A Collage of Blah-Blah

Your Sister re-potted all her classroom plants and was finishing when I arrived home. We dumped old potting soil into the compost bin, and I straightened my fence posts. She made arrangements to fly to main next month to hang out with a high-school friend, and she'll get back a few days before I leave for Chicago. The new communication company is running lines along the roads, and a new conduit is right outside our house. I suppose this will help us next week when we get high-speed online internet. We're trying to contact the local piano tuner, and we're pursing installation of a gas stove in the big living room.

+ + +

I made stir-fry while Your Sister watched The Poseidon Adventure. I wonder if she'd be interested in the other dozen or so big-budget '70s disaster movies. There's an entire franchise of airport disaster films, and they led to the Airplane! spoof movie. Poseidon is a lean engine of character decimation. The small pack of survivors scrambling through the overturned cruise ship are picked off one-by-one by fire and gravity, and new viewers always try to guess who will survive. There has to be a name for this theme of survival suspense stretching from war films to disaster flicks to horror genres. Poseidon is driven by Gene Hackman's performance, and I will always watch a Hackman film.

+ + +

I ran 17:46 this morning, five seconds slower than yesterday. I blame stupid trucks at intersections. As I got halfway through an intersection, a stopped truck pulled out to turn. Near the end of the run, a second truck pulled halfway into the road, forcing me to run around him and dodge the traffic coming from the opposite direction. This town has more than its share of bikers and runners. I'm not the rare figure confusing the populace. I somehow managed to start this morning-run business right as school let out for the summer. I don't have to dodge schoolbuses, and Your Sister can sleep right through my clock alarm.

In the News
Iran's conflict sparks the inevitable political posturing here. The administration is adamant that it won't get involved in the election, so political opponents are obliged to take the opposite view. References to Reagan in the Cold War and how he handled the Polish Solidarity movement bubble to the surface. But the Iranian administration already accuses us of getting involved. Something I have not heard yet is the suggestion that Bush's Middle East policy created this. It's an argument that could be made easily, and the reform movement can be packaged as a direct result of our Iraq strategy.

For instance, one could argue that the reform movement is afraid that the current president will bring down American military into the country. Or the reformers are inspired by the open Iraq elections and want the same. But again, I'm not hearing this, and I'm surprised. I don't agree with it, but I'm still surprised not to see it offered anywhere. The argument that our current administration inspired this reform has been made, citing the desire for change in the election campaigns. Also, it's been posited that Obama's light tough with Iran has encouraged the young populace to perceive us differently than their president would prefer. If we play nice, he can't stay in power by displaying us as invaders and usurpers.

The protest marches seem poised to continue indefinitely, and rumors say the supreme mullahs are gathering to debate a direct involvement. It's even possible the Grand Ayatollah could be replaced via a Vatican-like assemble of Islamic clerics. The ayatollahs who have spoken out at least tacitly support the reform protests, and the presidency could lose the religious blessing of the mullahs. There's debate about whether this qualifies as a revolution like that of 1979, and the consensus is "not yet" mixed with "but it's not far from it. As I heard on TV last night while everyone expects this to end like Tienanmen Square, what if this instead is another Berlin Wall destruction?

+ + +

The push to reform healthcare meets the standard opposition: it's socialism, bureucracy will kill the sick, it will cost too much, it will bankrupt small businesses forced to provide coverage. I work for a small company. We have six office employees. I pay for my coverage with a medical reimbursement on my paycheck. I've worked for other small companies that offered healthcare, and even on minimum wage -- in high school -- I had some form of coverage. Colleges and universities provide free minor medical care on campuses via student fees. It seems like a feasible model to follow.

Think of it as club membership. For, let's say $50 a month, you join a local health company, and when you need aid, you go in and get fixed up. It's not a cumulative accoun; everyone pays into a pool. Seems like even a small town like where we live can support a profitable health club that cares for minor ailments. Possibly, on the side, one could pay for health coverage for big-ticket care, maybe for $50-100 more. That's $150 a month. That's less than what I pay no for blanket coverage based on deductibles.

I have to develop this. Let me put on my pondering pants.

Picture of the Day
A left-handed Wookie is probably where we get the term "southpaw."

Wake Up and Run

This morning, I ran the 2-mile course in 17:40, 40 seconds faster than Monday's run. I'm cutting twenty seconds off my run time each morning. And I'm feeling it as I type this. My feet are sore -- actually, my toes are asleep -- and my hamstrings are tender. Weather permitting, I'll run tomorrow without trying to break any records.

It's not as difficult as I thought to get up an hour earlier and run like I'm on fire. I can't stretch as far as I'd like when I first wake up, but it's apparently enough to ward off injury. I drink a few gulps of water and eat a teaspoon of peanut butter. I walk to the end of the street, start my music, hit the iPod stopwatch button, and run. Less than 20 minutes later, I'm at the intersection again, soaked with sweat despite my moisture-wicking shirt, and starting a victory walk. I go inside, stretch, lift some weights, and pile myself in a corner of the shower.

