Yo Joe

I completely forgot to thank you for the Africa candy because I have no brains. Mrs. H.S. Ball's Chutney chips are hysterical. I want to eat them, but I don't want to rupture the sanctity of the Simba bag.

In our few days of doing little, we saw the GI Joe movie. Of course we did. It's much like the cartoon in that it involves many small scenes lined up toward a giant climatic battle. It also doesn't require a brain to watch it. It's simple and humble in the dialogue, and it relies on the '80s cartoon and comics for the character relationships. If I were a ten-year-old, I'd be all over this. If not for the copious expletives, this would be a fine boys' movie. If you, like me, watched the film way back then, you might enjoy this too. As a lifelong fan, I'm in no way bothered by the alterations and updates. I did notice how much tech porn is on display. The film loves to show off mechanical design. One segment smells like a ripoff of Iron Man, and it has no comic/cartoon/toy precedent.

We watched Raiders of the Lost Ark last night. It mostly holds up. It's surprisingly lean, not dawdling at all, and a modern version of this film would include at least ten minutes more of needless dialogue. The opening credits, for example, speed by like they have to catch a bus. Not complaining. Just unprepared for that by modern filmmaking. Your Sister had maybe seen this film once before, and that would not stand. She liked the film as all humans do.

Picture of the Day
Draws for your hands!

Recovering

Twas indeed a packed convention. While it blurs together into a compact mush, I feel every minute of it in me bones. I've been back since Tuesday night, and I'm still weary. I'm also noticeably thinner; I expected to pack on calories with bad snacks, but the constant movement burned them away. The Photographer's Diet may be the next big thing. Also, my camera trigger finger can lift a truck.

The new camera worked beautifully. The 16G memory wafer contains 3,400 photos, most of them redundant copies. I'll whittle those down over the next month for online and print publications.

We unwisely packed up the office truck the same day we flew back home. I knew that much heavy shoving mixed with hours of flight time would lock up my muscles, and yes, I'm sore and stiff. I ran this morning to help loosen up. My feet still won't speak to me.

I got to see some of Chicago. We drove through the city to get to the pier. The skyline is massive. Intimidating, even. The outing on the pier saw perfect weather and many tourists. I strolled alone past fast-food booths and souvenir stands. I ate a Chicago hot dog (survey says: meh) and chugged the rare Pepsi. Eighties music wafted above as people screamed in the ferris wheel and a vaudevillian did a magic routine on an outdoor stage. Honestly, I could have been on fire in a pile of feathers and been happy. I got to see the sky for once, and I was finally in the city I've watched through WGN since I was in middle school.

It was a good convention, I think. Mostly smooth and peppy. The attendees were patient as I took all those photos, and the musical skills on display were genuinely impressive. It's a good crowd of folks, and I collided with the same five or six faces every hour. We took over the hotel for five days, and the staff were helpful and polite. I did get to swim in the heated pool the day before shipping home. I caught some TV. I got more sleep than my fellow staffers. And most important, the dreaded dinner of honors only lasted half as long as the last convention's. I was shocked with glee (sheed? glocked?).

I got home around 8:30 Tuesday night sans a suitcase that decided to sightsee in Atlanta for a night. Your Sister drove me home and bought me Lucky Charms for the next morning. I took it very easy. But today, I'm running and laundry-ing and blogging. We're operating at 80%, I think.

Your Sis hopes we can surf next week. I wanna try it, I does. Sounds like fun.

Picture of the Day
I found a Chicago museum brochure that also served to remind me of Your Sister. It stood on the hotel bedstand the entire convention.

New Toy

I mentioned yesterday that I got a new digital camera. It's another Sony, the same brand that Your Sister bought me more than five years back. I knew that I'd need another one before this convention, and I planned for one since last year. I did the homework. I had no luck getting the office to spring for one. I decided to buy it myself and own it outright. The advances in miniaturization are shocking. A 16 G memory stick is half the length of my thumb and as thin as a credit card. My previous camera's memory stick is 126 MB. The new camera is 10 megapixel, twice that of the other camera. This card will hold more than 3,800 photos at the maximum resolution. Madness.

I had no brains when I opened the camera and didn't see the AC adapter. I thought I had been hornswoggled by the salesperson. Your Sister figured out how it worked within the hour. I now can fit the charger, a backup batter, a back-up memory stick, the camera, and a USB cord inside one small belt pack. MADNESS. My old camera is a brick in comparison. I adore it. It's been a boon for comic reference pictures and vacations. But this new camera will be the new favorite, and we'll keep Old Reliable on the bench until it's needed.

The only downside to the new camera is it requires lithium-ion batteries and will not accept any alkaline. I can't power it with batteries from a grocery store. But those batteries can be recharged quickly with a wall outlet, and two batteries can power through about 5oo photos. There's no way I can go through both batteries in one day. Not even at a museum.

I'm in such a lockdown mental mode to prepare for the trip that I can't get thrilled by this brilliant new toy. I plan to download photo copies to the work PCs at convention each night just to be safe.

In Maine, Your Sister visited a comic store and bought me three original Star Wars figures. All evil. A Death Star gunner, an Imperial commander, and a Darth Vader. A real, old Vader with a plastic cape. He's going with me to convention as a good-luck totem.

I've spent an obscene amount of money for this work convention, and I wonder how much I can write off on taxes. The camera and the suit were things I needed, but both expenses within a month is a serious budgetary bump.

I won't be able to post anything for the blog until next week. The only PC access I'll have is to upload photos copies.

You and Your Sis are gonna surf. Have fun.

Picture of the Day
The newsgirl for the science-fair-esque display I made for the convention. The title is "Read All About It" and markets the company publications.

Tranquility

I spent all of Saturday girded for war, and it was for naught. When the two tech folks arrived, I walked them through the headset usage and tested their volumes. Right before we began, the tech lady, to my shock, apologized for missing cues. I told her Friday was an off night for everyone and to forget it. Also, I fielded tons of calls from actors warning me they would be late and updating me on their progress. Also, you and I talked briefly.

We had some rain. That cooled down the hot theatre air greatly. Also, the Legionaries we're in full swing on the other side of the stage wall. We had a very smooth show tech-wise thanks to copious formalities and courtesies, but my cast had line troubles. Seems everyone did. The whispering actress didn't realize her mic was unplugged for her play, causing her much distress. The third play had a line hiccup, and we shared stage horror stories as the fourth play hit the stage. We somehow finished up earlier than normal, and I got home right after Your Sister did.

Sunday, I was dead tired. My eyes watered, my back ached. I was beat. I was eager to get the show going and over, and the day dragged by. My cast got off to a stumble and never hit a groove. I stayed on the wings, reading a Chuck Palahniuk book. I couldn't read Sons and Lovers anymore; it hit a rut. I usually sit there and read each night. I keep an eye out for tech troubles.

After setting up the second play and getting them started, I went into the green room to congratulate my guys for ending their work. The mom actress was livid. She stormed to me and asked why I was reading the script offstage. I told her I wasn't. And wouldn't. We talked about this a few nights before. I hadn't cracked open the script since we moved to the theatre space. Once the show starts, the play is between the actors and audience. It would be an insult to follow along with the script, and she took it that way. Livid, I say. I even showed her the book. Couldn't calm her down. She was riding a mad, and I couldn't dissuade her. I didn't try. Screw it.

Intermission was spent coordinating the production party with pizza options and cataloging the reservations. This was done by others, and I greatly appreciated their command of it. The show finished without incident, again a little early, and we killed time before the party started. I cleared the stage of tape and furniture and boxed up my play's props into the car. I killed time by calling Your Sis and My Mom.

My theatre liaison attended to begin the disassembly of the set pieces. He also, in the span of an hour, asked me to consider three positions with the theatre. I told him I'm not saying "yes" to anything. I'll be gone for two weeks starting Wednesday, and my brain is mush. I was flabbergasted when one of the actors publicly presented me with Visa gift cards paid for by the cast and a signed card. Floored. Stunned. I gave a short thank-you speech and thanked the tech guys for their work too. The liaison sketched out the new green-room design, and the theatre plans to have new curtain systems installed before September. They're moving forward. But we still don't know if there will be any shows after Christmas. The script committee hasn't met to consider plays or scheduling.

Best moment of the last day? Giving the keys back to the whispering actress. She was the one who handed them to me the day I said I'd stage manage. I think she was shocked. She may have intended me to keep them as a gesture of being brought into the inner circle of the theatre. I didn't see it that way. It's my hope that some other new person is taped to stage manage. The liaison and I have talked about making a stage-manager manual for the next sucker. It's needed.

