Bob, an old medievalist pal, wrote this for Clam Chowder and it gets stuck in my head whenever my schedule gets too full.
The Harried Leisure Class
© Bob Esty and Clam Chowder
(With, sigh, my apologies for any transpositions, paraphasing, or other errors. I'm typing this at my desk during lunch, whaddaya want from me?)
We run about from place to place as if we're on a quest,
So occupied with having fun that we've no time to rest.
There's lots of things to do and see and we must get there fast
for we have no time to waste in the harried leisure class.
Our parents sat upon the porch and watched how life went by,
but we are much busy for there is so much to try.
We spend our weeknights getting set for our big weekend blast -
And sleep at work next day in the harried leisure class.
So much there is to do and see there simply is no way -
We're so tired out from running about I'd scarcely call it play.
We'll die before we're forty 'cause our bodies just can't last -
But we'll cram in a lot of fun in the harried leisure class!
18 May 2006
15 May 2006
Of dollhouses and coat racks
One year around Christmas time - I think I was 8 or so and Sara was 5 - my Dad was building something in the family room. When we asked what it was, he said that he didn't know, maybe a bookcase, maybe a dollhouse, maybe something else. And, as this was still a few months before books completely won the battle for my soul and for the available space in my home, I said "Oh, please, make a dollhouse! We don't have a dollhouse!" Dad said "We'll see," which even then I knew meant "no," and I'm pretty easy to fool, so I figured that it would be some dumb ol' bookcase (see how much my life has changed?) instead of a dollhouse and I went on my way.
Cut to Christmas morning. The tradition in my family is that one gift gets opened on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas Day and that gifts from Santa Claus aren't wrapped. (It was Santa who gave me all of the Little House books the following Christmas thus sealing my doom as a book person. Santa is a pusher. Or maybe an enabler.) Ånyway, there under the tree was a our beautiful dollhouse which was made not only by Dad, but by Mom and my grandparents. Dad built the three-story townhouse-style house. He put hardwood floors on all three levels, but the kitchen floor is - of course - not sanded smooth and varnished gleaming as the upper two floors are. The kitchen also has a beamed ceiling. My mother hung the wall paper on the upper two levels, and made a stained glass window for each of the upper two levels. My grandfather made the four poster bed and my grandmother sewed all the bedding for it. It had furniture and people and even art because my mother took a very small picture of me as a baby and framed it to hang on the wall. She - or Dad - also made "records" by cuting out the pictures of records that the record clubs would have on the blow-in cards in magazines.
It was a truly wonderful dollhouse and I played with it often. When I was in 7th grade, Mom took the smallest of my school pictures and framed it. By sheer chance it looks - at a very quick glance - like a famous artwork and people would look into the dollhouse, see my picture on wall, and say "Oh, you have the Mona -- no, you don't." So we called the picture the Mona Leta.
When my nieces were little, they played with the dollhouse and because Cheryl, clearly, is more closely related to me than to any other member of our family, she elbowed Angela out of the way and dominated all dollhouse-based activity. Mom eventually created an alternate dollhouse for Angela by clearing out a small bookcase and filling it with other doll furniture. If the subject of the dollhouse comes up and someone refers to "you girls playing with the dollhouse," Angela will point out that *Cheryl* played with the dollhouse, she (Angela) played with a *bookcase.*
When Mom was downsizing to get ready to move from the 3-bedroom house to the 1-bedroom apartment, she asked me what I would like and I said "The piano, the lamp that you made, and the dollhouse." "Well, I have to check with the girls." "Why? It's my dollhouse." "Yes, but they played with it, too." "Yeah, and it's my dollhouse." So it came to me and lives with me in the condo and I still love it.
Recently I was explaining to the girls about the trust provisions in Mom's will for them. (Those lucky girls will inherit two generations of debts and crap, one day from Mom and then later from me.) They will get half of Mom's estate and all of mine (the poor dears). So we were talking about how they would inherit, among other things, my condo, at which point Angela suggested that I leave *her* the condo and leave Cheryl ... the dollhouse.
*This year* for Christmas Dad made me a lovely coat rack/shelf to put in my front entryway. Its made from poplar and has brass hooks and fits nicely between the front door and the closet. Because I am (all together now) never home, it hasn't been hung, but it will be.
(Warning: this paragraph contains my hazy memory of what people said/suggested/thought/indicated and is probably chock full of misinterpretation and poor recall. Just sayin'.) David and I are still debating the best way to install it. Dad recommended drilling holes into it and putting a bolt though the holes and into the studs. David opined that a condo built in 1988 (or so) probably has eight studs in any given building, and that drilling though the front would lack aesthetic pleasingness, but John (make a point of doing shows with contractors, plumbers, electricians, etc. You'll learn a lot) said that no, there would still be a stud every 18 or 24 inches. So I suggested that we ask Andy if he could route two key-holes into the back and we can hang it thus. David agreed that this might work. And there we remain. Because Andy's theater schedule is as busy as mine.
But my lovely coat rask will get hung one day. And everytime I see it, even now as it leans up against the wall, waiting to be installed, I'll think of my Dad, who makes beautiful presents.
Maybe Angela will inherit the condo and Cheryl will get the doll house and the coat rack....
Cut to Christmas morning. The tradition in my family is that one gift gets opened on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas Day and that gifts from Santa Claus aren't wrapped. (It was Santa who gave me all of the Little House books the following Christmas thus sealing my doom as a book person. Santa is a pusher. Or maybe an enabler.) Ånyway, there under the tree was a our beautiful dollhouse which was made not only by Dad, but by Mom and my grandparents. Dad built the three-story townhouse-style house. He put hardwood floors on all three levels, but the kitchen floor is - of course - not sanded smooth and varnished gleaming as the upper two floors are. The kitchen also has a beamed ceiling. My mother hung the wall paper on the upper two levels, and made a stained glass window for each of the upper two levels. My grandfather made the four poster bed and my grandmother sewed all the bedding for it. It had furniture and people and even art because my mother took a very small picture of me as a baby and framed it to hang on the wall. She - or Dad - also made "records" by cuting out the pictures of records that the record clubs would have on the blow-in cards in magazines.