The rain vanished for enough days that I worried about the soil quality in the garden. I bought some manure to act as low-grade potting soil and plant food to sprinkle about the garden. It took perhaps a half hour to put all that down, and then it rained buckets. I'm hoping this spurs plentiful sprouting. The plants look okay at this point. The cucumber vines are crawling, the corn grass is stretching, and the pepper plants are budding.

Your Sister discovered that her school wing would be locked down for two weeks for maintenance. That left her a few hours to empty her classroom of all the plants and necessary books. However, it does mean she's essentially done with the semester. She slept in this morning as I walked out the door to run in the mist.

I called my actors to set the first rehearsal date. We'll meet next Tuesday for a readthrough.

Picture of the Day
This is a crimefighter zone. Do not use your Joker gas on the little ones.

I Ran. Iran. Eyeball Monsters.

Last April, I posted a review of very possibly my first ever comic.

Asheville has a new comic store called Comic Envy, and they have a cheap box at the counter. These are comic overruns or issues that aren't worth the trouble to put in the usual back-issue inventory. They had a nice selection of significant comics in there (Avengers Annual 10, introducing the X-Men's Rogue, for example). But what caught my eye was a comic that may be one of the first five I ever owned, a comic whose cover I haven't seen in three decades. My copy is a tattered pulpy mess, and I held onto for sentimental reasons. But now I have a clean version, and it was about $2. A steal for childhood glee.


OK, backstory: World's Finest teamed Batman and Superman for stories usually lasting one issue. Eventually, the writers got bored and shifted attention to tales of the Sons of Superman and Batman, Superman Junior and Batman Junior. This being the early '70s, the sons were traveling mystery solvers much like every Hanna Barbera cartoon from the time (Captain Caveman, Jabberjaws, Scooby Doo, Dynomutt, etc.). Think of it as The Dynamic Duo of Hazzard. Oh, and they are both named for their dads.

In this issue, the boys take a back road and find a Florida town without men. Women have a sovereign hidden hamlet. Any man unlucky to stumble upon them are jailed. The sons play it cool and go along with the arrest to sniff out the situation.

They learn that two of the town leaders have doubts about their men-hating agenda (especially once they set eyes on those new hunks). They mention their leader, Sister Sibyl, and the boys break out at night to follow the women to see Sibyl. They see the town's women worship at a monolith with one giant eye where they probably sacrifice the captured men, and the two doubters are seemingly absorbed by it.

The jailbreak is discovered, and the hounds have Batman Junior's scent; because Superman Junior is half-Kryptonian, he has no scent, we're told. Bruce and Clark switch costumes in a weird logic that the dogs will chase the Batman costume worn by Clark instead of chasing Bruce (the source of the scent) now in Clark's costume. It's an excuse to see Batman fly around. The boys elude the policewomen and fight two half-gator monsters who sound just like the doubting women. The monsters fall into quicksand, and we suppose they die.

The sons investigate the monolith and are attacked by the cover monster who identifies herself as Sibyl, an alien cast out from her world and cursed with ugliness. Embittered, she creates a town of women to worship her. She's somehow weakened by man magic or something. Superman Junior traps her inside the monolith.

BUT WAIT! It's actually her spaceship, and the craft flies back to her homeworld automatically. There she's tried for her villainy and sentenced to a jail of mirrors to stare at herself for eternity. The sons meanwhile use their man magic to erase the Sibyl spell over the women, and the comic ends with Bruce Junior surrounded by love-hungry swamp women, including the previously alligator'ed gals we thought died in quicksand.

If I showed this to Your Sister, she'd explode in an eye-rolling paroxysm of feminist indignation. So of course I want to do it.

Story Grade: D
Nostalgia Grade: A++
Campiness Grade: Eleventy Bazillion A's

+ + +

I ran this morning, and beat yesterday's time by 18 seconds, just by pumping my arms faster. Eighteen seconds. I'm already in the Jefferson administration. I may run 3 miles tomorrow morning for variety. Maybe stick with my 2-mile regimen for this week. I need to establish this new habit, I think, I before I make adjustments.

It's possible that Your Sister will be through with school today. If she can add her grades to the state server and pack up the room, she's done. She's vibrating with hope.

In the News
So. Iran.

The newest newsy news says a ballot recount has been ordered by the high supreme religious cabal, but this isn't the do-over demanded by the reform movement. It's unlikely a recount will unseat the president. No one knows if the protests will burn themselves out or grow larger. These are two images I nabbed from The Big Picture, a fantastic hi-res news image site.

The supporters of top opposition candidate Mirhossein Mousavi flood the streets.

A protester helps a police officer to medical treatment after fellow protesters cornered and walloped him.

A supporter of the current administration gives a student protester what for. Check out her Chuck Taylors.