I left at 7. Monday morning, I stopped by the warehouse to stash the props and officially, finally, decisively end this play, four months after I first agreed to do it.

I packed for the convention last night. The suitcase will go on our office truck today or tomorrow. We picked up a new digital camera, and Your Sister found it included an AC charger, saving me about $40 I would spend on one. We have two nights together before I fly off to Chicago, and I'll be gone a week. I'm ready to get that over with too. We spent last night watching On Her Majesty's Secret Service, the Bond film starring George Lazenby. It's very dated; they adopted the style of the day in everything from fashion to sound effects.



Picture of the Day
A German fan at the Tour de France.

Showdown

Late in last week's shows, some one asked about a cast party. That was quickly corrected to a "production party" to highlight that the backstage crew would take part as well. I thought that was understood. Semantics. But again, no one would step up and say "I'll make this work like a champ." So I'm doing it.

The theatre liaison called me before Friday's show to see how rehearsal went and to to ask if the set is holding up and oh-by-the-way who's doing the cast party? Guess that's me. Again. One of the actresses is also working with the concession booth, and I'm hoping she can wrangle us some leftover drinks. This party will be after the last show, and we'll hold it at the performance hall. What hasn't been sold might be available to us. Otherwise I'll have to collect money from everyone and buy the drinks. What I'd like to see happen is to use that actress to get the food (probably pizza) and the drinks during the second half of the show. I'll be stage managing, and her work will be done in the first half. But this is the complaining actress I'm relying on. Will she step up? Who knows?

I was also asked to help take apart the set during the cast/production/whoever else party, and I'm OK with that if it goes quickly. I plan to also go quickly. Of course the size of the party will depend on how many people stay once their play is over. Most everyone takes off when they leave the stage.

I'm surprised that the theatre hasn't made arrangements with a local pizza place: the production parties use their business and the pizzeria gets a deal on playbill advertising. The company can't do big-cast plays so each show will have a dozen people tops. That's, what, five large pizzas for cast and crew and invited families. Maybe seven large pizzas. Let's say the theatre does eight shows a year: winter, spring, July 4 weekend, summer, broadway revue, kid's musical, and two fall shows. That's 60 pizzas a year guaranteed for a reduced advertising rate. That's gotta be worth a deal. And yet there's none in place. At least as far as anyone has told me yet, and it's possible someone will confirm such an arrangement as soon as the purchased pizzas arrive.

I'm a liberal-arts major. Why am I coming up with small-business deals that a board of directors made with local shop owners and lawyers hasn't put in place? There's probably a pizzeria owner on the board, for crying out loud.

...

I'm now typing this after the performance, and I almost killed the sound woman. She consistently plays a song earlier and earlier each night. Tonight she was way too early. Then she cut the song off entirely during the set change. As my back was turned to the audience to turn the set towers, I called her to start the song again. Eventually, it faded back in. Maybe an odd night, I thought.

No, she fucked up all night long. Songs were too quiet or too early or barely in time. During the intermission, I walked to the table and reminded her when the song is to start in the first play.

"I know," she said. "I heard you." She was dismissing the comment. We both knew it.

"Good," I said. "It shouldn't happen again tomorrow." I walked off, and she was giving me the eye. Except her "eye" is to smile while she's cursing me mentally. She thinks this fools people.

As I wanted to start the second half, I stood right behind the curtain and said "music off" into the walkie. The music continued. "Music off." Still nothing. Repeat and repeat. Then I say "turn the damn music off" loudly enough for the audience to hear through the stage mics. They chuckled. I threatened, like a parent, to go out to the sound table to say face-to-face to turn the music off. As I approached the stage door, I couldn't hear the song. I stopped. I thought it was over. I walked back to the curtain. Then I heard it again. As I marched to the door again, the light guy called "the music's off" over the walkie. We opened the curtain, the play started, and I darted into the green room to cool off.

But as I described what happened to the actors, I got more angry. They were surprised to hear me talk this way. You know, vulgar. They never hear that. I'm even-keeled in this office. But this was intentional. She was getting back at me for confronting her about the song. I know this. One of the actresses who is also a director asked why she is repeatedly asked to do this gig when this happens every show. She's a warm body pushing a button, that's all. That's the criteria for the theatre. I fumed backstage and made a deal with myself that, when I confront her about this after the show tonight, I'm prepared to fire her, as much as one can fire a volunteer. I would do sound if I had to. I had decided.

I stayed backstage as she fumbled more cues through the show. When the show was over, I stood at the stage door and counted to ten. The last two actors left the stage and thanked me. They listened to me rant aloud before their play, and they knew I was losing it. I wanted to be calm. Another actor had earlier argued that she couldn't be doing it on purpose, that it would be too petty. He's a kind man. He doesn't want to accept that. I told him I'd rather believe she was incompetent, but after two weeks, this kind of screw up has to be intentional.

"I know she was here Wednesday."

"She was here last weekend," the actress/director said.

So I stopped counting and opened the door. I bee-lined to the tech table.

"Can you hear me through the handset," I asked. The tech people use one walkie sitting on the table. The light guy controls it because he knows how to use it.

"I can hear you when you talk into it." That's a yes.

I won't transcribe the whole conversation, but here's the gist: She's bored, and she's fiddling with the cues to amuse herself. I told her that she would get her own handset, sitting right in front of her for the last shows. She would clearly hear me, and this would remove her alibi for not following the cues. She asked again to explain the cues throughout the show. I did.

"Oh, so I'll see you onstage, changing the set?"

"Yes, as you have for two weeks." Playing dumb wasn't working, she realized. So she fell back to the bitch mode last seen when she directed the courtroom show and went mental.

"I will follow the cues you say if they're given in a civil tone. An uncivil tone makes me angry." There was the smile again.

"And inconsistency makes me angry." The smile went away. "We have two nights left. We've done this for two weeks. Let's get through this and be done with it."

She started to pack her items up, and now she was fuming. I wanted to end this in the civil tone she just asked for.

"Let's start over tomorrow night. We'll come in and go from scratch."I smiled. She smiled back. And she left quickly.

I told the light guy about our conversation in case she acts funny tomorrow. He sighed and told me some things she did tonight, all of them squirrely as hell. I again think she's bored. The light guy gave a soft defense that the sound program has acted up, and she has more to keep track of. I blocked that excuse, saying she has plenty of time between sound cues. This is why I can believe she is bored. But she volunteered. Even the diva actress apologized for her tonight as I was Hulking out. The light guy agreed about the sound lady, and said, "you know, it's always someone else's fault with her." Yep.

Let's see how she is tomorrow.

Not that this was the only problem. The set frames are about to die on us, and tonight we had to adjust the top halves so they would accept the cloud panels we attach to them for the third play. As I fixed one, I knocked over the Coke can for that play and spilled water on the stage. I was mad at that too; they should wait for us to fix the set towers before bringing out their set stuff. The set towers will have larger gaps from now on. Their contact is destroying them.

When the show was about to begin, the mom actress spilled her coffee on the green-room staircase. I cleaned that up too. There is a standard rule that you can only drink water backstage. That way it can't stain if it's spilled on costumes. I should have presented that rule earlier, but then she should have remembered that too. Not that the coffee helped. She and the play were dragging tonight. I wasn't going to give any notes, but I was asked, and I told them the play was slow. But I congratulated them on certain lines.

Maybe this was our worst night, the nadir every show goes through. Maybe we cruise through the last two performances. Maybe maybe.

Contact

Until you buy something new, you have no idea how many variations there are. For instance, nails. I wanted to reattach the baseboards to the walls. These were pried off when the water heater died and leaked. I checked the nail remnants, and it looked like a simple matter to replace them. Until I went to Lowe's and discovered a quarter of an aisle devoted only to nails. Dozens of types and lengths.

This is good. Carpenters and contractors need a variety of them. But Lowe's should have a simplified store section for people like me. One can go to the regular aisle to get exterior galvanized 3 and 1/4 inch nails with countersink heads. Or one can go to the simplified section where you find hundreds of one box style marked NAILS. That's what I wanted. What I bought seemed to work OK, but we're missing some baseboards. I reattached what I could. Then I ran for two miles.

Your Sis called last night to affirm she is still alive, but she would spill no beans of what I suspect are multiple adventures featuring bears and platinum mines and handsome lumberjack colonies. She's having a fantastic time, and I'll see her after the show on Saturday.

This weekend is the annual Comic Con, North America's biggest and most important pop-culture convention with news of future events spilling about like marbles. Somewhere in the midst of it is a comic story I made. That's heady stuff.

