Last night, Initials and I went to the local concert on the square. It always sounds more fun than it ends up being, mostly because there's an estimated attendance of 20,000 sitting down on the lawn of the Capitol, and out of the 20,000, there's usually about 10,000 persnickety old couples, 9,000 parents with unruly kids, and 1,000 couples on dates, out of which maybe there are 20 guys worth a second look, 50 if you include the DILFs.
Various friends ended up falling ill and/or failed to pick up their goddamn cell phones when we called to remind them, so it ended up just being Initials, his foreign friend, and me, dining on stuffed tomatoes, vegetable quiche, arugula/mozzarella/prosciutto/fig salad and my sugar-nutmeg cookies. Yes, we are gay. Very gay.
Unfortunately, all of that fey food led to a swarm of mosquitoes hanging out and dining on our supple homosexual blood, and Initials bolted across the street to pick up some bug spray just as the concert was about to start.
He comes back twenty minutes later favoring his right arm, with a busted lip and a bag of ice which I then proceded to put into plastic bag for his elbow. Being a gentleman, he told us the story as succintly as possible, how he tripped over a short barricade while he was trying to cut through a flower patch on the way to the store, trying not to disturb the annoying couple behind us who kept shushing us, who went so far as to summon a volunteer to reprimand us.
Fortunately, the volunteer took a look at Initials' arm and snapped at the old couple "His arm is broken, so give him a break." It was nice that she took our side, but also sucked that Initials' suspicions were correct: he broke his right arm.
It was about intermission by this point, so we cut out and headed to the doctor. Thank goodness I brought a book, because the tv in the waiting room was showing a marathon of House of Payne and the only other people in the waiting room were black and loving that show, even going so far as to give me sass when I rolled my eyes when the fat saucy black woman told a skinnier saucy black woman that "You look like you're about to do a commercial for Dark and Ugly" while jutting her head to the right and making a motion with her right arm while snapping and the 'studio audience' laughed for thirty seconds.
And now Initials is in a sling for the next six weeks, and not the fun kind of sling, but instead the type of sling that is going to make me in charge of all of the cooking, cleaning, driving, all of the housewife verbs for the rest of the summer.
Lame.
June 26, 2008
June 24, 2008
Ugh
For the company picnic yesterday evening, someone got it into their head that a kickball game would be good times. Thinking back, of course it sounded like good times. Kickball was the best part of recess, the only sports game that I was pretty good at. I was good at kicking and catching and rarely had to run, and about half of the time I spent standing in line waiting to kick, talking about the Spice Girls or that week's episode of Saved By the Bell.
Unfortunately, the evening was a bust. Or at least the game was. Either everyone was in much better shape as a kid, or we are all ridiculously out of shape now. I sprained my thumb, got kicked in the shin, and did something to my knee which makes me really annoyed to take the stairs now. Initials didn't fare well either, twisting his ankle and getting his first asthma attack in a long time,as well as falling asleep almost as soon as we got back to his place.
Of course, it wasn't all our fault for being out of shape. We played kickball on the grass, which was very slippery, and the ball sprang a leak after the second inning, so it was covered in duct tape while we finished the game. The mosquitos were out in full force too, so half of the night was spent swatting those stupid bitches.
At least our team won.
Because it's been a while, here's a new muxtape for everyone, songs about dancing.
Unfortunately, the evening was a bust. Or at least the game was. Either everyone was in much better shape as a kid, or we are all ridiculously out of shape now. I sprained my thumb, got kicked in the shin, and did something to my knee which makes me really annoyed to take the stairs now. Initials didn't fare well either, twisting his ankle and getting his first asthma attack in a long time,as well as falling asleep almost as soon as we got back to his place.
Of course, it wasn't all our fault for being out of shape. We played kickball on the grass, which was very slippery, and the ball sprang a leak after the second inning, so it was covered in duct tape while we finished the game. The mosquitos were out in full force too, so half of the night was spent swatting those stupid bitches.
