Sudden Hopes

I drove down to Spartanburg Friday to help Mom rearrange Dad's bank accounts. We hit two credit unions and a bank, and it took much too long. One bank used a dot-matrix printer, and we were seated in the manager's chairs for ninety minutes. It didn't help our moods; we were already a bit tense. Mom was upset that we were removing Dad's name from the accounts. No, you can't leave the name on them as it implies legal control.

It didn't help that S-Burg imported swamp air, and we melted each time we entered and exited our nation's sterling financial institutions. The lunch at Olive Garden did more than help. I am now eager for more of their tasty vittles, and I am ignoring the siren song from the Garden just down the road.

I fixed my lawnmower and garden fence Saturday. It's rained often, and the plants are sprouting right nice. But we have a frost warning for tonight, and we'll have to cover the plants before my audition.

Yes, I'm auditioning again. I agreed to read for Rainmaker last year when we picked it for the theatre season. I advocated it strongly. Here's what I said online:

We're considering The Rainmaker specifically because we have a "drama quota" to fill. We can't just offer wacky hijinx and English murders. Or worse, English hijinx. Ever hear a dozen retired Floridians attempt Cockney for three hours? Imagine someone raising generations of Michael Caine clones. These people sound like Artificial Caine Batch Number 17 when we replaced some DNA with airplane glue.

But the problem with drama is the universal assumption that "drama" will deliver nothing but dour gloominess. Grapes of Wrath. Red Pony. Glass fucking Menagerie. Doll's House. People forget that most popular TV shows are dramas and entertain beyond the meaty thoughtfulness of stymied characters. I've laughed my ass off with West Wing, and it's assuredly a dramatic drama. Desperate Housewives is technically a drama.

The Rainmaker is labeled on the script as a romantic comedy. Those of us on the committee who know anything about the show vehemently deny this. This is a drama. But reading it, I can see why it might be packaged otherwise. The Midwest ranchers veer toward stereotype. They either predate or copy outright the leads from Bonanza. We've got the affable dad, the dimwit giant, and the crafty bedrock son. But we also have Lizzie, the plain-jane who can't get a husband. She'd rather be alone than be rejected.

And if you have read Moon for the Misbegotten or Ballad of the Sad Cafe -- a REAL drama that pummels you to dust -- you know where this is going. A stranger comes to town and commences to wooing, but it's too good to be true. Starbuck promises rain and charges $100 for it. The boys try to hook Lizzie up with the local deputy, a man whose wife abandoned him. He would rather be alone too.

Starbuck is selling happiness to everybody and starts to believe the woo he's tossing at Lizzie. He wants to be liked. She wants to be loved. Her eagerness spooks him, and he wants to leave town even before the sheriff comes looking for this cross-country con man.

It does have laughs. The dimwit snags the local hussy, and his post-engagement celebration is warm and fun. He turns into Frasier, basically, and it's done right. Most important, Lizzie develops a genuine acceptance of who she is and what she needs to do to find love. It's not cheap, and it's not simple. We get to watch her evolve, and everyone really has such an arc. It's a play about people escaping dismay. We see it happen, and we leave happy.

You can get that with a comedy, yeah, but good drama, like The Rainmaker, gives you more than afterglow. You get a lighter heart through catharsis. Sometimes, anyway.

We can do this show, and I think we should.

And we are. But I was cynical about the turnout of actors. The play needs six men. We canceled the sex farce after the theatre couldn't draft three. I wasn't enthused, and I debated taking a dive at the auditions.

But I'm competitive. As soon as I saw four guys reading various parts, I wanted in. I wanted to win a role. Also, the director is someone I haven't worked with before, and he clearly has his shit together. The audition paperwork alone surpasses what I've seen in other community theatres, and the whole presentation suggests a realy-o, truly-o theatrical effort. Yes, I want in on this.

I read for three parts: Starbuck, the lonely deputy, and the bitter older brother. The director cut the auditions short for the day becuase none of the hoped-for Lizzies arrived, and he wanted to try out scenes with them. I'm going back again tonight and maybe tomorrow. I have hopes for this, and I may be a sucker.

For instance, we watched the DVD of the Scrooge play on Friday. This was the first time I had seen it. Holy wow, is it bad. I should pay back your family for seeing it. Your Sister saw it live three times. That's spousal abuse. I chuckled at a few things (mostly me, but I had the best comic lines), but I relived the horror of the crumbling ending. This is a tape from the first weekend, maybe the first performance, and the lawyers go off the rails just as spectacularly as I thought they did as I sweated under a ghost robe and nervously twiddled my skeleton fingers.

Rainmaker has to be better than this, regardless of who they cast.

We saw Star Trek again, scurried to the Krispy Kreme again, and chatted up the film for the entire drive back. We also watched a filly conquer the Preakness for the second time in 80 years.

Picture of the Day
Here's my cast in rehearsal. The mother rules the birthday party with a Burger King crown and a flyswatter sceptre.

Third Rehearsal

The mom actress wanted to arrive early to practice her entrance, and this is a clear sign she might be my problem child.

It's not a difficult entrance. She walks in chasing an imaginary fly. She smacks the table with her swatter, walks over to the phone table and kills the fly by smacking the table three times. First, she forgets to go to the first table. Then she can't smack the table three times and say the words "die, die, die" at the same time. This happens in similar ways throughout the night. She can't say her lines while she's moving, and I make her do one scene three times to speed her up. When I was in Glass Menagerie seven years ago -- seven?! -- our director had the same trouble with that mom actress and chided her daily with "walk and talk." That phrase flew out of my mouth this night, and I worry I've cast a bad actress. But what could I do? She auditioned.

The other actors have some trouble with their movement but not to her level. At the end of the rehearsal, the actor suggests I put my thumb down on the mom actress more. I tell him I'll give her some leeway during our next rehearsal (almost a week away) but will be demanding the next night. This doesn't placate him. But the conversation is over. I've explained myself, and I've talked about another actor behind her back. I'm not proud of that. Conversation over.

This actor and the actress playing his girlfriend are feeling the burden of working with a weaker actress. They ask me afterward how they should approach their characters, and I again explain that they don't have developed characters. This is a sitcom. There is no soul-bearing monologue. There is no depth. And we are NOT to shoehorn anything into the play. We work the script we have been given. The actor was on the committee that chose this script over the others. He should be further along in his approach. He's adding dialogue, and he's not sticking to the script. He may not realize that my stern Thursday rehearsal next week will include admonishing him too.

He's also pushing for a cake to be taken out of the cake box and clearly visible on the dinner table. He just thinks it should be seen, he says. I tell him he's welcome to find a cake that he wants to carry onstage and choreograph with the other props on the table. If he wants to carry in a real cake along with his script and other props, have at it. It's not my complication. Of course, we'll have to rehearse with it, so he'll need to buy two cakes. One for rehearsal, and one for the performance, as I have no intention of delving into a week-old cake. Go ahead, I say, take charge of the multiple cake props.

