Saturday, May 26, 2007

I didn't make it to the play.

Parker, living up to his reputation for tending to take things just a tad too far:

I mean, why break one arm when you can break TWO?

Thursday, May 24, 2007

A Blast From the Past

Got an email from a theatre friend of long ago, whom I haven't seen in many years.

In 1990-ish we did a very cool show together at LTOB. Moonlight Daring Us To Go Insane was written by E. Eugene Baldwin (a friend of Rene's), and premiered at Chicago's Body Politic Theater in 1987. Rene talked LTOB into adding it to their 1989-90 season and the playwright even came from Chicago to see our production. (Geez, that sounded so "Waiting for Guffman"-ish.)

We had a great ensemble in that show. Rene directed, and the cast included (back row): Michael Schacherbauer, Di Felice, Don Roberts, Lisa Sharf, (middle row): Doug Shafer, Ed Meade, me, Mikey Day, John Falkenbach, (front row): Cyndi Meade, Linda May (oh, I miss Linda).

Moonlight was one of those great theatre experiences that you find difficult to explain to people later. All I know is that there were moments in that show. Rare moments when the actors and the audience disappeared together -- when the play was lost and there was just one single soul in all the world. At the risk of sounding a bit "emo" (stay with me on the hip lingo people), it was - magical.

Geez, I have a tendency to uh, get off track.


My old friend from the show emailed me about a play he's directing and he asked me to be a part of it. Of course I'm thrilled. AND... at least two or three others from Moonlight are part of it, too - including Rene. It can't get better than this, I tell you! It just can't!

And I didn't have to audition, which is good. I used to go into an audition - any audition - and pull off a brilliant performance (even if I didn't really care about getting a role or even if every role in the show was completely wrong for me). And I never got nervous; not even just a wee bit nervous.

But after all these years away, I can't quite do that anymore. For Cuckoo's Nest my audition totally sucked; I know there had to be people wondering what the hell Rene was thinking when he cast me (shit, I was thinking that, too). And I've been to auditions here and there since then and I just cannot seem to keep my nerves intact and get my brain in sync with my body, heart, and soul. I sort of watch myself on stage as if I'm an audience member. I don't feel, I don't think, I don't experience a thing. I just stand there auditioning - detached - just watching myself and reciting lines. Ugh.

I'm off track again. Geez.

So, here's to old friends, new projects, and a respite from auditions!

I have a date with Gail tomorrow night; we're going out to Curtain to see our dear friend Tim B. in Lanford Wilson's Book of Days.

Life is good.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

A nice way of saying...

When I started my blog I vowed I'd never ever post photos of my children, under the full realization that people usually don't find pictures of other people's no-neck monsters quite as adorable as the mothers of those no-neck monsters do.

Well, so much for personal integrity. What the hell.

I'm positng a couple photos of my middle son, Parker. He's seven. And he's killing me.

But, just look at him.

Parker is so much like me when I was his age: full of energy (that's a nice way of saying he's completely hyper), sensitive (that's a nice way of saying he's a bit dramatic), and always pushing, pushing, pushing everything to the limit (I suppose that's a nice way of saying he's a little shithead).

But geez, just look at that face...

Last week Parker had his first experience with what the principal called an "alternative learning environment" (which is a nice way of saying he was in "In School Suspension").

Yessirreee, my kid was sent to lockup in the principal's office for an entire day. First grade.

Apparently they don't take kindly to his fondness for throwing rocks on the playground. The kid's got a hell of an arm, what can I say?

What concerns me is not the fact that he threw a few rocks on the playground (he assures me it was all a big misunderstanding), but the fact that the kid is in the freakin' first grade and he's already done hard time. I mean, the kid's got got another eleven years until he graduates! What's next? Water balloons? Cutting class? Passing notes? Kissing behind the dumpster? Oy! Eleven years! He doesn't graduate until 2019!

(Which is a nice way of saying: I'm totally and completely screwed.)