It was a truly wonderful dollhouse and I played with it often. When I was in 7th grade, Mom took the smallest of my school pictures and framed it. By sheer chance it looks - at a very quick glance - like a famous artwork and people would look into the dollhouse, see my picture on wall, and say "Oh, you have the Mona -- no, you don't." So we called the picture the Mona Leta.
When my nieces were little, they played with the dollhouse and because Cheryl, clearly, is more closely related to me than to any other member of our family, she elbowed Angela out of the way and dominated all dollhouse-based activity. Mom eventually created an alternate dollhouse for Angela by clearing out a small bookcase and filling it with other doll furniture. If the subject of the dollhouse comes up and someone refers to "you girls playing with the dollhouse," Angela will point out that *Cheryl* played with the dollhouse, she (Angela) played with a *bookcase.*
When Mom was downsizing to get ready to move from the 3-bedroom house to the 1-bedroom apartment, she asked me what I would like and I said "The piano, the lamp that you made, and the dollhouse." "Well, I have to check with the girls." "Why? It's my dollhouse." "Yes, but they played with it, too." "Yeah, and it's my dollhouse." So it came to me and lives with me in the condo and I still love it.
Recently I was explaining to the girls about the trust provisions in Mom's will for them. (Those lucky girls will inherit two generations of debts and crap, one day from Mom and then later from me.) They will get half of Mom's estate and all of mine (the poor dears). So we were talking about how they would inherit, among other things, my condo, at which point Angela suggested that I leave *her* the condo and leave Cheryl ... the dollhouse.
*This year* for Christmas Dad made me a lovely coat rack/shelf to put in my front entryway. Its made from poplar and has brass hooks and fits nicely between the front door and the closet. Because I am (all together now) never home, it hasn't been hung, but it will be.
(Warning: this paragraph contains my hazy memory of what people said/suggested/thought/indicated and is probably chock full of misinterpretation and poor recall. Just sayin'.) David and I are still debating the best way to install it. Dad recommended drilling holes into it and putting a bolt though the holes and into the studs. David opined that a condo built in 1988 (or so) probably has eight studs in any given building, and that drilling though the front would lack aesthetic pleasingness, but John (make a point of doing shows with contractors, plumbers, electricians, etc. You'll learn a lot) said that no, there would still be a stud every 18 or 24 inches. So I suggested that we ask Andy if he could route two key-holes into the back and we can hang it thus. David agreed that this might work. And there we remain. Because Andy's theater schedule is as busy as mine.
But my lovely coat rask will get hung one day. And everytime I see it, even now as it leans up against the wall, waiting to be installed, I'll think of my Dad, who makes beautiful presents.
Maybe Angela will inherit the condo and Cheryl will get the doll house and the coat rack....
12 May 2006
Amazingly cool
My friend Bill was pictured in Boing Boing. I am not now, nor ever have been, worthy.
And, of course, this precludes Emily from ever asking that the basement be repurposed from the Maryland Branch of the Computing Museum. I'd start lobbying now for bigger displays and more wall text.
Yay, Bill!
And, of course, this precludes Emily from ever asking that the basement be repurposed from the Maryland Branch of the Computing Museum. I'd start lobbying now for bigger displays and more wall text.
Yay, Bill!
09 May 2006
Tablework
"Hey, you asked. I'm willing to tell you.... In fact, I will tell you." Kess, Independence, Act II, scene i.
A long time ago, someone I know mentioned a lack among her performer friends' blogs for any kind of discussion of process. We seem to be all about costumes and blocking dilemmas, but not so much on what the characters think and feel.
One term for this process is tablework. It's when the actors and the director sit around a table (because where else are we going to put our coffee and assorted snacks?) and talk about the play.
Naturally, everyone's process is different and every show's process is different. Some directors believe in a lot of tablework, some in getting the show on its feet and letting the emotions follow the blocking. One of the things that I appreciated most about Independence is how much table work we got to do, even if we weren't sitting around a table. As we would finish working a scene Maura might say "See, Sherry seems so angry there, but she's really hurt. Why isn't she welcome in her own family?" which would start a several minute discussion between us about that question.
But Independence is very relationship-driven. And Lee Blessing (the playwright) gives us lots to work with within the four corners of the script. So I looked at the ways that they talk to each other. Kess's first scene with Jo looks like an interrogation. "Why would Mom hit you?" "Did anybody see it?" Why is Kess interrogating Jo? Why doesn't she believe her? They haven't seen each other in four years, where's the hugging and how are yous? Where's the sympathy over the neck brace?
Evelyn, Kess and Jo's mother, is both manipulative and crazy. And Jo, whether she sees it or not, is also a manipulator. "Having you here has been so great. I feel much calmer. And I know Mom's happier." In other words, do what we want and everyone stays happy and calm. Every time I heard something from Evelyn's head come out of Jo's mouth, Kess would get suspicious and shut down. Not shut down completely, but there would be a posture change, a drawing in. Some things you decide to do and keep, some thing you find yourself doing and decide to keep.
Tablework gets everyone on the same page, which means when I threw that ball, Sharon would know where to go to be under it and vice versa. Do enough tablework and you'll never have to worry about the trajectory of the ball because before it left your partner's hand you knew where it would go. Not enough and you'll find yourself in the middle of Tech Week hearing people ask "why is it that so-and-so does such-and-such?" and not in a good way.