I end the night by telling everyone to mark their scripts clearly so they are ready to say their next line. If their lines are split among two pages, write the rest of the line on the bottom of the first page. Tighten up the delivery. Don't say it faster; start your line quicker. Next week, we hit the cadence, and I again I quote my Menagerie director: I'd rather reign in a zealot than raise the dead. Louder and quicker, that's your homework.

And I need a drink.

Prop Shopping

The cast volunteered to bring in some props to flesh out their characters. Our theatre prop department is a pile. We have no idea what's in their. "We," I say. They have no idea what's in there.

This is also true of sound effects. There is no catalog of those either. I was told during one of yesterday's many phone calls that the usual sound guy will find effects online -- I'm assuming in WAV or MP3 form -- for each new production. I did the same. I needed a fly buzzing, two door knocks, and a phone. I found the phone ring, but the fly buzz was much too short. I have a free program called Audacity that allows me to customize sound files, and I looped the fly noise. I also recoded the door knock with the PC mic and my hand upon the workshop table. I burned these files to a CD we'll use Thursday night in rehearsal. If that works, I'll man the boombox during the performance and hit the sound effects on the right cues.

But back to props. I bought a backscratcher and a six-pack of canned beer, and I often wonder what Your Sister's students think when I hit the grocery store where they work and pick up a list like this.

From my liaison, I found out the dimensions of the performance space, and I'll mark that during our next rehearsal. I also learned that auditions for the next show (The Rainmaker) will be held in our rehearsal space early next week right when I had scheduled a rehearsal. As to why they can't instead use the huge legion hall the theatre has leased for ten years, I am not privy. I'll ask my cast if we can move a rehearsal next week.

I was informed of this with a quickly uttered "but you knew about the auditions because you got the postcard." And I responded no, I didn't even knew the theatre sent out postcard notifications. I could her my liaison will himself to not crush the phone in his fist. He's of the mind that I, as a regular collaborator with the theatre, should definitely be on the mailing list. Also, he feared, this is why we get so little turnout for auditions. Who else is left off the mailing list?

I had hoped to read Rainmaker again before auditioning. Maybe I'll browse a bookstore copy during a lunch break.

Picture of the Day
I prefer my crackuccinos this size.

Second Rehearsal

It appears that someone else is using the rehearsal space as our "set" was moved all around. The full-size play rehearsals are supposed to be at the legion hall, and I don't know who would be using the space besides us.

We had about half our props tonight, and this rehearsal was an exercise in juggling those and scripts and moving as I had directed last week. I'm noticing some issues with my cast.

1) They're approaching this as a "real" play and trying to forgo the scripts. Often they would put the script on the dinner table and walk away to deliver a few lines they kinds sorta knew. That script also has their blocking, and they wouldn't remember them. I reminded them at the end of the night that this is READING THEATRE. I want them to READ the scripts. It's a mobile radio play. I'm tempted to duct tape the scripts to their hands. I said I'd rather they look at their scripts instead of each other. It's not the usual theatre style, but this is the format we were handed. It's not natural movement. It's not typical stage movement. It's stylized.

The script calls for a lot of props, and they are frustrated with the juggling. I empathize, and I told them repeatedly that we can reduce the props to the bare minimum. But those scripts are the lifeline. We have very few rehearsals, and we've no time to memorize. We'll read on our feet, and everything will flow around that.

We've already added a trick with a prop because of the lack of hands. When the mom walks onstage, she's trying to kill a fly with a swatter. The script wants her to do this while using her walker. I also need her to use her script. Three objects and two hands. The matter of script/walker/prop came up before, and I suggested she sometimes leave the walker behind. According to the script, the mom is exploiting her daughter's attention, and she uses a walker only because she recently hurt her foot. What if, I suggested, she only uses the walker when the daughter is watching? And what if there are some moments she forgets she's supposed to be injured, leaves the walker behind, remembers, and goes back for it to milk the pity? That seemed funny, and it didn't require us to add lines to the script. So we'll try that.

2) They're fidgety. Again, the script has a lot of props without a lot of stage directions, and we're working around that. I think our movement, as I designed it, works OK. But in two specific cases, actors are locked in place for a long time. That feels weird when it's you onstage. If someone doesn't move after a page of dialogue, one becomes paranoid. Did the director forget about me? Is he waiting to see how I'll adjust myself? Should I improvise and see if he likes it?

After the rehearsal, I acknowledged this. We've all been there, I said. But it doesn't look weird. It's again not normal theatre movement, but it works for this style of script and theatre format.

3) They're trying to make the dialogue normal. Lots of added "ums" and "uh" to start their lines. They're not lost; they're creating natural interjections. And this is again a stylized script. Sitcoms have those small moments sparingly because it stretches out the delivery. We don't want that. We want snappy banter. We want bing-bang-boom.

Your hero, the director, is brain dead when I get home. This is life-size puppetry, and I'm glad I tried this first with a one-act. The cast have a good attitude, and next week, I'm gonna hammer them on delivery.

Picture of the Day
Pig car!

Africa, the Sequel.

Will you be able to read the blog while you're in Africa? I assumed you'd be staying with the same family, but Your Sister says this isn't the case. She also says you'll be gone about six weeks. I had no idea. If we wanted to send something to you, what address should we use? Do you have requests for shipments?

I bought a packet of corn seed during the lunch break, and I hope to plant them and some potatoes this weekend as well.

A friend of ours called me up to help her on a book project. Her girlfriend's mom has written a kid's book and wants an artist. She thinks this friend can draw. The friend is now locked into helping, and she wants to know if I can help her. I gave a provisional yes for now, but I warned a busy summer could knock me out of it. It would be of tremendous help if we knew what kind of art she had in mind. Does she have a particular kid's book in mind for us to use as a template?

I'm not enthused about the play rehearsal tonight. It feels like a chore. But we'll have about half our props to use tonight. I went to the bakery section of the local Ingles on Sunday and asked for a cake box. The associate behind the counter -- a counter piled with cakes in transparent plastic shells -- asked "what's a cake box?" and I gave up on that conversation. I'll try a local bakery business instead.


Picture of the Day
I hope Tamiflu doesn't have a short shelf life.

I Hoe, I Hoe.

I expected to arrive home Friday and find a tiller rented from a local store. Nope. Nothing. They were closed before I got back into town, and I fumed over this for a while. I called them as soon as they opened Saturday was told the order had been canceled. More fumage. I requested the same type of tiller that day, and it was delivered within an hour. I cut away the short end of the garden fence before leaving for chores. Your Sis was teaching a weekend lab.

I went to Lowe's and picked up some cow manure and pesticide recommended by my barber (yes, this is Mayberry). The manure was in 50-pound bags, and this was just the beginning of my gratitude for running since January. I picked up a bike horn for the play and stopped by the tailgate market. The schoolkids had advertised in the paper that they would be there with greenhouse seedlings for dirt cheap. Again, nope. This was a crucial part of the weekend plans. Oh, the fuming. I drove to the local hardware store and picked up seedlings there instead.

