls for an older cast, uses one set, and has few props.

3. Mousetrap: Strangers are trapped in a snowbound boarding house while a killer is at large. This is the classic Agatha Christie -- the longest-running play in the history of history: 23,000 shows since it opened in 1952. The original production virtually never ended. It's a fantastic script, and it's the clear winner of the bunch so far. The plot is airtight, and it ends well. Only incompetence and unprofessional behavior could sink this production.

I didn't realize Bailey's baptism was this weekend when I agreed to make the comic page. I stayed home, and Your Sis drove down for a along weekend with Your Brother and Andrea. It gave me free rein to bury my head in the page, but I felt bad for not going. Weeks ago, I assured her I would go.

Here it is in stages:
The money shot is the entrance of Grunge Hobo, who is determined to kill Kid janitor (I didn't cook up the names or the plot, I just nudged it forward). I had to make Grunge Hobo resemble the first appearance of the character

Picture

Final Page Art

The Whole Penciled Page

The Whole Inked Page

The Page With Text

I worked on this for about five hours on Saturday and a few more on Sunday. I listened to movie commentaries and NPR. I could have spent more time on the inks (pens, not brushes), but I was worried about coloring the page and applying text after, so I rushed it. It's not bad, I s'pose.

The rest of the weekend was exercise and movies. I watched the Twin Peaks movie and Unforgiven. When I wasn't reading scripts, of course.

UpDad and a New Gig

Dad called after his most recent chemo on Wednesday to say he felt OK. A bit tired, of course. He's lost three pounds, which may be the most since he was diagnosed. But he thinks the next chemo won't be as harsh. He spends his days watching baseball and sleeping; if I send him the DVD of the play, he might finally call the cable folks to hook the player to the new HDTV configuration. He again mentioned buying me a new lawnmower, but he shouldn't worry about that now. I don't want to dismiss something he wants to do, but I told him we can do it later. Because I'm convinced there will be a later.

We had dinner with the play director and his wife last night, and he threw me a curve. Remember that play he had me read and comment on? Turns out he wasn't so much grooming me for a part as testing me. And I passed. He asked me to join the Play Selection Committee for the theatre. I get to read and recommend shows. I was handed four scripts last night, and I'll start one today during lunch. It's volunteer, but this is nothing less than fate challenging me after I spent years complaining about the theatre offerings.

I again got up early to draw the page, and I managed to sketch through two panels. I now have three days to draw, ink, color, and letter the page. But I can do it.

Picture of the Day
That's what I'm talking about.

Starting the Comic Page

As I made dinner last night, and Your Sister finished reading The Mist, we found salad makings from the cast party that were never used. or used up. An entire box of mixed greens had to go, and she was tempted to toss out the leftover basil. I suggested we dry it out and chop it up for cooking, and up I went to hang it in a paper bag over the garage. I always forget that the previous owners left stuff up there: Christmas paper and boxes and a broken table.

I started the comic art last night. You can see the previous jam pages here. I sketched out my thumbnails beforehand, and created the panels on the artboard.



But then I took stock of the schedule and decided I should use photo references for the figures. I'm playing with awkward camera angles and tricky poses. I recruited Your Sis and showed her the previous jam comic pages to explain how we got to this point. Then I showed her the thumbnails so she'd know what poses I'm looking for and how they'll work on the page. It went very smoothly. I'd like to think I can do this better than the theatre photographer. I also took shots of myself for reference and dusted off my figure reference flip book for artists.

I feel good about where I am and what I'm trying to do here. I should be able to hit the Sunday deadline easily. This is the sketch for the first panel, when our stupid hero wakes up.

Small Things

I volunteered to work on a jam comic with other members of a message board I haunt. I signed up for this months ago, and I was the 13th person on the list. That meant I had to wait for the previous 12 to hand in their stuff, and then I was to make a page based on what had come before -- a collective serialized story. Unfortunately, people flaked out, and the scheduling went wonky, and months later, I finally got the call that it was my turn. Only eight pages have been produced. I downloaded those pages to work on my own, and I have until Sunday to produce a drawn and lettered comic page. No problem. I just didn't think it would happen in April. This pushes back the painting work for a week, but Your Sis says that's OK.