The last three shows begin tonight. Hard to believe I'm finally at this point. The local paper ran our "review," which uses the default newspaper template of simply naming all the performers. We have brought in more people than the three-act debut play in May, and plans are afoot to buy a new curtain set for the stage. Deck chairs and Titanic and all that.

Picture of the Day
One such revelation is the teaser poster for a remake of the Elm Street franchise. I dressed up as Freddy one Halloween while in high school. I had never seen the movies so my costume was very wrong. I'm not as annoyed as others my age by all the remakes. I like the idea of franchise cycles, and I fully expect to see a Star Wars remake before I'm twice this age.

Mid-Week Rehearsal

It doesn't feel like much of a break from the show, and I suppose that's by design. We can't forget anything if we're only away for a few days. I told the gang to ignore costumes as I'm focusing on tech and lines. I pre-set the stage after Sunday's show so we could start immediately. My cast arrives on time, but the mom actress wants to discuss her character. Uh oh.

I dislike changes this deep into a production. We're halfway done. She wants to add layers to the character. That's fine. She wants to moderate the character's tone. That's fine too. I'm concerned about those changes in delivery throwing off the other actors. She's concerned the audience doesn't like her character and won't invest in the show. I argue they have invested. We get good reactions. They laugh. That's what we want. I also tell her we can't make the play something it isn't. It's a thin sitcom. Nothing more. It has many weaknesses, and we can't reconstruct the script with three performances left. She said she knew I'd say that. Well, sure, it's what I've been saying all along.

I suspect that she's spending too much time reading the play. This sounds counter intuitive. I believe that once the lines and stage business are set in memory, you chuck the script. Looking at it will confuse you. At this point in a show, the script and the onstage material are distinct. Going back to the script once an audience has reacted to you throws you off and leads to just this overthinking. She now seees her script as an audience representative instead of as a theatre representative. Of course we have to consider the audience when doing a show. Sure. But we do that in rehearsal. If we do it now, we invite chaos.

The play goes breezily, and the actors enjoy the relaxed mood. The mom is kinder onstage, and I don't mind the change so long, again, as it doesn't throw off the actors who are accustomed to weeks of the previous delivery style. I tell them afterward that the quick, light style is funny, and funny is what we want. I pat them on the heads and send them on they're way. I still call them "my guys" to the otehr actors. I explain that I've worked with them longer. I love my foundlings, but these are my firstborn, and I'm prejudiced. I don't love them more; I love them more often.

The rest of the show doesn't get the same degree of attention from me. I keep an ear out for sound and light cues, and they go fine. We skip the intermission and finish about 15 minutes early. A third-play actress decides to sneak backstage, and she clobbers our set. I try to sound OK with it and chuckle it away. We're lucky she didn't break our backdrop. As she's leaving the stage, she goes the same way and does it again, and now I want to put her in a catapult. She apologizes a lot.

Just three more times with this show, and we're really and truly done and did and finished and over.

It's almost daylight as I leave to grab fast food and watch the president talk healthcare. He fucking nails it, deflecting every talking point talk radio has used against him for weeks.

I've begun plinking away at the piano using the old starter books. The cats are hypnotized by the resonant wooden box that meows louder than them.

I slept in and missed my run window. I'll do that once I get home tonight. It's rained, and the air is cool.

Picture of the Day
Spacewalking.

Bachelor Life

The bachelor life hasn't extended this long since I married Your Sis. We did have the long break right after I moved here, and she left to visit you in Snazziland. The shift would be more jarring, I suppose, if I hadn't been gone so much last week with the play. It got us accustomed to not seeing the other.

It's a big house for one person. I'm hyper-aware of having so much space to myself. I'm also sticking largely to our old routines. I wake up at the same time, etc. The freedom of schedule is almost unsettling what with no wife and no play, both temporarily.

I need to do something to commemorate her return, but I haven't had the inspiration yet. On Sunday, she told me she'd be out of communication for a few days, much like an astronaut on the dark side of the moon. She's my prairie-naut, shacked in a log-cabin space station.

I ran yesterday when I got home. I haven't run in the evening in months, but the clear air made it feel like the morning run. The time away from running (almost two weeks) worried me, but my body seemed eager to get back at it. My feet are still swollen from the play work. Still, they didn't bother me during the run.

More high-school folks are contacting me through FaceBook, and I chatted with an especially close old friend last night. We traded stories from the past decades and cringed over our prom picture.

Picture of the Day
A online conversation about the moon-landing anniversary reminded me of when Oscar the Grouch's pet worm went to space:

Third Show

You never know what Sunday crowds will be like. The common notion is that they will be stuffy blue-hairs, few and prim and too polite to laugh. We didn't have that this show. It was a small crowd, but it swelled with eight walk-ins, making for a much better audience than we had any right to expect. This is another no-name show, and we're happy if we have more than 15 people. These people were vocal and attentive. We can't ask for more.

Some theatre regulars were there. The house manager, with whom I coordinate the beginning of the first and second acts, was my wife from the murder play. Her husband is one of the highly regarded directors. He also runs the committee for choosing the debut plays competition. When we last met, he gave me the sales push to joining the committee. This time, he tries to get me to take over the committee next year, relieving him of the burden. I don't bite. He and others joke that I am the theatre at this point. They see my director stint as a potential spark to revive the theatre. I suppose my departure at the end of this play will hit them hard. I don't feel bad about that anymore. I'm no local-show Jesus.

One tech slip occurred when the stage lights were turned on much too early for a show transition. The light guy immediately apologized as soon as intermission started. I told him he was due for a couple of mistakes to balance out the sound problems.

We had a much bigger issue outside. The actor bathrooms were flooding into the sidewalk on the other side of their wall. They were horrified. While the first play ran -- my play, the play I want to listen to every day -- I called around to get a contact for the building. While the show continued, someone arrived to address the situation. We didn't see them, but we could tell someone was there. The actors can use the regular bathrooms at the back of the hall. They prefer to not be seen in costume offstage, but when you gotta go ...

My curtain speech was probably a bit quick. To make up for that, the mom actress went back to her old habits of extending her lines and adding vocal noises before speaking. We don't get "Rochelle will visit me. Rochell loves me." We get "Oooooohhhh, um ... Rochelle ... Rocheeeeelle loves me, and Rocheeeeelle will visit meeeeeeeee." She doesn't talk like this offstage. She's clear and bright and considerate in conversation. She's a smart cookie. But she's determined to make Mom a tragic caricature. She wanted to do Glass Menagerie this season and petitioned the script committee to choose it. I think she's trying to turn a 30-minute sitcom into Tennessee Williams.

She knew she screwed up. She didn't get the reactions she did Saturday, and I hope the time off (the blessed, glorious time off) will set in her head the clear results of listening to the director (oh hey, that's me).

Everyone else was good, and we ended again right at 2 hours and twenty minutes. It's not my doing that hits that mark each day. It's happenstance.

I got home before 6 and mowed the yard and put out snail bait. Your Sis called to say she's enjoying her unplugged cabin experience. I'm sprawling like a proper bachelor, but I did the laundry. I woke up to beat to run, and I plan to do two miles when I get home tonight.

Picture of the Day
This is the first look at Scarlet Johannsen as Black Widow, the Soviet spy who flirts and flights with Tony Stark. I watched Downey in Zodiac last night, and he's good as always.



The comic character traditionally looks like this:


I don't know where they got the Raggedy Ann curls.

Second Show

Cooler air helped the show start on a lighter note. The concession folks hooked up a popcorn machine before everyone arrived, and the hall held that aroma the entire night. The previous two nights finally cemented a routine, and I was relaxed. I think we all were. That was a little worrisome; this is when mistakes happen. We were taping tonight too.

The board president arrived just in time to do his speech. He's not a great conversationalist, at least with me. We're still getting to know each other. But when he took the stage, he had shtick, and it went over great. He warmed up the small audience, and I appreciated it. Before we officially began, I told my cast to enjoy themselves. I particularly wanted the mom actress to settle down and get her lines out quickly. She nailed it. She was a one-liner machine, and the audience went crazy for her. It was her best performance yet, and I lavished her and the others with praise. It was a shame the audience was too polite to guffaw; the cast earned a reaction similar to Friday night.

I read more and chatted more during the show, and it went smooth until intermission. The sound lady warned me that the computer was acting weird. I attribute all such comments to her competence. Also, she continues to add flourishes during the intermissions. She's playing more music and different music. I suspect she's asking the computer to do stuff without realizing it will now behave differently. Rehearsals are to establish routine, and she's removing that. So of course, when we got to the end of the third play and its required thunderclap, we got classical music instead. Luckily, the cue was supposed to be a sign from God. But still.