I got home about eleven and raked the topsoil to clear the weeds. I then dug into our compost pile for the very first time in its four-year existence. We had no idea what to expect; Your Sis thought it was in too much shade to disintegrate the food debris. I scraped away the top layer, dug into the chewy center, and found perfect compost soil. It was brown and powdery and inodorous. It was textbook. I chucked shovelfuls into the garden and topped that off with the cow manure. Then it all got tilled.

Your Sis arrived home just as I stopped, and she brought seedlings from the school. Apparently, they only took flowers to the tailgate market. In our carport, we had two bags of young tomato plants, cucumber vines, pepper shoots, and marigolds.

We took the rest of the day off and watched the new Star Trek movie. It's an entertainment engine. We thoroughly enjoyed it and would have gone back Sunday had I not reminded her she had much homework to do.

Sunday morning, I hit the garden early -- very early -- and planted the seedlings. I dusted off the sprinkler and arranged it to soak the soil and hooked up a fertilizer spray to it. Later in the day, I mowed. I think I took six showers this weekend. The red clay was so pervasive that I had to sit in the shower and scrub it away with a washcloth. Your Sis suggested next time that I use a large brush and sit in a horse trough.

So today, I type to you as a sore man. I feel every rake and squat and tiller turn. Also, I may have put on five pounds of muscle, and may be that's why Your Sis keeps staring at me. We spent the night watching Dr. Strangelove as we assemble a hypothetical university syllabus on apocalypse fiction. We've already added On the Beach, Alas Babylon, and The Day After.

Picture of the Day
My veggies shall rule the world.

First Rehearsal

Yep, I'm taking Your Sis to the prom. At lunchtime yesterday, I rented my first tux for the first time in least five years. I last rented one for Esther's wedding. She had everything waiting for me at the Florida mall; I only had to show up and try it on. I got married in the suit Your Parents bought me ("the birthday suit"). When I took Your Sister to previous proms, I wore my tux, a hand-me-down from a kind mister possibly ten years back. This will be the first chance I'll have to wear the typewriter-key cufflinks Your Sister got me not long after we married.

Men don't have as much need to get measured for clothing. Most dress clothes are labeled for neck and sleeve sizes, and there's no chest measurement. I was measured by the clerk lady, and I sneaked a peak at her listing to see if all this running has paid off. It has. I might get a size smaller jacket just to show off a bit. I mean, I'm arm candy for Your Sister. I need to style and profile.

Within two days, I rented a tiller and a tuxedo. I'm living a country song.

+ + +

I was eager all day to start rehearsal. I love this short schedule. Rehearsal is usually fearsome; rarely does it feel like enough time to memorize lines and blocking. After last night, we have perhaps five more rehearsals. Six if I think we need it. Because I blocked beforehand, I don't have to worry about crafting that on site. I can steer as they read their lines. I'm writing less in my script than I do when I act. This feels like doing half a play. Technically, I suppose it is. I would do a radio show in a heartbeat.

I set up our set before the actors arrive. Please ignore the casting couch. We're not using it in our performance.


The table and chairs are for our dinner set. The wooden platform on the left is our cabinet for the phone and knickknacks. On either side of the table are two offstage chairs where the actors will be when they're not in the scene. I don't have the actual performance dimensions yet, but I'd rather practice on a larger scale and perform on a smaller stage than the reverse.Adjusting to a larger set will extend the play's time and kill the delivery of lines.

As soon as they arrived, I handed out the new script binders. The actors had trouble flipping the pages during the rehearsal, and they dogeared the pages to make that easier. I wanted to block the entire play tonight, and I knew that was potentially a tall order. I got us started as soon as they arrived. I told them where to initially move, watched them stand, and then moved them to the next spot after they said that movement line.

Because they had all done shows before, they had the right instincts for movement. I corrected them only when I needed them to go somewhere else. But they knew when to sit and stand for line emphasis, on the whole. I hadn't done this in an officially official capacity before; the high-school play shouldn't count, really.

It is exasperating. I felt that stereotypical director frustration as I told them movement and was answered with a "how about this" or "what if I that." No no no, my children. Listen to me. Go there. Say your line. Go over there. Say your line. This will work trust me. And generally that was OK.

But the actors repeatedly questioned the prop philosophy. Why couldn't we hang up a real banner, they asked. I told them:
1) It would be too heavy for the actor to bring onstage with everything else the script wants her to carry and her script;
2) I don't think we'll have a wall to hang the banner on at the performance space;
3) I don't want it.

Another actor wanted to have stiletto heels in hand when she enters. Her character comments on these shoes. She said the audience would be distracted if she didn't actually wear them. I noted that we're pantomiming props and ignoring virtually all the other costuming notes. She suggested she carry in a pair of shoes. Fine, I answered. If you want to carry them, and your script. That's how I handled some questions about props: You can if you want to, but remember, you'll have a script in hand.

Another question concerned a birthday cake. Why do we not remove it from the box and set it on the table? First, since it's never sliced or eaten or even seen in the script, why bother with one? Second, the party moves straight to presents because the mother doesn't care about the cake. Third, what we have in the cake box may only be a styrofoam prop. The cake makes for a visual gag in the last line, but no one sees the cake.

What I'd love to do is end the play, give the cast their curtain bow, and have one actor slice off a piece of the heretofore unseen cake and take it to the playwright. For that, yes, we'd need a real cake. And I volunteered to make one. One actress immediately said "marry me."

Ultimately, I explained that we'll start off these rehearsals with no props and build up our props as we (I) decide they need to be seen. We know here are certain props we'll have in hand: a walker, a bike horn, paperware, a cake box. But if the prop isn't necessary to hold and carry, we'll pretend. This is simplified theatre. This is selective depiction.

When we finished the blocking -- to my happy surprise -- we all volunteered to bring in certain props for the next rehearsal. I sent them home at 8:30 as I promised. It was mentally tough for all of us, and I thanked them repeatedly and congratulated them for plowing through 40 pages in 90 minutes. That's not shabby. I suspect this will be our hardest rehearsal. I told them, finally, that if we don't have a prop in our final rehearsal, we won't use it in the play. I will not saddle them with last-minute adjustment.

This weekend, I'll do some prop shopping.

+ + +

Because the US and Russia cut back on nuclear production after the end of the Cold War, NASA is almost out of fuel for deep-space probes.

The National Academy report says it would cost the Energy Department at least $150 million to resume making it for the 11 pounds a year that NASA needs for its space probes.

If it was simply a matter of propulsion, they could navigate the solar system to make planetary slingshots. The trip will take a long time -- a very, very, "holy-crap-that's-a" long time -- but it would be cheap. But the plutonium makes the transmitter, receivers, cameras, and scanners function.

Also, a new notion says we might find plant life on Europa.

Fixing the Books

With an electronic version of the script in hand, I imported it into InDesign and cut the letter-page dimensions in half. I was able to find binders to hold those pages during lunch. I adjusted the document's tabs and breaks and printed the script. Your Sis had an adjustable hole punch (of course, she did), and I spent my first hour at home cutting and punching and binding three scripts. It was the craftiest I've felt since lettering the noir comic. The small binders are sturdier than the original scripts because I shan't abide floppy binders. Shan't, I tell you.