Theatre Doings

A teacher party blossomed Friday night, and there was much revelry and '80s music. Your Sister spread the word about her motorcycle, and the reactions continue to range from "cool" to "wait, you?!"

I had another theatre meeting, and we defined the one-act shows. There will be four (as of now), and our one-act will perform first (as of now). I told them my Mom actress bowed out, and they suggested names. I accidentally named the show. The original "Potpourri" title was shot down by the theatre president, and we brainstormed. I made a joke about summer shorts, and it stuck. So we're presenting Summer Shorts (as of now).

I found out two of my actors are working another of the one-acts, meaning we'll have to split our rehearsal time. As if we needed to make this more difficult. I did advocate doubling parts early on, but that was when we might have used the reading format. As decreed by the committee, we're to be off-script and use fully realized sets (as of now). We have three weeks to rehearse and learn lines, and splitting rehearsal time is going to add a new degree of difficulty.

As the meeting ended, I was asked to help out a reading committee pick plays to debut next year. I agreed with a disclaimer that I will only grab one or two plays at a time. I won't do six a week like last year, not when I'm directing a play that opens within a month (as of now). While I was there, Your Sis attended graduation, and we accidentally met up with teacher friends for lunch.

We drove down to Greenville to meet Your Sister's college buddy and her mom for dinner and a show. The meal was at a swank new place called the Lazy Goat, and it encouraged plate sharing for entrees. Lots of cheese dishes. The pizzas were good. I think I impressed the ladies when I ordered the Spanish wine in my approximate Spanish dialect. The waitress didn't guffaw, and I took that as a small victory.

They indeed got us tickets for Carousel at Greenville Little Theatre, my one-time stomping grounds. I've been away so long, I had to remind myself I performed there. It was a big show chosen to end the season with a bang. It's an early Rogers and Hammerstein musical similar to their Oklahoma! -- ballet sequences, songs for various romantic subplots, a theme for the bad guy, and an awkward ending. It called for all hands to work hard, and the cast was game. The theatre always set itself apart from the other small companies with superior technical resources, and we got a spectacle.

I went backstage to see people I hadn't in five years. One guy reacted like I was Marley's ghost, and the daughter of another actor recognized me from a recent viewing of The Odd Couple video. I wanted specifically to thank the theatre's artistic directors, and I did. I was almost teary. They gave one of four Glass Menagerie roles to an unknown hick, and I did five shows in all with them before I moved. I will never regret moving here to woo Your Sister. But I can easily see what I would do if I stayed in town. I'd be a regular with this theatre. My current company just can't compare. GLT is in another league of repertory and resources. It's not a fair comparison, but it makes our current efforts seem all the more paltry. It was a late-night drive to get back home, and I was wired from an after-dinner coffee and seeing old friends. I made much blah-blah.

I ran Sunday morning, and I've decided to now run every day for at least two miles, preferably in the morning. From our street to the nearest green light and back is slightly over two miles. Most of that is uphill, and I'm now running a smidgen over 18 minutes. When that time shortens, I'll go back to three-mile increments.

Your Sis graded papers. I called one of the suggested actresses and gave her my sales pitch. I learned quickly that she had already heard the pitch by my theatre liaison. I talked to her for an hour about the show, our theatre backgrounds and philosophies, and the pitfalls of community theatre fluff. I'm impressed. I was worried the show would be beneath her, and I pinned my hopes on our conversation sealing the deal. I tried to convince her the cast atmosphere would spark a strong show. As I pitched it, there are good stories, and there are weak stories told well. We can do the latter.

Your Sis finished grading research papers, and I treated her to dinner as the endcap to Debacle-nalia. We watched a Netflix movie and ate more anniversary cake (De-Bake-analia) to finish the evening.

Monday's morning run was 18:20. In American History, that's the Monroe Doctrine. I'd like to cut that to the first Continental Congress (let's say 17:40). Eventually of course I want to be at Columbus's arrival.As I chugged up the last hill, Your Sis drove by on the way to work. Normally, I'd still be in bed.

The actress called and agreed to do the show. She had concerns about certain lines, and I assured her of I'm approaching the show as a sitcom, but not a stupid one. The humor comes from sincere delivery, not from yuk-yuk slapstick and clowning. She will have her dignity. I hope to start rehearsing next week.

Picture of the Day
I start every morning right with a big bowl of Trooper-Os.

Almost Done, Almost Starting.

Your Sis had a light day at school, but parent conferences continue. One student decided to writer her final research paper as an expanded outline, and no adult could explain it. If she had decided to write it in Mandarin, they couldn't be more surprised.

Today's conference concerns a failed paper that discarded all citations. That's technically plagiarism, and that's an automatic zero. The child, I'm told, had a tantrum, a literal tantrum, over the grade, and his helicopter mom wants to talk about whatever can be done to allow her golden child to pass the paper. She's a parent infamous through the school for her dotage, and there's no telling how tenacious she'll be. Your Sister worries about meetings with such parents, and I try to reassure her by reminding her that the parent can be given a first-class ticket in my sun rocket.

