Monday, 5pm. Everything at Sixes and Sevens

      I’m bored. Rare for me. Recovering from a quite nasty infection which kept my physical activities at a painful (an understatement) minimum for over a month now. Drugs are definitely kicking in. Feeling better, but still officially “on leave.” I wanna go play. Something. Somewhere.

      Just finished reading “Metaphoric SilverBand,” a post from my favorite writer, Julie. If you have the inclination, check it out. It touched me on several levels. Maybe it’s the drugs. Yeah, I can tell myself that …

     Dear friend Malmesbury (if I may be so bold.) A White Castle slider purports to be a sandwich, square, which would fit comfortably in a teacup. It appears to suggest a foundation of a ground meat (of undisclosed origin) cooked with aged onion chips. This delicacy is then almost surgically inserted into a spongy bun lightly brushed with their trademark grease. To appreciate this treat fully, a most solemn ritual is required; rise early, work hard, only have a salad with perhaps a biscuit on the side for lunch. Skip the evening meal altogether. Instead, gather perhaps a half dozen close friends near and start drinking heavily just before the sun starts to set. (The time here is critical.) At somewhen between 3:30 and 4 in the morning, boldly invade your unsuspecting White Castle restaurant and DEMAND six sliders. With a little practice, you will be able to swallow each one without even a pretense of chewing. I guarantee, promise, and solemnly avow that manna from heaven could not possibly taste better! This will be followed by a few hours of unconsciousness (that you may claim as sleep if you wish.) Likely you won’t have any idea where you are when you wake, and be wrinkled both outside and in. You will most certainly be surprised that you had not died during the night, coupled with the fervent wish that you had.          

      I have acquired a new friend. I reviewed her in a play, and when I asked for cast pictures, discovered she had taken many of them. She is a truly remarkable photographer – every picture she takes is interesting and tells a story. I have introduced her to a local organization accustomed to promoting  the outrageously gifted. Unfortunately she is 15 and I am certainly old enough to be judged as having ulterior motives by people who don’t know me. A shame sometimes that life is the way it is. I feel cheated.

    Friday is our next performance of OF MICE AND MEN. The play is awesome! It took leaps during the last days of rehearsal, certainly beyond my initial concepts. I think that if I have a “talent” at all, it’s in casting truly gifted people, putting them on a stage, and then being wise enough to stay out of the way while they do what they do. (And, trust me, I’m not being modest. This happens too often to be coincidental.)

     So. Done now. I didn’t get to take my sprint around the neighborhood, but I’m learning to live with disappointment …

j.

    

Oh Yeah, There's That ...

     OF MICE AND MEN opens Friday. Finally. In spite of everything that has happened - certainly I've not been as physically and mentally there as I normally would have been. But both cast and crew had been wisely selected, and our collective vision has remained remarkably intact. It's going to be an excellent production, with moments of great sad beauty and soul-wrenching honesty. As with every show I direct, my goal is to be a tough act to follow. I think we're gonna pass that benchmark without even breathing heavy.

  

For The Record

      I have received several snide comments recently suggesting that – based on blog comments I’ve made – I must certainly hate and/or enjoy degrading the entire population of Great Britain.

     I was shocked – enough so that I feel obliged to respond.

     So let’s be clear here. I love the Brits. When you are privileged to befriend the common individual (and not just the façade), they are (generally) funny, loving, generous, inventive – in other words just like the Italians and the Russians and the Greeks and the Germans (well, maybe not the Germans) and ta-da – just like us!

     There are some interesting similarities. The English largely poke fun at their class distinctions. We claim to not even have class distinctions, but take our social levels very seriously.

     In England they speak English. In this country we speak dubious gibberish . The comforting factor here is that both nations butcher pronunciations equally.

     In certain parts of the British Empire a man in a dress is called a Scot. In this country that same man would be called “under arrest.”

     I learned to drink beer at room temperature from a friend who lived for years near the white cliffs of Dover. (I don’t know if they still do that, but it doesn’t matter – I’m hooked.) And I make the trek to Disney World in Florida every chance I get because that’s the only place I know where I can get a real Stout.

     On the other hand, the English eat … something … stuffed into skin that revolts me to even think about. In fairness here, we encourage the unsuspecting to swallow without thinking meaty time bombs called “White Castle Sliders,” so …

     Both Great Britain and the United States take great pleasure in royalty worship. The only difference is that in this country we hunt for stupidity to idolize, while they have to wait for someone to marry into it.

     With all that said, there is one mystery that eludes me. When a politician in this country makes a pronouncement, somewhere in England his equal believes it! I mean – honestly – haven’t you learned anything yet?! (I admit to a big prejudice here. I like Tony Blair. I always thought of him as being an honest and honorable man, and if he hadn’t followed the lead of a former US President quite so closely, he might not have been so rightly dumped, and set an example of something.)

     But what do I know? I listened to the same people HE did.

     So, We clear now?

     Next time we will talk about the Russians, okay? I like them (the people, not the politics). They have a fatalistic outlook on life – enjoy today because tomorrow the bomb may go off in Moscow (and they’re not at all sure if it’s one of ours or could be one of theirs …)

     This has been fun. Comments?

j.         