Tonight, we start blocking. I don't think we'll get through the whole thing, even with this short script. Blocking usually takes much longer than anyone plans for. I do have movement sketched in for the entire play.

I called the local rental shop to nab a tiller for the weekend. The school is selling seedlings, and we might have a garden planted by Monday. Also picked up a Mother's Day card and mailed it this morning. We're approaching the one-year mark for Dad, and I don't know what to expect.

Picture of the Day
Spelunking.

Developmental Work

I ran yesterday for an approximate 5k distance. On the way home, I drove the second half of the route and measured the mileage. It was warmer and sunnier, and it hurt a bit. I've developed a crouching run where I don't bounce on the feet. If I had eaten decently before the run, I would have made a better time. As it was, I finished under 30 minutes.

I've started doing weight work after I drag my weary form back in the house. I'm telling myself I'm getting into gardening shape, and the rake will thus slice the ground like a Hatori Hanso sword.

Your Sis was teaching an AP lab, and I started the pizza dinner. She loves spinach and mushrooms, a combination best used to punish children. And yet I still share a bed with her. It must be love.

I contacted the playwright, and she sent me an electronic copy of the script. I can now flow that the script for pages in small binders for the cast. One actor wants to make his own script copy, and I'm confident this will lead to one script with a different page count than everyone else's. But that's handicap. He wanted to do it himself.

Picture of the Day
And then we fed him mushroom-and-spinach pizza.

Readthrough

I arrived about 20 minutes early to set up the reading table. I found a chair with the number 13 taped to it and took that as a good omen. I nabbed it as my chair. The cast arrived en masse right at seven. We chatted a bit before getting down to business.

I repeated the sitcom approach and the philosophies on sets, props, and accents. I sketched out a set design and pointed out my stolen idea of having offstage actors sit on the sides of our performance space. Everyone will be visible for the entire performance, and the cued actor will simply stand up and walk onto the set periphery. They did ask for smaller script binders, and I promised to contact the author for an electronic copy to reprint at a smaller format. The text will be the same size but we'll probably double the page count to make for smaller dimensions.

I forgot to do roundtable introductions, and the most important introduction was me, the new guy. They all pretty much knew each other. The Mother actress asked if I had suggestions for the character, and I defined her as spoiled instead of senile or crabby. That went over well. We started reading and I timed us.

The reading went very well, and we ended in less than 30 minutes. We agreed that moving around might add some time, but also quicker delivery in some moments will balance that out. I reiterated that we'd start off with no props and then add them as we found them necessary. For instance, Mom uses a bike horn to protest her daughters' notions. We'll use a bike horn. But we'll only pantomime the raised banner for the birthday party.

We talked about language; the first word of the play is "god-damned," we all agreed that wouldn't fly in the church fellowship hall. The suggestion was made that we warn away children from the play because of other language we'll probably leave in, but I wouldn't mind scarring a homeschooler or two.

I gave them my phone number and email, collected theirs, and reminded them that we'd meet Thursday for our first rehearsal. A possible schedule conflict later in the month gave me the chance to dangle the carrot of cutting a rehearsal in the last week. I think every cast wants to have that chance even for a show with less then ten practices.

So, I'm a director now.

Picture of the Day
The first official image from the second Iron Man movie. In the comics, Stark kept a gallery of his various armor suits and could control them all at one time with his super science skills.

The Weekend Before

Friday night saw us hosting Kathy and Travis for a lamb dish. Hobnobbing ensued. Your Sis and I talked kids again afterward, and I again think we'd have to radically adjust our jobs to do it right. Also, I have a soul-withering fear of passing along my inbred genes to a kid. And again we spoke of adopting an older child.

We caught Wolverine the next day. It's a hot mess but not a bad way to spend two hours. It doesn't stick to your ribs and doesn't bother with pesky logic. If you're going to see it, try to watch the second X-Men film again to brush up on character history. We of course went to Krispy Kreme after the show.

My theater liaison and I played phone tag as I tried to find a new actor for the play. He called me back just as I crammed a chocolate glazed doughnut into my face. He passed along three names to me, and I called them when I got home. No, more precise, I only called two. The first guy was unable to do it as he's directing a play at one of the local gated communities. He was Scrooge in the Christmas show, and I wanted to see what he could do with script in hand. Also, I cast his wife.

The second guy agreed to read the script, and I learned he was actually re-reading it. He was on the committee to choose the winning play. He called me Sunday to do the show, and he had some concerns about accents (we'll skip 'em), setting (minimal), and how to portray the mother. The committee, being made of retirees, didn't take kindly to what they saw as a stereotypical senile caricature. I disagreed with him and said that the sitcom format allows for the characters to bend reality a smidge AND that I didn't see her as senile. She's spoiled. She has two daughters who dote on her, and she has it made. She's regressed somewhat. But I affirmed we wouldn't turn any character into an Urkel.

He also heard I wanted to talk to the author about altering harsh language. He thought I was eagerly censoring. This is why I wanted to co-direct or direct a small show first. These people don't know me. I'm against censoring scripts. But, we're performing in a church fellowship hall, and we need to be considerate of our hosts. I plan to ask the author if she wants to suggest replacement words before I do it. He seemed alright with my answer, but it underscores the work before me. I'm new in town and half their ages. I could be a radical avant-gardist or a fundamentalist prude. I have to show where I'm coming from and what I expect from my fellow actors. Our first readthrough is tonight.

I weeded the garden Sunday afternoon between rainstorms. I'm now itching to work the land. Because of the weeds, I''m now itching after working the land. We'll get a tiller for the weekend and maybe plant stuff before the middle of next week.

We have joined Netflix and got our first movie this weekend: Memento. Your Sis and I strolled through Blockbuster and wrote down what movies we wanted to through Netflix. So far, so very quick. We also watched the Kentucky Derby as we do every year. The 50-1 horse won.

Sketch of the Day
The latest copy from the workroom photo wall. I now plan to replace each photo with the drawing I do of it. The drawing is not exaggerated; her arms really that long. That's the Phoenix costume by the way, the outfit Jean Grey wears in the X-Men comics. In the third film, she wears a dark red coat outfit.

One Step Back

The actor prospect declined to join the show, citing scheduling conflicts and passively admitting he didn't like it. I've put out the call for an actor, and I dread the likelihood that I'll play the part.

This makes two consecutive shows that had casting issues with guys. The previous show was supposed to be a sex farce, and I was called about four times about it. I was even petitioned by the theatre president to audition. I did my anthology comic instead. But if I had auditioned the show still would have needed two other guys. That show was replaced by a cemetery comedy for women, and nothing better encapsulates the theatre's problem: There is no young blood, and the majority of willing actors are women.

The next show scheduled is Rainmaker. That requires, I think, seven guys. I was hopeful that a casting campaign could reel in enough actors. Now, that show is in deep jeopardy. I don't know how the theatre can feasibly continue without cutting the number of shows in half and spreading them throughout a year. That way, the few willing actors can avoid burnout.

