Then, Onto Serious Matters…

Beethoven in the background.

…I’ve just finished beating the hell outta my giant pink-bubble-gum Pilates ball, (with some added Yoga), and am celebrating my efforts with a heavy-handed homemade margarita that tastes about 200 proof.

…I am not a greener, you guys.  If I’m expected to work out, there must be some give and take, here. 

Besides…I already did like a five mile beach walk today at Point Defiance.  Plus rehearsal.  Plus walked the mall.  So it’s not like I haven’t earned this five-stiff-drinks-in-one.

An excellent day off.

Slept until 10:30 (which is totally unheard of, especially where cramping is concerned.)

…Lazed about a bit, regrouped over coffee, motored to mall to get nails done while watching Streep be magnificent in “Devil Wears Prada” in the background.  Then: did some summer shirt-shopping, off to beach-walk, had a sandwich, did lines and scene work at rehearsal, and beat it over to Barnes and Noble, till they kicked me out.

Home to working out with the giant pink-bubble-gum ball…to the tunes of Glenn Miller.  (It totally works, and makes it all a lot less horrible.)

…Debated more De Profundis.  Decided to blog first. 

…Beethoven selected. 

After all that lightness and air and incidental flippancy, I want a little more  grounded heft. 

I like heft.

I love Beethoven.

I blame him (almost exclusively) for my total closet devotion to doomed unrequited love stories.

…Well, him and the Brontes.

…But, still.

Sometimes you just need some background yearning.

…He also makes me want to “make” something.  Mostly, write. He makes me want to push aside these trivial little blog posts I’ve been devoted to for nigh onto a year now, and make something really legitimate.  Something dark or irksome or  full of complications.  Not even in content, even just in sentence structure, and thought process.  Haven’t done that in so long, I’ve forgotten how.

…But then I’ll hear the beginning of a movement…and I’ll see the picture of thought he paints instantly in my brain.  And how immediate the feelings follow it, and how personal and intimate it becomes.  And I start to remember how much I loved writing like that.  As if it mattered.  Not just for a lark.

…Back when it was about “content” not just daily requirement.

Art comes in so many varieties.  And the influence of one on another, is like a waterfall affect with me. 

De Profundis…such a serious text and consideration on the responsibilities of what it means to be an “artist” and the accountability that comes with it, is obviously pushing me in that mindset as well.  Delving into Oscar by day, in all his ridiculous and delicious glory, then investing in his darker side at night, is this whole new combining experience that makes me want to explore the same in my own little creationary world.

…There is obviously room for both. 

So, tonight is Beethoven, and some prose maybe.

Supremely rusty on that bent, but it’ll come back to me.

One hopes.

Off for a try at least…

~D

Hello, From Vacation

I have traveled to “Vacation” since last we met, and it is very fine here. 

…They serve post-rehearsal margaritas (and laughs) for free.

It’s this whole package deal they have.

I’m on a 4-day hiatus from the day-job, as stipulated by the Boss. He has never (in six years) stipulated that I take time off on purpose.  And this is only because the clouds of impending doom are just there on the horizon…we can all smell the sales storm coming…so he figured he’d force both me and the WHS Pimp to take time off while we can, in view of the fact that we may not survive the summer to the next winter death knoll.

Makes sense, I suppose.

Either way: here I sit. 

…Much like I would on ANY night (come to think on it)…just as late, just as behind on the blogging, brain just as full of lines and blocking as ever.  Only difference is that tomorrow I get to make it my “profession” to be a person of leisure.  And I get to say “profession” as I will be getting paid to do it.  Whatever the “it” might contain. 

…Possibly a Grand movie (for I miss it…not that I even know what the hell is playing.)  Possibly a bookstore visit (because I haven’t got enough things to read as it is, or anything.)  Possibly an out-of-town field trip (location: unknown.)

…As long as my sober body is at the rehearsal by 7PM tomorrow, I am my own mistress of mischief.

…I only wish I was privately funded as well.

In Other News: Back when I was supposed to be sleeping across last night and early morning, but couldn’t (thanks to Mrs. Johnson), I indulged in a little downloaded “Wilde,” the bio film with everyone and their mother in it.  I had forgotten how many of my absolute favs were a part of it.  And often in cameos, at that. I can’t say it was exactly “delightful,” but the frequent one-liner Wildeisms gave many a snickering relief to the drama…and if there is a more perfect person to portray the great Irish wit than Stephen Fry, I call “Bollocks” on it!

…Plus, everyone was so damn young! 

…Jude Law is at his absolute MOST beautiful, no one even knows who Ioan Gruffudd is as yet, Michael Sheen is still baby-faced (even with the moustache), Judy Parfitt is decades from becoming a St. Raymond’s mainstay in “Midwives,” Jennifer Ehle looks about 18 years old (though she is 2 years past her famously delicious Lizzy Bennet phase), and Redgrave, Jones, Wanamaker and Wilkinson round out the parents and intimates, in a casting wet-dream of ridiculous pedigree.

A hard “watch” for content, but a classic in natural flow of the Wildean ways.

