It's a Blogging World

So a week ago I knew that David and Jay had blogs. And Jonathan.

Well, as it turns out, Bloggy Goodness is much more pervasive than I thought. There's Ira's new blog and Deb's couple of months old blog. We're a sharing people!

When someone tells me about their blog, I tell them about mine, because I figure that doesn't violate my "this should be organic" constraint. When I figure out how to do it, I'll start including links to the inchoate ravings of my buds. I, of course, do not have inchoate ravings. I have logorrheic excesses. Completely different.

And I've decided to follow David's blog model in at least two, no, three respects.

1. In an attempt to allow my friends some measure of privacy, I'm using first names only, unless there's a pressing need for first and last. This will be interesting, as in a fit of pique a few weeks ago I announced loudly that the David I am dating is now the only David I know. There are far too many men named David in my world and I have starting to referring to all the non-boyfriend ones by nicknames, last names, what-have-you. And some of those nicknames, being, for reasons of tact, unknown to their owners, could end up biting me on the butt. Well, Gentle Reader, we'll just work this out somehow, or I'll have to be the kind of person who discusses ideas instead of people. Yeah, right, wait for that one.

2. I ain't writing nothing can't be read in open court. The universe is much smaller than we realize and six degrees may be overstating things these days. And I'm a little paranoid.

3. No navel-gazing. Or at least minimal amounts of what an objective person would call navel-gazing.

Onwards!!

My AIM is true

I admit it. I love AIM. Not for it's instant message capabilty, because IMs can be as irritating as someone else's inescapable cell phone conversation in an elevantor, but for it's hangin' with the peeps aspect. I love signing on to AOL and having my buddy list pop up and show me who is on line. It's like we're all in the same bar or coffee shop or what-have-you, each at our own table. No need to interact, just smile and nod and keep on with our own stuff.

Right now on my buddy list I can see Dave, KyeWon, Sally, Sandy, and Steve. Jill and Josh stopped in and out earlier. Do I need to talk to any of them right now? You know, at 1:25 in the morning? No, not really. No burning questions, no need to share. (Except maybe to ask Sal how her show is going, but I'll save that for an e-mail.)

And I don't always hate IMs. Just when they interrupt my train of thought when I'm trying to get something done. I'm way too social not to enjoy having someone want to say a friendly "Hi" now and then.

Audience Studies

One of the things that I really enjoy doing during a performance is watching the audience. Obviously, this won't work from the stage, but when I'm in the house what is going on around me is just as interesting (and, God help me, sometimes more interesting) than what's going on up on the stage.

From the stage one largely sees a sea. And it really does look like the sea because what you can make out, depending on the size of the house and the choices of the lighting designer, is a lot of dark waves of people with glints from glasses like distant whitecaps. Performers want full houses of outgoing, engaged people. They want overt laughs at the funny bits. Basically, they (okay, we) want lots of positive feedback.

But here's the thing, a lot of audiences just aren't like that. Sunday matinee audiences, especially small ones, are very quiet. I call them the "post-church nappers" because they will smile at things other houses will laugh at.

But if you are sitting among them, it's easy to feel rather than hear the internal chuckle. My friend Ted doesn't always laugh, but if he is engaged, he leans forward in his seat, as if to see and hear better. I am much more of a smiler than a laugher. Neither of these carry to the stage, of course.

So I look around when I'm sitting in the house. I listen for coughs (a bad sign), I look for alert postures, I look people checking the program by the light spill from the stage. (I look things up in the program if someone on stage has gotten my attention and I want to know more about him or her. Some people simply read the program if the action on the stage can't hold their attention.) My friend Laura sits very still, a habit I admire because I do not share it. People shift around a lot or a little depending on their view.

Audience members will flag slightly after an hour and definitely by 90 minutes, but they'll come back from intermission revived.

More later. Maybe.

Heavy eyed and slow voiced

I had reason to call a friend this morning before he was properly up. The slow, drowzy speech, combined with the lower pitch that one hears from people in that state reminded me that I love talking with people who are barely awake. Voices get quieter and softer and everything feels more personal, more intimate. For a few minutes, the world drops down to two people.