I ran again last night, and it hurt. I ran too fast, and it was too hot, and it had been too long since I last ran. Wah.

Your Sister was to go visit her college buddy across the border tomorrow. I was invited, but Your Sister vetoed so she could have alone time with her. But she didn't tell the friend, and a recent phone message suggests she bought theatre tickets and restaurant reservations for me too. I assume the tickets are for my old theatre's current production of Carousel, one of those big musicals, and I wouldn't mind seeing it. But as I type, I'm not planning on going. I have to let the womenfolk straighten it out.

I do have a theatre meeting tomorrow so the summer slate can be nailed down. I have to inform the committee that my mom actress is officially out of the one-act, and that complicates matters. With so many planned shows, who is left to take that role? Also, that means we have to practically start from scratch for rehearsals, and that feels like the choriest chore that ever chored. I dread this. I think it's a lot to ask for a cast to go through rehearsals and performances for the same show twice in three months' time. If there's an opportunity to back out, I'll take it. But we have the longest one-act out of all the suggested plays, and we would anchor each night of performances. They need our show.

In the News
This from the AP:

WASHINGTON (AP) -- An 88-year-old white supremacist has been charged with murder for killing the security guard who had opened the door to let him into the U.S. Holocaust Memorial and Museum, officials said Thursday.

Security Guard Stephen T. Johns was shot to death Wednesday by Holocaust denier James von Brunn, who had left his car in a lane of traffic outside an entrance to the museum before walking in with a concealed rifle, District Police Chief Cathy Lanier said at a news conference.

Von Brunn, who once tried to kidnap members of the Federal Reserve, started shooting immediately, exchanging fire with guards who shot and critically injured him, stopping him from entering the museum and hurting anyone else, Lanier said.

In his car, officers found a notebook with a handwritten note saying, "You want my weapons - this is how you'll get them. The Holocaust is a lie. Obama was created by Jews," according to a court affidavit.

The museum was closed and flags flew at half-staff Thursday in honor of Johns, 39. Washington Mayor Adrian Fenty said quick work by law enforcement "literally saved the lives of countless people."

That Homeland Security Domestic Terrorism report is looking more correct every week.

I clearly recall our trip to that museum. The patrol dogs and the metal detectors were impressive enough, but Your Sister had to drink from her water bottle to prove she wasn't carrying acid. A representative of a security guard union says the guard should have been given a bulletproof vest. I'm not sure how effective they are against rifles such as the shooter carried.

This is the third politically motivated shooting in a month, along with the Army recruiters killed in Arkansas, and the abortion provider in Kansas. This latest shooter is yet another true believer who accepted the unfounded rumor that the new administration was trying to guns. Then again, he was a rabid ass, and he shrugged off logic long ago. Given his previous arrests, I wonder if he was legal to have guns. And, if so, how.

News Picture of the Day
Also from the AP wire:

A supporter of leading challenger and reformist candidate Mir Hossein Mousavi, wearing a cape of the party's color green, joins thousands of supporters from both political groupings as they roam the streets at night amidst a festive atmosphere, in Valiasr square in central Tehran, Iran, late at night on Wednesday, June 10, 2009. Iranians go to the polls on Friday, June 12, 2009 after a hotly contested election campaign pitting Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad against leading challenger and reformist candidate Mir Hossein Mousavi, amongst others. (AP Photo/Ben Curtis)

The Plan Was Cupcakes.

We received a letter from our dial-up internet provider saying that they were dumping our county. Well, hell. We had discussed moving to high-speed through another company, and this more than nudges us to that option. We'll get wireless for Your Sister's school laptop too.

I avoided high-speed for a few reasons. First, it was too expensive, but we just closed my student loan, and money has become available. Most important, I can easily find myself addicted to web material. No, not THAT material. I mean games. I used to love my PC games, and they gradually moved to online play with multiple players. I dropped those games because of this; I didn't want to drift along with them and lose all contact with sunlight. I don't think I'll return to them when we get the fast connections, but I will be wary.

On the way home yesterday, I planned to run into the grocery store and buy cupcakes. But the store only offered mutant cupcakes that didn't fit my image for dessert. I like my cupcakes small. Muffiny. These looked like frosted croissants. I spied half a red velvet cake, which I know Your Sister adores. I also grabbed a number candle. As I was headed to the register, I rethought the half cake. It wasn't enough. A full cake was called for. Also, if Your Sister visits her college buddy this weekend, she can take half of it for them to eat while they catch up. Back to the bakery section. Five minutes later, I arrived home and met her at the door.

