I'm Going to Make With the Blah-Blah.

Your Sis worked late last night, and I killed time by running another three miles. And now I am sore incarnate. My Monday time was four minutes slower than the college run Sunday, and I blame the hills. A new 5k was announced for August, one that intrigues me with its claim as "the flattest mountain run you'll ever see." The July 4 5k may be out of my hands if the theatre goes ahead with its multiple performances that day. They'll need all hands on deck.


In the News
The rhetoric surrounding the murder of Pat Tiller runs the gamut. The local radio preacher skimmed over the matter, stating only his conviction that Christians will be blamed for it. Syndicated radio evangelist Albert Mohler spent much time comparing the shooter to those who plotted to kill Hitler. Randall Terry, the chief of Operation Rescue, said Tiller got what he deserved.

On the other hand, the left-wing outlets are accusing Bill O'Reilly of directly influencing the shooter, citing his many references to Tiller's clinic as a "death mill" and calling the man "Tiller the Baby Killer." Three years ago, someone using the same name as the shooter posted on anti-choice sites to ask about O'Reilly's involvement in protest coverage. There seems to be some influence. This shooting would then be similar to the Unitarian Church shootings last July when a gunman later said he was lashing out at the left at the behest of right-wing author Bernard Goldberg.

A few months back, new Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano signed off on a report called "Rightwing Extremism: Current Economic and Political Climate Fueling Resurgence in Radicalization and Recruitment." It noted concern for those easily swayed into violence by wild-eyed, mass-market rhetoric. The report was booed by many pundits and commentators who saw the report as an attack on them. Napolitano apologized for the report's accusations. Then Sunday happened, and the report appears spot on.

It's not a first-amendment speech issue. All the idiots who stand behind a microphone and rouse their rabble into aggression are free to do so. But they also must be held responsible for the results of their comments. Freedom of speech is not a freedom from accountability.

As that article you posted yesterday on Facebook says, this is domestic terrorism. This was a specific, targeted shooting sparked by a fundamentalist fatwa. There's no difference between this and dumb-fuck yahoos tossing acid on women in Afghanistan. Yes, the attackers and directly responsible and should be launched into the sun, but light must be shined upon those who direct them to action.

+ + +

Another political shooting happened yesterday when a recent Muslim convert shot two Army recruiters in Arkansas. One died.

The AP says this:

A prosecutor said Muhammad admitted shooting Long and another soldier "because of what they had done to Muslims in the past."

Long and soldier Quinton Ezeagwula had recently completed basic training and had never seen combat.

Police Chief Stuart Thomas said Muhammad was a convert to Islam and not part of a broader scheme to attack the American military.

We'll see.

+ + +

The AP also reports this:

Former Vice President Dick Cheney said Monday he supports gays being able to marry but believes states, not the federal government, should make the decision.

"I think, you know, freedom means freedom for everyone," Cheney said in a speech at the National Press Club. "I think people ought to be free to enter into any kind of union they wish, any kind of arrangement they wish."

Cheney, who has a gay daughter, said marriage has always been a state issue.

"And I think that's the way it ought to be handled today, that is, on a state-by-state basis. Different states will make different decisions. But I don't have any problem with that. I think people ought to get a shot at that," he said.

Again, responses are mixed. Some point out that this puts Cheney left of Obama, and others aren't happy to hear Cheney supporting gay marriage in any context, with any conditions. It is very interesting to hear one of the Republican's most prominent speakers saying something that runs counter to the fundamentalists with whom the party hopes to establish momentum for the midterm elections. This is a moderate stance for Cheney to proclaim, and I wonder if this suggests a tilting to the middle ground to make the party more attractive.

Flash Link of the Day
Just in case you wanted an animation that shows how large a blue whale is in 1:1 scale.

So Much Occurs.

The last posted ended with

And that's that.

Except it isn't.

I was invited to join the artistic committee Saturday, and the meeting focused primarily on the summer slate of productions. We had two planned: the just canceled Rainmaker and the kid's show, Winnie the Pooh. The show scheduled after these runs in late October.

The first show is kaput because there weren't enough people auditioning. This wasn't helped by two shows debuting on the same weekend, including ours. The repertory is burned out. So what's the theatre's answer to this lack of actors? MORE SHOWS.

Here's what they want to do:

July 4 -- run a daylong performance of a kid's theatre melodrama. Maybe four performances during the day to bring in people attending the downtown holiday festival. This means we need to announce it, cast it, rehearse it, and mount it in just over a month on a holiday when most families might vamoose.

Two weeks later, run a Broadway revue dinner theatre. This isn't cast yet either.

Two weeks later, run a new show of short one-acts, including the one I just directed. Our mom actress is adamant she won't due the show without her script. The theatre wants to do the show as traditional show. No scripts. We have one play picked out of three, and no assurances of any returning cast members for my show or any slated for the other one-acts.