Ten minutes of good tablework is worth an hour of rehearsal, a belief I got to put to a practical test working on Perfectly Good Airplanes. When the director and both actors are rehearsing other shows, rehearsal time is very limited. We had a total of about 5 rehearsals to get that puppy ready (I credit how well it went to the quality of my actors) and we spent the first rehearsal completely on tablework. We read the play, we talked about the play, we read it some more. We talked about it some more. We came up with a bunch of questions for Steve, the playwright. We all hoped that the cast would learn all the lines (it's about a 47-page script) but I knew that we would live and die on the relationship between the father and the daughter. So we dug into the whys and the wherefores of that relationship.
I'm now working on a redaction of David Mamet's "A Life in the Theatre" and we are similarly pressed for time, but we still spent our first two rehearsals going over the script line by line, asking questions, bouncing thoughts off of each other, and because it seems that Jeff's brain tracks in a similar manner to mine, wandering off onto tangents and non sequiturs. Josh has already remembered how non-linear my conversation is and is probably having flashbacks to Sneakers rehearsals. In that respect, he'll relate perfectly to his character, but it seems a pretty high price to pay.
Anyway.
And next rehearsal we move from one of my favorite parts of prepping a show to one of my least favorite parts - initial blocking.
A long time ago, someone I know mentioned a lack among her performer friends' blogs for any kind of discussion of process. We seem to be all about costumes and blocking dilemmas, but not so much on what the characters think and feel.
One term for this process is tablework. It's when the actors and the director sit around a table (because where else are we going to put our coffee and assorted snacks?) and talk about the play.
Naturally, everyone's process is different and every show's process is different. Some directors believe in a lot of tablework, some in getting the show on its feet and letting the emotions follow the blocking. One of the things that I appreciated most about Independence is how much table work we got to do, even if we weren't sitting around a table. As we would finish working a scene Maura might say "See, Sherry seems so angry there, but she's really hurt. Why isn't she welcome in her own family?" which would start a several minute discussion between us about that question.
But Independence is very relationship-driven. And Lee Blessing (the playwright) gives us lots to work with within the four corners of the script. So I looked at the ways that they talk to each other. Kess's first scene with Jo looks like an interrogation. "Why would Mom hit you?" "Did anybody see it?" Why is Kess interrogating Jo? Why doesn't she believe her? They haven't seen each other in four years, where's the hugging and how are yous? Where's the sympathy over the neck brace?
Evelyn, Kess and Jo's mother, is both manipulative and crazy. And Jo, whether she sees it or not, is also a manipulator. "Having you here has been so great. I feel much calmer. And I know Mom's happier." In other words, do what we want and everyone stays happy and calm. Every time I heard something from Evelyn's head come out of Jo's mouth, Kess would get suspicious and shut down. Not shut down completely, but there would be a posture change, a drawing in. Some things you decide to do and keep, some thing you find yourself doing and decide to keep.
Tablework gets everyone on the same page, which means when I threw that ball, Sharon would know where to go to be under it and vice versa. Do enough tablework and you'll never have to worry about the trajectory of the ball because before it left your partner's hand you knew where it would go. Not enough and you'll find yourself in the middle of Tech Week hearing people ask "why is it that so-and-so does such-and-such?" and not in a good way.
Ten minutes of good tablework is worth an hour of rehearsal, a belief I got to put to a practical test working on Perfectly Good Airplanes. When the director and both actors are rehearsing other shows, rehearsal time is very limited. We had a total of about 5 rehearsals to get that puppy ready (I credit how well it went to the quality of my actors) and we spent the first rehearsal completely on tablework. We read the play, we talked about the play, we read it some more. We talked about it some more. We came up with a bunch of questions for Steve, the playwright. We all hoped that the cast would learn all the lines (it's about a 47-page script) but I knew that we would live and die on the relationship between the father and the daughter. So we dug into the whys and the wherefores of that relationship.
I'm now working on a redaction of David Mamet's "A Life in the Theatre" and we are similarly pressed for time, but we still spent our first two rehearsals going over the script line by line, asking questions, bouncing thoughts off of each other, and because it seems that Jeff's brain tracks in a similar manner to mine, wandering off onto tangents and non sequiturs. Josh has already remembered how non-linear my conversation is and is probably having flashbacks to Sneakers rehearsals. In that respect, he'll relate perfectly to his character, but it seems a pretty high price to pay.
Anyway.
And next rehearsal we move from one of my favorite parts of prepping a show to one of my least favorite parts - initial blocking.
02 May 2006
What? I don't hear anything
This morning was not a good time to work in our office. No, no, we didn't have ravaging executives screaming at cowering underlings or anything like that. Nor did we have tense, silent, ominous awkwardness. No, we had something worse.
We had air hammers.
The building is being refurbished, sort of. Construction guys (or contractor guys or someone) have been putting a new "face" on the building. And today was the day that they were attaching some of the new facing. With the air hammers.
So our office sounded like the inside of a steel and concrete tree being attacked by gigantic woodpeckers.
Every so often it would stop for a few minutes and then start back up. I assume that this was while they reloaded the hammers. It turns out that it takes about as much time to reload the hammers as it takes for me to untense, which was probably humorous to watch if one could turn the sound down.
I told Ira that everytime they had to reload, I felt like I was in an episode of M*A*S*H - you know, one of those ones with lots of shelling:
"Listen!"
".....What? I don't hear anything."
"Yeah. It stopped."
One of our staffers (at least one, rather) went home with a headache around 10:30. They stopped for the day - or because some poor office worker pushed them off of their scaffold - around 11:45 or so.
