Saturday, September 30, 2006

Woodward Says It's So

So it must be true: George W. Bush is "a passive, impatient, sophomoric and intellectually incurious leader, presiding over a grossly dysfunctional war cabinet and given to an almost religious certainty that makes him disinclined to rethink or re-evaluate decisions he has made about the war."

Now they tell us? What half-wit among us didn't already know this nearly eight years ago? The Supreme Court and the media machine set up this administration and propped it up with rotted planks for the duration. Why? What the fuck was in it for them?

I just don't get it. What's attractive about encouraging destruction, which is exactly what they did in enabling this feeble fuck to run roughshod over the Constitution and all the humane laws in the land and the rest of the world.

Shit, I'm not even coherent this morning. You can read an excerpt here.

Friday, September 29, 2006

And the Door Has Shut Behind Me

Today at approximately 1:30, after a leisurely lunch with Kevin and Claudia, my two friends who have always given me good counsel and advice, I said goodbye to my guardian angel and regional manager, Bernardine. We hugged and promised to keep in touch and to see each other often. I won't say we cried.

At 1:40, I walked out of my office, down a short hallway, and out the back door of the Louisiana Department of Labor at 735 Saint Charles Avenue. I got into my car and drove away. I won't say I cried.

I just called this place my office, but it wasn't really my office. Since Katrina and the closure of my real office on the Westbank in Harvey, it had been the place where I was housed.

As someone who sees symbols and reads meanings, I thought it was a fitting thing to have come full circle. This had been, after all, the place where I had been hired and first put to work on November 22, 1976. I had worked here for 20 years. I had come to know each hallway and corner, each wrinkle in the structure of that wonderful old stone box. I knew all of its old ghosts; and, of course, I leave mine there now as well.

I have always characterized myself by what I did. Whereas, once, I might have been a student, I had become, over time, "Unemployment Man."

I liked that appellation. I enjoyed the respect I had earned to be called that name, and I revelled in the affection of its familiarity.

Now, I am nothing. I will have to become me, whoever that might be. I hope I like him. I think I might.

I'm not going to say I cried.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

The Deed Is Done

"Raham" is on my left shoulder. I made a pass by Electric Ladyland this afternoon to discuss getting my first tattoo. Jay the floor host inspected my sample and said it would do fine, where did I want it, when did I want to do it, and, hey, why not now, you're here, so are we, come on.

My artist was Eric, visiting from New York (not sure if that was a good thing) but looking to put down roots here for a while. All the staff were great, ribbing me as the newbie I was, promising to take care of me when I keeled over in a dead faint.

Never happened. Guess I had the balls for this.

The image is simple and plain, just what I wanted.

Don't know how Bob is going to take this. Oh, well, wotthehell!

Rebirth begins.

For Archbisop Alfred C. Hughes.

Knowing how much you care about children, this one's for you, Alfie.

Please come to Boston for the springtime.

(Thanks for the heads up, Joe.
Now you'll be banned as well.
Don't try communion at the Cathedral.)

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Ya Wanna Ban Me? Huh? Ya Wanna? Well, Look a'This!

There's this little website, see. It offers shit for sale every now and then. Here is a recent item being offered.
Because he wants to find out as much about you as possible and to get inside your most personal business, we figured we would offer you the opportunity to show him where the sun don’t shine. I’ve had our skilled craftsmen in the secret labs create the “George W. Bush Buttplug”.

This President will really f*** you up the butt. You’re already familiar with the sensation, so why not REALLY FEEL IT with our exclusive Presidential Pooper Plug. Invade an Iraqi, an Afghani, or even an Iranian when you want. With this fat headed, huge stub of a plug no ass is safe anywhere.

Made of 100% silicone with 4” of useable length and a head 1-1/2” in diameter, this butt plug will issue a 110% American ass drubbing. A 2-3/4” base prevents the little prick from digging in without a timetable for withdrawal.