"Oh, wow. A cake," she said.
"Yeah. You know, just something for the anniversary."
"... [blink, blink] AWWWWWWWWWW. I SUCK."
"No no. You're busy. It's a busy week."
"I SUCK."
"It's okay. You've been buried in grades."
"AWWWWWWW."
"Come on. Look. Cake."
"You should have married the other one."
"Fine. I'll eat all the cake."
"I didn't say that."

We made pizza and started the recently arrived DVD of Sex & The City. It's very good. If you enjoyed the series, you'll revel in the film. It's as good a romantic comedy as one can find. Midway through I paused the film and asked if she was ready for cake. She was. I candle-fied it.


Your Sister is now through with classes. She's babysitting two students today who are making up class time. She had a conference with the Door Pounder, his wife, and their daughter yesterday, and it went fine. I can shoulder my husband fury for now. It's simply hyperactive chivalry that longs to dispense a clobbering on her behalf. A sound trashing awaits the scalawag who besmirches her. Boppity boppity boppity.

Jailhouse-iversary

Four years ago, within a span of two hours, Your Sister and I bought a house and married. This was only two weeks after I asked her to marry me. I picked up the ring from the jeweler's on Monday, May 23, and asked Your Parents' permission later that afternoon. Your Dad offered only this word of advice: "Never play Scrabble for points." Has he met Your Sister? She washes dishes for points.

The next day, we put in the bid for the house and heard back within 48 hours. Suddenly, we had acreage and plumbing and carpeting and realized we needed to get married before we could move in. Marriage became an immediate matter, not just an abstraction for the weeks between semesters.

Technically, she asked me to marry her. It was nonchalant. This was in my Mayberry apartment, right across the parking lot from hers. "I guess we need to marry now. How about it? Will you marry me?" I called a time-out and said we need to do this right. She didn't know I had the ring yet, and my preparation started the tears. I ran into the bedroom to get the ring, sat next to her on the couch, and delivered the most important sales pitch of my life. It hinged on a plain declaration. "You're the best woman I've ever met." The gist of it was that she's the kind of woman a man -- a wise man -- has to marry because he will never meet a woman one iota better. I still believe that. And I'm ridiculously in love with her. She tackled me as an acceptance.

The next day was her birthday. She said later that she was glad I wasn't proposing to her on her birthday because that would be lame. I confessed that was my plan. Oh well.

Two weeks later, we picked up the marriage license on my lunch break after lying to the boss about why I'd be late for work. Work was hosting a giant formal ceremony, and she would have exploded with anxiety if she knew we were marrying that same weekend. The next day, we signed the house paperwork (Warning: home ownership begins with a half hour of signatures.) and stood in front of the judge with four teachers as witnesses.

I went back to work and returned to town few hours later. I pulled into our new driveway, past our new mailbox, and met Your Sister at our new door. The neighbors came over to introduce themselves, and we all realized at the same time that we already knew each other. He drove school buses, and she was in my community-college Spanish classes. When Your Sister said we just got married, the neighbor wife grabbed her husband's arm and said, "We need to leave them alone. Bye!"

We ate Cornish hen on the floor where we'd later place our table, and we slept on the bedroom floor. Our first night as a married couple. The next day, we boxed up the apartments and began organizing the house for the move.

The next clear thing I recall is that the oven went kaput about two weeks later when the thermostat gave up the ghost. Oven quickly replaced; problem quickly solved. It was our first household emergency, and we already knew we could work around it. We had no doubt. That might be the firmament of our relationship: We have each other's back, and I know she can handle the unexpected and inconvenient. I think she knows that of me.

It doesn't feel like four years. Not at all. According to tradition, this is the "fruit/flowers" anniversary. Phooey to fruit. I'm thinking of buying her cupcakes.

+ + +

Her first teacher conference went well, and the parent acknowledged that blame lay squarely on the student. Today, she talks to the ass who pounded her door Monday. If he's not nice, I'll pound him.

Picture of the Day
As part of his USO tour of Baghdad, Steven Colbert shaved his head in front of the troops.



That's the chief of the multi-national force doing the honors. Obama appeared via video to formally order the four-star general to make with the shearing. You can watch it here.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Obama Orders Stephen's Haircut - Ray Odierno
colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Stephen Colbert in Iraq

This Is Why I Don't Teach.

I called my cast to ask if they wanted to do the one-act again and if they were available. The lead actress was already questionable; she's on the record against memorizing the script for a full stage version. I did try to steer the theatre toward the radio format, but they haven't bitten yet. I'm not sure who we'd get to replace our lead. There are some options, but they might be tied up by the other summer shows, and this is exactly the concern I initially had with this project: not enough actors for too many shows.

The other actors are aboard and said they'd start learning the script. I'd like to get some official schedule from the theatre. We may have five groups of actors for only two rehearsal spaces.