Two weeks later, Winnie the Pooh. Also not cast.

Two weeks later, audition for a musical to run late September. The musical isn't picked, it has no director or musical crew nor a cast.

Four weeks after the musical ends, the October show would run. We have a director but no cast.

MADNESS. Who will work backstage for these shows? Who will act in them? My idea of doing a full-up radio format for the one-acts was poo-pooed. It would allow the theatre to use five actors performing eight parts and eliminate the need for three directors and three backstage crews. That was dismissed.

Just this morning, I got a call about the mom part in my play. It was the insane director of the courtroom murder play. She wants the part. She was calling to have the part given to her over the phone. I told her, honestly, I understood the performance was not certain nor did I know for sure my original actress was out of the show. I took her number and told her I'd call when I knew more. That's probably a lie. She's cuckoo for Cocoa-Puffs, and I object to her effrontery. I ALSO object to this kind of ex cathedra gossiping among the repertory. It causes just this kind of complications.

I haven't agreed to direct the show again. Nothing has been established. the committee was brainstorming.

One thing it is making definite is a big musical next summer, and they picked Annie. They want to bring in families to work the show, on and offstage. If we reduce the number of shows and limit the seats for each, we can easily sell out each show.

Still ... more shows. Unbelievable.

+ + +

As I left for the meeting, Your Sis said she wanted to look at motorcycles. We went back to the Asheville store, and she bought a bike, the very same bike at the very same store I wrote about here. It's a brand-new Honda Rebel, and it had 2 miles on it. She test drove it in the parking lot following a short period of familiarizing herself with the gears and controls. After about two hours of forms and signatures and small talk with salesmen, she drove off the lot and back home on her bike. We took the parkway home, and she had no trouble with the curves, hills, or other motorists. She looked like she's ridden for years. She's goofy with joy.


We got home, ate a quick supper, changed, and drove right back out for the prom. It was at a new location, a country club across from the airport, and the weather was perfect. They had a a photo booth and Slurpee machines and a dance tent. It went swimmingly. We hung out with teachers and students alike. Your Sis was a vision in a small black dress, and I rented a tux. We were, dare I say, mackin'.

She did have to go into chaperon mode when a girl got sick. She blamed a bad sushi dinner, and Your Sis had hair-holding duty for almost an hour. We've all been there. I killed time with more Slurpees and talking gardens with teachers.

She drove her bike to work on Sunday, and I ran at the college for the first time this year. it hurt. I haven't tried three miles in almost two months, and the heat was brutal.

I discovered that, if an adult (like me) wears a superhero logo shirt out and about, children who see you will think you're that hero. Two different boys, aged no more than 4, went gaga over my Superman shirt in the grocery store and started bouncing in place. I could have given autographs.

We capped the night with homemade pizza and Speed Racer. I suspect the movie did poorly at the box office because it's much too long a movie for the kids it targets. It's a good family film, but the visual effects were overwhelming on our TV. On the movie screen, they may have been smothering. I do think the HDTV folks missed out by not promoting this as the DVD that could spark HDTV sales; it certainly pops off our TV, and we have a regular DVD player.

She's a leetle teender from the bike, but she's enjoying it. My Mom is in shock at the bike. She didn't know I married a hoodlum.

All We Did Was Kick Ass.

At this, practically the last moment, I decided to change the language. I just couldn't let "bastard" fly twice in the church. I still remain an amoral wretch, but it felt like a political risk for the theatre. I told the actress to say "monster" instead, and I took full responsibility for the cast and theatre if the playwright were to object.

I got a call before rehearsal for an actress asking to bring her husband. He couldn't make the performance on Friday afternoon. I had no problem with it. This is the actress, by the way, who calls me "Andrew." I almost always get "Jeffrey." This one is a new wrong name.

This was the first rehearsal with the joke ring. The script calls for the boyfriend to give his gal a toy engagement ring that squirts water. He found one, and it arrived the day before we perform. It works great, and he and the actress figured out how best to activate it during his proposal. Then we ran the show.

And it stunk. The actors were tumbling off their script and ad-libbing. The mom actress rigged her script differently, and she couldn't flip the pages well. The cast were jumbled and out of sorts. Props fell to the floor. Chairs fell over. It was the epitome of a rough rehearsal. Now theatre tradition says bad last rehearsal portends a strong performance, and that was my only consolation. I dressed them down (kindly, lovingly), and told them for the billionth time to READ THE DAMN SCRIPTS. These are actors so accustomed to getting off-script that they wanted to avoid reading onstage, and I reminded them that there are no style points. But they will hurt the show by forgetting their allegedly memorized lines. I told them to relax, and look at the script if an awkward silence develops. If no one is saying a line, it may be you who's supposed to talk.