At least our team won.
Because it's been a while, here's a new muxtape for everyone, songs about dancing.
June 17, 2008
Whining
The old theatre adage goes, bad dress rehearsal, good opening night. And since our play is certainly near the top in terms of the 11 short plays, our dress rehearsal was a bit...spotty. The story of dress rehearsal certainly isn't the only reason why returning to the stage hasn't been as fun as I would like, but it is certainly indicative of the reasons why.
But it wasn't our fault. It was the stage managers.
There is a cast of about 25 people, and a green room that only has space for about 15. It's right next to the theatre, and it shares an air conditioning vent, so the cast has to stay more or less completely silent during the show, and it gets really hot and stuffy and cramped. I usually bring a book and hang out with the smokers up by the back entrance, taking advantage of the smoking breaks allotted because it's socially acceptable for theatre people to have really ugly lungs.
At any rate, during the intermission during dress rehearsal, I waited in line to use the one bathroom available to the cast, who were only allowed to use it inbetween acts because the flush can be heard in the audience. As I was unzipping in the bathroom, I heard the call for "five minutes" until the second act starts, and then, while still in mid-stream I heard the call for "places," which is what the stage manager says when there is about 30 seconds before the lights go out to let the actors know to ready themselves. By the time I was out of the restroom, the lights were out on stage and the transition music was nearing the last few measures. I had to run out onstage, missing my cue (which opened the act) and leaving me flustered throughout the show, and led both me and my costar to rush through the entire act.
After our show, our stage manager apologized for not knowing how to read the watch on his cell phone properly, and our director came backstage and gave us notes, most of which revolved around slowing the fuck down.
The director went back to watch the rest of the shorts, and my costar burst into tears. He started whining about how unprofessional it was for our director give us notes in front of other people, especially notes using "that tone," how he has an MFA in acting and that our director barely has half of the theatre experience that he does, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with our performance, and blah blah blah. He could be heard, via the air ducts, into the theatre, ruining the next short play after us (which was one of the really bad ones, so it was no real loss). The real loss came from Initials, our director, and mine planned tryst after the rehearsal, for which he was no longer in the mood.
I didn't cry, because, well, it was a bad run and we needed the notes. I dropped off my props, grabbed my book, and headed up to the smoker's den to finish my book.
And now, because the cast doesn't believe me that I took the notes in stride, everyone treats me on eggshells, placing warm hands on my shoulders and asking "How are you, really?". Which, if you know me, makes me more standoffish All of their ugly ones have stepped up their flirting attempts, using bitching at the director as an attempt to get on my good side, but since I'm sleeping with the director, it doesn't do them much good.
And there you have it. Inexperienced theatre tech people, crappy location, annoying costar, fat old guys trying to hit on me. It all adds up to a less-than-positive theatre experience.
And I didn't even mention the lesbians.
But it wasn't our fault. It was the stage managers.
There is a cast of about 25 people, and a green room that only has space for about 15. It's right next to the theatre, and it shares an air conditioning vent, so the cast has to stay more or less completely silent during the show, and it gets really hot and stuffy and cramped. I usually bring a book and hang out with the smokers up by the back entrance, taking advantage of the smoking breaks allotted because it's socially acceptable for theatre people to have really ugly lungs.
At any rate, during the intermission during dress rehearsal, I waited in line to use the one bathroom available to the cast, who were only allowed to use it inbetween acts because the flush can be heard in the audience. As I was unzipping in the bathroom, I heard the call for "five minutes" until the second act starts, and then, while still in mid-stream I heard the call for "places," which is what the stage manager says when there is about 30 seconds before the lights go out to let the actors know to ready themselves. By the time I was out of the restroom, the lights were out on stage and the transition music was nearing the last few measures. I had to run out onstage, missing my cue (which opened the act) and leaving me flustered throughout the show, and led both me and my costar to rush through the entire act.