I returned home and planted myself at the small table to mark up research papers. I stayed there for about six hours. My half of the proofing is now done, and Your Sis can focus on the hundred other things required before Friday. She accidentally dodged an angry parent yesterday -- a parent who apparently didn't bother to read emails or listen to the phone messages that told him all semester that his daughter was failing. Now he's mad. We know this because he was spotted pounding her locked door after school while she was on bus duty. The principal wants her to have a conference with this yahoo, and I told her to demand the principal also sit in. Not that there's much to discuss. The girl plagiarized her paper. That's an automatic zero.

Another parent was upset by the grade handed down by the local college board. The board grades some senior papers to prepare the kids for collegiate standards. The student failed. The parent demanded it be graded again. And it was. The paper got a lower grade. The parent was not amused.

I've offered before to shadow Your Sister in such cases. I can easily come to the school and present myself as another concerned parent. I can stick near her classroom and make sure the morons behave themselves. If the goddamn school can't assure the safety of teachers, I will. I don't even have to use a fake name.

This happens every year. Parents stay ignorant of their kids' grades and find out when it's much too late to do something. Your Sis sent messages to parents virtually every weekend for a month, but only in the very last days do the warnings sink in. It's no wonder the kids think they can pass by asking nicely and making puppy eyes.

Another teacher is facing an outraged parent objecting to Kite Runner for a summer reading requirement. There is an option in place of moral indignation: the student takes on another project to make up the grade. The parent, however, says this singles out her daughter unfairly. Again, kids are being taught that rules are unfair and can be subverted by pouting. I suggested to the teacher that the child simply be moved to another class. If she or the parent doesn't want to take advantage of options for that level of English, the kid can enroll in the next lowest level.

I mean, I agree no kid should read Kite Runner, but not on moral grounds. The book is crap. I practically threw it against the wall when I saw a cynical prediction come true. I told Your Sis that if a certain character returned to frustrate the adult narrator, the book would be the worst thing ever written. And he does. And it is. And I almost punched a book.

Picture of the Day
This might be blog House overkill.

Fight Your Garden

Friday was a non-event. Nothing evented at all that day, and we'll slide right past.

I had only planned to weed the garden Saturday morning, but plans expanded when I realized how much weeding was required. Luckily, the ground is so pasty, so goopy, that I could simply shave the soil by scraping the top inch away with the shovel. Since I found myself with a shovel in hand, I decided to plant another section of corn. The first corn batch is slowly emerging, but it looks thin. I left one end of the garden bare, and it's just the right size for making the world's easiest corn maze.

Unfortunately, that section hides the immortal vine monster what lurks beneath our garden. I don't know what it is. It's not the berry bushes we wrenched up a few years back. It's some other insidious creature, one with thick roots sprawling all over. This was the hardest part of planting the news seeds. I hacked at it with the shovel blade and yanked the roots up as I could. It's a thick fiber, and it comes up in feet. I'm sure it looked like I was harvesting octopus. Or Sarlacc. I eventually had three trenches, and I filled those with compost from the bin.

That bin is suddenly rank. We didn't have that trouble before, and I suspect the charcoals from last year's grilling. I'd bet money the grill drippings coated the coals, and I was smelling the residue. Nothing else we put in would turn like that. It smelled like diapers, which I assume is great fodder for the garden but, hokey smoke, is shoveling sunshine-warmed poo dirt the worst job first thing in the morn. But it went quick, and I popped in my corn seeds, and now we may have more than one successful stalk.

I helped Your Sis grade papers all day afterward. We hunkered down in front of ESPN/ABC's six hours of horse-racing coverage and made our marks and discussed teaching tactics. I favor the use of pop-culture to get kids involved. For instance, there's a sports-talk TV show called Around the Horn that allows four sports reporters to debate each other for points. The lowest points in each round eliminate a reporter until one is left standing. I think she should use this in class and make her kids debate story elements in front of the class. They don't play for grades but for argument skills needed for timed test sections. For the record, in the few times she has been able to inject pop culture into class discussions, the kids eat it up. It keeps them attuned.

I got a call from the theatre folk asking about the new one-act package show. They are suggesting we add more shows. Yes, really. And I thought the compost smelled bad. This augurs so ill, and my expectations dwindle more and more. The theatre is bleeding audience; the show that just closed averaged 15 people a night. That's inexcusable. It should shock people into making big, smart decisions for using the theater's resources. Instead, they're throwing all the pasta on the wall, and I am very, very tempted to back out of the one-act package before it cranks up.

On Sunday I drove back to Spartanburg for a family reunion. There were about sixty folks there -- some I knew well, some I never otherwise see or recognize. Mom got to see the pictures of Your Sis on the bike and was shocked by them. Everyone is surprised by this. Me, not so much. She didn't talk about getting a bike very often, but she always enjoyed seeing them in action movies. How many times have we watched Trinity slip through enemy traffic in the second Matrix film? Couldn't tell you. But it has a bike, and thus it was consumed muchly.

I also gave Mom a digital copy of our casual prom pictures which I shall also now share with ye.

She's so damn cute.