The visiting husband found it "better than he expected," but he was watching our worst runthrough. We set up again and did the play one more time. The mom actress asked me to explain a line, and I helped her get the joke. Off we went, and they were fine. Just dandy. Even with the bad rehearsal, we were still running at a half-hour. This time, we again came in under 30 minutes, and that's what I want from my comedy: speed. When the second rehearsal was over -- the last at our warehouse -- I gave them only good feedback. Each actor got a pat on the head, and they all got copious gratitude for their work. I told them we were officially in great shape for Friday, and I bid them good night as I packed all the props into my car.

I emptied the beer cans for the birthday toast by piercing the bottoms and pouring the beer into the compost pail. This would allow the actors to pop the can tops onstage without any beer to spew. It took some time to do this, and I was wearing more old, heat-ruined beer than I normally prefer. This stuff has sat in my backseat for two weeks while I've been at work.

Flash forward to Friday. I got up early for my haircut and grabbed croissants at the local bakery. The morning dragged by; I was itching to get going and get it over with. I arrived at the church at ten, and we found our requested table and chairs waiting for us. Half the cast began nervously fidgeting with the lights for our performance space and worrying about the glass door behind the "set" backlighting the play. We were assured that that light would be no problem by the time we performed. I was concerned with setting the set and presetting props. I eventually called the actors in place, and we ran. They were concerned about moving the chairs on carpet, something we don't have in the rehearsal space, but I did warn them beforehand that this require adjustment.

The rehearsal was fine. I walked around the fellowship hall to gauge their volume, and I gave them only minor tips for the performance. We changed the beer can preset and practiced that again to everyone satisfaction. The event staff set up the luncheon tables and food while we rehearsed, and I could hear them stifle their laughter to be polite. I told the cast and again advised them to prepare for pauses to allow laughter. I gave them their magnets (which they loved) and thanked them for their collaboration and efforts. We had two hours before we were scheduled to go on.

The theatre administrators arrived soon after, and we all commiserated. Some luncheon folks trickled in, and last-minute synchronization ensued. I asked for ample warning before the speeches were to start so the actors to change into costume. I was invited to sit with the theatre president and my theatre liaison, and I assured the cast they would get a tap on the shoulder to make their changes. The liaison asked me about directing, and I gave him some specifics. I enjoyed it, I said. They were a great group to work with. Next time, I'll assert the style earlier and more forcefully. I also traded notes with our videographer about the length of the show.

The playwright arrived, and she was as eager to see this I was. She was flattered to have a debut luncheon, and the theatre folks greeted her warmly. She loved the magnet. So did her daughter and friend. I gave one to the president, and he mentioned a renewed effort for publicity involving shirts and posters and would I like to be the art guy on this. Finally. I've waited three years for that invitation. I've made four magnets to earn that invitation. Now let's see what kind of follow-through I'll get.

Lunch was nibbled (I was anxious), and I passed on the wine. Seeing the bottles made me feel much better about having beer in the play. I chit-chatted and caught up with folks I hadn't seen in some months before getting the nod to start. I warned the cast, and they left to change. The speeches began, and the playwright was given a plaque. The author of the full play debuting that night hadn't yet arrived, and there was worry about his perception of the play debut. And he has reason to be worried. That play is in trouble.

I assembled the cast and gave them fleeting affirmations. We got the introduction, and we took the stage. I introduced the play and the format and thanked everyone I ever met, and off we went. I sat just out of sight of the set to work the CD of effects. And we started the show.

It went over like a motherfucking laughter bomb. The audience was rolling, and the cast were surprised by how funny they found it. It wasn't a perfect show. The mom actress has never been able to keep a consistent volume, and her script trouble from Thursday popped up again. The boyfriend actor forgot his glasses and had to squint to read his script. I only learned of this after, and I told him honestly I never noticed. Jokes we knew would work did. Lines we never considered as funny got laughs.

The cast took their bows to a standing ovation, and they called me up for a bow, and I called up the author to join us. The audience flowed around us to congratulate us, and I deferred the accolades for the cast. They did the heavy lifting from curtain to curtain (let's imagine we had a curtain). I strolled over to the wine bottles and had my victorious slurps. Much hobnobbing developed. The audience filtered out, and the cast traded notes. I learned that the theatre is considering this show for both a theatre-outreach effort to community centers and as a play for the annual July 4 fundraiser. I gathered all the props together (including my Burger King crown) for the theatre to use if this show sees the light of day again. The very last thing I was told before leaving -- from the actor I squabbled with, of all people -- is that my name will be forever attached to the show however it again emerges with their theatre. The author and the director are listed for debut show titles on all materials involving the show. I had no clue.