As the fourth play was set to begin, the lights stayed down. The audience knew something was wrong. I was just offstage whisper-screaming into the headset to hit the lights. The computer had to be rebooted, I was told. But the computer only controls the sound, not the light. Hit. The. Lights, I hissed. Finally, they came up. I stormed to the dressing room. The third-play actors were joking about the cue screw-up. The actor turned to me as I walked in.

"Hey, Gregory ... " he said.
"Don't worry. She'll die."

That got a laugh. I was Hulking out a bit.

When the show ended, I bee-lined to the tech table, and she began her tale of woe. The words "something" and "doohickey" were used, and I got enough to understand that she rebooted in time to give us sound for the fourth play. I thanked her for that. But I warned her to stop doing new stuff if it's going to lock up the PC.

Speaking of locking up, I got to close up the theatre around 11 and made the short drive for a Burger King drive-thru.

Things always screw up when we tape a show. Always. But Sunday's show is the end of a long week. I'll get to go home in daylight and take a few days off.

I got up this morning to weed the garden, tie up the tomato plants, and water the garden. I have to put out snail bait tonight, and I might mow the yard while the sun is still out. I'm willing to do anything once the play is done today. I can reshingle a roof if it means doing something different. I mean, besides washing all my stage-manager clothes. I have a pile of black to hose down.

First Show

Mom called me a few hours before the show. Her gall bladder will need to be removed but not now. What she has now is an ulcerated stomach. I'm not surprised. Her diet went to hell once Dad died; she ate rarely and badly. I had stomach ulcers as a child, and we all lived through that bland diet. She has medicine now and a diet sheet, and once this is over, they'll tackle the gall bladder.

I'm relieved for many reasons. But right now it means I don't have to add a long drive and visit to my play schedule.

I arrive a half hour before the actors are scheduled to. I thought the light guy and I would clean up the hall, but it's already done. The tables are arranged to welcome the audience and a concession table is decked out in summer props. The extra time isn't empty though, as I'm suddenly running around with things I haven't had to tackle before. The box-office table can't figure out why their equipment isn't getting power from the wall outlet. The sound guy and I spend ten minutes playing with the circuit breaker before we discover the box-office ladies didn't plug in their gear.

The sound guy hooks up a second mic for the ailing actor. His co-star in the third play doesn't arrive until half an hour after the actors are scheduled to show up. She's the newest face for me, and I never get an explanation for her absence. I remind her to call us next time. She doesn't go on for 90 minutes into the show, but I can't spend that 90 minutes hoping she shows up.

The light guy, the sound lady, and I debate a backstage light to help us work walk around to open the curtains. The light lady says its distracting to the audience. I say I prefer that to us knocking over the set pieces with our knees. We compromise by taking the light down to half. Why did everyone want a stage manager if they're gonna argue my decisions?

My liaison gives the curtain speech (after we quickly delineate the sequence of light changes with the light guy), and we're off. The sound lady blows her first cue; apparently the darkness and curtain speech didn't inform her that the show was starting. I'm screaming into the headset to hit the first sound. Finally it comes. We're a minute into the show, and I'm ready to kill. The actor with the mic didn't connect it properly, and his arm movements cause hi mic to cut out during his play. I have no chance to fix this; he doesn't leave the stage after the walks on.

The actress with the mic has now gotten so lazy with her voice that the mic isn't picking her up properly. To my shock, instead of telling her to talk above a mumble, the liaison and sound guy adjust the stage mics and give me new settings for just her play. I don't like getting more technical stuff to juggle.

It's still dead-air hot during the show, but now the Legionnaires are throwing a party on the other side of the wall. The cast and crew can hear them from the stage. What, the theatre folks didn't bother to remind them we're doing a show this weekend? Why am I not surprised?

I have a book to read backstage (Sons and Lovers), but my nervous energy keeps me tiptoeing backstage and checking the show's progress. The audience is 40-strong and vocal. They enjoy my cast, but my mom actress is slow. It sounds like she's unsure about the lines, and she in fact blows a couple. The others recover well. I ask her during the second play if she realizes what's she's doing. She says no. She then tries to dissect the line trouble, and I tell her to relax, enjoy the audience reaction and pick up her cues quicker. She's taking this way too seriously, and I regret saying anything. I don't want to be one of those directors who give notes after each performance. I won't do it again unless it's solicited.

We wrap up right on time at 10:20, and a free food reception encourages conversation. Some actors have stuck around for the food. The mumbling actress and the sound lady are conspiring to ad more music between plays. I don't care as long as they run it past the directors first. And then tell me. If I hear new music while moving sets, I'll freak out a bit. We don't add new stuff once the show opens. That's a practical rule.

I lock up at 11:20, a full five hours after I showed up, and I am beat. My feet are burgers. My clothes are chalky from dust and sweat.

The next morning, I have to convince my brain that we only do this twice more this week. I'm so accustomed to seeing the play as an endless tunnel stretching months into the future. We've actually trudged forward, and this patchwork A-Team hang glider is airborne. My ailing actor called to say his voice is better, and I assured him we can adjust his mic as need be.

I should point out the compliments I'm getting from everyone. It's mixture of relief that someone is doing the work, and that I'm so far not biting off heads.

Your Sis is safely in the hinterlands and enjoying doing nothing.

Last Rehearsal

The liaison called me earlier in the day to apologize about the tickets for the open rehearsal. Said he forgot them in the car. I told him we had all arrived at a consensus about limiting ourselves to inviting two people each. That's the pattern from previous shows. Not that it mattered. Only three people showed up to watch last night.

I also got an email about the curtain speeches. Friday and Saturday will be handled by board people, and that's all that could be wrangled together. The support for their volunteers is, well, about what I expect. I'll handle the rest of them with my speech notes on a clipboard.

I packed up my black uniform and drove straight to the theatre from work. I got there just after 6 and geared up for a four-hour slog.

We ran at 2 hours and 15 minutes with a shortened intermission. We hit intermission at 9:20 and ended at 10:15. I took the stage at 8 on the dot. Using the walkie-talkie, I cued the tech crew for sounds and lights. We'll need to have some sort of onstage lighting for set change and curtain movement. It's pitch black otherwise.

An actor in my play and another has lost his voice. He came to rehearsal with a bare whisper. He and the second-play actress shared the mic, and we'll ask the soundmaster to hook up a second mic so they won't have to trade off. With a mic, he's clearly audible. I told him to pantomime kissing his onstage fiance and warned her to watch out for the mic when they hug.

My cast may have peaked too early. They're having line trouble. They can cover it well enough as proof of their experience. But they're losing punchlines, and I want them to enjoy as much laughter as they can. They've worked for it. I won't give any more notes to them starting tonight. It was us sculpting a play in a warehouse for three months. Now, it's just them and the audience. A bad last rehearsal is a good omen, and I hope that holds true.

The actress again heard some complaints that she wasn't audible. I walked to the back of the hall and could hear her from the center exit door. That's about fifty yards away. She did admit she may have not adjusted the mic to her mouth correctly when she got it from the sick actor. I don't care what she says; I can hear her clear as a bell and told her so. She explained that the sound warps around the building, and my ears shut down. She's on a mic, the volume is cranked. If you're afraid you can't be heard, talk louder. When in doubt, shout.

The theatre has yellow handheld fans we give out for promotion, and we certainly need them. The hall is a sauna. It is roasting in the hall, no matter how many doors we open or fans we crank up.

Our above-door exit signs don't light up. I think that's bad.

The cast has been told to arrive at 7, an hour before our curtain opens. They feel it's early, and I'm telling them to bring a book. It does feel early, but I'd rather them be bored than late.

Someone suggested that we have transition music between the third and fourth play, and I agreed. The actress went on to say I needed to choose a song, and I stopped her. I pointed out that was a director decision, and I called that director over. I told her the suggestion. She agreed. I then told her to talk to the sound lady about picking music. I reminded them that I tried this earlier in the week, and third director didn't like the song I chose. I'd rather not pick a song for the opening night that the second director won't like. She needs to pick it, and I'll make sure it plays at the right time. That's what a stage manager does.

I always expect something dramatic to happen backstage. It always does. For my first play here, the director lost her brains. For the second, an actress lost her dad. For the third, the leads lost their lines. I tried to gird myself for it, whoever it happened to. But it happened to me.

Ten minutes before the play started last night, my mom called to say she might be facing gall bladder surgery. She's been ill for a few days now. She's seeing a doctor today, and they've talked about such an operation for years now. This might be the time. She's going to call me this morning after talking to the doctor.