Great gag gift for Log Cabin Republicans. Use as a dashboard ornament, mantelpiece or uncomfortable conversation piece. Get one now before we get killed!

As always, remember to play safe, play clean and never ever go through airport security with this gag tucked away.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

This Blog Has Been Banned...

...By the Archdiocese of New Orleans. Was it something I said?

What? I'm a threat to the Catholic Church?

Wow. Eat your hearts out.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Good News

It seems Bobby's procedure went without complications at Touro today. The implants are in and pumping - not tits, but a defibrillator pacemaker. Is that just as big?

I got him checked in for 10:00 this morning. Once I had him in his shower cap, bareback gown, and booties, one of his doctors stopped by to ask why he was there so early since his surgery wasn't until 1:30. We showed him the paperwork that indicated his time of arrival as being for ten. The kid - he was a kid - had the temerity to say, "Well, that's my writing, sure, but your surgeon is in a conference and won't be back until after lunch, so you're scheduled for 1:30."

And I'm thinking, "A surgeon. A conference. There's a lunch involved. Three martinis? Botched surgery! Lawsuit. Millions! The rest of my life on a beach. On an island - private. In the Pacific. No clothes. Lots of sun and breezes..."

But no. Looks like a few more years of aggravation from the Bobble.

Thank God.

PS: Within minutes of being moved into his overnight room, Bobby got a visit from the li'l pisser. With friends like that, you've got it made.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

But Everything's Go'n' Be All Right, Cher

Our mother-governor has soothing words for all of us who may associate the Superdome with the terror of Katrina:
“I realize that it may be hard for some people to come back here,” said Kathleen Blanco, the governor of Louisiana. “But I believe that the very best thing those people can do for their inner healing is to walk this walk again, and let those memories fall out.”

"Get back up on the big pony, cher."

Like, that's all it takes. Like, as if she knows squat.

Is It Just Me...

...Or is there something wrong with this picture?

We've rebuilt the Superdome in time for Monday Night Football, but we can't rebuild our homes or businesses?

Keep looking on the bright side. Keep looking for the bright side. Keep looking for the right side. Gotta try to find a reason...

Photo: Chris Granger / Times-Picayune

Groovin'...on a Sunday Afternoon

It's a few minutes to showtime, and I am not at the theatre where I have been for every previous performance. I have decided to stay home and spend time with Bobby who will enter Touro Infirmary tomorrow to have a defibrillator pacemaker installed (?) - implanted (?) - in his chest.

These past few months have been unpleasant for him since I was away so much of the time working on both my job and the play. I felt I owed him some attention.

So right now I am attending to him as he naps in his barcolounger next to me, and everybody else in the city is at my play.

I'm gonna go upstairs and watch some porn.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Speaking of Corruption

I've watched every performance of Take Me Out from the back of the house. I've seen the cast grow more and more comfortable walking out onto the stage and dropping their towels to stand there revealed. How I envy that freedom.

Well, tonight, I'm gonna watch it commando! That's right. Everything's comin' off. My boys're gonna get some air!

I'm s-s-s-s-mokin' and breathless and feelin' real reckless.

Who's your daddy?

Sat'y Night

Last night's performance suffered one rocky scene that was probably undetectable to the audience (except for those who were back for a second or third view), but the rest of it was beautifully played, and funny, and heartbreaking, all in the right places. My sadness at having to let it go after next weekend is becoming a constant thrum in my mind and heart. I don't want to say goodbye to these boys. The whole experience has been one of the best of my life.

Anyway, after the performance - and a 30-minute drive around my neighborhood to find a parking space - my cell rang. It was Steve, aka Mason, aka Mars, asking me if I wanted to have a nightcap. I asked him where he was. Turns out, he had just found a parking spot near the Golden Latrine. I told him I had to make one stop at home, but then I'd meet him there.

"I can't go in there alone," he said. "I'm afraid."