I packed up the car, drove to props to the warehouse and labeled a box with the contents. I tucked the box away, closed up the warehouse, untucked my dress shirt, and drove home.

Oh, and I stopped by Burger King to get a new crown.

And that's that.

Rage.

Here's the magnet/imaginary promotional poster I designed for the show.



When I make these magnets, I slap them together on my PC and email them to the office store close to my office. There they use their spooky magicks-with-a-k to print, cut, and laminate the cards. First time I tried this, I sent the magnet cards to another store, and half the lamination peeled off the cards before I got them home. I don't go there no more.

I was saved by an online buddy who told me of this office chain (where he works), and they fixed me up right nice. I've sent four cards to them in the past three years, and I never had a problem.

Today I had a problem. I emailed my card in with my order request. Four hours later, I dropped by during my lunch break. The employee at the desk said she hadn't checked the email and didn't see my order. Then she said it would take too much time to cut and laminate the cards during my hour. She said it would take 20 minutes just to hand cut my 10 cards. I can do it under 20 minutes with scissors. This is my smallest order so far, by the way.

She then said she promised another customer she would make business cards for her, and she had to do this before she left for the day within 30 minutes. Could I come back when I got off work? No, I said, and I canceled the order. She was surprised. She asked if I wanted the cards she had cut (maybe three, none were laminated). I explained I needed all my cards, finished and in hand before I go back to work. This is why I emailed the order four hours ago. And I left.

It's Your Sister's birthday, and I don't want to make the drive -- again -- and get home late. That other customer approached the print station after I did. She had a baby girl, and the two women had bonded since her arrival over maternal stories. The customer was making business cards from scratch at that store. My order was bumped for the mom. That's what pissed me off. It's a small miracle I left without turning into the American Tourister gorilla.



I contacted another of this chain's stores in the area and emailed the cards to them. I asked if they can be done by the time I drive by on my commute, and I was assured they would. I arrived on my way home and was handed my cards, cut and laminated all at the wrong size. They reduced them to business card size for reasons only known to them. Later I rationalized this by saying a one-act play should have a smaller magnet than a full show. Ha-ha, hee-hee, the whispered swearing of blood vengeance.

This will be my first chance to hand a play magnet to the playwright. I will not be derailed by baby-cooers and incompetents.

The last rehearsals are tonight, and my concerns turn inward. Have I prepared them enough? Should I have hammered them on specific delivery? But no, I answer. I can't make them recite lines in my style. I can only wind them up and let them perform. We will have a stronger show than last year's one-act, and I'm content with that standard. If I direct again, I'll know what to do better and quicker.

I still need to write my pre-show speech, but I'll mostly ad-lib and explain the format to the audience. As I type, I don't know if we're playing to 72 people (the maximum) or ten.

+ + +

I failed to mention in yesterday's post that I learned of the death of an actor from the community theatre. I've mentioned him here before. In my first show with the group, he and the director went head-to-head over paltry stuff. Much ass was shown. I learned this was not the first time he had done this, and the activity was dominating his reputation. We knew he was ill around Christmas; it was why he couldn't do the Scrooge play. He did try to direct the following play, but his health deteriorated sharply, and he couldn't see it through.

He spent a long time in theatre and acting, and I knew he cared deeply about the arts. The theatre has lost a staunch advocate and volunteer, and his passing shadows over this weekend's debuts. He was awarded a lifetime achievement award in the fall soon after his sickness was divulged. He got to hear the gratitude and congratulations of his fellow actors.

+ + +

Your Sis worked late on her birthday, and no one is surprised. She's eager to buy a motorcycle, and I offered a month ago to buy her riding jacket. That still stands. In lieu of another grand present, I declared this week to be a parade of decadent dinners which she labeled a Debacle-nalia. So let it be written, so mote it be.

Home Stretch

Tuesday begins the home stretch for the one-act. We rehearsed twice tonight and plan to rehearse twice Thursday and one Friday before we perform. I say "we" becuase I'm doing the sound effects. I'll play the CD of music and noises during the show. Currently we start the show with "Birthday" by The Beatles, but it feels a bit too rock for this show and probably audience. I'd like something softer, something closer to the traditional sitcom theme for this demographic.

Again, I cite Golden Girls and its great theme song. Not an original song, by the way. It's a cover of a '70s AM radio song. The other best option is "It's My Party" by Brenda Lee, but that's a bit ... that era of music is forever colored by Dirty Dancing, and it sounds wrong for the show. We're definitely closing with "Michelle" by The Beatles. I have four days to be inspired for an opening theme, and, if it doesn't happen, I'm not too worried.

The rehearsal went well. The cast is moving at a good clip, and my direction is limited to small ticky-tack comments. I'm giving more accolades than criticisms as is proper at this stage in the production, and the cast appear to be enjoying themselves. I'm still making the sales pitch for the play format to some actors, and the concern now seems to be not about their comfort but the audience's understanding. I agreed to give a pre-performance speech, and I'll explain the play format then.