But the temperature was okay at least.
We had air hammers.
The building is being refurbished, sort of. Construction guys (or contractor guys or someone) have been putting a new "face" on the building. And today was the day that they were attaching some of the new facing. With the air hammers.
So our office sounded like the inside of a steel and concrete tree being attacked by gigantic woodpeckers.
Every so often it would stop for a few minutes and then start back up. I assume that this was while they reloaded the hammers. It turns out that it takes about as much time to reload the hammers as it takes for me to untense, which was probably humorous to watch if one could turn the sound down.
I told Ira that everytime they had to reload, I felt like I was in an episode of M*A*S*H - you know, one of those ones with lots of shelling:
"Listen!"
".....What? I don't hear anything."
"Yeah. It stopped."
One of our staffers (at least one, rather) went home with a headache around 10:30. They stopped for the day - or because some poor office worker pushed them off of their scaffold - around 11:45 or so.
But the temperature was okay at least.
01 May 2006
Southern England?
For The Winslow Boy I had to learn a second English accent. In addition to my generic RP English accent, I was taught (by our vocal coach, John, a Scot) a passable generic cockney accent.
And, in general, once I learned how the shape the words, I just had to pay attention to the usual things like saying them in the right order, putting the stresses in the right places, etc.
So Saturday night there I was, up on stage, minding my own business when I said:
"But I saw him in this room as big as life with my own eyes before y'all came back from church."
Yep. Violet the cockney parlormaid said "y'all."
I mentioned it to Anne, our AD, a little later and she told me that I should have said "youse."
And, in general, once I learned how the shape the words, I just had to pay attention to the usual things like saying them in the right order, putting the stresses in the right places, etc.
So Saturday night there I was, up on stage, minding my own business when I said:
"But I saw him in this room as big as life with my own eyes before y'all came back from church."
Yep. Violet the cockney parlormaid said "y'all."
I mentioned it to Anne, our AD, a little later and she told me that I should have said "youse."
19 April 2006
A couple of good reasons to go home early
The air conditioning is out at our office. Or at least working in a very minimal, lethargic kind of way. Which would be fine if the weather were damp and chilly as it was on Monday morning, but it's now a sunny and warm 75 degrees (which, according to Weather.com, feels like ... 75 degrees). Or rather, it's 75 degrees outside. Inside, here at my desk, it's 80 degrees, which is only 2 degrees cooler than Tempe, Arizona.
Remember when I was too cold because it was 60 degrees at my desk? Yes, I agree, there is no pleasing me sometimes.
The other fine reason to go home early is because the construction guys next door have accidentally (I can't believe they deliberately) cut a water main. The water was turned off to the building, bottles of water were delivered to the building's lobby desk, and two port-a-potties were set up in the alley.
A couple of thoughts on the port-a-potties: 1. I actually described the one I used as "nice" because it was clean; didn't smell like a port-a-potty; and had toilet paper. Kind of like how regular cells are nicer than the ones in lock-up. (But that's a story for another post.) 2. Considering that "our" port-a-potties" were sited in the alley and many of our staffers have a nice, clear view down there, I'm pretty grateful that said potties are completely enclosed, roofs and all. Much better not to see or be seen in that circumstance.
All-in-all, pretty well handled. And a definite shout out of thanks to the new building guy who is so much more on-the-ball than the two useless building guys he replaced. And he's pleasant instead of surly.
So why am I still at work if today is an excellent day to leave early (especially as it really is 75 degrees and sunny)? Because I am not going home after work, I'm meeting a fellow cast member at his house to run lines and there's no point in getting to his place before he does, especially not when I could be typing a blog post.
I'm sure that my fellow cast member believes that I have offered to help him run lines because of my dedication to the show and because I'm such a fine human being. Well, of course, both of those are true, but the other reason, the for-real reason is that he is A. lots of fun to hang out with, so why would I pass up that opportunity; and B. Scottish, so he talks with an accent so delightful that I could probably spend vast amounts of time just listening to him, especially if I am not required to answer intelligently. I don't normally get all gushy about UK accents, but a Scot and a Baritone? It's too much happiness.
Ooops, time to go!
Remember when I was too cold because it was 60 degrees at my desk? Yes, I agree, there is no pleasing me sometimes.
The other fine reason to go home early is because the construction guys next door have accidentally (I can't believe they deliberately) cut a water main. The water was turned off to the building, bottles of water were delivered to the building's lobby desk, and two port-a-potties were set up in the alley.
A couple of thoughts on the port-a-potties: 1. I actually described the one I used as "nice" because it was clean; didn't smell like a port-a-potty; and had toilet paper. Kind of like how regular cells are nicer than the ones in lock-up. (But that's a story for another post.) 2. Considering that "our" port-a-potties" were sited in the alley and many of our staffers have a nice, clear view down there, I'm pretty grateful that said potties are completely enclosed, roofs and all. Much better not to see or be seen in that circumstance.
All-in-all, pretty well handled. And a definite shout out of thanks to the new building guy who is so much more on-the-ball than the two useless building guys he replaced. And he's pleasant instead of surly.
So why am I still at work if today is an excellent day to leave early (especially as it really is 75 degrees and sunny)? Because I am not going home after work, I'm meeting a fellow cast member at his house to run lines and there's no point in getting to his place before he does, especially not when I could be typing a blog post.
I'm sure that my fellow cast member believes that I have offered to help him run lines because of my dedication to the show and because I'm such a fine human being. Well, of course, both of those are true, but the other reason, the for-real reason is that he is A. lots of fun to hang out with, so why would I pass up that opportunity; and B. Scottish, so he talks with an accent so delightful that I could probably spend vast amounts of time just listening to him, especially if I am not required to answer intelligently. I don't normally get all gushy about UK accents, but a Scot and a Baritone? It's too much happiness.