I Have This Suddenly Brilliant Idea.

     I have been watching the news with ever increasing feelings of gloom and depression. The United States, starting with naked greed and galloping stupidity, augmented by indifference and pomposity, has been in a monetary free fall for some time, heading toward a financial depression the likes of which this world has never seen.

     Even today – moments ago – I heard that Congress is debating a bill that, in theory, would keep the country from defaulting on debts that will become due in just a few days. Only – funny this – it’s already acknowledged that the bill will be voted down after the tedious debaters have been sated.

     Here’s my first idea. When a foreign country acts in a way we consider irresponsible, we impose sanctions against them. At this dramatic point in time wouldn't it be quite reasonable for the UN to invite Poland or France or Spain to come over and sink a few concrete barges in New York harbor until we come to our senses?

     Or – here’s an even better idea. All the people “in charge,” from the President on down, keep telling me that they all work for me, and that if I’m not happy with their work, I’m certainly encouraged to vote someone else into office.

     Well, I gotta tell ya, I am NOT happy with your work, and I’ve tried that “voting someone else into office” thing, and that hasn’t seen much in the way of change, either.

     So here’s my second idea. If the Congress and the Senate and the Executive branch all work for me, sorry guys, your efforts are appreciated but not good enough. In other words, you are fired. No, actually those ARE the words. Your services are no longer required. As of today. Now. Please turn in your keys at the front desk by four o’clock this afternoon, and your personal property may be picked up in cardboard boxes on the loading dock starting at nine tomorrow morning.

     At the same time, suddenly we have a large number of employment opportunities. “Line forms on the left,” we can say, and “no experience necessary.” (Certainly that would be the truth.) Everybody is on a 90 day trial period. Love it!

     Or finally … if all else fails, we look up the person or organization or business who is in fact running Great Britain these days and tell them “we were only kidding” a couple of hundred years ago and “couldn’t they take a joke” and “it was all just a misunderstanding” and stuff like that … (God knows they’ve bought our line before. Maybe if we promise to give India back to them … or Nebraska.)

     Thoughts?

j.

Half the circle complete,

This is the way it begins and ends - bare stage. I paced off every inch, side to side, front to back - walls here, doors here, furniture ... before the first tape mark was placed marking an entrance, I could see it all - every stick in place.

Here IS every stick in place, Oddly, this is very close to my original design, and a first. Normally I oversee day-to-day construction, making changes where inspiration moves me. In this case I handed drawings,color swatches and various cryptic smudges over to artist Kat Wexler, and - because life got in the way, I basically walked away until she proudly/hesitantly led me into the completed setting last night. 

I had pointed out craggy texture from a few of my  favorite Max Parrish paintings, and asked "Can you do the walls like this?"  She could and did. The walls you see here are not painted. Instead, various bright colors were mixed with wet plaster, and the colors were trowled on (rather than painted). 

Wow. I love it.

But the bottom line is this; does it work? Granted, this is a Steinbeck work, dark by nature. But is it too oppressive, too distracting, or does it enhance the mood? Here are a couple of rehearsal cast pictures. You tell me.

5:48am

I've been writing on scene three of THE TEAPOT COLLECTOR for about three hours now. I don't know why. I woke up out of my usual mildly fitful sleep with dialogue going through my mind and I knew I wouldn't rest until I got it down on paper - (or whatever the electronic equivalent to paper might be.)

My dog Willie mumbled something under his breath as he begrudgingly vacated the corner of the couch I claim as my own. He watched me for awhile until his eyes glazed over and he went to sleep sitting up. At some point he must have fallen over, because all I see sticking up from the far side of the couch pillow are two hind paws and a bit of tail. Something else to add to my colorful resume - I bore dogs.

So. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that for whatever reason, I'm writing again. I thought I never would.

j.

Update

     The funeral went well. (And you may certainly interpret that comment to mean any funeral that is now behind you, has gone well.) I lost count of the number of cards and emails I received. I invited five dear people to support (protect) me, and straight out lie for me if I did something more inane or inappropriate than usual. In addition, well over a hundred of my theatre friends attended the funeral. I have not received any complaints about silverware missing, but I don’t recall much in the way of silverware being there in the first place. Looking back, I was – and still am – beyond expressing how I feel. Absolutely … I am a very private person. This outpouring of love falls well beyond my experience, so I have little with which to compare it (and, unusual for me, utterly at a loss for words.)

     I love my daughter, miss her already. But she would be the first to remind me that this funeral business is morbid at best, and then scold me (with one of those looks) if I thought of her any way other than the way we always were together – at ease to speak or not, because we understood each other in a way that didn’t need words. And she would remind me that we will meet again, be together again soon enough.

So when I think of her, she is always smiling, so I smile as well.

j.  

Rachel Mock

                                     This is Rachel Mock.

She is young, attractive, witty, smart, shy in a most charming way. Five minutes after you meet her you will fall in love with her. Guaranteed.

Unless somebody gives her a sword …

Or a gun … (photo by Craig Lawrence)

Rachel is the fight coordinator for our production of OF MICE AND MEN, and she is very good at what she does.  