I mowed the lawn, and there was great rejoicing. The first mow of Spring is just a reminder to the lawn that it has vertical boundaries, and if the grass blades do not respect that, they get beheaded. The mower cranked back to life after months of hibernation, and made cranky noises as it blinked its way back to work. I'm eager to get to work in the garden, but we have to burn off the ivy first, and then we can till the soil.

Picture of the Day
I'm sure these things are easily confused.

Neighboring

A few days ago, I began cleaning the lawnmower for the new season. I enjoy it; it's a pleasant checklist of simple tasks that even my limited mechanical experience can manage:

• Clean out the oil filter, soak it in oil, and replace. I keep a spare and swap them out each year.
• Sharpen the blade.
• Change the sparkplug.
• Drain the oilpan and put in new oil.

The neighborhood is suddenly buzzing with mower noise, and I noticed that our next-door neighbor mowed his lawn last night not long after I went into my workshed. This happens almost every time, and I imagine his wife pestering him to mow the lawn after seeing me walk out of the house with my iPod and work jeans.

Those folks are moving and trying to sell their house themselves. Because affordable housing is rare in the county these days, Your Sister called them up to ask their price to pass the info along to co-workers. They called back and left a message with the asking price, and she almost dropped the phone in shock. It's more than twice what we paid for our house, and it's just shy of a half-million. I don't think this is the market value, although I have heard how much our house's value has increased since we bought it. But this is because all local prices have soared.

The new subdivisions -- built on promises of low prices -- are all beyond the resources of many local employees. A chunk of teachers have to live outside the city limits (and the accompanying city utilities), and some live outside the county. Their taxes go to school systems other than their own, and of course they have to travel farther in these days of high gas prices.

The county high chiefs have debated affordable housing and living wages, and it's a crucial matter: This county has already shooed away middle-class residents as companies closed left and right, leaving retiree subdivisions and gated communities. Clearly, if not for the teaching gig, we wouldn't live here. While the restaurants are nice, the store selection is weak, and there's nothing to do at night. Thank God we like to walk; the forest is right there. But we are assuredly living in a retirement locale and tourist trap, and the economy is ever-more leaning that way. Convenient downtown stores are replaced by year-round Christmas shops and expensive craft-jewelry galleries. These ain't for the locals.

Anyway, I'm sure the neighbors appreciate us planting new flowers and working on our garden and mowing our lawns as this can only help their sales pitches. Any potential buyers will see what the neighborhood features, and we're part of that. We're quiet folks, usually, and I have refrained from installing a basketball goal on the house. But it's almost certain we'll have another retiree couple living next to us; no one else could afford that house.

Picture of the Day
A moon of Saturn.

Weekend

Friday saw another of our small-group dinner and conversation nights. I handed the hosts a copy of the play DVD, and they let us borrow Cast Away, which I've tried to get Your Sis to watch for years. She saw it Saturday night and enjoyed it as much as I thought she would. But I was surprised by how much she wanted to watch The Mist again. It's possible that she's open now to watching good horror films, and now I gotta cobble together a list for her to work through.

I made stir-fry for that night's dinner, and we thought a picture of the dish might make for a good picture. The photos look alright, and I will start sketching the canvas by Wednesday. I hope to take pictures to document its progress.

I ran Sunday morning. I didn't plan to do two miles, but I managed it, and feel only small leg tension this morning. I'll try to jog today. We took a late-night walk during the rare lull in the rainfall.

Picture of the Day
The last thing you expect to see at a BBQ party for a local mail center is an Imperial Stormtrooper. But there you go. The Orange Crush (in a bottle!) was a plus.

Mailbag

Longtime Reader writes:

what? teaching!?! is this some long, behind the scenes ambition that i'm only hearing of? i know that you've helped out with the yearbook and newspapers at the high school, and its obvious that they do need someone in that..unpaid position...but wow.

It's not an ambition. It's a pet project among the teachers looking to finally include me in their party banter. They have very little to talk about that doesn't include school, and when we all get together, I sit there quietly with nothing to contribute.