I was hoping this show could salvage my theatre joy after the Scrooge disaster. This beginning is troubling.

Picture of the Day
The first show of the fall is scheduled to be Bell Book and Candle, a romantic witchcraft comedy. The script calls for a live cat onstage. We can't even get HUMANS onstage.

Also? Those eyebrows are worthy of an alien overlord.

Back on Track

Lest my previous post makes you think Your Sister married a crazy person, I assure you that I'm fine. We're fine. I got rattled, and I'm sorting it out.

I wrote a comic a few years back that included this panel:


Sometimes things stick in my head, and I have to fumigate. That's what happened here. I aired out the skull room. As the panel states, I rearrange the brain cabinetry and get back on track. Also, if I never make another comic, I'm proud as hell of that panel.

It also may have sounded yesterday like I have an attack of resurgent love. No. Hokey smoke, no. Your Sister is my love even after I turn to dust.

+ + +

I parked myself at the local bookstore and blocked half of the play. Stage action should flow naturally, both from my head and between the actors. But it's an equation. To get Actor A to place Prop B while moving to Spot C so Actor F can pick up the prop while moving to Spot K requires lots of script page flipping. I only did 20 pages, but, again, that's half the script, and I think it really makes sense.

In the olden days, scripts were incredibly detailed. They told you where everyone moved to. They also provided stage maps and lists for sound effects and props. Not so anymore. This script has few stage directions, and I'm going to follow them as closely as possible. But there are sometimes a dozen pages between those few directions, and I can't allow my actors to stand still for that long.

I might dust off my Star wars figures and move them around while I read the script aloud. I should invent a theatre playset with figures and the usual props for parlor plays -- a gun, a bottle of scotch, and an ashtray. The Fisher Price Theatre Set could be the Broadway Voltron.
Go Go Power Thespians!
By the Power of Barrymore!
I find your lack of memorization disturbing [force choke].

(Speaking of "by the power of Grayskull," it popped up on this week's House in what turned into an astonishing episode. Also, it seemed House was mirroring my above brain dysfunction. )

I've worked with directors who knew where each actor was going to go before the first readthrough, and I've worked with directors who blocked as we stood around and waited. The latter takes much too long and annoys the cast, particularly when the director changes his mind three times in a half page. I want to make this -- my first such project -- a smooth one. Again, the question of props remain. Some are necessary, some can be pantomimed. But I will bake a birthday cake for the performance. I have a plan for that cake.

Moving Picture of the Day
1979 Star wars drunk driving PSA

My Brain is Dumb.

I heard from the actor prospect yesterday morning and asked him to read the script before he agreed to anything. That surprised him, I think. I dropped off the script at the warehouse. I'll start basic blocking today. I'm tempted to use PowerPoint to map the movements, and it this were a full-scale production, I'd try it simply for novelty's sake.

I ran again and managed a 30-minute 5k.

I've had some weirdness over the past few days. Nothing physical, at least nothing beyond synaptic misfiring. Random Facebook networking led to someone I hadn't seen in years and years, and it threw me. I didn't expect that reaction, and it's taking its sweet time dissipating. It's holdover stuff from high-school -- notions I thought I've outgrown -- and this resurgence makes me want to remove my brain and throttle it. I'm embarrassed by it.

I worry I'm so distracted by this muck that I'm neglecting Your Sister. When I pulled her aside last night to say I want to be the best husband I can be, she grabbed my head, started me in the eye (the one looking straight ahead anyway), and said "get out of your head." My frustration did make for a strong run, though, so maybe I should hold onto it until after May's 5k race.

Picture of the Day
This would make a nifty scarecrow for the garden.

Making the Call

I gave the lawn such a mow. Never before has a lawn needed mow.

I called my actresses and assigned the roles. They took the news well, I think, although they all wanted the mother role. I left a message for the one actress I couldn't cast. A new actress called Monday to see if any roles were still available. I called her back with the bad news.

We worked out rehearsal times, and I assured them we would not have rehearsal longer than two hours and probably not past ninety minutes. I was nervous about calling. Jittery, in fact. I had never done this before, assigning roles and cutting an actress. I was scared that I'd call an actress and assign her the wrong role. I'm also trying to call the playwright to inform her we're changing her language. I did ask an actress if she "would play the part of" and then I said her name. When I heard silence on the line, I realized what I did, said "oops, I'm reading the wrong sheet," and quietly hit my head with a giant Nerf hammer.

We're performing in a church; we have to soften the cursing. I'll ask her if she has preferred substitute words, and if not, I'll try to make it at least more sensible than "monkeyfighting snakes on this Monday-to-Friday plane."

I still have no actor. I called a prospect suggested to me, and he said he'd think about it and call me back. I'm still waiting. I have just under a week to find a guy, and I really, really don't want to do that role. I've thrown aside the criteria for age-appropriate actors; I don't have the luxury now. I need a guy who's not working for one hour on a Friday.

P.S. The prospect just called me back and agreed to do the part. I'm dropping off the script for him to read tonight. He's clear for that performance day and the rehearsals.

Picture of the Day
I want a broken arm now just so I can do this to my cast. I've been studying anatomy charts for back muscles. Its the area of the body that I am the weakest at drawing.

Auditions

Your Sister visited Your Parents Saturday, possibly to escape the temptation to sweep into the auditions in a Sunset Boulevard draping evening gown and demanding to be made THE STAR.


Or maybe she couldn't stand the sight of me with a monocle and jodhpurs.

I prepared the script copies with Post-It notes of the "scenes" we could read during auditions. I also read through the play again to make notes and nail down the character types. On Saturday, I arrived half and hour early to set up the audition area: bio sheets, scripts, extra pens, and, of course, the casting couch:

The rehearsal warehouse has five couches , and I wonder just what kind of swinging club I've joined here.

My theatre liaison arrived about ten minutes before our posted start time, and the first actor arrived a few minutes later. She is an experienced actress of local theatres, and I showed her the set-up. She brought her resume of past shows and read the script for about ten minutes. I gave her small notes about the plot and action, and then she asked if we could get started. I had her read for the mom (and later realized I should have read her for the other female roles), and the liaison and I read other parts around her. We did about four scenes, and she was good. Very smooth and connecting with the style quickly. We talked about theatre stuff for a while, and she left half an hour later.

The liasion and I expected a small turnout, and we were right. No one else arrived. He did say two other actresses would drop in Sunday. I mentiond people I had spokien with through Facebook about posible auditoning. The midday performance time is a killer, I'm sure. I suspect we'll have an all-retiree cast because everyone else will be at work. I already arrnaged for teh time off with my boss.

We spent the rest of the alloted time talking about the theatre board of directors (the push to induct me has vanished) and movies and TV. There is much concern about the fundraising campaign, and he worries he'll lose the chance to direct the first fall play. It's Bell Book and Candle, a romantic witchcraft comedy, and he's practically vibrating with impatience.