"Then wait for me."

When I made it to the bar, I couldn't find him on the street, so I phoned him back.

"I'm at my car. I'll meet you inside," he said.

I stepped in to find a slightly downsized gaggle of the usual sideways-sitting souses. God, I thought, how can I do this to the boy?

But the young man took a walk on the wild side last night and actually showed up. We had wine and beer, not together but separately, and talked about our shared experience with the play. It was all good.

He'd come to New Orleans from Los Angeles earlier this year to do what he could to help us rebuild the city, and here I was introducing him to the lowest common denominator of the city's boozy, fucked-up, slutty late, late nightlife.

I think he had a wonderful time. I did.

Friday, September 22, 2006

For Your Consideration

Take Me Out.

Act Two.

A shower.

Darren Lemming takes down Shane Mungitt.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Thank God We Have a Gov'ment Protecting Us Today

I don't know about you, but I will sleep soundly tonight knowing there are vigilant hearts and minds in Washington looking out for my safety and well-being and yours.

Goddammit, Uncle Sam, you be my guest and read my email. You listen in on my phone conversations. And if you want me to lead 'em on and incriminate themselves, you let me know. Hell, you can count on me to turn in enemies of the state from among my meager circle of family and friends.

That's all the least I can do for you for guaranteeing the quality of life I know and love in these United States of Amerka!

Monday, September 18, 2006

Hail and Farewell, Old Buddy

The Swami is calling it a day. I can well understand his motive. Prophets have a short shelf life.

I, for one, will miss you, sir. Take care.

Some quotes from his final column:

I’ve said it all, and it’s worked out pretty much the way I said it would, and by now that’s certainly clear to most of you who show up here, so why not get out of the way and let someone else have the floor before I bore you--and myself?

Which is to say: We have finally devolved to about the 14th century....

...[L]ast week, George Bush confessed his love of torture, a l4th-century art. He wants to know--like a frat boy on a date with a girl from a junior college--just how far he can go. Can he squeeze the testicles…just a little? How much water is too much? And is Megadeath cruel and unusual? The right answer, of course, is that all of this stuff is against everything we believe. (And, worse, that it doesn’t work.) But that answer only applies to those with an appreciation of the soul--the torturer’s as well as the so-called terrorist’s....

A long time ago (the '60s), in an institution far away (Harvard), I learned that enemies tended to resemble one another. Well, it took Bush almost six years, but he’s now made it clear to pretty much everyone who’s not too scared to think: He hates your freedom--of every kind--just as much as the people he says he’s trying to protect you from.

Frankly, it demeans me to write a column, week after week, about a guy that addled and damaged.

And yet I have. Didn’t plan to--I showed up, hoping to explore what committed Buddhism would look like in the millennium--but once I saw what was happening to my country, I had to change focus. You can’t have a spiritual conversation in a language that’s debased. Ideas and words must match.

But the White House and the Religious Right have declared war against language and ideas, so I joined the battle in the place where it was being fought. And I could go on and fight that battle some more in this column--I’ve got items of interest about Scholastic and that dreadful ABC 9/11 movie, and a new documentary about camps for Christian kids, and Katie Couric’s spectacular calves (kidding; just wanted to see if you were really reading)--but why? Those items are merely anecdotal. You get the big picture. If you don’t by now, no way can I help you.

I’ve decided I’ll do better fighting a culture war in the culture itself. I’m going to throw more energy into

I'm really gonna miss you, Mr. Kornbluth.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

For You, Dave - and My Brother Russell

Never - never, ever - fuck with a nurse.
PORTLAND, Ore. - When Susan Kuhnhausen returned home from work one day earlier this month, she encountered an intruder wielding a claw hammer. After a struggle, the 51-year-old nurse fended off her attacker by strangling him with her bare hands.