I do not want this to interrupt the show, and she and I made some provisions for the weekend. If she's facing surgery, I can drive down Saturday morning and be back that night for the show. But there's a possibility -- just a possibility -- that I might miss a show for this. I'm going to try to avoid it as much as I can. And the doctor might tell her good news that could make this consideration null and void. But I warned my liaison this morning. Two actors know about it; I took the call backstage, and they were in earshot.

If I do miss a show, it should be easy to replace me. I have detailed notes for preparation, and the cast is helping to move items through the show. A replacement should have no trouble. As long as they can carry the park bench, that is. That sucker is lead.

Your Sister bought me an extra pair of black pants and a pack of black t-shirts so I won't have to do laundry. She's a fantastic wife. I woke her up when I got home to tell her about Mom. She woke me up four hours later before she left for her vacation. I tried to talk to her, to say goodbye, but I was mostly asleep. Here's an interactive moment for the blog: Gently pound your keyboard with the back of your hands. That string of gibberish is exactly what I said to her.

I haven't run since the rehearsals started at the hall, and I'm feeling it. I'm stiff and sore. I gotta run again.

...

Mom just called. The doctor's office can't see her, and she was directed to the ER instead. She's waiting for a diagnosis as I type. The earliest I can get down there without causing total backstage havoc is Saturday morning.

One of the two actors who overheard the call last night called just a second ago to get an update. I told her I plan to be there tonight. Scrooge had to do his show with a bout of food poisoning and a father in intensive care.

In the News
Lightsaber chopsticks. You want these.

A Day Off

And, man, did I need it.

I realized something yesterday as I was cataloging my manager checklist. My notes are written on the back of business cards, and I've gone through ten of them as I take notes, scratch out bad info, and make notes on new cards. It took a while to remember the last time I did this, but it hit me last night. It was Dad's death last year.

I followed Mom with pockets full of lists of things to do. I had few certain activities and otherwise kept my ear out for things to take care of at the proper time. I kept my head down and jotted everything I needed to keep in mind. That's what I'm doing now. And I feel the same now. Yesterday I was so anxious that I was afraid to eat. I settled on a simple sandwich for dinner and an ice-cream dessert to keep my stomach quiet.

I'm embarrassed to have this association flying around in my gut. I didn't expect those echoes to linger. But at least I know it's not the show filling me with dread. It shouldn't. I've done a dozen shows. I don't have to memorize anything for this one. I'm backstage virtually the entire time. My heavy work is done. I prepared the cast and provided them with props and movement. They have to perform. I only need to show up and stay alert.

I also realized that my curtain speeches will be much easier if I approach them as a stage manager instead of a formal member of the theatre. Stage managers wear all black casual clothes. They have checklists. My speech notes are a checklist. If I put them on a clipboard, I can make them into an in-character presentation. "Hi, I'm your stage manager tonight. Stage managers have checklists for everything, and I have a list to ensure I welcome you properly." I won't have to memorize it. I'll have one of the three easiest jobs each performance -- the tech guys just have to hit the lights and sounds with the scripts in front of them.

Also, we watched the director's cut of Aliens last night. A good action-horror movie is great for perspective. Yes, I may feel a twinge of nerves right now, but I'm not on a desolate moon pursued by a hive of walking acid sharks while the clock ticks down on a nuclear reactor. It always good be worse.

So, good. I'm all settled. Bring on the show.

Your Sis and I enjoyed our last evening together before she hoofs it to somewhere in New England, or as we call it, New VerMaiMassicutt Island. She almost put down the younger cat last night, and after getting the bill, she wishes she did. That's a horrible position to be in. I assured her the cat, who lost five teeth to a common cat disease, will be fine. She can still eat regular food. I'll give her the prescribed medicine while Your Sis is gone. The cats will be here when she gets back. It's just the kind of drama one doesn't need before a big trip. I always play at hating the cats, but they're good pets, and they pre-date me in the household.

Your Dad finished the drywall repair yesterday, and he met me at the office this morning. He said he was glad to do it, to see if he still could. He is a drywall champion. That wall is textbook. He also brought a box of blueberries I'll bag and freeze this weekend.

In the News
Lost made the cut of Emmy nominations again. It's up for best drama, editing, supporting actor (Ben), sound mixing, and writing. In the last category, Lost is the only other show against four episodes of Mad Men.

Picture of the Day
The audience can't see you but they see what you do.

Getting Better

I really will try this without so much of the whiny pout-pout.

I was the first to get the hall and open it up. When the lights and fan are off, the hall is pleasantly cool. But once we crank up the stage lights and computers, the broiling begins. I suspect the ceiling fans are set to push down warm air.

I tried out my new sound file, and it worked slightly. What sounded like an even volume at home was again at three settings at the hall. I showed the sound tech how to work it, and it's at least easier than juggling three files in under a minute.

I also loaded up my WWII-song to finish the play. As I told the sound tech this, she showed me her CD of sax music. The last play mentions sax music, and I had heard the liaison mention using sax music to end the play and show, but it was never played during rehearsals. I asked the director (who's also acting in the play) about closing with some sort of music, and she seemed fine with me bringing in some music. I went with We'll Meet Again. It's a great tune. But last night, when given the choice, the director picked the sax music chosen by the sound tech. It's a light jazz version of I Will Always Love You.

I reminded myself that it's the director's choice, and that I'm not the director. The song isn't a bad idea, itself -- the title does fit with the reunion plot -- although it's about letting someone go to love someone else.

The actors asked a number of questions I couldn't answer or could only answer via whim.

When do we set up for make-up? Let's not wear any. Y'all look fine in the stage lights.

What about tickets for the open dress rehearsal? I've heard nothing about them.

Aren't we supposed to tell actors to park somewhere else? Are we? I guess so.

Why aren't the board members giving the opening speech? Why are you doing it? You've got too much to do. The assumption was that I'd do it. I'm trying to weasel out of it. But I've got my notes ready.

Why do the backdrop pieces look so ramshackle? They weren't designed to be backdrops, and we'll be lucky if they last the entire production.

Why aren't you doing (theatre tradition)? I didn't know about it.

This is why I insisted that I needed to apprentice before doing stuff like directing or managing. This is my fourth show with this company, and two of them were in a courtroom and a country-clubhouse. Everyone else knows more about what I'm expected to know. It's like a total-immersion language courses. Or shepherding older shepherds. Someone with more experience should do this. I answer so many questions with "I guess so" or "oh, right." Dammit, Jim. I'm a set mover, not a producer.

The show did run smoother last night as we tightened the set changes. I recruited two people to help me open curtains as the show opens and closes. And when the show actually begins, I'll have much less to keep track of. I'll be behind the curtain like the Wizard of Oz. Handing out trinkets and calling people "good deed-doers." When I did other shows with extended time backstage, I read books. This time, I need to keep an ear and eye out for tech trouble.

I make stage managing sound like shitwork. It's not. Not really. But it's a hundred times smoother and easier when the routines are established sooner in the rehearsal process. When I stage managed before, I had a blast doing it. I got my actors ready. I was their cheerleader. They knew I had their back, and the director knew I would make the play go like clockwork.

This is so slapdash and last-second that a veteran hand is called for. People appreciate my effort, but they are unsettled as things work differently because I don't know the precedents. I don't mind being overruled. I want this to go right. I'm obviously as out of the loop as they are.

Cripes, I AM Jack from Lost.

Picture of the Day
This is from the Saturday rehearsal. This is my play. The guy is proposing with a toy ring that's about to accidentally squirt his fiance with water. Behind them are the triangular towers. The gaps between them are unavoidable.

Only Nine More Times

Earlier in the day, I made checklists for each play on the back of business cards. I have two cards with two plays each, and an arrival/departure list for the power and equipment. For instance, I should unlock the bathroom door for the cast. Very important.

I got emails from my liaison not long after. He wants as much warning as possible before I cut the troublesome one-act. I assured him I would do that only if necessary. I said that, if there was another tantrum, I would bump that play to the end of the rehearsal, and they can leave last. That will keep them about an hour longer than if they behave and go second. He also sent me bullet points for the speech I'll make each night. I'm nervous about that until I remember that we'll only have about 20 people in the audience if we're lucky.

He discovered a few hours later that his backdrop scheme has a hiccup. We have four triangular towers on the stage. Each side is part of a larger backdrop scene. Before each play we turn them to to next play backdrop. But we have four plays, you say. There aren't enough sides. Right. That's why we plan to attach the fourth play's backdrops as panels to the triangular towers. He discovered that his plan would work if the towers were built stronger, and they aren't. Now he has to rethink their attachment. I will be the person hooking these things on before that play each night. He's not joyful. But, hey, he isn't working with the cast and crew.