I'm happy to help out with school stuff, and there's plenty I can do when I'm away from work: paper stuff, art stuff, drama stuff, etc. Your Sis and I made a triptych display last year for a mandated classroom technology project. It was the toast of the tech fair. People still ask her if they can borrow it. The school librarian asked if I wanted to make section displays for the library.

This kind of stuff is more than enough to get me involved at the school, and I'll dig doing it. This doesn't include the grading help I provide when the flood of research papers bursts through the front door. But actually be a teacher and put up with the crap Your Sis bemoans when she gets home? I'll need a lot of convincing to walk willingly into that.

i had to take an art class to round out my art history degree; i choose sculpture. i spent weeks on my abstract representation of an artichoke.

What medium? Can you send me a photo of it?

congrats on finishing the play! bravo! i know you liked the company, esp. the director, but enough to do the next murder mystery that you typed so many bullet points against? the ACT show sounded more intriguing...

The director says he's talking directly with the writer and has permission to make changes. If that's true, I can offer plenty of alterations. I like the idea of trying another ensemble piece (as this is), but I can't see how they can put 10 people in the clubhouse's meager backstage area. We're scheduled to have din-din with the director and his wife next week, and I'm sure we'll talk about the play. It's possible, depending on play dates, that I could do both projects.

I made a copy of the play's DVD last night and watched a few minutes. I always hear actors lament the sight of themselves on screen, and I may be feeling some of that. Or I might accurately spot all the horrific wrongness I'm doing onstage. It was mortifying. I wanted to set the TV on fire.

I managed to get Your Sister to watch an honest-to-God monster movie in The Mist last night. I showed her the making-of documentaries to prepare her for the scenarios and creature designs, and we watched the whole thing in one sitting. And she liked it. Maybe it's because of I Am Legend. Perhaps she is digging well-crafted horror. But she said she'd be willing to see it the film's b/w version too. This was the second time I've seen the movie, and it holds up really well.

Picture of the Day
Promotional ad display for the Star Wars films running on Spike TV. I think they're running all 6 movies.

Updad's Keep Coming In

Dad had his altered chemo treatment yesterday and said he felt OK, but I could tell from talking to him on the phone that he was more tired than usual. He'll get a follow-up next week to see how his body handles it.

Your Sis and a few of her teacher buddies are trying to recruit me into their coven. The most vocal advocate thinks I should teach elementary school ('cause I'd be a fun teacher). Your Sis thinks I should teach middle school ('cause it would be potentially easier than high school). I lean toward more high school if only because I've had more exposure to kids that age. The town is crawling with them, and that's where one can teach more specified material.

Unfortunately, this is exactly why Your Sis thinks I would have more luck being hired for teaching on lower levels: English teachers are "a dime a dozen." But I wouldn't want to teach something outside my interests; on the elementary level, I wouldn't have to know so much of the other fields, but I'd still have to teach math, science, and history on top of the glorified babysitting. I'm also not convinced schools are ready to hire male teachers for the younger class levels.

Because the idea seems so bizarre for me -- changing careers in my mid'30s to take the job that makes Your Sis want to kill and drink -- we compromised: I'll shadow teachers on my next federal holiday but only at her school. I need to be convinced that high-schoolers are the wrong age group for me. It's still such a longshot. If I wanted to teach conveniently, I'd have to bet certified and licensed, apply for a job, and be hired in this district. All the while, I'd be unemployed. That doesn't sound healthy for our marriage.

And all of this is predicated on the notion that I'd entertain kids, not necessarily educate them. A teacher buddy wanted to have me come in to read to kids in various voices. From that it blossomed into my sticking around and teaching the class. The idea of a captive audience is intriguing, but -- yeah, I'm stuck on lots of buts about the whole thing.

I'm going to stroll the nearby grocery store to find items I can paint. I'd like to try produce, but of course it rots. I'd like to make something we can hang in the kitchen, but this first painting will be more an experiment than a real artwork.

Picture of the Day
Donkey Kong is real!

More Updad

Dad called after his Tuesday checkup to say the new outgrowth isn't totally unprecedented but it is unusual after two seemingly successful chemo cycles. He's gaining weight, but they can't figure out the source of the cancer. Suspicion turns back to his lungs, given the all-clear before. It would be logical; he does smoke like a chimney. The new chemo treatments will be stronger, and the doctor warned him he might suffer for it. They may have to relocate him to Texas or Charleston for further treatment, but that's a ways off for now.