After our show, our stage manager apologized for not knowing how to read the watch on his cell phone properly, and our director came backstage and gave us notes, most of which revolved around slowing the fuck down.
The director went back to watch the rest of the shorts, and my costar burst into tears. He started whining about how unprofessional it was for our director give us notes in front of other people, especially notes using "that tone," how he has an MFA in acting and that our director barely has half of the theatre experience that he does, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with our performance, and blah blah blah. He could be heard, via the air ducts, into the theatre, ruining the next short play after us (which was one of the really bad ones, so it was no real loss). The real loss came from Initials, our director, and mine planned tryst after the rehearsal, for which he was no longer in the mood.
I didn't cry, because, well, it was a bad run and we needed the notes. I dropped off my props, grabbed my book, and headed up to the smoker's den to finish my book.
And now, because the cast doesn't believe me that I took the notes in stride, everyone treats me on eggshells, placing warm hands on my shoulders and asking "How are you, really?". Which, if you know me, makes me more standoffish All of their ugly ones have stepped up their flirting attempts, using bitching at the director as an attempt to get on my good side, but since I'm sleeping with the director, it doesn't do them much good.
And there you have it. Inexperienced theatre tech people, crappy location, annoying costar, fat old guys trying to hit on me. It all adds up to a less-than-positive theatre experience.
And I didn't even mention the lesbians.
June 16, 2008
Free speech means the right to shout 'theatre' in a crowded fire.
--Abbie Hoffman
The more astute readers of this blog might remember that a few weeks ago I mentioned that I was in a play. Or rather, I mentioned a return to my great school love of community theatre, seeing as how I was a whore for performing on the stage. By the time I graduated from high school, I had been in 105 different productions, including school plays.
Yes, those of you who are good at math are working out the numbers correctly. There were times when I was in two or three plays at a time, and rarely a time when I wasn't in a play at all. I give one example of this, second semester of 7th grade, if only to show the ridiculousness and what an attention whore I was, and what understanding parents I had, who loved to drive halfway across town more often than not.
During the days, I would leave school and travel around to local elementary schools in Colors, where the cast were crayons and everyone learned that problems get solved faster if all of the colors worked together, even the crayons that no one ever uses, like white. Immedately after school, I would rehearse for the school play Pollyana, wherein I played Dr. Chilton. Rehearsals for the school play ended at 5, and after eating a bagged dinner I would start rehearsals for Peter Pan at 5:30, where I played one of the Lost Boys. I was one of the twins, but I can't remember which one. Also at the time I was involved in a weekly radio show put on by the local Childrens Museum. No wonder I turned out gay, right?
At any rate, I was a theatre whore, trying out and performing in some real doozies. But at some point after high school, I grew really sick of theatre, or more specifically, theatre people. I took one intro to theatre class in college and hated it immensely, and the plays I saw oncampus left me cold. I had pretty much given up theatre and kind of assumed it was just a phase that I grew out of.
But, you know, I'm fickle and I like the attention, and our threesome buddy was asked to direct a short play in a series of short plays for a local theatre company within walking distance of my place. And he promised me a role in his play. It was just a 15 minute short, one of out 11 that the company was putting on. Plus, it'd be nice to make some new friends, seeing as how most of my friends have graduated and gone back to home, or gone on to great jobs. And Initials friends are all kind of losers.
And I tried out, and was loved by all at the auditions, where I was offered roles in 5 out of the 11 shows, pretty much all that offered a part for a guy in his mid twenties.
Unfortunately, too many people tried out for the show, and the bitch producer decided that there were parts for everyone who tried out, no matter how bad the audition was. And so I was only in one play, directed by our threesome buddy.
Out of 11 plays, there are three that are solid, four that are pretty good but go on for too long, two that are pretty bad but they have their moments, and two so bad that it's painful to sit through them. Not to brag, but my play is one of the three solid ones.
As a whole, though, I'm not planning on trying out for another play for a long time. At least not through this theatre company.