Ooops, time to go!
09 April 2006
December 31
The game is to find 3 events, 2 births, and 1 death that happened on your birthday. "Gakked" from John & Liza.
Events
1946 - President Harry Truman proclaims the end of hostilities in WWII (The Big One).
1862 - President Lincoln signs an act admitting West Virginia to the Union.
1600 - Queen Elizabeth II grants the Royal charter of the British East India Company.
Births
1738 - Charles Cornwallis, 1st Marquess Cornwallis and British General (died 1805).
1572 - Emperor Go-Yozei of Japan (died 1617).
Death
1460 - Richard Neville, 5th Earl of Salisbury (executed along with Richard Plantagenet, 3rd Duke of York and Edmund, Earl of Rutland - Neville's brother and nephew - after the Battle Wakefield).
* * * * *
The truly perspicacious, or, more likely, those who have been unable to block out my incessent chatter, will notice that one of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn't belong. All but one relates to the things I prattle about at greath length, given the opportunity. Can you guess which thing is not like the others before I finish this song?
Events
1946 - President Harry Truman proclaims the end of hostilities in WWII (The Big One).
1862 - President Lincoln signs an act admitting West Virginia to the Union.
1600 - Queen Elizabeth II grants the Royal charter of the British East India Company.
Births
1738 - Charles Cornwallis, 1st Marquess Cornwallis and British General (died 1805).
1572 - Emperor Go-Yozei of Japan (died 1617).
Death
1460 - Richard Neville, 5th Earl of Salisbury (executed along with Richard Plantagenet, 3rd Duke of York and Edmund, Earl of Rutland - Neville's brother and nephew - after the Battle Wakefield).
* * * * *
The truly perspicacious, or, more likely, those who have been unable to block out my incessent chatter, will notice that one of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn't belong. All but one relates to the things I prattle about at greath length, given the opportunity. Can you guess which thing is not like the others before I finish this song?
31 March 2006
I'd like to teach myself to sing
This is an official "I should be doing other things, so I think I'll type up a blog post" post.
What should I be doing? Let's see.....
1. Washing my hair so that it looks nice tomorrow. I won't have time tomorrow because I'll be getting up extra early.
2. Pulling scores from what I laughably consider my music library. I have one and half shelves of assorted G&S and other choral music, a couple broadway scores, and a fair bit of random sheet music. (F'rinstance, I have a lovely copy of "Nobody Loves a Fairy When She's Forty" that Larry gave me. As a birthday present.) Tonight I need to pull my scores for Pinafore, Princess Ida, and Patience. I've already pulled the Sorcerer score and printed out the Rose of Persia excerpts that I'll need.
3. Taking stuff out of the car that I don't need and putting into the car the things do I need. I've already found - and removed - an apple that clearly got lost under the seat quite some time ago.
4. (This is the big one.) Learning the damn music. I actually have been working on it this week, but only one song of the five in which I have solos sounds ready to sing in front of people that I like. Two more are about halfway there and the final two are ready to sing in front of.....no one. The best way for me to learn music to work on it with my music teacher, but she's been unavailable, so I've been working on my own, listening to the recordings and going over the printed music. I generally prefer not to work from recordings for the same reason that I don't model my theater performances on videos of other people's work, but I'm positive that the folks tomorrow would far rather hear my second-rate Marcia Bellamy or Claire Henry than experience what I would have done without them to lean on. (And while we're at it, a big thanks to Ann Hood, too!). As you go about your business tomorrow, spare a thought for the folks who will be hearing me sing. Send them your support, think kindly of them, and use your psychokenetic powers to prevent them from killing me. If they do kill me, you might as well alibi them, for they pushed to it, they truly were.
And now to work...
What should I be doing? Let's see.....
1. Washing my hair so that it looks nice tomorrow. I won't have time tomorrow because I'll be getting up extra early.
2. Pulling scores from what I laughably consider my music library. I have one and half shelves of assorted G&S and other choral music, a couple broadway scores, and a fair bit of random sheet music. (F'rinstance, I have a lovely copy of "Nobody Loves a Fairy When She's Forty" that Larry gave me. As a birthday present.) Tonight I need to pull my scores for Pinafore, Princess Ida, and Patience. I've already pulled the Sorcerer score and printed out the Rose of Persia excerpts that I'll need.
3. Taking stuff out of the car that I don't need and putting into the car the things do I need. I've already found - and removed - an apple that clearly got lost under the seat quite some time ago.
4. (This is the big one.) Learning the damn music. I actually have been working on it this week, but only one song of the five in which I have solos sounds ready to sing in front of people that I like. Two more are about halfway there and the final two are ready to sing in front of.....no one. The best way for me to learn music to work on it with my music teacher, but she's been unavailable, so I've been working on my own, listening to the recordings and going over the printed music. I generally prefer not to work from recordings for the same reason that I don't model my theater performances on videos of other people's work, but I'm positive that the folks tomorrow would far rather hear my second-rate Marcia Bellamy or Claire Henry than experience what I would have done without them to lean on. (And while we're at it, a big thanks to Ann Hood, too!). As you go about your business tomorrow, spare a thought for the folks who will be hearing me sing. Send them your support, think kindly of them, and use your psychokenetic powers to prevent them from killing me. If they do kill me, you might as well alibi them, for they pushed to it, they truly were.
And now to work...
I've been served
As I suspected, Brett rose to defend
I’m going up against a much better – and better prepared - opponent, but perhaps my defeat will provide the lyric poets of tomorrow with inspiration. Maybe, even, a really great blues song will be written about it. Best of all, of course, would be a ballet with a whole flashback sequence where “
Hmm. Come to think of it, that sounds like more fun than several actual ballets I’ve seen.