Neighbors praised the woman for her bravery, and investigators said they believed the dead man - Edward Dalton Haffey - was burglarizing Kuhnhausen's home. But after an investigation, police now say the intruder Kuhnhausen strangled was apparently a hit man hired by her estranged husband - Michael James Kuhnhausen Sr. - to kill her....

An emergency room nurse who lives in a southeast Portland neighborhood, Susan Kuhnhausen arrived home on the evening of Sept. 6 to find Haffey coming at her with a claw hammer.

She was struck in the head and wrested the weapon away, but the struggle continued and Haffey bit the nurse, according to police. A large woman, she was eventually able to get the slight Haffey into a chokehold and police later found him dead in a hallway. An autopsy revealed the cause of death as strangulation.

Police say she acted in self-defense....

But did all this get her down? Fuck, no.

Susan Kuhnhausen was out of town attending a nursing conference and did not immediately return a phone call seeking comment.

She left this message on her voicemail: "I'm not able to answer all the calls that I've received in the past few days. I'm being comforted by your concern and your support. I want you to know that our lives are all at risk for random acts, but more likely random acts of love will come your way than random acts of violence."

Of course, any woman with a pair of clangers like Mrs. Kunhausen has can afford to be optimistic. Nurses Rule!

Friday, September 15, 2006

Getting Back to Reality

The Washington Post writes about the (p)Resident's recent trek to Congress:
PRESIDENT BUSH rarely visits Congress. So it was a measure of his painfully skewed priorities that Mr. Bush made the unaccustomed trip yesterday to seek legislative permission for the CIA to make people disappear into secret prisons and have information extracted from them by means he dare not describe publicly....

[This] administration no longer conceals what it wants. It wants authorization for the CIA to hide detainees in overseas prisons where even the International Committee of the Red Cross won't have access. It wants permission to interrogate those detainees with abusive practices that in the past have included induced hypothermia and "waterboarding," or simulated drowning. And it wants the right to try such detainees, and perhaps sentence them to death, on the basis of evidence that the defendants cannot see and that may have been extracted during those abusive interrogation sessions....
When will somebody in Washington stand up to this puny excuse for a man and bitch-slap him down to the level he deserves to inhabit?

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Because I Can

This morning I spoke to my Regional Manager and expressed my desire to retire. She seemed caught by surprise and not altogether too agreeable about my wish to fade away. That was nice.

I'm ready, though. My agency is changing, drastically - perhaps catastrophically. Its whole philosophy is spinning away from what it once was to something cold and indifferent to the human plight we normally dealt with.

I hate to be thought of as a person incapable of meeting changes and challenges, and I don't think I really am. I do not, however, wish to work for and with the people we would be merging with. A surlier group of do-nothing bureaucrats you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere else.

I'll be writing more about this in the next few days as I firm up my decision.

Jeez, what will become of me? I'm metamorphosing.

Damn, a cockroach just ran across my desk. Or did I just run across my desk and see some old fat man sitting in my place?

Life changes can be so confusing.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Wot 'E Wrote

Here are some excerpts from Al Shea's written review that he used on Steppin' Out:
...Unlike other comedies on "America's great pasttime," TAKE ME OUT takes a serious, "through a glass darkly" look at the sport. Here a tough, but sensitive [player], well played by Carlos M. Gonzales, has a tough time keeping problems down when his star player happens to be black and homosexual. Jason George plays the intellectual athlete with poise and humor. Steve Kubick is his "merry" accountant who gives TAKE ME OUT its best moments with a penetrating monologue on "The Game." Dave Hotstream as an up and coming star from the bigoted backwoods is the catalyst for the play's strongest action.

[Yours truly] directs it all with a firm hand in a velvet glove, especially in scenes where the game of the diamond becomes a metaphor for democracy and - fair play.
Okay, I admit, I don't altogether understand just what he's trying to say, but it's a good review.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Conversation with Kevin

Kevin works for the same agency as I do. He works within a different department, though, and in a different location than I normally would, until this past year, when my own office location was declared - post-K - non-existent, and I moved into his space.