I got to the hall half an early and met my liaison. My dinner rendezvous with the missus fell through, and I grabbed a Starbucks drink for dinner. Theatre diets are crash diets. We talked set design and tech stuff. He said he'd talk to the actress and suggested I keep her one-act no matter what. We agreed that it would be cruel to her teenage costar to cut the play at this late date. But still.

The actors petered in, and I showed my cast the change I made to the backstage area. They would now have an easier time getting the set offstage while I set up the next set. People are volunteering to help out with things like curtains and props, and it's a big help. Also, very heartening.

The actress presented no problems last night, and I wonder if my liaison mentioned my idea to her. Or maybe Saturday's tech was just a bad day. I think it was. We got along fine while we checked the props and set up her play. Her Elvis-themed play has three separate sound clips to start her show. The sound person has big trouble with this, and I saw why. She doesn't understand basic computing. Not that this program is all that convenient. For each track, she has to prep it to play, click it at the proper cue, and adjust the volume immediately. It takes fast reflexes. We got the timing right on the third try, but I told the actress I could make them into one track with one volume level. She was eager for that, and I told both of them I'd bring it in tomorrow. The two Elvis play actresses will close our curtains to end the first half of the show.

The light guy offered to help me set up the stage during intermission. Our triangle towers are not holding up well. They weren't made for this kind of activity, and our rapid turns are bruising them. We got through the last two plays, and I asked the final play cast if they wanted music to end the show. Currently, they end the play and our show in silence. They said yes. It's a play about two older strangers squabbling on a parkbench. As the show ends, they realize they were wartime sweethearts separated by happenstance and still madly in love with each other. I wanted a WWII song to end with, and I picked We'll Meet Again, the song from the end of Dr. Strangelove. That movie ends with that song playing over video of various nuclear explosions and the world ends. I don't think anyone will catch my audio comparison. But it's intentional.

This is the first summer show in the hall, and it's blazing hot. There are ceiling fans in lieu of air conditioning, and the stage lights are roasting the actors. I spend the entire rehearsal walking around and moving set pieces and talking to offstage crew and cast, and my feet are dead when we finally close up at 10. I think we'll lose audience members at intermission. They won't take the stifling air for a second hour.

I was exhausted when I got home, and it didn't help my mood. I am now convinced I was suckered into a shit job. Clearly no one wanted to do this. I've also been given the duty of the opening speech each night. This means I'll be the face of this show for the audience. I'll be the one they think of. It'll be seen as my product. I'm a scapegoat. That enrages me. I'm disappointed in my liaison for begging me to take this on. It feels intentional now, and I'm, well, I'm hurt. It's only my sense of professionalism that restrains me from walking away.

I made that sound file this morning and downloaded We'll Meet Again from Amazon. That feels like an accomplishment and another bit of Spackle applied to a barely cohesive production.

I need to make new card checklists for all things I realized I missed last night. We spent a good five minutes trying to turn on the stage lights. I control the master lights with a circuit panel backstage. This last-minute job requires much learning on the fly.

+ + +

I started my suit shopping before the Chicago trip. Men's Wearhouse offers a two-for-one deal on some suits, and that will do me nicely. My problem is this: Suits are built for chimps. I have a two-dimensional torso and my arms are too short. When I put on a slim jacket, the sleeves are at my thumbs. When I go up a size and could sneak a bison in my inside pocket, the sleeves fit fine.

Your Sister lost her bike license plate, and she spent much of yesterday looking for it. That why we couldn't have dinner. She's leaving Friday, and I'm missing all this time with her because of the damn play. I can't take her to or pick her up from the airport. This play confounds me at every turn.

In the News
I'm watching the Sotomayor confirmation hearings, and she's holding up with good spirits in the face of Senatorial grandstanding.

Picture of the Day
Why didn't I listen to Ackbar?

Someone Had to Do It

Tech rehearsal is always a blur, and I'll try to recall what I can (and what is worth the memory), but the top story is this: I'm the stage manager.

I don't want to. Nobody wanted to. That was the problem. I saw a rehearsal where no one was in charge, and I've never seen that before. I've seen directors lose their authority through incompetence or bitterness. I hadn't before entered a rehearsal with no ringleader. My liaison was a default mutual contact. He constructed the set and served as a hub for communication because he led the artistic committee, and this one-act anthology was arguably his creation. But he had also no interest in shepherding the show.

We were halfway through the first rehearsal of the entire show when he approached me sand said, in essence, if I didn't do this, the entire show would be a shambles. I could understand why. For three hours, I saw tech people, actors, and directors ask each other how the anthology would be stitched together, and the constant answer of "someone needs to ______" drifted through the legion hall. We had to organize the transitions between the one-acts, we had to catalog the props for the shows, we had to manage the progression of the rehearsal.

The incident that sparked my decision was this: a theatre stalwart threw a tantrum. Oh, I hear you. "What a rarity." And I can excuse her behavior as stemming from exhaustion. She took on too much. Two elements worked against her: her decision to act in a one-act she directed; and the desire of other actors to provide feedback. I don't like directors appearing in their shows. They need to stay removed to manage the production. Her show is very weak. It's 45 minutes of two people sitting and talking. It's lifeless. It's written badly, and I suspect it has no stage direction. Because of that probable flaw, the director has an immobile interaction. But that's not the worst part.

She doesn't project. She never has. She has a thin voice with a prominent accent and only total immersion allows you to grok her speaking style. When the first rehearsal was over, the major feedback (from too many eager helpers) was that she was inaudible. It was the truth, and she took it personally. Again, I think her schedule has left her weak and defenseless. I also think she too quickly pulls the martyr trigger. It's true the sound quality in not great in this old building. We all struggle with it. We have stage mics to help, but we all must project more than in other venues. It's a chore for us all. She reacted badly and threatened to quit. That was when my liaison had enough and asked me to step up. Not because I could win her over, but because this could incite a fatal spiral for the whole show.

So I said yes. The news spread quickly without a formal announcement. I could feel the relief. They just wanted someone at the wheel. We still had two one-acts to rehearse for the first of two times. We had been there for three hours already, and my first thought was to get this shit moving.

Let me go back to the beginning of the day. I went to the local charity furniture shop and officially picked out the table for my one-act. We'll use it free in exchange for a sponsor listing in the playbill. Turns out I had a painting class with the woman behind the counter. It's very small town.

I went to the legion hall to drop off my sound effects CD for the show. There I learned of the sound person, and it's the director from the courtroom play. The director who had a dramatic long-running argument with an actor and the same woman who had such trouble with the sound board for Scrooge. The theatre must be in dire, horrible straits if they must rely on this person to push the buttons. You might also remember that she called me to take the mom part in my one-act. I took her number, promised to keep her abreast, and blew her off. So here she is. Great. She never mentioned the part, to my relief.

The theatre soundmaster copied my files and adjusted files for the other shows. I watched the set construction and listened to concerns about the lack of coordinator. I again deferred. I needed first to see what how complicated the other shows were. The effort to get backstage help failed; there would be no extra people to move sets. It would be the actors and whoever was dumb enough to agree to be stage manager. I went back home.

At two o'clock, I met with my cast for a linethrough at the warehouse. It went OK. They're getting more lines straight as I bestow memory tricks. ("Your line is 'sit in your place of honor and put on your crown.' You have Place and Put. Two Ps. Use that.") We gathered up the props for this show and the other featuring two of my actors. This is the departure from the rehearsal space that underscores that we're creeping closer to opening night.

There was confusion about the time the rehearsal started. Some said 3, some said four. I had told my guys three for a long time, and I stuck by that. We had a regular volunteer who wanted to photograph the rehearsals for the newspaper, and she spent the first runthrough of shows snapping pics from a respectful distance. We couldn't start right away because the table set hadn't arrived yet. I had warned the actors that we'd adjust to the stage size and the new table and the presence of the rotating backdrops. It's a pinched space, and our first runthrough was awkward. There was a lot to adjust to, and they had no energy. As the second play started their rehearsal, I pulled my guys aside for notes.

The second play is what led to the tantrum and my decision. The third one-act is about fifteen minutes long, and the director of that play had to read for an actress who couldn't make it. That's inexcusable. We already had to bump our open rehearsal on Wednesday because someone won't be there. And it was here that I mentally made the distinction for my responsibility. I can't make the sound guys improve their competence, and I won't brush aside the directors for my own notes. I will help the one-acts take and leave the stage. I will cue the tech guys when the actors are ready for to go onstage. I won't micromanage.