That's one of her students' left arm in the top right picture, but it does look like it's my arm from the picture next to it. We don't have enough pictures of the two of us. I wants more.

I got home earlier than I expected and listened to a Mercury Radio production of Dracula on the drive back. I went back to the papers while Your Sis travailed at school, and we met up for a late supper. She has one big week left of students, and I intend to clobber these papers with her and finish them tomorrow night.

Resilient Joy in Mudville

No Beasties. The concert sold out in a fraction of imaginary Hawking time. The ticket website went belly up in about a minute, and the box office sold out soon after. My alum buddy got a ticket (and one for his pal), and this is as it should be. He's a much bigger fan. I want to go. He needs to go.

As I typed that, the buddy called to say there may be an unclaimed ticket that I might snatch after all. It's a friend-of-a-friend thing, and that's as reliable as the breeze. I don't have high hopes. But a simmering back-burner notion of a chance is enough to keep me buzzing along.

Not that I'm in any way bummed. This is fun. Running to the Orange Peel for a ticket and weeding through a half-dozen rumors before I can hop out of the car makes for an adventure. It's something different, and it was all over in a half hour.

Plus, you know, if I don't see the show, I'm at home with my [nickname redacted] on our four-year anniversary. Win-win.

Your Sister decreed that we would begin the papers this weekend. She then announced a delivery from the kingdom of pizza and a command audience from the Netflix ambassador. We saw Taken.

The word for this film is "tidy." It's lean to the bone, giving just enough character development to show that there are real actors at work, and then we're off. It's credible and small and made digestible by Liam Neeson doing more than the script requires. In following the templates of the Bourne series, Ronin, and Casino Royale, this film maintains a small, steady vibration. There's virtually no reason why this film can't be shown on broadcast TV. There's very little blood. The gunshots are practically demure.

ADDED: Oh, right. If you can't remember where you saw the daughter before, she was Shannon on Lost, the blonde who translates Rousseau's map and canoodles with Sayid.

It's a fine, 90-minute diversion, and it allowed us to wolf down the pizza and slack right the hell off before we roll up our sleeves and make with the red ink.

With such background noise options as playoff hockey, playoff basketball, the new Green Day CD (good start, runs out of steam), and horse racing, we can knock out these papers tout suite.

In the News
Reports now say that no wreckage has been conclusively linked to the missing AirFrance flight. What has been spotted and pulled from the sea may only be cargo junk. Also, the humming of terrorism rumors are getting louder, even though this would be a failed attack. The lack of conclusive aggression dilutes the effort to terrorize. Terrorist groups can't aggrandize themselves with the possibility of an attack. They require probability. Or absolutes. That doesn't exist here. We may never know, and that provides no comfort. You can't prevent the unknown.

+ + +

The new big story is Obama's speech in Saudi Arabia and the domestic efforts for opposition sound bites. The president either was too hard on Israel or too effusive toward Islam. It also kicked up the deathless rumors that he's secretly Muslim (lookit dat middle name, y'all). I haven't seen word on Michelle or the kids going with him, and I would be greatly interested to see what respect they pay their hosts with culturally modest attire. Of course, Michelle is the piledriver that kills the Muslim Obama rumors. So much has been made of her bare arms that the loudmouths forget that a proper Muslim woman would never bear her arms. We all know what Michelle's hair looks like. End of debate.

Moving Picture of the Day
I'll just leave this here.

Galactic News

I got a call Monday Tuesday night from a university alum whom I talk with online. He helped me out with the theatre magnets a few years back, and we've been to roller derby together. Great guy. He called me in a panic because of a rumor that struck him to the marrow: Beastie Boys are coming to the Orange Peel next week. The tickets go on sale Thursday afternoon.

The rumor bore out, and he's a frantic mess. This is his favorite musical act. They are performing practically on his front porch. Tickets will go fast, and he's terrified of missing out. Tickets are limited to two per person, and the security is much like that for the Tom Waits show, and that was strenuous murder to nab entry.

I got to see Waits. I'm going to see if my luck holds out again. I want to go. But that show is June 10, our four-year anniversary. I told Your Sis about the rumor as soon as I got off the phone with the buddy and then realized the date. She ordered me to go, using my first and middle names. So she's serious. I have the ticket page bookmarked, and my credit info is already cookied. I'm ready. If I don't need to give him my extra ticket, I'll try to talk Your Sister into going. She'll enjoy it.

If I get a ticket, I hope they perform Eggman from Paul's Boutique.



We went to the college yesterday. She drove her bike around campus for practice while I did a 5k distance. I've run 3 5ks this week, and I feel like I'm getting back into the groove. I decided to make a giant salad for supper, and it was scoash too gigantic. I don't know how we ate it all, but I fear I have a lettuce hangover. It's not helped at all by the thunderstorm that boomed so loudly and repeatedly over our house last night that I started to take it personally. On the plus side, I won't have to water the garden again until I'm retired.