Moving Picture of the Day
I can't decide if I like this video or love it. It's new from Paul McCartney. The song's catchy, and the production is lively. The dance work is iffy, though, but I enjoy how spry he almost is. He won't grow old to the point that he shrugs off pop and rock entirely. I admire that. However, I'm not convinced he was ever in the same room as any of those women. I suspect he was taught choreography, videotaped, and the women replicated his movements so he wouldn't appear so old.

Another Updad

Dad called to say that, right after his Thursday check-up, he sprouted new growths. The chemo scheduled for yesterday was called off until they decide what action to take. The sudden change after two apparently successful chemo treatments suggest some other factor at work, maybe something outside the body. But he's been off work for a month now, and I can't figure out what new house item (the gas stove, a scented candle) could affect him like this. He has a check-up today.

The first post-show night was awfully comfy. I worked on my lawnmower, getting it ready for spring usage. I had planned to buy a new one with Dad, but he obviously has larger concerns. I might be able to milk another year's work out of this mower, or I might catch Your Sister in a shopping mood and buy us something she'd like to use too. As much as I like the human-powered cylindrical mowers, you can't adjust the blade height on them, and we have to mow slopes. I did see an advertisement for a Newton battery-powered mower, and I'm curious about that.

Picture of the Last Couple of Days
Skywalkers!



In the News
I'm going to quote Neil Gaiman from his blog about a Significant Event involving the creators of Superman and DC Comics (owned by Time Warner).

This New York Times article is very good news, and was, I think, inevitable. In brief, a share in the copyright to Superman that should have returned to the creators, under laws that helped creators of art and music who had been ripped off when younger to regain a portion of the rights to their song or creation, has been deemed by a judge to have been returned to the heirs of Jerry Siegel, with Time Warner and DC Comics kicking and screaming all the way. (On the one hand, I can hardly blame them. On the other, the law was obviously the law, the conclusion was pretty much inevitable -- although I'm sure it's been an enormous relief to the family -- and I suspect the main purpose of the court case has been to put off the moment of reckoning as long as possible; not the moment of financial reckoning, because that clock started ticking in 1999, but the moment that the heirs to Superman could license Superman to entities other than DC Comics, which, as co-copyright holders, they are entitled to do. Marvel Comics publishing their own Superman comic, anyone?)

The story of the creation of Superman is almost as mythic as the character: Two Jewish kids from Cleveland cooked him up during the Depression and sold him to DC for a song and the promise of a regular gig. There's still some question as to what rights the estate might enjoy from elements created after that first issue (Jimmy Olsen debuted on the radio shows and then appeared in comics; Kryptonite, Luthor, Lana Lang, and a host of other now-familiar properties came later). The big franchises -- Batman, Superman, X-men, Spidey -- are the product of decades of work by hundreds of people. There's no way the rights can be spread to them all, but Shuster and Siegel handed DC the first Superman story intact, created outside the company. Their work was the basis of the novel Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay, although Jack Kirby (the king of comics) is a major influence there too.

+ + +

"The Nature Boy" Ric Flair retired last night after 36 years of wrestling. His last match was at Sunday's WrestleMania, and he was pinned by Shawn Michaels. Flair turned pro the year I was born (1972), and I watched him literally all my life. Flair outlasted presidents, athletes, friends, and fashions. He was indefatigable and a consummate showman. He enjoyed the boom in wrestling popularity and profitability during his tenure, and his only competition for Most Significant Wrestler is Hulk Hogan. Unlike Hogan, however, Flair is universally perceived as a kind and loyal man. His send-off last night was emotional and genuine as the entire WWE locker room emptied to pay tribute along with 15,000+ fans in Orlando. He won a record 16 world titles and established the supergroup stable The Four Horsemen which lead to a plethora of imitators through the last 20 years. Fortunately, he's relatively healthy and able-minded, unlike the majority of guys who hang up the boots, and he can enjoy his retirement fully.

