So, I recently went to a little pilot-program conference attended by those with similar jobs to mine. A select few: there were about thirty of us from across the country all holed up in the giant arts center of the town where I was born.
It was kinda amazing to be there and focused (and getting paid and sleeping in a king-size bed in a hotel room all to myself...although it made me wonder about arts funding in a new way...) and all, y'know, communal with folk, but it was also kinda a huge pain in the ass. As in: apparently I am afflicted with Girl Who Already Read the Book Syndrome wherever I go. Yep, ASS and GWARBS make for some frustrating times when sitting in a flourescent room with no windows with a bunch of people all talking art and education for twelve hours. (See also that one of the presenting organizations was yet another style-specific group with no sense of irreverance--aka The Baaaaaaaarrrrrrhhhddd...except for that one guy whose actual name, but not quite, was "Guy Cherub.")
Okay, so one of the nights when I'd pretty much had it I went and had dinner by myself at an Italian restaurant near the hotel. I took along some children's lit (that I'll be directing this summer) about five little Jewish girls growing up on the Upper East Side in the early 1900's.
I sat down in the very crowded bar, ordered a gin and tonic and started reading. (Such sweet elixir did I then partake.) I was wedged between two people and across from three others, but it didn't prevent my enjoyment of manicotti and a nice red wine...and continued reading of said literature. Every once in awhile I'd look up because, duh, I have ASS and because I like making up conversations for the people around me (a la Harriet the Spy...though she drank egg creams). I kept catching the eye of this one sweatered-dude, but figured it was just conincidence.
Nope. Eventually he came up to me and said "So, I've got to know: what book is keeping you so engrossed in such a crowded place?" I showed him the cover of the book and told him the title. He wasn't swayed at all. Apparently, reading children's books in a crowded bar all by yourself is HOTT.
He left and I continued reading and eating. After awhile, the server brought me another glass of wine: "from the gentleman in the corner."
Uh oh.
Okay, now, to be fair, I've noticed that such drink offerings are far more common in places not Our Fair City. And often it's just being nice. But, hmmm. Also, that glass of wine would make for three glasses of wine plus that gin-and-tonic. I let it sit there and continued reading. (Except for some quick text messaging to appropriate folk.)
After awhile sweater man came over, with his coat on. I thanked him for the wine.
SM: Oh, I just wanted to apologize for bothering you earlier.
Ida: Oh, well, that's all right.
SM: So, I'm here for a dental convention...
Uh oh.
Turns out that he'd been lecturing on laser maxillofacial surgery. And had the guy who provided the lasers with him. Just as I'd decided that didn't sound as leer-worthy as it seemed, he came out with this:
SM: Were you ever a dancer? Because I really noticed your hands and neck.
Alarum.
After he left, I ate an ENORMOUS piece of cake and drank the glass of wine. Back in my hotel room, my watching of Law and Order: SVU was much enhanced.
Both of my shows are open now. I find that I've been a bit starey this morning shifting from having rehearsal first thing to having some quiet time first thing (although it's right back to rehearsal tomorrow: understudies).
This show is an absolute delight...and not just from my perspective. It doesn't hurt that my sister wrote amazing music for it and that Mrs. Culver and Mrs. Wright made costumes and lights that make everything and everybody look, well, freaking awesome. Oh, and the script is good and funny and and and...just please go see it.
The other show is also pretty entertaining, but the thing that keeps getting me down is how t e d i o u s the organization is about, well, everything. It's not that they don't like what I've been doing, but everybody on the admin/artistic side is just so gloomy in energy and begins comments with things like "I'd like to see more here with the actors playing to their objectives." Um, that's not really a useful comment. An empty comment, sure. A comment that might have actual meaning buried in it somewhere were it explained further, sure. A comment that...oh, why even try. Because what we're really talking about here is what is up with organizations who produce in just one specific style being so afraid of their own style that they have no sense of humor about it? Criminy! And I'm not cutting the knife prop.
Back to the other show: right now for Superbowl Sunday we have two tickets in pre-sale. That's 2-to-NOTHING! Homecourt advantage!!!
In other news: whose baby will be born first? There are sure a'plenty at the starting blocks...
All that good-good art-art stuff is totally true, but it is happening at the same time as a variety of things that prove there is lava under the surface.
For example, today, while attacking the stacked peninsulas that make up our apartment, I came across a check from work that I had not yet deposited.
From August.
And its amount is in no way insubstantial.
It's almost like finding a twenty-dollar bill in every pair of pants I've owned in my adult life all at once.
Except that instead of cash it is just one single piece of paper.
One measly piece of paper.
P a p e r .
iTunes totally thought that the cd that Erin gave me, containing the marimba accompaniment to Johnny Cash's "The Beast in Me" and arranged, played, and recorded by Erin herself, was...
The Bee Gees "How Deep is Your Love."
For 2006, I've taken on the practice of grounding myself. So far I have done this for one full day (last Saturday) and one partial day (yesterday). The results? I was pretty cheery over the course of three meetings last Sunday and today I'm perfectly calm about an impending Q-to-Q.
I think I'm going to have to change my semantics, though: it doesn't really seem appropriate to equate responsible awareness of one's health with childhood punishments.
In other news, I'm directing two shows right now that open on the same day. This is only possible because one of them is a touring show and rehearses/performs during school hours and the other is evening rehearsals/weekend performances.
When do these shows open? Friday, January 27th. Am I going to Denver for a conference January 18-22? Why, yes, how did you know to ask? Does going to said conference seem like, well, a bad idea given that both shows open six days after I return from an absence of five days?
Not exactly.
Because I planned ahead!
Some of this planning ahead is in relation to how available rehearsal days were scheduled, but, more importantly, the best planning ahead really has everything to do with the other people who are involved in both of these projects. The touring show invovles six actors (3 in the main cast; 3 understudies) who are equally easy-going, work outside of rehearsal and are freaking funny...and have remained so even though the 17-page script includes no fewer than 39 characters.
The evening show has an incredibly supportive production team, including the cheeriest stage manager, my very own sister (who gave us hand-written sheet music, woot!) and the esteemed Mrs. Culver...who is also making my wedding dress.
Oh, right. The wedding. (My wedding!)
None of these shows would be possible for me to do concurrently if they weren't part of my dayjob. (Add to those two shows two student playwriting projects and 2-3 residencies per month.) After they open, I've got two more pre-wedding directing projects and two post-wedding directing projects.
And not one of these projects is something that I'll be doing grudgingly. If writing, directing, and teaching were not my dayjob I'm pretty sure I would be unable to function in either work or social settings.
I don't have any insurance...but I'm getting married and that sure counts for more than love. (Although I'm bursting with that fruity pulp, let me tell you.)
(Don't worry: there are plenty of things that completely suck ass. This morning is just one of reflective perspective on why the ass-sucking is worth the risk.)
Post Q-to-Q UPDATE: one of the things that completely sucks ass is my set designer, who either says nothing at all or "it'll be done when it's done." The rest of the team gets gold stars; I get beer and chocolate on the couch.