Kevin always speaks the truth to me. He's the one person I will allow to puncture my delusional balloons, the one person I will allow to kick my flawless fat ass out of its periodical funks. Consequently, I needed the guy today, as you would know if you'd read my post from yesterday.

So, anyway, the l'il dude came through. He held the mirror up to my bombastic nature until he had me laughing my fuckin' fool head off over my self-important self pity.

Tonight, I am dancing in my bedroom, from ballet to disco. Odile is gittin' down with her fonky wangs. So kiss today goodbye...and point me toward tomorrow...

Sunday, September 10, 2006

What They Leave Behind

My father was a bear for love. He needed it more than water. He believed it was his right as our father to have unconditional love from his sons. He should have known better, but then he'd never had a childhood or youth. Poor people growing up early in the 20th century never knew the luxury that came with the introduction of modern conveniences. Never having been a coddled child, he never knew the right that such children claim: to be loved whether they love the lover in return or not.

So, as far as this third son was concerned, he was never loved enough. But who could love a man enough whose words of love were always, "How big do you love me?"

I have come to believe one of our purposes in living this life we live is to reverse that formula. Rather than seeking, demanding, requiring love, we must simply love. We must love in the face of no return.

On the day he died, between the time my brother Russell called me to come and sit with mom at the hospital and the time it took for me to walk the one block there, he said to our mother, alone in the room with him, "I love you, cher."

With those last words, he'd made the reversal. He'd finally loved, instead of requiring love from, the one woman in all the world who could love, and had loved, him stronger than whatever those forces are that carve canyons or raise mountains. But that was her gift - and her wound (because life's gifts always bear sharp edges).

I saw a tee-shirt last Sunday that had stencilled on it, "Pain Is Inevitable, Participation Optional." I'm sure the designer had no idea what someone like me would make of that. But I am the offspring of two archetypes, the Mother and the Bear, and one of their wounding gifts to me was discernment.

And I know that to choose to love in the face of hopelessness is to sink into deep, dark waters completely alone and to hope - in the face of hopelessness - that one will resurface, able to love but washed clean of the devouring need to be cared for or about.

Damn you to the void of hell, whatever you are that made us to be this way. I say that to you until I can begin to discern your meaning. Then I will ask your forgiveness.

Saturday, September 9, 2006

2 Out of 3 Say See It

The last person to interview Jayne Mansfield only hours before her death, Al Shea (above, right) weighed in with his opinion of Take Me Out last night while Steppin' Out on the local PBS affiliate, WYES. He was gracious and favorably kind, strongly encouraging people with a serious attitude toward theatre and baseball to come and see the show. He caught it opening night when the cast had had only four days on the stage with three of those being technical rehearsals and only one being an actual runthrough. I wish he'd see it again, just for his own pleasure. The cast hit its stride last night, and I don't think we (I?) have to worry anymore.

I'd quote Al, but I'm not very good at transcribing someone trying to talk over hostess Peggy Scott Laborde's squawking interruptions. I'm going to try to get his hard copy and use that for posting.

The Gambit reviewer comes tomorrow, and I'm not keeping this one from the cast like I did the T-P hack. They've already been informed, and I hope they pace themselves between tonight and Sunday's matinee. At least there's no celebration tomorrow, like Decadence last weekend, to distract or debauch them.

Thursday, September 7, 2006

Oh, Well

The Times Picayune has a review of Take Me Out in today's paper. It isn't online yet, but as soon as it is, I will provide a link.

Oh, he hated it.

But look at it this way, Bush is still in office, New Orleans still hasn't recovered from Katrina, terrorists are out to blow us up, and most of the rest of the world hates us all. How crucial is our attempt to provide an evening's entertainment?

Note: The T-P review has still not appeared online. Could this be the reviewer's way of trying to staunch the flow of blood from the jagged wound into which he had previously plunged his serrated blade?