29 March 2006
Mogg!
When I got the Washington Post every day, I read all the comics, including stuff I would skip today like "Mark Trail" and "The Phantom" and "Rex Morgan, MD."
(The odd, howling sound you hear is Brett's anguish that anyone would skip "Mark Trail." Well, I would. I like the Partridge Family and I don't like Mark Trail, but it takes all kinds, doesn't it? I'll still probably be re-educated under the Brett Regime, but that was going to happen anyway, so we can add my lack of the proper understanding of Mark Trail to the list.)
But the one thing that made those comics worth the ink it took to print them were the odd little captions. My absolute, bar none, favorite is one from "Rex Morgan, MD," a strip more firmly rooted in a 1962-aesthetic than the Ford Fairlane. But in random attempts to be cutting edge and current - or just to provide me with a laugh - Rex and June would tackle some medical issues in the news, like, oh, say, drug abuse. So we have the black and while line drawing of a woman in a Chanel-style suit with pillbox hat sprawled on a tile floor with the caption "While snorting cocaine in the ladies' room, Claudia Bishop passes out!" (Soap Opera comics spend most of their production money on exclamation marks, which they purchase by the truckload.) Somehow the sight of the Jackie Kennedy stand-in and the 1980's PSA text hit me just right. I vowed never to snort cocaine in the ladies' room *and* and I laughed hugely, pointed to the strip, and repeated "While snorting cocaine in the ladies' room, Claudia Bishop passes out!" until I pulled myself together.
"The Phantom," however, is really just a fever-dream. I mean, really, I ask you, does that strip make sense to anyone? Not to mention that during the period when I spent the most time trying to figure out what the heck was going on, "The Phantom" made Tarzan look too PC by half.
So one day, Mr. Walker* had trounced some white devil bad guys and their non-caucasian, stereotype-laden henchmen, including a pretty scary dude named Mogg. And in the coming attractions box at the end of the strip - which, by the way, due to the completely non-linear storytelling of "The Phantom," never actually clued us in to the real coming attractions, but rather seemed to be just random enouragements to keep reading the strip, sort of a "d-r-i-n-k y-o-u-r O-v-a-l-t-i-n-e" for the print media set ....where was I? Oh, yeah -- in the coming attractings box it said "Coming Next - More Mogg!!" Which also made me laugh hugely, although this time I really couldn't explain why. I still have no idea. But I still find it funny.
Coming Next: The Countess of WATCH!!
* For the Ghost Who Walks
(The odd, howling sound you hear is Brett's anguish that anyone would skip "Mark Trail." Well, I would. I like the Partridge Family and I don't like Mark Trail, but it takes all kinds, doesn't it? I'll still probably be re-educated under the Brett Regime, but that was going to happen anyway, so we can add my lack of the proper understanding of Mark Trail to the list.)
But the one thing that made those comics worth the ink it took to print them were the odd little captions. My absolute, bar none, favorite is one from "Rex Morgan, MD," a strip more firmly rooted in a 1962-aesthetic than the Ford Fairlane. But in random attempts to be cutting edge and current - or just to provide me with a laugh - Rex and June would tackle some medical issues in the news, like, oh, say, drug abuse. So we have the black and while line drawing of a woman in a Chanel-style suit with pillbox hat sprawled on a tile floor with the caption "While snorting cocaine in the ladies' room, Claudia Bishop passes out!" (Soap Opera comics spend most of their production money on exclamation marks, which they purchase by the truckload.) Somehow the sight of the Jackie Kennedy stand-in and the 1980's PSA text hit me just right. I vowed never to snort cocaine in the ladies' room *and* and I laughed hugely, pointed to the strip, and repeated "While snorting cocaine in the ladies' room, Claudia Bishop passes out!" until I pulled myself together.
"The Phantom," however, is really just a fever-dream. I mean, really, I ask you, does that strip make sense to anyone? Not to mention that during the period when I spent the most time trying to figure out what the heck was going on, "The Phantom" made Tarzan look too PC by half.
So one day, Mr. Walker* had trounced some white devil bad guys and their non-caucasian, stereotype-laden henchmen, including a pretty scary dude named Mogg. And in the coming attractions box at the end of the strip - which, by the way, due to the completely non-linear storytelling of "The Phantom," never actually clued us in to the real coming attractions, but rather seemed to be just random enouragements to keep reading the strip, sort of a "d-r-i-n-k y-o-u-r O-v-a-l-t-i-n-e" for the print media set ....where was I? Oh, yeah -- in the coming attractings box it said "Coming Next - More Mogg!!" Which also made me laugh hugely, although this time I really couldn't explain why. I still have no idea. But I still find it funny.
Coming Next: The Countess of WATCH!!
* For the Ghost Who Walks
18 March 2006
I miss my blog!
Just testing the blog via e-mail feature. Gee, I hope this works out.
I've been working my leetle behind off at work lately (which I suppose is only fair) and coming home and crashing, so - as the loyal and devoted can see for themselves - there has been very little blogging. Which is such a shame because, as a rule, I have so very much to say and when I'm this busy David is my primary audience and I think his brain is going to start running out through his ears from all the prattle.
Therefore, I'm trying Blogger's handy not-so-new Blog Via E-mail. The sentence up top was sent from my e-mail account to Blogger. I typed up the deathless prose and mailed it to my Blogger account at --- oh, wait! That's supersecret! I'm not telling you! Because then just anyone who figured out the supersecret ID could post as me. And then the content of this blog might drastically improve, which would make the old stuff look bad. So none of that. It's my secret and I ain't telling.