Every once in awhile I've been fortunate enough to inlist the services of just the right person for the job. Every once in awhile I've been fortunate enough to actually recognize greatness on the way up. 

Watch for this one. You will see her again.

j

Funny, I Never Quite Get Tired Of This.

Teapots and daughters

Because I never saw a teapot I didn't want, my daughter gave me this one for Christmas ....

.. and because she wanted to be sure I understood the sentiment behind the gift, she made and included the sign.

My daughter

My Candle Burns At Both Ends

My candle burns at both ends,

it will not last the night.

But ah my foes, and oh, my friends,

it gives a lovely light.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

     Auditions for OF MICE AND MEN are in 5 days. Auditions for ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA are in 14 months. There are people eager to start work on both productions now. Uh-huh. Unfortunately I'm one of them. Suggestions?

     My writing partner completed the writing of her novel based on the play we co-authored. I'm most interested in reading the ending. In the play the bad guy is eventually dispatched by the good guy. In an early version of her book, the bad guy (who is not overly bright) tries to shoot it out with the three thousand attendees at a police marksmanship competition ... (or something to that effect. I remember it was a whole bunch of people). In a way I'm sorry she's not going with that ending - it had a Butch Cassidy sort of feeling about it. So now she has this new ending that she is excited about. Since she is an excellent writer, I can't wait.

     I got a new stove today. Not that anything was wrong with the old one. A friend of mine inherited furniture and asked several of us if we wanted any of it. The stove was better than mine - more bells and whistles, so I said yes. It arrived today. I put the old one out on the curb for garbage pick-up tomorrow ... (and yes, I called first). Ten minutes after I set it out, an old man in an old truck picked it up and drove away. Free enterprise. Don't ya love it?

     While the movers were here, they carried an antique library-style bookcase from my living room up to my study on the third floor. I had loaned it out for a play, and didn't at all remember it being that heavy when it came down. I have my living room back. My joy knows no bounds.

     All the foreign restaurants within 40 miles of my door are either Mexican or Oriental. I don't mind, I suppose, but a little variety would be appreciated. I mean, if I want an occasional real draft Guinness, why do I have to go all the way to Disney World to get it? Not fair. Other people eat at English Pubs and Russian Tea Rooms. Other people eat Hungarian and Spanish and Italian and German. Here even Tim Horton's has "Americanized." Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h!! 

     The Republican Party has started gathering forces together (already) for the next Presidential election. With one or two exceptions, the candidates are a pretty sorry looking bunch. There is talk that Sarah Palin might run. Every Democrat in the world hopes so - I'm convinced the woman is an idiot.

     Speaking of which, the other Sarah (Ferguson) appeared on TV earlier today. She confessed to the world that for years she has been an "utter and complete fool." To the best of my knowledge, not one person has disagreed with her.

     On the other hand, don't you think we need at least a few people like these in our lives? I mean, the occasional cold water of creative utter stupidity thrown in your face causes at least a jot of involuntary response in even the most jaded of temperaments.

     Aw well. Sorry. Sort of got off the theatre fence tonight, if that's what you were expecting. Sometimes - too often - with the work I do and love, it's far too easy to forget that there's another world if I simply choose to see it. And Will Rogers was right - "I never met a man I didn't like." And that's how I feel as well. If I run out of stories, it's because I've stopped listening.

     As before, it's late, and I feel much better after our conversation. You really are the best of company.

j   

Another Openin' Another show ...

     Auditions for OF MICE AND MEN are now two weeks away. I'm ready. I've augmented the crew I had on the last play with a few specialists - one being a fight coordinator. I've never used a fight coordinator before. This one is warm and friendly - until she has a gun or a dagger in her hands. I've not worked with her before, but I've seen the results of her efforts. Impressive. Should be interesting.

     About every actor I know has contacted me - they all want in the play. If half of them actually show up for auditions, I will have a galloping good cast. And of course it helps that I have one of the best scripts I've ever worked with.

    The play has a large number of men and only one woman. Since the main woman's dressing room is quite large, I'm tempted to move her somewhere and use that area for farm animals. (I'll have to look - I'm sure there's a form that covers things like this.) Several women I know are interested in the role - it's a chance for an actress to die on stage ... on purpose.

    More relaxed now. Paperwork is done, forms forms forms, audition forms, character break-downs, rehearsal schedules, budgets, publicity, yadda yadda yadda. The "director packet" of papers alone is a dozen pages long. I suppose this should bother me, except I have no plan to actually read any of it. I've worked with this group before, I know what they want. As long as the shows I direct for them make money, everybody is happy.

     I do miss the days before spirit-killing contracts - when a handshake was enough.

     I've had almost all my pre-show meetings. One more to go. I meet with the set decor artist on Friday. I love the designs I've seen so far. The set is going to be light and airy.  At the moment I don't know who is going to build the set. At the moment I don't care.

     And there you have it - a theatre director's version of a pre-flight check list. I'll let you know how it goes. Count on it.

j

Pictures

Facebook offered to assemble a collage of my friends. This is way too cool.

j