Wednesday, September 6, 2006

Company Birthdays

Tomorrow is Jason's birthday. Next Tuesday, September 12th, is Susana's birthday.

You might be asking yourself, who is Susana? Well, Susana is this awesome woman who has deigned to step down from her naturally lofty height and partner with Carlos, thus keeping him in his proper place.

The point I'm keeping myself from making is that there are quite a few natally-enhanced people involved with this company. Below, from left to right, are Jason, Chris, Steve K, and Steve P.

Happy Birthday to them all. And if I've missed anyone, you'll see the corrections as soon as I've been straightened out.

The First Review

The first review of Take Me Out has been revealed, although not yet published. Here are a few of the reviewer's edited comments.
With a good director like [yours truly], and lots of creative imagination [I would hazard a guess and say, "Mine."], a company can take a play produced New York...and strip (no sarcasm intended) it down to its barest set requirements...Add creative, effective lighting and sound effects, show-casing a well-rehearsed cast of a few good, and some excellent, actors, and one can end up with a fine successful show about baseball…That’s exactly what our town’s stage wise and much loved Donald "Donnie Jay" James and the To Do Productions Company has done!...

With a compelling script that tries to make a mesmerizing metaphor between baseball and democracy - and also turns baseball into a Zen or mystical experience, Take Me Out is a hit in more ways than one…

Carlos Gonzalez was wonderful as the intelligent and tolerant member of the team, Kippy Sunderstrom. With a wonderfully believable baseball player squint, he captured the character of a compassionate, funny, and loving man as he presented his points to his teammates and the audience with a tolerant humanity…

Jason Goerge was Darren Lemming, the half white and half African American uber-athlete who decides to "come out as gay" to the world, believing that as an always protected super sportsman out fielder he need not fear anything. Mr. George was stunning as he does the role of the desired handsome and well-hung super baseball player, and you get to see it all emotionally and physically...

David Hotstream was Shane Mungitt, who must be a born actor because he gave a compelling, finely tuned performance as the red-necked pitcher (also well-hung and handsome). His character is also a homophobic racist from Arkansas-Mississippi-Tennessee who comes from a shattered past of orphanages and violence; and brings chaos to The New York Empires’ Garden of Eden…

Steve Patrick was well cast as Skipper and William Danziger - each role a polished cameo. Marten Johnson was Martinez, Joe Roybal was Rodriguez, Chris Schlumbrecht was Jason Chenier, Duck Tennant was Toddy Koovitz, Gemayel Holloway was Davey Battle, Alphonse Bladergroen was Takeshi Kawabata, and Steve Kubik was Mason Marzac; and all of these actors supported the team effort - baring it all - some in raw emotions - some in the raw all-together. Each actor successfully created his own polished moments that illuminated their characters or an important point in the play...

Mr. Marzac does not get nude, but makes up for it with a subtle scene stealing…interpretation of his role as a nerdy, gay, financial advisor to the rich super athlete lead. Mr. Marzac is heart-felt and funny as he discovers baseball, big bats, and other things in this play which will appeal to the salacious as well as the sagacious in anyone who enjoys a good show!..

Don McDonald was the very creative Lighting and Sound Director whose work really helped make this play a knockout among low-bucks productions… Great praise goes to everyone affiliated with this production who bared their handsome bodies and souls in a well done play which was nearly faultless. Not to be missed!!!

One man's opinion, but I'll take it. I just wish he could write.

My bad.

Tuesday, September 5, 2006

wotthehell wotthehell

I have managed to get my old blog stylesheet back. Don't ask me how I did it. I've been googling for two days and finally stumbled on the right combinaiton of keywords. Thanks to Don Marquis for the header quoted here.

Time on My Hands

It's after seven, and there's no rehearsal, no performance, nothing. Reality is staring me in the face.