It's a pity that it would annoy the bejeebers out of most of my friends if I called them very early on a regular basis. But the serendipitous moment is better than the orchestrated one anyway.

Ira's brevet

I got a call this AM from my very nifty pal, Ira, who tells me that he began a blog today. So I may be late in joining, but I'm not the very latest. (Ira, by the way, can be found here at blogspot as well. His is called Chocolate Ration. http://chocolate-ration.blogspot.com/)

Speaking of Ira, he and I are directing a one-act play for Silver Spring Stage (www.ssstage.org) called "21 Pairs of Sneakers." In the beginning (July), I was directing it on my own, then Ira agreed to AD, which thrilled me because he notices everything. After several rehearsals where he did as much of the heavy lifting as I did, I gave him a field brevet. We are now directing the show together without (fingers crossed - we have one more rehearsal) the bickering and power struggles that could imply.

I love one-acts. They are short and fun to direct, short and fun to perform, and (GLW) short and fun to watch. Some of my favorite are written by David Ives, including that staple of one-act festivals everywhere, "Sure Thing."

"21 Pairs of Sneakers" is an original work by local playwright Steve LaRocque, so I'm doubly lucky. My cast gets to create the roles they are playing and our playwright has made himself completely available so that we can get immediate clarification when we have questions. "Sneakers" is a romantic comedy in the mode of the early movies of Jimmy Stewart. The action is set around a football game played on December 9, 1934 in which basketball sneakers provide the New York Giants with enough traction on a slippery field to overcome the strongly favored Chicago Bears. Lloyd, the BMOC, has made very complicated arrangements to take Myra to this game, but his plans fall through when Dewey - Lloyd's roommate and the Manhatten college gym Equipment Manager - gets a call from the Giants' Equipment Manager who is in desperate need of sneakers. If you're anywhere near Silver Spring, Maryland this weekend, come and see it!

I got a comment!

Thank you, Turnipfish! It's definitely nice to know that I'm not completely talking to myself.

And, in case the assembled legions were wondering, the reason I'm not telling David about this blog is only because I think that - to some degree - the internet works best when it's organic and grows how and where it will. David is probably going to find this for himself and I'm curious to see by what route he gets here. (And when you do, Sweetie, let me know, okay?)

I found my way back!

This website is pretty darn user friendly. I would have been back before except that my employers insisted that I actually work this week.

I've never had a blog before, so this is all new territory for me. Frankly, I assume that I'll be more or less talking to myself, but we'll see what happens.

Welcome to my world

Okay, it seems that in order to live in the 21st century one must have some of the following:
1. A mobile phone a
2. Cable or satellite tv
3. A PDA
4. Superfast internet access
5. A blog

I figure that *one* checkmark makes a pretty poor showing, so today, August 18, 2004, I'm starting a blog. So let's make that:

5. A blog a

I don't know yet what my content will be. Perhaps I'll just use this space to vent about the subjects that David is sick of hearing about. (Especially as I'm probably not telling him about this.) Maybe I'll say something interesting and insightful. Probably not. Consider, after all, what "flibbertigibbet" means: A silly, scatterbrained, or garrulous person. That's me - ask anyone.

So let's start with a little bit about me.

I live in Maryland with a faboo orange tabby named Pekoe. (He's orange, I drink a lot of tea.)

I am deeply - deeply - involved in community theater. I have spent at least one night a week in a rehearsal hall or theater for the past ten years. I love theater and see all that I can, both community and professional. (Thank you, Elden Street Players, for having 7:00 matinees, so I can double up on Sundays!) My non-theater friends are tired of listening to theater shop-talk, but it keeps bubbling out of me. I act, I direct, I adjudicate, and I have lots of opinions.

I have a lot of friends (theater and non-theater) who are generally better to me than I deserve. My friends are some of the best folks on this earth. How I got lucky enough to have them, I'll never know. As Oscar Hammestein II wrote, somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.

Enough for now. If I never post again, it's becuase this n00b couldn't find her way back to her own blog.