Suzie! Please! Tell me it's not true!

j.

AIDA

     Today I was informed that of the directors applying to direct AIDA next spring, I had been selected.

     A-A-A-A-A-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H!!!! E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-!!!! O-O-O-O-O-O-O-H-H-H-H-H!! (Pause for breath.) H-H-H-H-E-E-E-E-E-E-E. WHO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!!! (Oh baby.)

     I thanked the committee politely, and, in as dignified a manner as possible, informed them that I would be pleased to present my plans at the first opportunity.

     ... whatever those plans are. At this point I have no clue.

     j 

Memories

     Someone asked me about the music that influenced my life during the time when my life could still be influenced by music.

     Her she is; the voice that defined a generation and the song that so reflected my own wander lust.

     j

Xanadu

A picture taken by my writing partner during her quest west, while researching background material for a book based on a play we co-authored.

Not exactly the way I pictured it, but the thought was there.

j

Post Script

     Just learned that the production of OF MICE AND MEN that I directed has placed as the third largest ticket sales in the fifty year history of the theatre.

     La-de-dah.

     j

An Observation

     I have been constant in directing one show after another lately. I am aware of that as a fact. Add the classes and seminars I occasionally teach plus the reviews I write, and I seem to find a barrage of projects in front of me at any given moment. I am rarely home (explaining, in part, why these posts normally find life at somewhere around three in the morning.)

    I tell myself these are all things I sincerely want to do. And this is true. I love my work.

    I tell myself that I am finite, that eventually there will be an ending, and that I should go and do now, while I can, because there will come a time when I will want to make other choices.

    I tell myself that, because of the constant string of shows, mostly successful, I am in demand - that if I stop, even for a relatively short period of time, I will be forgotten. No, I'm not being paranoid. This is also true - the nature of show business. What have you done for me lately - like, this morning?

    But events over the past few months (which you might refer to as "life") have given me pause. Is there the (of course) remote possibility that I'm using all this as an escape? Might there be other things worth doing, worth saying?

     I am tentatively reaching in new directions. So far I haven't had the greatest of successes. But I'll let you know how it all works out. 

    j

Update

     I am presently working as a production advisor to a nearby theatre group now in rehearsal for a December production of ANNIE.

     (And just where did that come from?!)

     The director had called me to borrow the bunks used in OF MICE AND MEN. I was flattered, told her they belonged to the theatre that had produced the show, and thought that would be the end of the matter.

     It wasn’t. She called again, this time with questions. Over the next few days we talked often and at some length. Since I had directed ANNIE (twice), it pleased me to point out a few land mines written into the show.

     She offered me a position with the company. I declined. She offered again. I told her that, having directed this epic with thousands of smelly children and a dog, I would rather die than be involved with yet another production.

     Call me Lazarus.

     The first actual rehearsal was today. I had to admit I was impressed – the major roles have been cast with seriously talented people. On the other hand, surrounding them were the two dozen or so “orphans” and the equal number of stage mothers (who could have given Hitler lessons in aggression).

     Suddenly I remembered why I hated this show with a passion. Too late.

     Oh well. The cookies are free and I get along great with the dog. 

j

Wanderin' Star

Art work

     OF MICE AND MEN closed, as all plays do. The set was taken down, dismantled, some sections placed in storage for future use, some portions deemed of little or no value, destroyed.

     But this set was different - literally a work of art. A number of people involved in the production (including the art director) rescued sections of "skin" as they were heading toward large no-nonsense dumpsters. I have an entire section of what had been the barn.

These panels are now momentarily occupying space in my den. They are safe and saved. When I get an afternoon free, I plan to have them mounted and framed. I already know where they will hang.

What do you think?

j.