The Bobble had one of his doctors' appointments today. While he went his way, I went mine, had errands to run. Later, in the early afternoon, I phoned him to say I'd be stopping for lunch then heading back home, and oh, yeah, "how'd your appointment go?"

"Everything went fine. I'll be going into the hospital again."


"It's just an overnight thing. I'm going to get a defibillator pacemaker."

"A what? Which one?"

"Both. It's something new. Two for the price of one. But I have to get a second opinion before they check me into Touro."

My brother Russell has a pacemaker, our older brother Jimmy has a defibrillator. What they are are mile markers on the highway not far from the spot where we crash the SUV into that unseen guard rail and go flipping over into the ravine we didn't suspect was there and where we finally come to rest, our bodies and bones entwined with the crooked steel of the vehicle. Dead. Never to rise no more.

Shit. I need to find me something to do.

Monday, September 4, 2006

Southern Decadence, 2006

Of course, what with the play going on, neither the cast nor I participated to any great extent in the general partying that was going on in the city. However, I did go outside for a few minutes to capture these shots.

This is actually a normally respectacle, responsible individual who will now have his life turned upside down as he deals with the infamous notoriety of having his secret nocturnal life exposed to the light of day. My retirement is now assured.

What's this? Shane Mungitt from Take Me Out? Why, he was supposed to be resting and taking it easy before the evening's performance. What's he doing in the middle of a debauched crowd, obviously nonplussed at having been caught by my roving camera? Discussions are in order, I believe.

Oh, no! It's my Mason Marzak and Kippy Sunderstrom. Now I know why the cast has never invited me out after rehearsals or a performance. Sick bunch of puppies.

I also ran into an old friend, Randall, who I had hoped would audition for the role of Toddy Koovitz. Unfortuantely, he had to break the news to me that his job would prevent him from rehearsing in the evenings. We'll see how long that obstruction remains standing after his bosses get a gander at this. See you at the callbacks for the next show, Randall.

So for now, Decadence is basically over. Everyone apparently got well laid and can get some rest for a bit since the theatre is dark for the next four days.

The show seemed to go well this weekend, the word on the street is good, and after yesterday's antics by the cast, the further word on the street ought to be outstanding.

I'm going to take a nap now.

Saturday, September 2, 2006

Can I Read an Audience or What?

Tonight we had a house that was totally prepped for what we had in store for them. They were alert during the pantomime involving the National Anthem we had developed for the pre-show, and they stuck with us to the end, even though the bar next door was presenting Major Porn Star, Tom Chase of Colt, for the Edification of our Southern Decadence Weekend Visitors.

I went and took a peek. He had nothing on three of the guys in my cast* - and he was shorter. Plus, he needed a microphone to be heard!

I was just so appreciative of the fact that my actors finally had the audience they deserved.

*Write me and I'll tell you who they are.

Post Natal Depression Is Real

We opened Take Me Out last night, and I realize I have no knowledge of how to read an audience. Or maybe I do and just don't want to admit it to myself. A lot of the people who were there were friends of mine who politely shied away from me without making comments during intermissions and at the end.

I'm wondering today if most of the audience had an inkling of what the play was about before coming to the show. I'm thinking they might have thought it would be a frivolous comedy with lots of naked men prancing around.

It actually requires thought and a knowledge of the English language beyond fifth grade.

At least I didn't use my real name as director.

Before the show, while speaking with the house manager, I asked, "Do I really need to carry that walkie-talkie around with me again tonight?"

And he said, "Actually, no. Your work is done."

That hurt. As much as I've been writing about how this development was inevitable, it hurt.

Poor me, baby needs a hug.

Fuckin' Google

As you can see, I've changed my blog format. In doing so I lost all my previous Haloscan comments, which I now discover cannot be restored in this new version of Blogger.

I feel as if I've cut off all my friends. I did export all previous comments until such a day that Blogger develops the capability to import such things..

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
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