I inquired about and was given a DVD copy of last year's reading theatre one-act and watched it Sunday. It is bad. It's a bad script. But I see now what they mean by reading theatre. I noticed the weak posture of the actors, and I'll remind my cast to stand straight without burying their faces in their scripts.

On Sunday, three other actresses arrived, and I had them take turns reading all the female roles. I now had to cut someone, and one actress saved me the trouble by admitting she'd be on vacation during the week I wanted to start rehearsals. I told them I didn't care about character accents or the date of the story; we'll focus on lines and delivery. We'll use few props. Everyone left with about 30 minutes left in the audition time. No one else showed up, and I killed time by reading a Neil Simon script.

We had no male actors, and I'm not surprised. I have the number of a theatre regular to ask him if he's available. The scheduled time of the performance -- 1 p.m. -- limits our available pool of performers to retirees or lottery winners. One of my daughter actresses may be older than the actress playing the mother.

+ + +

Have your teachers mentioned swine flu? Are they suggesting y'all follow the news about it?

Almost.

Auditions are tomorrow, and I'm eager to get cranking. I worry only that I won't prepare the actors for their readings enough, and I'd be surprised if we have more than three people show up on both days. I do think it was a mistake to not list the performance time (midday!) in the press release. My theatre liaison will be there this weekend to hold my hand.

I ran for distance yesterday in a surprisingly warm evening. I think I ran about 5k in a little under 35 minutes.

Very little sleep last night, and I'm only halfway on planet earth.

Picture of the Day
The cake made for the cast during the filming of Lost's 100th episode.

Making Notes

I got a Facebook message asking for a special audition time for someone who will be out of town this weekend. I told her I'll give her a reading after if we have too few people show up. I worked with her before, and she'll be just fine for either of the daughter roles.

I started making notes for my first rehearsal manifesto. For example, we'll handle this like a sitcom, but there will be no Urkels, Alfs, or Balkis. They're normal people. Also, we'll start low and build the energy. I once saw a production of Harvey that began with two women screaming, and they had two hours to get louder and shriller. Newly leaked memos classify that as torture.

I wish we had video of previous plays in this format so I can see how they approached it. I'd love to do this as radio theatre, but I don't know what promises were made for the play that won the competition.

Picture of the Day
The lineage of the MGM lions.

Wonder Women

I am a big Wonder Woman fan. You know this. I have a giant Lynda Carter poster in my workshop. I made a Wonder Woman action figure ten years ago. So when I discovered that a live-action WW show proposal was filmed scene back in the '60s, I was stunned. How did I not know this?

I saw it online yesterday. It is horrible.



It was made by the folks who gave us the fantastic '60s Batman show. While the scene is wholly appropriate for the time initially -- and even promising for a straight-forward TV adaptation -- it goes to hell once the costume is worn. It's a faithful design, but the conceit is wrong in a billion ways. Our heroine becomes a clown. I wonder if they thought such broad humor would make the show distinct from the Batshow. Batman lost its audience quick within three years. The Batgirl proposal was a more similar product, even if she was added only to salvage the ratings.




Much better. She gets to kick people in the face.

+ + +

My theatre contact made binders for the scripts, and I made more notes about line delivery. I'm eager to get this ball rolling. I need to see our performance space and jot down simple movement choreography.

Small Stuff

My theatre contact, um, contacted me about supplies for the audition this weekend. He'll make xeroes of the script and binders to hold them. I'll reread the play during the week and pick the best pages for the auditions.

Your Sis is doing much better, and she seemed almost eager to go back to school this week.

I'm feeling very lazy about doing no work in the garden, but we have to schedule a tiller rental before we can do anything else. Your Sis suggested we pay to join a community farm project. For $350, a family can get weeks of veggies from a local farm. I suggested we talk to another couple and split the cost and the food. She asked. They responded by starting their own garden, and I agree with that. Let's grow our own too.

Sketch of the Day
I'm back to drawing from photos to exercise the drawing muscles. BlogSpot loads images to similar sizes, leaving it up to me to tell you that the drawing is almost twice the size of the picture. This is working; when I sketch from imagination afterward, the art is much stronger.

Cooking With Villainy: Faji-tortill-orittos

The global economic crunch has hit even the Glorious Kingdom of Latveria. The peasants can no longer bequeath Doom with the tribute to which Doom has become accustomed, and they look, as always, to their beloved leader for guidance in this time of gloom. Doom takes to his resplendent balcony, beholds the gathered, desperate masses below Doom, and utters the wisdom upon which they may rest their beleaguered brows:

IT'S RICHARDS'S FAULT!

Doom told you! Doom tried to warn you! Richards Richards Richards! He has done this to you! He mocks you from the penthouse bath tub in which he soaks his boneless ass with his harlot of a wife!

This only fuels Doom's quest for vengeance! For justice! Doom is handing out Richards fatwas like they're going out of style! Doom shall destroy him in your name, my filthy troglodytes! DOOM SWEARS MAD RUCKUS IN YOUR NAMES!

But until then, Doom knows you must feed the dog, and thus, Doom cracks open once more his Divine Recipe Rolodex and bestows upon you a morsel that will warm your bellies: Doom's Famous Faji-tortill-orittos!

Gather these, mongrels:
1 pound of protein vehicle
1 red bell pepper
1 yellow bell pepper
1 medium onion
six tortillas
cayenne pepper
crushed red pepper
chili powder
garlic powder
salt
pepper
shredded cheese

Doom commands you to dice the onion and cut the peppers into thin strips. Cut the protein vehicle into strips.

Doom commands you to cook the protein vehicle in a medium-hot skillet.

Doom commands you to begin heating the tortillas in another skillet. Heat the skillet to medium, heat one side of the tortilla, flip to warm the other side. Place tortillas on a plate and cover while you warm the others.

While doing this, Doom commands you to transfer the meat to a holding vessel. Add pepper and salt to the meat. Place peppers and onions in the skillet on medium heat. Add dashes of the spices.

Doom commands you to add the meat back to the skillet once the medley has warmed. Stir often and cook until the medley has softened and the onions are golden brown.

Doom allows you to add salsa to the filled tortilla shells on top of the shredded cheese. Doom appreciates lime-flavored chips as a side item. Doom will never admit to licking the lime-dusted fingertips of his luxurious armor.

Doom commands you to wolf it down, curs. The above recipe will feed two.

+ + +

Friday night: Dinner with teacher people.

Saturday: mowing and a teacher birthday party. I got home right before 3 a.m. in my pathetic attempt to remain youthful.

Sunday: Ran 3 miles and gobbled caffeine to stay awake. Woke up in the middle of the night thanks to a thunderstorm.

Picture of the Day
Whee.

New Music and Directing

Whilst strolling the new Barnes & Noble, I spied a CD by Toubab Krewe. It's a live CD from the Orange Peel, no less. I checked the recording date, and it's the concert we saw on New Year's Eve 2007. We're on an album. It was apparently released this January. Amazon and iTunes have it for $10. I snagged a copy tout suite.