Day 31: Last Show and Cast Party

I got up early to prepare a bacon bread dish and left it for the wife to bake while I was at the show. We had a block of seats reserved for a Lutheran Church, and this boggled my Baptist-raised mind. A show advertised to include adultery and murder and blackmail was getting church business? The cast was casual enough about the last show to the point that we found ourselves sitting on the stage while the audience trickled in to their chairs. This is usually a big no-no; the audience shouldn't see us until the curtain opens.

I handed out the magnets for the cast and crew who I could find before the show. The show ran fine. The audience, even the churchfolk, were into it. The cast was too. While we didn't whoop it up for our last show -- we stayed in character and on script -- we were determined to leave the stage on an entertaining note. We were professional. And speaking of professional and leaving the stage, let me brag on the director a second. He did something I've never seen before: As we took our curtain calls, he walked onstage and individually introduced the tech people and brought them out for applause. Classy. Classy classy classy.

I managed to beat the crowd to the house and played matire'd as the wife finished with the food. She held court in the kitchen as people came in handed me their jackets and started to nosh. Eventually we had 26 people hanging out and kibbitzing. It went smooth as silk and, my God, did these people pack away the wine. After about an hour, we assembled in the living room for the director's comments. He handed out certificates to all the show people and gave the cast pins of the drama/comedy masks. I was the last introduced from the cast, and, even though this was definitely an ensemble piece, I felt a bit like a leading man with his kind words. I presented him with the whiskey and congratulated him on a successful show. He took the giant bottle and said aloud "I have just the straw for this."

The party wound down, and the last to leave was the murderer, the kid we all think has a legit show of making a living at acting. We gave him bags of leftovers -- less for us to clean up or throw out. I think we surprised people with how well this worked. Some of the theatre members wanted to recoup our cost, but she told them to put it into their building fund. The mistress actress asked me about doing cover art for her CDs, and I may have finally convinced someone to let me do some official theatre art. Also, the director is trying to produce radio dramas over the summer, and asked if I would be interested (of course, absolutely).

So, yes, this was a success all around. The clean up went smoothly, and we ended the night gobbling the last of the sheet cake and finishing a bottle of chardonnay (both of which gave me a hangover his morning). I feel like I ran a marathon yesterday; I ache and move stiffly. But I feel like I worked on something better than I could have suspected and garnered more than I could have hoped. I'd work with that director anytime and the same goes for the cast. This was a solid experience, maybe the best I've had in my near-20 years of doing theatre. This was as good as it gets. But I have other things to work on now, and I look forward to trying something new.

Day 30: Fifth Show

A heavy mist smothers the clubhouse as we arrive, and the parking lot is already packed. The ticket-table folk say we'll near 100 people tonight. The director pulls us aside to note a change to the props. An unnamed critic noted to him last night that the actors weren't consistent with where they touched the CD player to turn it off. The music is controlled by the tech table. The director wasn't happy conceding the point to the unnamed critic, and he wouldn't say who it was. That means we would know the person, and that means it was Backseat Director from the courtroom play. I hate that guy. That's a tiny detail, and there's more than one way to cut off a CD from playing: You can turn off the power, switch the stereo mode, or hit the "stop" button. Anyway, the director has placed a yellow button on top of the player for us to touch.

It is a good crowd. They answer the director when he gives his pre-show spiel, and we hear someone joke about being scared during the extended black-out before the curtains open. They're obviously expecting to relish this production, and I think the assumption that this will be like previous shows -- light, goofy, hijinx-ensuing -- leaves them confused when they watch me and the wife argue over finances and adultery. They do find lines to laugh at, and most of them are meant to be funny, but it's clear they weren't wholly prepared for this type of show. However, they are with us at the end when we're tightening the screws and my character is falling apart and the murderer is in full bloom. The gunshots seem especially loud, and the actors are caught up in the moment as much as the audience. It's a great ending, and we get good applause.

The receiving line goes well. I see my next-door neighbors and cast members from the courtroom play. The murderer talks with his acting teacher, and they exchange notes for a long time. I get a chance to brag on the director while he's in earshot. I found his particular whiskey at the local store (on sale, even), and I'll give it to him at the cast party tonight. I've already spent some of this morning making a bread appetizer with mustard, onions, and bacon. The rest will be made by Your Sis. Well, except for the party platter brought by one of the women who doubt we know how to throw a party. She called early Sunday morning to announce she was hauling in some extra food, despite our earlier assurances we had it all covered. I think we'll keep her tray in the closet just to prove our point. Today is the last show, and I plan to bring it and bring it strong.