I started taking notes of the other plays' props and sets and began mapping the backstage area. They won't require as much floorspace as I feared. My play clearly has to most props and furniture. The fourth play only needs a park bench, and it's the only piece not from my play that will sit on that side of the backstage area.

Now my understanding of a double-tech is different than what the tech guys expected. In my notion, you move only through the sound and lights cues for the first go-round, and then you rehearse the full plays. We didn't. We did the entire show twice. That didn't help the day end quicker, and if I had stepped up sooner, that would have been my first decree. Instead, I took the stage after the fourth play ended, asked for attention, and announced we were going to start again immediately, and that if actors weren't in that one-act, they could take half an hour to eat. We'd be through in 45 minutes, and the next show (featuring the crying actress) would start.

I showed my guys how I had arranged the play's furniture backstage and told them this is where it would return when we were through. They learned it, and we began. My demeanor had changed. I wasn't counting the seconds until I could go home. I was taking notes, walking throughout the hall, and talking louder. I was declaring and asking if people were ready. I was managing. I did it years ago for a musical with a ton of props and small set pieces. But I sat in on that show from the auditions. I didn't even have scripts for the other three shows. I relied on the actors/directors to tell me when they tech people missed a cue.

We started the second round of rehearsals at 7-something and ended at 10. Most of that delay was when the crying actress issued an ultimatum. If she was going to do the rehearsal without a body mic (which no one else was using) AND someone said she wasn't loud enough, she was quitting. Before I could tell her to go home, the sound guy worked up a body mic and spent that play's rehearsal adjusting the speakers. He was pissed, and he should have been. She did the show, and she refused to talk above her normal Southern mumble. So she'll have a mic and remain barely audible, and her interminable, inaudible one-act will be the dog of the shows. It's a shame. She and the younger actress have learned a shitload of lines.

I also decided that another such ultimatum will remove her one-act, and we'll do the entire show without an intermission. I don't intend to address this Monday unless she pulls this stunt again.

When I addressed everyone about eating, I asked them to ask the tech crew what they wanted to eat and grab it for them. The theatre would reimburse them. I had no idea if this was how it worked, but the crew gotta eat. They can't leave like the offstage actors can. Well, that request didn't happen. They didn't eat. I didn't eat. If you're keeping score, that's seven hours without a meal. So if someone tries to relive the diva fit Monday for some sort of cathartic confrontation, I'll remind him or her that they abandoned the crew. So we'll let Saturday stay in the past.

I continued to make tech notes as the one-acts continued, and I gave the fourth play some feedback only because they asked for it. They took it very well. They also have the best projection, and we'll need them to use their clear voice to wake up the audience.

The soundmaster showed me how to close up the hall, and I got home to find Your Sister waiting with a pizza and a 40 of Smirnoff Ice. I love Your Sister. I ranted and apologized for the late supper and crashed heavy for the night.

Your Sister said accepting the manager position makes me Jack from Lost. I shall now cry every other sentence.

On Sunday, I met with my liaison, the guy who gave me the hard sell about managing, and we exchanged notes. I told him of my notion to cut the second-one-act if the actress makes the ultimatum again. He wasn't happy.

"What about the posters? We promised four plays."
"What about the other actors," I said. "What about the people who showed up on time, ready to rehearse? I can't let them sit while she decides IF she wants to rehearse. I can't reward that behavior."

If they don't like the way I stage-manage, they can find someone else. They wanted me. They got me. This play is on my schedule now. And that's when I realized my new role is a thrill. I GET to be stage manager. I get to make the decisions. I get to spank divas and reward hard workers.

My priority is to ensure these actors don't feel they wasted their time. I can't make the show perfect in less than a week. I won't try. But I can help the actors get through it.

My liaison said he'd call the actress, play dumb, and hear her side of the story. He'd also remind her to be a professional. I hope it works. Again, tech rehearsals are never fun, and I'd love to keep Saturday behind us.

On Sunday, Your Parents came over to fix the dry wall when it was damaged from last year's water-heater explosion. We fed them for their trouble, but I was distracted by mental organizing for the show. I even dreamed about it. I don't want to reinvent the wheel. I just want to make it run smoothly.

But, secretly, honestly, I hope the diva says something. I've got my speech ready.

Starting tonight, we assemble ten times, including the performances. Ten times, and we're through. I've been in shows that had more performances than that. This is do-able.

Oh, speaking of ultimatums (ultimatae?), I told Your Sister she is not seeing this show. She'll be gone most of it for a vacation, but still. I never issue decrees like this, but it's for the best. We need to minimize exposure to it within the house.

Remember, they asked her to stage manage this show too. What if the diva had pulled that shit with Your Sister? I would have to hide the body in the forest.

Picture of the Day
Did someone say House?

Not My Job

I got confirmation that the traditional Wednesday open dress rehearsal will be moved to Thursday next week. One of the other one-act actors has a conflict and claims she mentioned this upfront. It is a bit unusual in that the theatre always has an open Wednesday rehearsal before a show opens on Friday. The Thursday is left open for the cast to rest up after a week of rehearsals or to add an additional rehearsal if the show is weak (we used our Thursday for Scrooge; didn't help.). This is a theatre tradition. I wouldn't expect the theatre to bump that for me if I had a conflict. I would not have signed up for the show in this case. It's yet another hiccup, but it does provide my cast with a possible extra night to rehearse if they want it. I'll let them decide. Unless next Monday and Tuesday are horrible, and I'll mandate it.

My theatre liaison called me to say he thinks he found a table and chairs set for us to use in the play. We've been using the generic aluminum trim folding table for practice and our reading-format performance. I won't see it until Saturday, and that doesn't give me much time to find a replacement if that doesn't work. I need a big table for all our props. Four people sit around this table for a number of pages; they need elbow room. The theatre has to consider future shows when it buys furniture, and our needs can't override that consideration.

When I got to the warehouse, the cast was seated and running the script. I sat off to the side to offer lines when needed. I pantomimed the lines to spark their memory. When the responsible daughter cried out that she loved her fiance, I clasped my hands under my chin and made moon eyes. I could do that for the whole show in a hidden box at the end of the stage. That's a noble tradition of the theatre we need to bring back.

I passed along the notes about the table and dress rehearsal to the cast, and they all wanted to know if the theatre had picked a stage manager yet. I said no. As we set up for a full rehearsal, my cell phone rang. It was a longtime backstage manager asking me to stage manage the one-acts. She said she already called Your Sister and learned she was out of town during the show. That's how desperate they are. Nothing against Your Sister, but she hasn't worked with this group at all.

Would I do it, the voice asked; we really need you to do it. I explained that I wouldn't do anything that would distract me from my cast, and I'm not confident about learning the sets and props for three other shows less than a week before we open. I gave her a "qualified maybe" only because we do need an overall stage manager, and my half-assed effort might be better than no one. But I can't be impartial. If a conflict arises backstage, I'm going to advocate my guys. That's my priority.

I again refer to the multitude of shows running in a short span. We have run out of people (why this voice couldn't do the job was never explained; she was supposed to stage manage Rainmaker for these exact same dates). I don't want to arrive at the theatre 90 minutes before the show starts. I don't want to be responsible for the other shows. I feel responsible for my one-act and its props. Why don't the other directors feel the same way about their shows? Why would they concede responsibility to me for these things? I'm stage managing my show. They have to manage theirs.

A stage manager traditionally shadows the director as soon as rehearsal starts, sometimes as early as the auditions. The stage manager learns the show as the actors do and makes sure they can do their jobs onstage. They rely on the stage manager. The position is crucial. You don't pick someone a week before the show starts. That handicaps their ability to understand what the cast needs during the performance.

I might still do it if only to make this goodbye to the stage more impeachable. After directing a show for four months -- four months! -- and buying all our props with my own money and possibly taking on stage manager duties for three other one-acts at the last second, my subsequent refusals to stick my neck in the lion's mouth will have more heft. Saying yes to this would seal the deal for me. The ultimate straw in a long line of crushing weights.

The rehearsal went OK. The cast have about a dozen lines they trip over, but they still have time to fix that up. We agreed to meet before Saturday's double-tech to run lines, and we could still assemble Wednesday before Thursday's open rehearsal. I got some nice comments about directing when I suggested tricks to remember lines. We compared the length of the table found by the liaison to the table we've rehearsed with for months. The new table sounds way too small, but I'll measure it tomorrow morning. If it's too small, we'll use a practice table and cover it in a table cloth. One of the actors offered four matching chairs for us to use, and we may, despite my reservations about using personal items for props. They'll break. Stage use is tough on props.