Moving Picture of the Day
I remember Johnny Carson's Tonight Show. His charm was considered dowdy when '80s comics were getting vulgar and loud simply to get noticed. But those comic superstars were still getting their big break through Carson's show. Think of any top sitcom starring a comedian, and its star assuredly became recognizable because they killed on the Tonight Show. Roseanne, Ellen, Tim Allen, Seinfield -- all Carson kids. Probably the last comic to enjoy a hit sitcom was Ray Romano, and Letterman made him a star. Seinfeld was also a favorite of Letterman, as was Jay Leno, whose original comic material was brilliant and killer. He greatly diluted his style when he took over for Carson. It was a tragedy.

Conan won't have that trouble. Unlike Leno, he's captained his own show for more than ten years. Leno hosted the show like he was keeping Johnny's chair warm for his eventual return. Conan has his own style, and it's in full effect as takes over Tonight. Even Your Sister laughed out loud, and she's allergic to TV comedy.




His first two shows featured big acts -- Will Farrell, Tom Hanks, Pearl Jam, Green Day -- and I'm curious to see how good the show is when he's scraping the bottom of the guest barrel.

In the News
New Hampshire's governor signed a same-sex marriage bill into law yesterday, and the impact may be most felt by Mitt Romney. He moved away from Massachusetts and its alleged liberal wasteland with same-sex marriage. He moved to New Hampshire in hopes of establishing a conservative base for his probable 2012 presidential run and now finds himself in the same predicament.

+ + +

Newt Gingrich backed off his assertion that Supreme Court nominee Sotomayor is a racist. Limbaugh stuck to his guns, but added he would support her if she was pro-life. In other words, the initial GOP backlash backfired. S.C. senator Lindsey Graham is telling everybody with a microphone that he won't support her, probably because he doesn't want to seem friendly to a Hispanic in front of his fellow state Republicans.

South Carolina is not doing so hot; unemployment is near the top for all states, and the governor wants to reject stimulus money to bolster his own 2012 presidential bid (not that he has a chance in hell; the man is two-dimensional). The state Republicans fear another protest vote by the citizenry that would put the Democrats back in power just like what happened ten years ago. Folks then weren't happy that a GOP governor removed the Confederate flag from the statehouse roof, and they voted in a one-term Democrat to give the GOP what-for. Graham and other prominent state figures are trying to rally their base to maintain the majority.

But a boot-strap mentality isn't going to salvage a state that could quickly become another Michigan. South Carolina relies on cheap, un-unionized labor to lure foreign corporations, like BMW. Also, principles are taking a backseat to paychecks. Around the time that the flag came down, the state chapters of the Southern Baptist Convention hoped a boycott would show Disney and other "un-Christian" companies who was boss. But when Disney built a new plant in the state, people flocked to it for a job. The boycott dissolved. The same thing could very well happen to the state GOP if they think enforced poverty and polite racism will maintain power.

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Enough political blah-blah. Bring me Beasties!

Cracking My Knuckles in Preparation

Your Sister is within eyesight of the end of the school year, and that means things get more difficult. Everything is due, and the state computer servers can't handle the load. You'd think the state would stagger the schedule throughout North Carolina for teachers to input grades. You'd think. Research papers swoop into Stately Debacle Manor tonight, and I pledged two hours' worth of work tonight. I want to get a good start on them and spread the misery out into manageable increments.

She brought home a yearbook last night, and we took turns thumbing through it. She has two photos aside from her official mug shot: a picture of her walking to school for an article on the gas prices and a picture of her in my Flash t-shirt. It's a huge yearbook, similar in size to my senior year book from a school that was almost three times larger. Also, it's all color. It looks sharp.

We had so much rain that the garden doesn't require daily watering. The soil is dark, brick-colored, and pasty. I lost a few plants since the garden was begun, and I suspect they were weak seedlings.

In the News
The GM bankruptcy dominates news conversation here. The Hummer brand has been claimed by a Chinese manufacturer, but it will maintain our domestic plants and jobs. Saturn and Saab may be next for new ownership.

Something I continue to hear from professional eye-rollers is that this is socialism. The government reached out to scuttle GM and claim its profits, they say. But that's a contradiction. GM has no profits. Anyone who has financial ties to the company as its currently structured will lose money. Socialism -- true socialism -- occurs when a government takes over a profitable company and sucks away the profits.

This is exactly the opposite. GM instigated the federal involvement by asking the government for money and agreeing to conditions upon receipt of the money. GM had no plan to revive itself, and the government stepped in to soften the crash landing. Now if the government called dibs on Google, that would be socialism. Google makes money. The dealerships will be hit next as the bankruptcy courts decide how they can be shed or managed. The government continues to back the warranties.

Picture of the Day
I'm making a logo for the company's new bequest program. I was asked to tie in our unofficial Pan mascot, the classic columns from a previous program logo, and the name of the new effort. This is a simple sketch, but it has potential already.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.