Day 29: Fourth Show

Virtually all of us are in low gear. The next three nights seem like a chore, and the consensus keyword is "mellow." We're all mellow. Once we get in front of the audience, we're fine. It's a good crowd -- almost 90 -- and, like most first audiences of the week, they are primed for a good show. They're so jazzed that they respond to things in the first scene that previous audiences let slide by.

They're chuckling and enjoying themselves, and everything goes fine until the wife sits on the couch. It's then that she skips ahead in the script. It's only for a few lines, but it's enough to rattle her. She manages to improves later when we get to that line again, but it knocks her out of her groove for the rest of her night. I don't mind; it helps me make the scene tense with our arguments. But we lose the crowd. You can feel it when something odd happens onstage. The barometer changes. We don't get the crowd back until the second act, in the third scene that's becoming a comedy bit between the odd couple of the murderer and the husband.

We're planning on getting the director whiskey as a production gift, and a quick call to his wife before we take the stage gives us the brand he prefers. I'll try to pick it up today before the night's show, and we'll give it to him at the cast party tomorrow.

The show goes fine, but it feels much longer tonight. I ran my lines during my commute; at high speed, I can spout them all within 45 minutes. Any audience member who doesn't like the show Friday night has the courtesy not to say so as they leave. Two shows to go.

An Updad

Dad called last night, following the day's checkup, to say he got a good report. His blood's good, the growths have minimized, and he's even gained weight. He has another chemo on Monday and a CAT scan to check the internals, but so far, so very good.

Your Sis took today off, and while she prepares for the Sunday cast party, she'll also have her brakes looked at. She asked the cleaning lady to come by this morning. She came very early. I met her for the first time as I was leaving. I knew she arrived becuase I could clearly hear her talking on the other side of the house while I as in the shower. She talks like a fire siren.

I'm looking forward to ending this play. I've had my taste of free time, and I crave more. I noticed again last night that restaurants have the previous show's poster in their windows; I wonder what happened to all the ones printed for this show. The magnet cards look great, and I'll apply the magnet tape tomorrow. I need to talk to the other cast members about a director gift, and I'm leaning to a bottle of whiskey as my character spends the whole show drinking.

Picture of the Day
This is the teaser poster for the second X-Files movie. The series lost me after it ignored the progress made in the first film, and I can't say I'm eager to see this. But an extended X-Files episode focusing on its best elements -- conspiracy, cynicism, bizarre mutations -- could be good for a weekend movie.

And that's a nice design.

Day 28: Last Rehearsal

I honestly can't remember the last time I had a full runthrough between performance weekends. It's much more common to have sit-down linethroughs. But I understand why the director might want us to treat Wednesday as a show minus the audience. This show relies on tech timing and prop placement. We can't afford to lose our flow. But the majority of people present hate this full-serve practice. Prop Lady and the mistress, especially, are unhappy. The former didn't bring the crackers and cheese for the first act (I replace them with pilfered Cheerios backstage), and the makeup lady didn't even show up.

Your Sis came along to watch and talk to folks about the cast party. One crew member was worried about our preparation and casual demeanor to the point that I had to hand her off to Your Sis because she wouldn't listen to me anymore. We expect 30 people max. The crew member thinks we should prepare for more, so we both asked her separately where the other people were coming from. And as the crew member ticked off the potential attendees, she arrived at a number below 30. Really, I think we have this covered. We've done this before. We packed 15 people into one room last year for a linethrough, and we had leftovers for a week. This Sunday, we'll use the whole house and the back deck.

Also present was the previous show's Backseat Director, and he was taking photos of the play. Except he wasn't. Even though we were in full costume on a full set with all the lights, he wasn't happy with the blocking. When he wanted to take a picture, he completely rearranged us for what he considered the best photos. They're up on the theatre's website, and they are as stiff and bland as the pre-production pictures. He also only knows two angles: eye-level and high-angle. No birds-eye view, and everyone is on the same plateau; there's no variance in body placement. While he takes the pictures, he repeats his various photography rules (visible hands make a photo more interesting, what works onstage doesn't work in pictures, etc.), and he never says "please." He can't win with me.