There's no rehearsal tonight, and I'll make another sound FX CD and rig our empty beer cans to keep them from falling over so easily. I'm not looking forward to tech, but it's one day closer to the beginning of the end.

+ + +

We continue to pluck squash and cucumber from the garden and gobble them in salads. I'm going to sneeze seeds soon.

In the News
The 9th Circuit Court of Appeals overruled a lower-court judge who said pharmacies can refuse to offer Plan B. The defendant pharmacies cited religious convictions that Plan B is too similar to abortion and couldn't prove it in good conscience. I can see that argument from a simple POV. Small-business owners shouldn't be required to carry wares they object to. In a broad hypothetical, no, the local gas station doesn't have to sell Toyotas. But, when pharmacies have to follow the state department of health that requires "the dispensation of legal medications, including Plan B, for any pharmacy," then the argument is over. The result is the proper conclusion, anyway.

It's not a new debate. Pharmacists have refused to full out orders for the Pill on the same objections. And that's retarded. Pharmacies don't prescribe and they can't un-prescribe. They literally follow the doctor's orders. If a pharmacist refused to fill out a doctor's slip, there should be repercussions. If a waitress objects to me ordering meat and refuses to carry the sirloin to my table, she's gone. No difference. You go into business for distributing medicine, you can't veto the doctor that prescribes the medicine. That's how the job works, and they knew that when they attended and graduated pharmacological schools. Get another job.

Also, I'd beta lot of money the objecting pharmacies sell condoms.

Picture of the Day
Obama on D-Day.

Smoothing the Fur

I got to the warehouse just in time to start setting up the set for rehearsal. I bought a rear-view mirror from Target for the mom's walker. We still don't know when the open dress rehearsal will be nor do we know if we have real furniture for the play. If not, we'll use the folding table we've rehearsed with. We'll need a tablecloth for it anyway.

The rehearsal was much like Monday's. The mom actress doesn't have anyone to run lines with at home, and this is her only chance. She asked if we could add a practice, but the other actors have scheduled stuff on Friday. I suggested we meet before Saturday's double-tech and told them to think about it.

The cast realized they could meet before I came into town Thursday night, and they'll run lines without me. I'll show up, we'll run the whole play, and go back to tackle problem areas, like a normal rehearsal. We haven't been able to do this before because two of my actors rehearse their other one-act an hour after we start ours. But Thursday, they're meeting before us. That frees up the evening for our play.

There were some line problems, but again they know the meat of the play. They're fighting themselves over exact wording and delivering the line at the right time. I tried to hand them mnemonic devices, the kind of tricks I use. If an actor uses a word I use immediately after, I know my line is cued directly from theirs. I told them to consider the previous character's relationship to theirs. The basics of development and delivery. We haven't had the time to tighten these bolts until now what with holidays and summer vacations. I think we're in good shape to sharpen our play before we have an audience. We're clearly the most complicated one-act of the four; we have more people, more props, and more lines.

I don't feel the pressure they do. They'll be onstage. I'm not. I want them to feel as prepared as feasible, and I've offered to help them run lines over the weekend. I've tried to be a good-natured director. When I give them specific direction, I refer to them only by character name. I whisper "good" when they've successfully gotten through a tricky page. I assure them the play is in front of me, and that they need only worry about giving the other actors the correct cue lines. They're beating themselves up sometimes, as good actors will, and I calm them down with a one-liner. I try to keep the atmosphere light. We're not dealing with accents or tricky costume changes or complicated movements. It's a simple show that asks for a lot of props, but those props are visual cues for lines and behavior.

The mom character has so many scripted laughs. It's designed to be a mocking laugh, a punctuation of someone's misstep. When it's time for it and the mom has blanked, I use my opera voice and yell "LAUGH OF VICTORY!" and she gets it and uses it and they continue.

We have three rehearsals after Saturday. Saturday will allow us one on-stage rehearsal after we establish our light and sound cues. That shouldn't take long at all. I have my CD of sounds to hand the sound operator, and we have only two light cues. The other one-acts will mark their tech cues, and then we'll run the entire show. This shouldn't take the whole night, but I'm afraid it will.

Your Sister picked some cucumbers and offered them to the neighbors. They had no idea we had a garden, so they were a mite surprised when she walked up bearing veggies, a nutritious Lady of the Lake.

Today in Cattiness
You might remember last year when I posted about the school's new volleyball coaches.

I said this:

The school hired a team of spouses to handle both teams. I know the husband coaches local volleyball in the offseason, and I think she may as well. To the relief of many parents, the varsity team now has a male coach, a development thought to magically make them better in the toughest conference in the state. I assume he can use a shorthand developed in previous years, and that may help, but if this team doesn't win their division or the playoffs, this season will be seen as a failure. For the vocal parents to be satisfied, these coaches have to surpass what Your Sis and the other coach provided. And keep in mind, Your Sis ended her final season with a 4-1 winning ratio.

They lasted less than a year. The newspaper has run employment notices for two new coaches since school let out for the summer. Your Sister is practically vibrating in hopes that someone will slink back to her and ask her to coach the team. It will be like Rorschach's speech from Watchmen. "The world will look up to us and scream 'save us.' And I'll whisper, 'no.' "And she will. She won't go back to the dumb parents and pouty players. She's not proud to enjoy the tiny tenure of professional coaches in the school system, but enjoy it she does.

Picture of the Day
My new run regiment chart.

Brief Transmission

I slept in today and didn't run. I'll regret that. I took Your Sis out for a quick burrito dinner followed by a sundae at the soda shop. We were surrounded by camp kids from the local college. She picked up some ceramic knickknacks for the play, and I've almost taken care of the entire prop list.

My Mom gave us her old piano books, and Your Sis is starting to play again. I'll crack them open in a few weeks when Your Sister is in Maine.

By the way, Your Sister is going to Maine.

I played the online game again. My free demo ends Saturday, and I won't play it anymore. It's addictive. I can't sit for hours in front of the screen again and rush to bed. It wrecks the sleep patterns. I see why full-time gamers chug Red Bull while playing; it's exhausting.

Moving Picture of the Day
Cooking With Villainy was but a taste of the untapped hilarity within Dr. Doom.

Glee and Gratitude

I called the Broadway revue director and settled the rehearsal mess. We'll skip Tuesday and rehearse Wednesday and Thursday. We'll take Friday off and run our double tech Saturday. The cast was amenable. I had the majority of props together and showed them the new stuff. They approved. I had to set up everything and find props moved by the youth camp before we started. That and the schedule explanation got us started late, but once we started, they blew me away.

They have clearly worked on their lines. This was our first run without scripts, and it's the universal clumsy rehearsal. Everyone stumbles on this step. You don't know that you know the lines. But you do. You get in your own way. You second-guess.The new props helped a bit to cue their lines. They were getting frustrated early, and I called time out to soothe them and explain that I'd feed them lines if they asked, but they had to relax. We still have time to learn this stuff.

They chilled and rolled through. We stopped a few times to straighten out lines and movement, but my end notes consisted of lavishing them with praise and congratulating them for getting through the hardest rehearsal of every play. I tried to keep it light and fun, and we laughed through it. It was a fantastic feeling. I have a great cast who understand where they need to be and what they have to do to get there. I was elated driving back home. The off-stage stuff drives me to murder, but the play work is the polar opposite. It's dizzying. They even offered to bring in props from home, but I fear they'll break. It's inevitable. I can get the rest of the props cheap at secondhand stores. But I appreciate the offer. We are going to destroy the other one-acts. I am confident beyond confidence.

I spent the evening playing an online superhero game with people through the state. I think I blinked five times.

I hit my fastest run time so far for two miles, 17: 19. That's 9 seconds faster than my previous record. We went to the local lawyer to settle my legal papers. It's the same guy who helped us sign our house and officiated our formal wedding. Great guy.

In the News
NPR posted a story reacting to an editorial mandate that Supergirl wear shorts under the skirt.

The man in question: DC Comics editor Matt Idleson. The pronouncement he issued was just eight words long, but such is its paradigm-shattering power that it will surely stand one day in the annals of comic book history, alongside "With great power comes great responsibility," "Truth, Justice and the American Way," and "Shazam!"

Thus spake Idleson:

"I never want to see Supergirl's panties again."

About time too. Supergirl's a teenager, and artists use her for blatant cheesecake. This link brought to you by Curmudgeon Airlines.

Picture of the Day
This is Jessie, and we hung out with her at DragonCon last year. She loves Supergirl and understands that she's part of the Superfranchise and has to uphold a reputation.