There some small adjustments. One actor is giving her punchlines too slow a delivery. It's a new development, and I got her back on course. I nudged another actor on movement to end the show. Nothing big.

It's funny. The majority of the actors comment on how easy going I am when they ask about small movements and delivery ideas. So many of their ideas are about establishing their characters, but they don't involve reworking the script.

It's almost a shame we're only performing this one time. Almost.

+ + +

In the News
Obama's pick for the Supreme Court, Sonya Sotomayor, has garnered the usual reaction from across the aisle. She's liberal (duh), she's an activist (cliche), and she's a token (shock). A video of a judicial summit within the past ten years sees her saying the appeals courts are where policy is made, and she quickly apologizes for saying what the other jurists are loathe to acknowledge. The opposition has seized upon this, and again wave the flag of "legislating from the bench." It's odd that hardcore conservatives are reticent to see the courtroom as a competitive arena. The best combination of argument and cited precedent wins. If the right-wing wants to espouse competition in the free market, why not in the courts?

Sotomayor received Senate approval twice already during her ascension through the court hierarchy. She has ruled equally for business and labor and has more experience as a judge than all the current Supremes before their nominations. She's a solid first-time pick by the new president, and the GOP is quietly acknowledging that the Democrat majority will most likely see her through to the high court.

+ + +

The California Supreme Court's ruling on the gay-marriage amendment is fated to move to higher appeal courts. They ruled on the ability of the citizenry to amend their Constitution, and that ruling allowed the marriage ban to stand. The decision to let 18,000 gay marriages remain legal guarantees further judicial review, but the ban will remain unless there's another referendum. And that's practically a given. California is referendum-crazy.

+ + +

You might (but probably don't) remember my rant about the reboot of Spider-Man in the comics. After an initial spike in sales by speculators (and a one-time gigantic spike when Obama appeared on the cover), the Spidey titles are back to where they were this time last year. The great clean-up has done squadoo for sales.

The reboot -- Spidey and Mary Jane were no longer married and Spidey was back to relying on friends and Aunt May for a place to sleep -- even extended to the syndicated newspaper strip. People who never read a comic, but followed the daily paper strip were given the new direction as well. Just like with the comics readers, those readers were displeased. They complained. But unlike the comics readers, this reaction was heeded. The strip has apparently decided to go back to the marriage, and MJ has not returned to his life but come back as Mrs. Spidey.

Maybe it says something about the newspaper industry. Perhaps its need to appease the dwindling reader base. But I approve of the apparent response to reader complaints. The comic-book folks should follow suit.

Long Weekend

I got a call from my theatre liaison Friday, and he is calling a special session of the script committee this weekend. The theatre is going to perhaps juggle the show schedules, and it sounds like he already knows Bell, Book, and Candle (which he was tapped to direct) will be bumped, perhaps removed from the slate altogether.

Now we have to settle a script we originally didn't like, find a script that one of us can now perceive as buried treasure, or find a brand new script that we can cast and produce on short notice.

I think B will be the reality, and I already have a show in mind we can do. I loved it last year, and it's tailored for four young actors and a cheap set.

6 Rms, Riv Vu
Play Grade: A
Theater capability: A plus-plus-plus.

A man and a woman are looking at a tiny apartment. They get locked in when the super removes the doorknob, and as they yell for help, they become acquainted and banter and flirt. Even for such a dated comedy (the references are beyond me sometimes), this is still a funny and charming play.

In the second act, the couple return to the apartment with their oblivious spouses and try to avoid each other. They debate an affair and decide to stick in their marriages. They're adults; they don't want to start over. And they really love their significant others. The play isn't about finding love too late. It's about being reminding about the sparks of love and taking them back home.

What aces this play for us is the set: it's an unfurnished apartment. We can make the set for about $13. Small cast, breezy show with unexpected heft at the end. I like my comedies like this.

There is no other answer. What better show to start focusing on younger actors to build for the next season?

I started calling Mom daily starting Friday, and she seemed OK. Friday wasn't a good day, and we talked for a long while. It's been a long year.

The street festival here was welcomed with rain. We didn't want to see it anyhow as Your Sis begins the long, slow slouch toward the end of the semester, and I stayed near the phone in case Mom called. I'm spending Sunday and Monday with Sunday's NY Times. I'm also dangling the crossword in front of Your Sister to give her a break from research papers. I planted corn, and all this rain may be the best thing for it. The compost bin is practically empty as I chucked coffee grounds, dark soil, a few pounds of worms and egg shells from the bin to the corn patch.