The photos take longer than we'd like, and we begin the rehearsal 45 minutes after we're supposed to, and when we take the stage, we zoom through. Forget acting, we're reciting. We finish half an hour early even with full costumes. And, again, we're changing tech cues. While we rehearse, the director takes pictures offstage, and we freeze momentarily when we hear his camera chirping to warn of the photo.

I haven't looked at my script since Saturday, and all the lines are there. I stumble for a split-second when I get distracted by the kitchen staff and the offstage tech conversations, but all my material is still locked in la cabeza. Just three more shows, and I get my free time back to garden and paint and play videogames and run and cook and see the missus.

Picture of the Day
Here's the magnet for this show. I wanted to borrow the style of the True Detective magazines full of lurid criminal plots. I took the photo of the murderer and hid his eyes and dampened his neck definition to make the image a scoash more androgynous. I also changed his shirt to pink and reddened his lips. The show director is also the artistic director of the theatre, and I wouldn't mind making the company's posters.

Scorched Earth

Your Parents brought over a bag of tarps no longer used on their woodpile. After a quick trip to Lowe's for metal anchors, I stretched them over the designated garden space. The tarps, not Your Parents. I cleared away all the bushes and shrubs and ivy last fall and hoped the winter would kill the remaining overgrowth. Now, we're going to cook it away. The tarps should stay in place for about a month, killing everything underneath it. Then we'll till the whole garden swath and plant whatever we decide to try this year. I still need a to rent a woodchipper to make mulch.

Your Sis is still working toward an active three-day weekend, and I am dreading going back to teh show for the last three nights. The time away is addictive.

Picture of the Day
I don't need an excuse to post a David Bowie picture.

A Possible New Play

When our performance ended Sunday, the director handed me another script for a murder play he'd like to do this year. In fact, this was the play he almost staged this year. He gave me the copy and told me to tell him honestly what I think of it.

I read Absolutely Dead yesterday, and it's remarkably similar to our play. I think it's because there's a sub-genre of mystery plays crafted specifically for older theatre repertories, and we can call this subset Evil Youngsters Are Punished. Because so many "little" theatres are powered by retirees, they mount shows geared toward a similarly aged audience. These theatres are usually meager in funds and resources and can't compete with the flashier companies that attract younger crowds and actors with risky or expensive productions. Little theatres can't take a chance on offering a show that will repel their core patronage, and they develop a niche. One always knows the kind of show they'll offer and the general tone of them.

Which isn't to say bigger theatres are always more interesting; my hometown company can't break away from the old stalwarts of theatre, and they're fare is inspiring for neither the cast or audience. There will always be theatres that take the safe, dull route of offering Our Town and Oklahoma! and Oliver and many shows that don't start with the letter O. I imagine the fear of losing a fanbase is palpable for the theatre committees, and they generally schedule shows when they know they have the actors to try them. No theatre around here will mount 12 Angry Men because it's so damn hard to find 12 men of any disposition for community theatre. This dearth leads to gender-bending efforts like the female Odd Couple. Why is Greater Tuna so popular? You only need two guys and a heap of costumes. It's a cheap show.

Which is how the kind of script I was handed gets made. Absolutely Dead calls for eight people, six of them over the age of 50. A retirement party in Connecticut (also the setting of our play) has family and friends bicker over who will replace the patriarch at his company. A big storm hits, no one can leave, the father dies, and then others start dropping like flies. The only ones left are the young kids who, of course, are in cahoots. But we learn that she's setting him up and has helped fake all the deaths. This elaborate hoax is all to get him to confess to a murder eight years prior. The revived adults corner him, the girl abandons him, and he's dragged off to jail. Then the adults toast their cleverness and success against the Evil Youngster.

