"Like the cartoon--'I will hug him and squeeze him and name him George.'"
The fifteen-year-old actor stared at me blankly. She'd never heard of nor seen the classic Looney Tunes abominable snowman bit. I thought for a minute and took location into considertaion.
"Do you know Of Mice and Men."
"Yeah."
"Lennie. Like Lennie and the puppy."
"Oh!"
I should point out here that I've never actually read Of Mice and Men, but after the conversation, her character was delightful.
It's, like, totally hard to treat a play seriously that includes as much absolute drama in it as the little 15-minute play I'm directing for the little festival this year. Imagine the scenario: girlfriend and boyfriend end a little conversation with love, boyfriend gets on bus and buys non-gateway drug, boyfriend OD's at band practice, funeral is attended by girlfriend and drugdealer, girlfriend hooks up with drug dealer, drug dealer reveals his secret, girlfriend hugs a stuffed drug reference.
The script includes the stage direction "blood pours from his eyes." (Flamingbanjo provided word from John Galt that such bleeding is a no go.)
The script we used last night surprised me by including a scene in which the girlfriend is talking to her psychiatrist. Why a surprise? Well, because I totally assumed that the hard copy I had and the e-copy the playwright sent me were the same. Met non!
Please, everyone, do not encourage the inclusion of nor include for yourself a scene in which a patient is talking to their therapist. It makes blood pour from my eyes.
Let's hear it for my cast--they've injected some sweet little moments into the play already. Let's double hear it for my cast as I accidentally started blocking the play when my original intent was more general music stands. (Said cast includes flamingbanjo, Mothra, The Baron, and Meow).
And now I'm off to rejoin my much shorter students to attend a play which features gun closets, medicine cabinets, and near death by car exhaust.
So far I have broken the lip of one jar of bubble bath and replaced one lightbulb in Ian's apartment. As I'm pretty sure that covers the good luck/bad luck variety of guest decorum, remaining plans for the day including walking in the park, fist shaking at a cell-phone company (Ian's), a yarn store, and new pants for everyone!
And wouldn't you just know it, there are three accessible wi-fi networks right from this here living room chair. I'm on "Mulva."
I'm having difficulty focusing. Could be that my nose is peeling, could be that I'm sitting at a desk not my own, could be that trying to cut a 2-hour script down to 35 minutes is, uh, mind-boggling. Plot be damned!
Or it could be that I'm leaving at midnight tonight for a quick trip to New York. Why? Well, kinda just because. I decided awhile ago that whenever I had time off I was going to go somewhere and so far that's worked quite well. This time around I'll be visiting my brother, looking at Gates in Central Park and--this is the unlikely part--spending some time with my dad.
My dad is going to Africa for two weeks next week to help create irrigation systems. (No, not on the entire continent, but I can't remember exactly where because I am a big dodo.) Originally, we wouldn't have been in town at the same time, but, due to some visa issues, I get to spend time with both my brother and my dad...and probably eat much better.
Also, I'm not taking anything with me except books and underwear. After having no luggage when we were in New Hampshire, I decided that this trip would include planned purchase of clothing to wear while there, particularly since the Pants of 33 have not yet made themselves known to me.
But, knowing me, I'll start feeling guilty about the difference between my dad's plan and my plan and instead of buying pants and a shirt I'll end up purchasing a party dress.
fifth graders, autism, a melodica, a glockenspiel, teenagers, shadow figures, holy cows, preschoolers, a wind wand, little bells, Japanese, a baritone ukulele, hand held mirrors, grown-ups, space issues, funding issues, sunshine, laundry, reading, calendar, planning, teeth.
One of these days, pow, right in the kisser.
(All in all, all is well.)