We saw Terminator Salvation Saturday night, and I give it four out of five Death Stars. It has many, many callbacks to the earlier films, which I dug. It's neither as eye-popping as the second film (and it's groundbreaking effects) nor as goofy. There are nice surprises. We, of course, topped it off with doughnuts.

I ran Monday after assuring myself I wouldn't fall over dead. It's been a while. I did 2 miles in just under 19 minutes, and I will forever wonder what times I'd have on flat ground. I came in, wrung myself out like a washrag, and cleaned out my closet. Either I didn't know how to buy dress shirts or I've lost significant weight. I'll need to buy a new suit before the Chicago trip. I avoided dry cleaning my current suit in the superstitious hope that would prevent another funeral. So far, it's worked.

Later in the day, I helped Your Sis and other teachers record scores from the senior project presentations. It's a burgeoning tradition to do this at the local Mexican restaurant while downing beers. Alcohol is my mathematical lubricator; I should have nipped scotch during Algebra II. Your Sis ordered the giant mega-beer for me, and I shocked everyone by drinking the whole thing. And then she drove my staggering corpse home.

Picture of the Day
So there.

Game Face

Two things happened last weekend that affected this week's rehearsals:

1) Rainmaker fell apart (and may have been scuttled by a director given a "dream role" in another theater).

2) The play debuting after ours is falling apart. I found out last night that the playwright is changing lines during rehearsals. These people are memorizing a changing script, a young actor was just yanked by his mom, and the lead has two weeks to learn a three-act show. They open next Friday and run six nights. This could be 2009's version of the Scrooge disaster, and they haven't even chosen the next season's shows yet.

The theatre needs something good right now. RIGHT NOW. And if I have to make this one-act a one-man show and do it myself, I will. That's competition and positioning solely for my benefit. If I can make this thing work when two veteran directors literally couldn't get their acts together, maybe the theatre will listen to my notions for future season philosophies. And if they can't, well, my planned hiatus from this company might force them to reconsider their own philosophies.

I, and a lot of people like me in this town, are what the theatre desperately needs, but they can't win us over. They don't have us in their mailing database, they let dumb-fuck directors shoo us out of auditions for skin color (a black actor in community theatre is a singularity) , and they don't even try to market a show for younger audiences. That leaves a core unit of cranky retirees jostling for territory and approaching stage work as a lark to get out of the house. We have young actors and volunteers who want to play baseball, and this group only offers Duck Duck Goose.

Last night started with my announcement that Rainmaker was off. This means there will be no other group using our rehearsal space as we feared. The cast agreed to two rehearsals next week and a dry run at our performance space just before it opens to the public. This lack of access makes our group feel like a roving band of actors, and I like that.

The cast is focusing on costumes, and I don't want to worry about them. But I'm not so averse to them that I'm banning them outright. I'll let them doll up as they want to. It's not a battle worth fighting, and it'll save my declarations for final touches next week.

The actor wants to have long socks with sandals as the script calls for, but he wants them specifically so he can draw attention to them (and get a cheap laugh) by hitching up the socks during his entrance. I wouldn't go for that laugh. I'd throw it back. But with the gang we'll probably seat and feed next week, it might go over. I tell him to at least wear black socks so the people at the back tables can see them.

We run the show twice, and while we're not yet running interrupted, we're still hovering just over 30 minutes. Without my interjections for delivery and movement, we'll pull a half-hour easy, and a quick running time was my first goal. I was asked about potentially running longer if the audience laughs too much, and I said that was a hardship I'd gladly bear.

I think I'm giving them directions well. When I need to interrupt them, I slowly make the "time out" hand signal so they know to stop within a line or two. I'll bark out "volume" if they get too quiet. They've done enough theatre to be used to this, and they keep going, albeit louder. I'll cue them for a line if there's too much time passing. Simple stuff, and it should be at this point in the rehearsals. I'm also piling on accolades for the group when we finish. It's a collaboration, and they're trusting me, and I want them to know I genuinely appreciate it.

Because I open the floor for comments and questions before we start, they present ideas for character moments and details, and we'll adopt them to some degree. Rarely have I outright said no, and I usually say "I wouldn't worry about it." Last night, we all arrived at the notion of using music that relates to the script to cue the start and end of the play. We'll start with "It's My Party" and end with "Michelle" by the Beatles (the mom character customizes it to "Rochelle" after one of her daughters).

I called the person setting up the luncheon space to reserve our table and chairs for the play, and we've covered 99% of our props. We're still missing a squirt ring, and we can always pantomime it.

We're at a good pace, and I'm optimistic that we'll be the best thing about next weekend's double debut. I want to win this competition that exists only in my head.

+ + +

This weekend will mark one year since Dad died, and I don't know how Mom's going to handle it. I don't know how I'll handle it. I've worn Dad's work shoes for most of this past year, and I told myself I'd retire them when a year was up. That may be harder than I expect.