I'll save the reasons why I hate performing in this show until tomorrow, because everyone looks forward to whiny blog posts!
June 10, 2008
Cody
So I was flipping through the stations this morning when I noticed that there were two really cute guys on the Today show.
Imagine my surprise when I find out that it's Kathy Lee Gifford's son, Cody, and his best friend, who stopped by to talk to his mom who recently took over the third hour of the Today show. Or maybe the fourth hour. There's a lot of the Today show lately.
I felt so old and creepy when I realized who it was. He just turned 18, so I don't have to feel creepy in that sense, but I have to feel creepy in the sense that I remember watching Live with Regis and Kathy Lee and listening to her talk about potty training him and bedwetting problems and all types of things that I bet he's really embarassed about now. And now he's totally cute.
I feel old.
I have to head out to work now, so I don't have time to find a pic to upload yet, but I'll try to update at some point today with a pic of him in his full 18-year old legal glory. And then you guys can feel creepy too.
Imagine my surprise when I find out that it's Kathy Lee Gifford's son, Cody, and his best friend, who stopped by to talk to his mom who recently took over the third hour of the Today show. Or maybe the fourth hour. There's a lot of the Today show lately.
I felt so old and creepy when I realized who it was. He just turned 18, so I don't have to feel creepy in that sense, but I have to feel creepy in the sense that I remember watching Live with Regis and Kathy Lee and listening to her talk about potty training him and bedwetting problems and all types of things that I bet he's really embarassed about now. And now he's totally cute.
I feel old.
I have to head out to work now, so I don't have time to find a pic to upload yet, but I'll try to update at some point today with a pic of him in his full 18-year old legal glory. And then you guys can feel creepy too.
June 6, 2008
When the Cat is Away, the Mice Will Play
So Initials is out of town for the weekend, at some Hawaiian-themed lesbian wedding in Pennsylvania. The brides are wearing matching floral shirts, and they are going to exchange rings and leis, and rumor has it that someone is trying to work out the wedding march on a ukulele. I'm incredibly glad I have rehearsal this weekend and couldn't join him.
It's the local jazz festival this weekend, out on the terrace, with the bands playing overlooking the lake, and beer is really cheap, and this week's rain showers have stopped and there's a strong breeze from the lake so all of the women know better than to wear skirts unless they want to imitate Marilyn Monroe and last night with some friends we sat at the table right behind the guy who I wrote this poem and it totally made my night. I kept wanting to make eye contact and I'm pretty sure he saw me and recognized me but he didn't do anything but then again I didn't do anything and besides, I don't know what I really expected anyway. I at least wanted to be asked or given an awkward hello, even if he was sitting with a big group of obviously straight, football-watching manly men.
I need practice when it comes to interactions with cute boys. Or at least a refresher course. I don't want to get rusty just because I have a boyfriend. I haven't been prepositioned in forever and that's just unacceptable.
Or at least I want someone to post a Craigslist Missed Connection for me when I go back for tonight's free concerts. Is that too much to ask?
It's the local jazz festival this weekend, out on the terrace, with the bands playing overlooking the lake, and beer is really cheap, and this week's rain showers have stopped and there's a strong breeze from the lake so all of the women know better than to wear skirts unless they want to imitate Marilyn Monroe and last night with some friends we sat at the table right behind the guy who I wrote this poem and it totally made my night. I kept wanting to make eye contact and I'm pretty sure he saw me and recognized me but he didn't do anything but then again I didn't do anything and besides, I don't know what I really expected anyway. I at least wanted to be asked or given an awkward hello, even if he was sitting with a big group of obviously straight, football-watching manly men.
I need practice when it comes to interactions with cute boys. Or at least a refresher course. I don't want to get rusty just because I have a boyfriend. I haven't been prepositioned in forever and that's just unacceptable.
Or at least I want someone to post a Craigslist Missed Connection for me when I go back for tonight's free concerts. Is that too much to ask?
June 4, 2008
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