I also bought Troubadour by K'Naan, a Somali rapper. He mixes the reggae influence of Wyclef Jean with the social commentary of Nas and the nasal delivery of Li'l Wayne, and this is a flat-out party album. Guests include the lead singer of Maroon5 (whose '80s inspirations dominate his song's chorus), Kirk Hammet of Metallica (whose guitar playing desrves a solo project), and Mos Def, the king of cool. Mos also played the locked-in patient on House a few weeks back.

The best songs to download are TIA, America, Bang Bang She Shot Me, and Stronger. But the whole CD is strong.



My theatre liaison said the last reading-theatre play rehearsed about four times. That feels insufficient for a comedy when timing and delivery are key. I'll increase that with my show.

"My show." Hm.

The auditions will be 2-4 pm next Saturday and Sunday.

This is the official press release as polished by the liaison:

BLT TO HOLD AUDITIONS FOR READER’S THEATER PREMIERE Brevard Little Theatre will be holding Reader’s Theatre auditions for a World Premiere of a one act play titled, “Mama’s Almost Birthday”, by XXXX XXXXXXXX, winner of BLT’s 2008 One Act Play Writing Competition.

Ms. XXXXXXX has created a delightful story that has the spirit of a classic sitcom with banter and one-liners galore. Two adult daughters, Isabelle and Rochelle, are preparing a small house party for the mother, Vera, recently injured after angrily chasing the paperboy. Isabella also invites her boyfriend Lenny, who changes the dynamics of the family’s relationship.

The play will be presented in a reader’s theatre format with actors working from scripts inside a suggested set. Director [me] will be holding auditions on Saturday, April 25th, and again on Sunday, April 26th from 2:00 to 4:00 p.m. at Brevard Little Theatre’s new home at the American Legion Hall, 55 East Jordan Street, Brevard. [I] will be casting for the following roles: Isabelle and Rochelle, (ages 30 to 40), Vera, (age 50 to 70) and Lenny, (age 30 to 40).

The one-act play will be presented as part of BLT’s Play Writing Competition Winners Luncheon on May 29th in Miller’s Hall at St. Phillips Episcopal Church. Here is a wonderful opportunity to be part of another Brevard Little Theatre World Premiere, so mark your calendar now for one or more of these auditions!

For additional information concerning this one act play or the auditions, please feel free to contact the director [me] or visit the BLT website at: www.brevardlittletheatre.com

That's right. We don't know who wrote this play. We're hoping to find out before we send the article to the paper.

Directing Progress

I haven't had any contact with the theatre people since I agreed to direct. Mostly, I didn't want to interfere with the casting of the three-act play. Casting has become tricky lately (too many plays + too little time = burnout), and I laid low.

During my meager isolation, I made script notes. I listed how we could work some "scenes" -- there is no formal scene delineation -- and played with character angles. We have four characters: an older mom, two adult daughters, and one sister's suitor.

The script clearly wants the mom to be Sophia from Golden Girls. She's scrappy and brusque and stubborn. The sisters are standard sitcom siblings. One's dependable, the other's a floosie. I really like the suitor because there's room in the script to play him as dry humored and above the fray. He's slightly mocking the goings-on, and no one really gets it. If anyone winks at the audience, it's him.

My notes aren't detailed, because the actors should get a chance to play too. I talked to my liaison yesterday and set up audition times for next weekend. I'm also writing the press release for the local paper and desperately trying to avoid the usual adjectives like "wacky" and "uproarious." I'm also including a snippet of dialogue, something the theater's never done before to suggest the style of the show. I think this can helps us get more actors to audition. Hopefully the article will run twice next week.

My name is in the article as the official contact, and I wonder if this will affect turnout.

I had my first directing dream last night. I was teaching my first day of school. But it was really about directing.

The floor is done. The renovation company backed out of replacing the drywall this week, and we won't be home during the week again until the summer. So the money will go to folks who want our money and will work weekends.

Picture of the Day
New flooring. The larger tile pattern makes the room look bigger. It only took 18 hours for the cats to throw up on it.

Still Renovating

As I type, our old laundry floor is being removed and replaced with new vinyl. The floor crew will also replace the wood cut out when the heater leaked. Hopefully, the drywall crew will return tomorrow and fix the storage room wall.

I am officially coming down with the wife sickness. I tried to run it our of my system yesterday, but I was already weakened. It was a slow, grueling jog. We remain in separate beds.

I'm preparing the newspaper article to announce the auditions for the play I'm directing. I hope to hold them next weekend. I haven't heard what kind of turnout the other play got for its auditions last weekend. I've made notes throughout my script for certain emotional notes to hit and some delivery suggestions, but I don't want to give the actors detailed instructions for that. I wouldn't swallow that if a director gave it to me.

Picture of the Day
Out with the old floor. The room used to double as a bathroom. We keep the old toilet in my workshed, and I use it as a trashcan.

Renovations

The restoration company is backing off its original assurances of repair. Now they say they won't do the flooring. Fine. As Your Sister noted, there are plenty of people who will gladly earn that repair money. Sounds also like they're dragging their feet on the drywall repair, and I suspect this isn't a big enough job to satisfy them. Which means they could knock it all out in a few days and enjoy that insurance money. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised by the attitude; they did blame the excess water on vent condensation and completely miss the open, spurting heater pipes.

+ + +

Dr. Laura, the conservative fundamentalist who makes her living scolding women for seeking equality, quietly deviated from her usual screed about our culture by approving same-sex couples. Not marriages, technically, no. But still, this is a huge swing for a person who made her bones defending America from the scourge of homosexuality. From her April 8 appearance on Larry King's show:

KING: This week, the Washington City Council voted to recognize same-sex marriages performed in other states. And the Vermont legislature voted to override a gubernatorial veto of a bill legalizing same sex. Do you think this — now we have four states, about to be five states.

SCHLESSINGER: Well, it’s issues of — sometimes it’s done by courts, sometimes it’s done by legislatures.

KING: Basically, five states now say you can have it. What do you think of that? What are you laughing at?

SCHLESSINGER: Well, I don’t have much of an opinion on it.

KING: You have no opinion on it?

SCHLESSINGER: Not much, no.

KING: But you’ve always favored that marriage must be between a man and woman.

SCHLESSINGER: I’m very big on human beings finding love, attachment and commitment and being faithful to it, because there’s more to benefit when there is real true commitment and faithfulness to it. I still believe, as just every president has, and all the people who ran for office, that marriage is a sacrament between a man and a woman. So not calling it marriage works for me. But that two people would have that sort of commitment to me is very healthy and very positive thing in their lives and society as a whole.

KING: So, you favor marriage between a man and a woman, but you applaud the fact that even people of the same-sex can have that kind of commitment to each other.

SCHLESSINGER: That’s a beautiful thing and a healthy thing.

KING: We’ll be back with more of Dr. Laura Schlessinger.

She was on the show promoting her book In Praise of Stay-At-Home Moms which, no doubt, belittles women who like to see the sun and earn folding money. I have considered her the national whipping post for years. People call her to spell out their outrageous scenarios and ask for advice, usually in the form of "should I do this-and-that." And Dr. Laura (who does not have a doctorate in any form of therapy or counseling) will tell them they are bad bad bad and are dragging down the country.