Picture of the Day
This is the epitome of "mixed messages." Two of the three cover stories are about people renowned only for giving birth.

The Curtain Comes Down

No Rainmaker. I got the call as I was leaving our rehearsal for the one-act. The producer of the show told me the director didn't have a cast he could build the play around. It's difficult not to take that personal to a degree. Maybe if I had done a better job, the play could have proceeded. I'm also slightly crushed as a theatre volunteer. I advocated that play hard during the script committee. I talked the others into adding it to the season. I also did that with the sex farce. Two shows I gave the hard sell couldn't draw a decent audition. Frustrating.

As I said, this call came just as I was driving home. The rehearsal was mostly very solid. The week-long hiatus had allowed the cast to "marinade" in the script, and the delivery was far beyond what I feared. They had snap and inflection. I heaped the praise upon them repeatedly even after telling them I wasn't going to focus on delivery that night. I was more concerned with settling blocking and props.

I had a, well, let's call it a strong conversation with one actor about props. He's adamant that we need a birthday cake. We already have a cake box carried onstage for this play with the word "birthday" in the title and a play that revolves around a birthday party. But he was worried that no one saw the cake. I reminded him that the cake isn't shown in the script. And it doesn't need to be. It adds nothing to the show except one more prop on an already crowded table. He cited an earlier play where a bed didn't have a mattress. He argued then that it was an unfair expectation for the audience to mentally create one for the whole play. I responded that such a play was probably done on a more formal stage than what we have to work with. We, I reminded, are doing a moving radio play. Selective depiction is the philosophy. That seemed to help him understand what I wanted, and we were at ease within minutes.

We also ditched the walker. The script called for it, and we managed to find a walking cane. The same actor wanted us to change the script to match the cane we had, and I was already considering dumping it out of convenience. It's not necessary to the story to see it, just to know the mother has one. Also, it frees that actress from lugging it around with her script. We tried the show without it, and she did seem to be more focused on the story. So it's out. I feel like I lost the equivalent weight of the damn thing. I'd love to ditch more props if we can manage it. The actor suggested we then change the script to say the walker was in another room, and I voted it down. The audience is more forgiving and conspiratorial with the actors than we tend to believe, and we cannot overthink the show. Any show.

For the most part, the cast moved well, and we had some adjustments to make and hammer out. But what I suggested to them seemed to work, and they supplied good notions too. They're definitely involved in make a good performance, and no matter how easy it might be if my every utterance was law, I'd rather they be passionate about the show and argue their point than be disinterested. They accept that it's my call, and I've have yet to declare "because I say so."

The actor has tried to memorize the script despite my previous comments about using the scripts. I made that point again after the rehearsal and underscored that the author will be in attendance. She will no doubt know every scrambled line and replaced word. The priority is the script, I reminded. This is the rare show where you can rely on it at -- and in -- hand.

I still need some details about the performance space and the schedule, but I feel pretty good about where we are with just over a week to go. Especially compared to the full-show debuting that night. That sounds like a possible debacle. Given the cancellation of Rainmaker, the theater need a good show right now.

Picture of the Day
That other show had to bring in Brick to play the lead. He just got back from New York where he took acting classes and did some extra work. In fact, he was on Law & Order last night as a jury member.

This is him from Scrooge.


And here he is on our magic speakity box. He got ample face time too.

Crash and Burn

I contacted Brick through Facebook, and he is indeed in town. He was called in for a prominent role (if not the lead) in the three-act play that debuts mere hours after the one-act I'm directing. Apparently, the original lead backed out. I also heard that another actor dropped out without any warning. His mother called the director to say the young'en was unavailable on Sundays. The director and some other backstage folks hoped Brick could take the lead for Rainmaker, but he said he's learning 500 lines in two weeks. He can't do another show so soon after. Understandable. I passed along the news, and it didn't go over well.

Again, we're doing too many shows while reliant on too few actors. A company that can't cast a six-person comedy and a seven-person drama within three months is producing two debut plays on the same weekend. And they wonder why they can't find anyone, why they have to call people (like me) and ask them to even consider reading the script.

There's word that the first scheduled play of the fall -- Bell, Book and Candle, the romantic witch comedy -- will be scuttled and replaced with a musical. Musicals bring in more money. They also cost more money to produce. Traditionally, musical directors are paid more, and the sets are opulent. The last musical this theatre did looked like an off-Broadway show; it was decked out more than any other show I've seen here.

Killing Bell is also gonna kill my theatre liaison. He's planned to direct this show for about ten years, and, every time I talk to him, he's chomping at the bit to get started. He's already dream-cast it (including Brick and me), and I don't want to be in the room if he's told the show is no go. He's threatened to walk away from the theatre before. This might be the last straw.