So you can imagine which role I would be in the running for. And I might be more inclined to audition (read: show up and be handed the role) if I didn't have three performances left in the current Evil Youngsters show I'm in. As flattered as I am to be considered, the new play has a lot of problems. Let me apply my bullets:

• The name. Absolutely Dead is a giveaway that someone ain't. Its a horrible name for the show as it doesn't give one the feel of what's to come. Hostile Takeover or Dirty Business or something referring to the corporate subplot would be better. I think the giveaway name is meant to let the audience immediately know that the Evil Youngsters are a step behind the Wily Seniors from the get-go.
  
• The plot. I'm fine with the storm-trapped tension amid a sequence of murders. But the fake deaths occur solely to draw out a confession for an old murder. Why not simply apprehend the Evil Youngster for all the attempted murders he's committing this night?
  
• The morals. The boozy wives are revealed to also be faking their intoxication, and, besides that, drinking is as fundamental to these kinds of plays as the murder weapon. It's excusable drinking for an often-moralistic audience. But not only do we find out that the two young lovers are actually half-siblings (after a long-ago neighbor romance), but we learn that everyone except the Evil Guy knows about it, including the Fake Evil Girl. In fact, the Evil Girl withholds this information even as she literally woos him into completing the murder scheme. So does everyone else. They all secretly encourage his efforts to court her so he'll be comfortable in confessing to her later. But this is ignored so the audience can cheer Evil Guy's downfall. This needs its own bullet point ...
• The FUCK? This gaggle of old people are OK with the Evil Guy sniffing around his half-sister? She's OK with making out with him (onstage; so there would be that perk for playing the guy, I suppose)? She's also OK with pretending to murder her dad if it leads to Evil Guy admitting he killer her mom? Why don't all these people simply confront him if they all suspect him? Why and how do they manage to craft this elaborate plot without him knowing it? They all know he killed someone before; why risk him actually killing someone during the ruse? How can they know a storm will arrive and keep him in the house? Of course, he has to think he's a smartie so the old audience can be smug in his downfall. This is porn for old people.

If we ignore these details, the atmosphere of the play could be good. It would be tense and violent. But if anyone bothers afterward to consider what deliberation and skulduggery occurred to make the events possible, I think they'd feel cheated of a good story. I gotta give him the script back tomorrow at our rehearsal.

I noticed yesterday that an Asheville theatre -- the one where I played Gooper -- is producing a stage version of Misery. Now THAT could be fun. You have maybe four cast members, a small set (bedroom, hallway, etc.), and one person who spends most of the time in bed. I'm probably too young to play the bed-ridden author, but it would be different from the play I'm still in to get my attention.

Your Sis is taking Friday off to help prepare the cast party out our house. She started Saturday, and I think she's eager to apply her infamous teaching work ethic to something outside a classroom. I'm considering the subject for my first painting in ten years, and we're going to cover up the garden soil to burn away the overgrowth.

Dad is doing OK. A little thinner up top and on the scale, but he feels alright.

Picture of the Day
Cute Batman

Day 27: Third Show

We are dragging. We are pooped.

We thought Easter would make for a tiny audience, but not only is the clubhouse golf course crammed with duffers, but the dining room is overflowing, and they spill into the stage room to join our audience. We have close to 50 people for the matinée. I don't even look at my script this time. This will be our seventh performance in eight days; if I don't have the lines by now, screw it. Also, I think that if I were to look at my script, I'd slip into an exhausted rage. Which would probably look like a grumpy nap.

Some small notes about lights and blocking start the day, and we file into the locker room early to avoid the increasing audience members who seem OK with waiting in their seats for an hour. Your Sister is going ga-ga for planning the cast party, and I give the rundown to the cast and crew. I'll send them directions and the menu later in the week.

It's our first show in the daytime, and the sunlight creeping in from all sides diminishes our blackouts. We can also clearly see everyone in the audience. The entire second row is there to see the murderer (mostly family), and they're reactions affect the play a bit. Nothing bad, mind you, but one of my rants against him in the last scene becomes a comic monologue when they get tickled by my insults. I feel like I do OK. So much of my role is in the voice as my stage movThey all applaud well and give us lots of compliments on the way out, and I just about fall asleep driving home.

I am looking so forward to doing virtually anything else tomorrow night.

Picture of the Day
I can't convey how hilarious this was when I was in high school. It was never not funny. We thought quoting Monty Python was the way to woo girls back then.