Picture of the Day
A city at night, but I don't know which one. At that size, it has to be New York, right?

The 700 Club

Blogspot says this is my 700th post. Lots of yappity.

We got home right before 4 and ran right back out to get groceries. The renovating company is supposed to come back to the house today to tidy up the mess they caused when the water heater died. We did all our laundry last night just in case the machines are out of commission until they finish.

I am beat up from the drive, and I wonder if the Sunday morning run was a bad idea. We wolfed down a big supper, capped off by a red velvet cake Your Sis grabbed as we left the store. I mean, we didn't eat the whole thing. We're not total savages.

She's again in the sick bed, and her coughing sounds horrible.

Picture of the Day
I did not make this.

I Seek Advice.

The student and her mom were brought into an afterschool meeting with the teacher and an administrator. The latter took the lead in the meeting and unveiled everything to the mom and student. The student claimed it was a joke by the paper author. She was told she would have to start a new research paper on a totally different topic than what was approved earlier this semester. As she agreed to do so, she proclaimed it was totally unfair. I'm not sure why she's getting a second chance to turn in a paper for credit.

+ + +

Today's dilemma: I got a debt-collection note for my ex-wife. They found my address in hopes to find her. We've both here taken calls asking for her, and we've assured them she never lived here. Your Sis got rather salty, I understand. The ex owes $900 for an HSBC/Household credit card balance. I just Googled HSBC, and it looks like a card for people with horrible credit. Which I imagine she is. Her previous schmos took out cards in her name and maxed them out, so this might be the only card she can get. And now she owes almost a thousand on it.

Confession: I'm enjoying this more than I should. A few months after our divorce, she called to aska bout a huge balance on her credit report. She thought it might have been from a card I used during our marriage. I knew it wasn't; the balance was too much, and the card number was all wrong. I verified it wasn't a card I/we had ever used. As noted, she did have guys prior to me that fucked with her mail and money for their drug habits. And I -- the one guy who didn't abuse her -- was the one she ultimately left. So, yes, I'm enjoying this.

Question: Do I email her and tell her the debt hounds are after her? She did email me last year to let me know about Jared. She didn't have to. But is it really a kindness to reveal the efforts of debt collectors? They followed the bread crumbs to me becuase she's apparently ducking her obligation. Is it a kindness to sit on the news? I'm all conflicted.

+ + +

Seriously, call Your Sis to find out what we're doing this weekend. I still don't know if we're leaving town.

+ + +

I can now run two miles at a full gallop. I was exhausted, but I finished the mostly uphill run in just under 19 minutes.

Picture of the Day
This is a superior pet.

A Big Big Mistake

This actually happened Monday:

A student took her jump drive to her English teacher (just a door down from Your Sis). She was supposed to turn in her research paper rough draft last week. She said she couldn't get it to print. She handed the jump drive to the teacher and asked if he would accept the paper like this and if he would print it from the drive. After school, he plugged in the drive and found the paper file.

The first page, in giant bold letters read this: [Name of Girl] Is Sleeping With Me So I'll Write Her Paper. The paper was a loose collection of sources and facts with instructions for her to clean them up before printing and handing it into her teacher. The last instruction was a clear reminder to delete the author's note about the sex. She apparently never opened the file, didn't try to print it, and gave it to the teacher straight away.

Foops.

The paper writer is a dropout from two years ago. The student is the daughter of a former school employee. There just happened to be a teacher meeting scheduled for Tuesday on paper plagiarism, and it was discussed. My understanding is that the parent and student will be told of the paper at the same time at an afterschool meeting.

It snowed ALL DAY Tuesday. Blowing, blinding blizzards of white soap flakes.

And now, ten Star Wars characters with expanded histories outside the films.

Your Sis is worried about this weekend. She's afraid her cold my waylay her into staying here. You should call and guilt her into making the trip.

Picture of the Day
There's having an idea for a costume and having an idea BE your costume.

Suddenly Snow

And just like that, our 70-degree days are a hazy memory, like a Tennessee Williams nostalgic monologue about mint juleps and weeping willows. Your Sister's school had none of this blizzard when I left town, but it was a steady, icy downpour the rest of the way into work, and now I can't see across the street from my tony office window. When the wind throws the gunk against our building, it appears to be snowing up. Upward? I'll say "up."

Your Sis is back in the sick bed, but she ought to be OK for the weekend.

I watched the game last night on and off, and Ellington has a fantastic shooting form. He launches the ball at the absolute height of the jump.

There's an anthology convention article here.

Picture of the Day
It's almost in no way kinda like this at all.

Utter Debauchery

A last-minute teacher get-together happened Friday. Mexican food was gobbled. Your Sis called it a night early while I drove a house of teachers and hung out until 2 a.m. Much lemonade and popcorn was devoured.

On Saturday, the school held the first of what I hope will be a regular series of fundraising dodgeball games. It was frenetic joy. So many teams of six players each signed up that brackets were constructed to handle them all. I only saw an hour of it before driving to Asheville to watch the season opener of roller derby. Unlike the version from the '70s heyday, this seemed legit. The Blue Ridge Rollergirls -- and attention must be paid to Your Sister's suggestion of the Black-and-Blue Ridge Rollergirls -- fought the Savannah Derby Devils. A track was taped to the concrete where the ice rink usually sits, and the women rolled counter clockwise.

In roller derby, the team's jammer tries to make laps by successfully navigating the field of jostling defenders in front of her. The more complete laps, the more points. The Asheville jammer is a dynamo named Jane Gretzky who was operating on a whole 'nother level. She was LeBron. She was Kobe. She was Ric Flair. We were gobsmacked. She was much smaller than the same team's Rigor Morticia (announced as "standing at six feet under"), and she could sneak through the packs. There were three of us watching together, all former ECU folks, and we had a ball. A quick appetizer at Barley's ended the night.

On Sunday, I was a little beat up from stadium seating and the previous afternoon's first mowing of the year. I put my lawnmower back together, and it cranked up the first time to my surprise. Grass was cut with malice and cruelty. On Sunday, to counter what was becoming a weekend of horrible diet and geeky sloth, I decided to run a full 5k course. It was earlier in the day than I usually run, and I met wind and sun. It hurt. I measured the course this morning on my commute, and it was almost 4 full miles. Today, I am sore in every place.

There's a local farm co-op that's offering produce to folks who buy a plot of farmland. The plants are harvested and delivered to town locations for weekly pick-up. We're considering it. I'll still work my garden, of course. Your Sis wants to put in potatoes very soon.

I've heard nothing so far about this past weekend's comic show and our anthology book.

Picture of the Day
Akimbo, the website and blog for International Women’s Health Coalition had this note on Friday:

One of IWHC’s Brazilian partners sent us this picture - apparently they’re selling like hot cakes in France as a means of protesting the Pope’s recent declarations against the effectiveness of condoms.

Those are large packages. I assume they are female condoms. Unless French men also have large packages.