The audition last night actually had a real-live applicant for the female lead, and she read the entire time. I read a few scenes as different characters, and my opinion of how I did differed from the director's. He still thinks I'm reading too loudly, too belligerently. Starbuck is pretty ardent in his philosophy, and I don't see him soft-selling his shtick. When we were through the director asked me to consider doing theatre in Hendersonville, but he also said he had doubts about rainmaker seeing the light of day.

As I type, I'm writing off the play and concentrating on my directing. We start again tonight after practically a week off, and I hope my oldest actress customized her script so she can pipe up quicker.

+ + +

Phantom Menace turned ten years old yesterday. I was working at the daily paper then, and we covered the midnight toy release and the line of fans waiting for the first showing. I knew someone who sat in line for at least a few days, maybe a week. She had two friends acting as bodyguards. I saw it with Your Sister, and it might have been my second time seeing it. Can't recall.

+ + +

The biggest sports story of the day combines wrestling and basketball. The WWE does a Monday show each week. The USA Network carries the show live from 9 to 11 p.m. Months ago, the WWE booked their Monday show for Denver's only arena, a venue that serves as the home court for the Nuggets basketball team. They've sold 10,000 tickets already. When the venue was booked for the WWE, the team owners apparently didn't think the Nuggets would make it this far into the playoffs. They did. They are one of four teams left to vie for the title. The NBA schedule says Denver will host a game that very same Monday at the same time the WWE is supposed to be there.

Everyone assumes the NBA will toss the WWE a basket of money to relocate, but it will take quite a lot. The WWE drives dozens of trucks across the country as part of their never-ending national tour. If they have to go to another city Monday, it'll wreck their travel schedule. Also, there's the matter of filling two hours of live airtime and the 10,000 tickets sold. It's a mess.

+ + +

Using the curry cookbook you gave us a few years back as inspiration, Your Sister made an original curry last night. 'Twas delish. It's my turn to make dinner tonight, but the rehearsal will stretch until 8:30, and we'll be eating late.


Picture of the Day
The crew of Atlantis before they went spaceward.

Oh, Right.

We scrambled to cover the garden when we got home. It's a bit late in the year for a frost warning, at least in this hemisphere, but scramble we did. We used tarps and newspaper cones to cover the seedlings and the peonies. I then hustled off to the next audition for Rainmaker.

I was surprised yesterday to see so many men show up. We had no women appear though, and the director assured us he had asked three candidates to show up. Tonight, he tells us that two of them have backed out because of gas prices. Another has yet to arrive, and things are looking bleak. There were three of us there returning, and we didn't read one line of dialogue.

Instead, the director stated plainly that he might have to cancel the show because he had no Lizzie and Starbuck. That was a sudden shot across my bow, because I wanted that role. A few people were trying to talk him into casting Brick from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and my translator from the Scrooge play. I didn't know he was back in town, but I was assured he was. Last I heard, he was in New York. I know he's appearing on Law & Order this Wednesday as a jury member.

I told the director I'd like to try the role, and he gave me an odd expression. I read it as disbelief, but he said instead he was trying to picture it. He also mentioned that he wouldn't cast a seven-person show with the seven people who showed up to audition. Also, another theatre has a standing invite for him to take the male lead in On Golden Pond, and he admitted he always wanted that role.

As it stands now, if we don't have a Lizzie try out, there's no show. The theatre, I assume, would pick another play, get another director, and try to cast that.

After about an hour, the director suggested we go out for drinks, and we repaired to the local pub. It was here that I may have won him over through pure charm. I know enough about old-school pop culture that I could keep pace as they mentioned Rita Hayworth and the Andrew Sisters. I coughed up a few one-liners that went over much better than they had any right to, and I think I showed the director that I wasn't just a comely visage. I suggested I could play the female lead, but only if I keep my bread. That, I explained, is why she can't find a man. I also suggested we combine the next two plays and make Bell, Book, and Rainmaker, the tale of a mean wizard who threatens to flood the farmland unless they pay him.

I like this director, and I hope this comes together.

Your Sister decided over dinner that she would try out for Lizzie, and I gave her specific scenes to consider explaining why Lizzie is alone and how she regards the suitors. We had talked about this before. Years before. We have only done one show together -- the one where we met -- and we thought this smaller company would love to cast spouses as romantic leads. I encouraged her to try out, even if I didn't get Starbuck. She asked how I'd react to seeing her love on another guy, and I told her it was only fair given what she's seen me do onstage.

This morning, however, she reconsidered, and I think it's best for now. We'll be halfway through rehearsals when her school work ends. Those first weeks would be a hard slog for her. But I do want to act opposite her. We'd love to try Much Ado About Nothing.

Picture of the Day
Coming next summer: Iron Porpoise starring Robert Dolphin Jr.

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.