So anyway, I sent the test message and then I went to Blogger and checked my posts list and it was there! Just waiting to be posted. Success!
This should work out just fine because while I've been too busy to blog, who is too busy to e-mail? I live for e-mail.
And now I'm off to do some of the other thing that I've been too busy to do lately -- clean my house.
Coming soon: More posts from Leta! And more Mogg!
I've been working my leetle behind off at work lately (which I suppose is only fair) and coming home and crashing, so - as the loyal and devoted can see for themselves - there has been very little blogging. Which is such a shame because, as a rule, I have so very much to say and when I'm this busy David is my primary audience and I think his brain is going to start running out through his ears from all the prattle.
Therefore, I'm trying Blogger's handy not-so-new Blog Via E-mail. The sentence up top was sent from my e-mail account to Blogger. I typed up the deathless prose and mailed it to my Blogger account at --- oh, wait! That's supersecret! I'm not telling you! Because then just anyone who figured out the supersecret ID could post as me. And then the content of this blog might drastically improve, which would make the old stuff look bad. So none of that. It's my secret and I ain't telling.
So anyway, I sent the test message and then I went to Blogger and checked my posts list and it was there! Just waiting to be posted. Success!
This should work out just fine because while I've been too busy to blog, who is too busy to e-mail? I live for e-mail.
And now I'm off to do some of the other thing that I've been too busy to do lately -- clean my house.
Coming soon: More posts from Leta! And more Mogg!
10 March 2006
So that makes Gaithersburg Scarsdale
We were discussing euphemisms, like the ever-popular Utahan "Oh my heck," and I was telling him about growing up in a Catholic neighborhood where the common exclamation was "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" because *that* wasn't swearing. And he said, 'Well sure. Silver Spring is the Brooklyn of Montgomery County."
And before I could even smack him or upbraid him or anything, I realized that he's right. Completely right.
And before I could even smack him or upbraid him or anything, I realized that he's right. Completely right.
23 February 2006
Oh my.
Studies have shown that there are three ways to shut me up:
1. Take me on a long car trip. Odds are that I will be asleep not long after we're on a major highway. Although I have talked in my sleep, I don't do it long or often.
2. Really tick me off. Of course, when I start talking again, one pays a very high price for a little silence.
3. Give me an award. When I found out that "Perfectly Good Airplanes" won the Maryland festival and that I won an award for directing it, all I could say for about the next ten minutes was "Oh my." The review of "I Never Sang for My Father" in the Post this morning reduced to me "Oh my G-d" for about 15 minutes. I so lost focus that I had to remind myself that pantihose goes on before shoes when I was getting dressed.
Oh my.
1. Take me on a long car trip. Odds are that I will be asleep not long after we're on a major highway. Although I have talked in my sleep, I don't do it long or often.
2. Really tick me off. Of course, when I start talking again, one pays a very high price for a little silence.
3. Give me an award. When I found out that "Perfectly Good Airplanes" won the Maryland festival and that I won an award for directing it, all I could say for about the next ten minutes was "Oh my." The review of "I Never Sang for My Father" in the Post this morning reduced to me "Oh my G-d" for about 15 minutes. I so lost focus that I had to remind myself that pantihose goes on before shoes when I was getting dressed.
Oh my.
21 February 2006
Little news bulletins
I've been away for a while, haven't I? Well, let's catch up a bit.
1. Perfectly Good Airplanes won the Maryland One-Act Festival!! We share this honor with Montgomery Playhouse's The Way to Miami, and both teams will be going to Geneva, New York the weekend of April 21 - 23 for the Eastern States Festival. The Maryland Festival was held the weekend of February 11th, which -- and I'm sure this wasn't a coincidence because the theater gods are just that sophomoric -- was the weekend that blanketed the East Coast in all that snow. We played to a small house, but a good one and, as always, Ted and Maura were truly lovely. And just to brag on ourselves completely, Ted won the excellence in acting award and I won the Cliff Smith award for direction. (The Cliff Smith award is a plaque and I will see my name added to a list of directors, like Michael, and Bridget, and Roxanne, and Audrey, whose work I really admire. As Ted says, awards aren't important until you start winning them. Brilliant man, that Ted.) Whoo, and I might say, hoo!
2. The other activity of mine that the snow affected was Tech Weekend for I Never Sang for My Father. We lost a day and a half of badly needed time, but community centers aren't very good about remaining open if white stuff is - or might - fall from the sky. This allows the insurance agent who services their liability policy to sleep at night, true, but it really put a wrench in our Tech Week schedule. So Matt, Nancy, John, and I strategized before they threw us out and decided that we could come in early on Monday (around 5:00) and even earlier on Tuesday (around 3:00) to give Chip (our lighting designer/technical director) more time with us on stage. Then we went back to Susan's so that we could at least line-run our scenes. The 11th hour and the last minute are the two best friends that theater has, so it all came together, but boy, oh boy, do I hate coming that close. By the way, if you happen to be near Falls Church, come and see us! I'm in Act II.
3. Jean and Jay came down from Massachusetts and I got to see them! And they came to see I Never Sang for My Father!! They'd never seen me on stage in a play before (only in the chorus of G&S shows), so I was probably more concerned with the fact that they were in the audience than the news that the local big-shot reviewer was supposed to be there.
I've gotten two reviews from said reviewer. One was a complete pan and one was favorable. But I was satisfied with what we (the cast and crew) did on Sunday, so even if Mr. Reviewer hated every single second of it and says so in his best poison pen, I'm okay. Worrying about reviews gains one nothing.
4. Yet another reason why I haven't been posting as much lately: My office finally cracked down on Internet Abuse. We got an e-mail from someone higher up the food chain basically saying (and I vastly paraphrase here): We asked you nicely not to abuse the company internet access with streaming video, game sites, and porn. (That last was my addition, but let's be real here.) Effective immediately, we will be tracking internet usage. So straighten, fly right, and get back to work! Frankly, in my opinion this was long overdue, so I'm not complaining.
Okay, those were some of the headlines. More when I have a few minutes when I'm alone and unobserved.....
1. Perfectly Good Airplanes won the Maryland One-Act Festival!! We share this honor with Montgomery Playhouse's The Way to Miami, and both teams will be going to Geneva, New York the weekend of April 21 - 23 for the Eastern States Festival. The Maryland Festival was held the weekend of February 11th, which -- and I'm sure this wasn't a coincidence because the theater gods are just that sophomoric -- was the weekend that blanketed the East Coast in all that snow. We played to a small house, but a good one and, as always, Ted and Maura were truly lovely. And just to brag on ourselves completely, Ted won the excellence in acting award and I won the Cliff Smith award for direction. (The Cliff Smith award is a plaque and I will see my name added to a list of directors, like Michael, and Bridget, and Roxanne, and Audrey, whose work I really admire. As Ted says, awards aren't important until you start winning them. Brilliant man, that Ted.) Whoo, and I might say, hoo!
2. The other activity of mine that the snow affected was Tech Weekend for I Never Sang for My Father. We lost a day and a half of badly needed time, but community centers aren't very good about remaining open if white stuff is - or might - fall from the sky. This allows the insurance agent who services their liability policy to sleep at night, true, but it really put a wrench in our Tech Week schedule. So Matt, Nancy, John, and I strategized before they threw us out and decided that we could come in early on Monday (around 5:00) and even earlier on Tuesday (around 3:00) to give Chip (our lighting designer/technical director) more time with us on stage. Then we went back to Susan's so that we could at least line-run our scenes. The 11th hour and the last minute are the two best friends that theater has, so it all came together, but boy, oh boy, do I hate coming that close. By the way, if you happen to be near Falls Church, come and see us! I'm in Act II.
3. Jean and Jay came down from Massachusetts and I got to see them! And they came to see I Never Sang for My Father!! They'd never seen me on stage in a play before (only in the chorus of G&S shows), so I was probably more concerned with the fact that they were in the audience than the news that the local big-shot reviewer was supposed to be there.
I've gotten two reviews from said reviewer. One was a complete pan and one was favorable. But I was satisfied with what we (the cast and crew) did on Sunday, so even if Mr. Reviewer hated every single second of it and says so in his best poison pen, I'm okay. Worrying about reviews gains one nothing.
4. Yet another reason why I haven't been posting as much lately: My office finally cracked down on Internet Abuse. We got an e-mail from someone higher up the food chain basically saying (and I vastly paraphrase here): We asked you nicely not to abuse the company internet access with streaming video, game sites, and porn. (That last was my addition, but let's be real here.) Effective immediately, we will be tracking internet usage. So straighten, fly right, and get back to work! Frankly, in my opinion this was long overdue, so I'm not complaining.
Okay, those were some of the headlines. More when I have a few minutes when I'm alone and unobserved.....
08 February 2006
A bad day at the Safeway
There are days when a future filled with osteoporosis and lymphoma seem like a reasonable trade for being able to grocery shop. This has been one of them.
01 February 2006
But not Luckys
Several years ago I worked for a company where about 95% of the company smoked. Eventually - sometimes I'm not as bright as you would think - I noticed that all the smokers were each spending about an hour total a day out in the warm sunshine "having a cigarette." So I started telling my boss that I was going out to "have a cigarette." "But you don't smoke." "Uh-huh. I'll be back in a few." And I went outside and sat in the warm sunshine. Ahhhhhhhhhh.
Nowadays I like to compare consuming gluten when one is an asymptomatic Celiac to smoking - I will feel fine today if I eat a donut but the cumulative effects down the road if I eat donuts every day will make me feel very crummy indeed. So now when I deliberately *choose* to eat the Demon Gluten - like at Andy and Andrea's wedding where I defiantly had a yummy piece of wedding cake - I tell people that I'm "having a cigarette."
Times change. Meanings change. But, gosh, that phrase has been good to me.
Nowadays I like to compare consuming gluten when one is an asymptomatic Celiac to smoking - I will feel fine today if I eat a donut but the cumulative effects down the road if I eat donuts every day will make me feel very crummy indeed. So now when I deliberately *choose* to eat the Demon Gluten - like at Andy and Andrea's wedding where I defiantly had a yummy piece of wedding cake - I tell people that I'm "having a cigarette."
Times change. Meanings change. But, gosh, that phrase has been good to me.
27 January 2006
Self -discipline
I'm busy congratulating myself that the entire time that David was out of town I never drove over to his place and rearranged the furniture and reorganized all the drawers just to mess with him.
26 January 2006
A poem and a new website!
Okay, new to me.
I found The Media Drome via a link from a fellow G&S Geek (Hi, Steve!) because he posted a link to this poem by (yay!!) P.G. Wodehouse.
As someone who has seen way too many of her own typos get into print - and usually as result of her own alleged proofreading - Mr. Wodehouse's verse bring a tear of recognition to the eye.
Poems! and more Poems! And recipes and stuff.
So if you'll pardon me, I'm going to spend a bit of time mousing around.
I found The Media Drome via a link from a fellow G&S Geek (Hi, Steve!) because he posted a link to this poem by (yay!!) P.G. Wodehouse.
As someone who has seen way too many of her own typos get into print - and usually as result of her own alleged proofreading - Mr. Wodehouse's verse bring a tear of recognition to the eye.
Poems! and more Poems! And recipes and stuff.
So if you'll pardon me, I'm going to spend a bit of time mousing around.
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