…Also started reading “De Profundis” the other night.  Tough stuff.  Very raw.  Very intimate.  Keep taking breaks only because I feel such an overwhelming sense of reading someone’s diary when I shouldn’t be.  Quite a statement, and self-account, and accusatory testament. The harshness of his self critique, and what he felt as a disloyalty to art and work and the finer aspirations in life, for a love affair…(or obsession, however you might choose to see it)…all in retrospect.  Makes some of his most famous of lines, so poignant, behind the scenes of their actual creation.

“There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.”

…Indeed.

~D

Caught, With Nothin’ But The Towel

So this has never ever happened before in the history of me:

Am minding my own business at work today, when from out of absolutely nowhere (and I do mean “nowhere”), Mrs. Johnson shows up with her usual bag of luggage, for her usual extended stay.

…Problem is, she was like six days early.

SIX.

…And she is NEVER early. 

She’s never BEEN early. 

In fact, she has a widely known reputation for being late more often than even on time.

At all.

…But what is even MORE curious is that “stealth” has never been her major talent.  In fact, she blows at it.  She sorta travels with a full fucking brass band, (if you get my drift)…so pretty much everyone around has more than a general idea that she is about to show up in town.

One can frankly hear her coming from Duluth.

…And yet: there I was.  For the first time EVER: caught totally by surprise.

Of course, being a woman, I’m never TOTALLY without the necessities of life.  Not the essential ones, anyway…

…That it, until I realized that this early visit of was NOT going to be ushered in without the usual pain and agony, as well. Only, “delayed.”

…And I didn’t have any of the drugs that I needed…

…Although, a Migraine Advil was this close to being shot back anyway…

…Cuz even undercover, Mrs. Johnson is a gigantic pain.

Literally.

…But emergency pills were obtained in time.

…And I took them.

…And now I’m trying to coax some appetite out with the old Jewish custom of mac-n-cheese and cheeto-puffs. 

(That is not really a Jewish custom, only it seems to work most of the time when nothing, but nothing, sounds good, and I just wanna roll into a ball and complain a lot.)

I don’t really have time for that right now.

…We have the final scene of the show to block tonight.

…Well, maybe just a “little” ball-rolling.

The annotated version.

(Which I am usually adamantly against.  In book form.  But in dealings with “pain,” I’m all for it.)

So I’ll go do a little of that now, then.

And afterwards: try and eat something so I don’t pass out.

Right!

Where’s my pillow?!

(stomp! stomp! stomp!)

~D

Post-Rehearsal Coitus

Am absolutely buzzing from tonight’s first off-book rehearsal, on Act 1 and parts of 2.

…As Mdm Director noted: There were an insane amount of exceedingly complicated lines, running through the thought bubbles popping out of our heads, and following us about the stage as we strategized sex and manners and conversation…like fucking CHAMPIONS!

…Also: we laughed.

We laughed a LOT.

Mostly we managed to stick it together when it really counted, but good god this show is funny, and these people are funny, and even the accidents and line-calls: are funny.

…Terribly good bonding.

And now…I am wired.

I want to DO something.

Instead, all this excess of joyous yummy-feeling, is seated on the couch, punching away at my blog post, with a little picnic of sorts laid out and waiting for me to finish so I can tuck into some more words of Wilde, and a little delectable treat.

…Of course, I’ve started the wine already.  But it was poured out and just sitting there, so what ELSE is one to do in such situations?

Never waste what your scene partner is giving to you.

…My current scene partner is a glass full of wine.

Challenge: accepted.

…Also TWO consecutive dates of cast-meets for bonding and chats have been secured for post-rehearsal this week. 

…And our Merriman brought in Bourbon-Chocolate Butter-Cream Cupcakes at 9pm.

…Which (in retrospect) might ALSO have something to do with why I am so wired right now.

(A full cup of bourbon to the batter. Just. Do. It.  I’m telling you.)

…And now, as I take another sip, I contemplate on if this is a sizable enough post to call it a day, and move on to more treats.

…Not that I don’t think you’re delicious, too.

Because I do.

…Just as tempting as the Butter-Cream.

And I’m being completely sincere.

Have you SEEN “you?” 

Exquisite, my dear!

~D

If The Boat Sinks, Just Use Your Hat

Tentatively off book, and blocked the second to the final scene tonight.

Tomorrow brings on the “big reveal.”

…Time to start thinking speed, clean-cuts, pointed asides, and play with the full register of vocal and body movements so we can find what we like and add it to the tool kit.

Head out of the book: it’s play time.

…Also getting the itch to start working with my hair design, after watching all those extraordinary wigs from “Mr. Selfridge” all weekend. 

Doing Gibson Girls of that range are incredibly difficult on yourself…not to mention exhausting on the arms, for all the reaching and pinning and curling and spraying and teasing and ratting required in order to build it.  Astonishing esthetic and silhouettes. Totally worth it.  Though, I should be mindful NOW, that I’ll be moving about ten pounds of hats and hair around while onstage with me at all times, which will make fast turns, and certain postures, pretty impossible.

…Dearest Jack is about 6’2″…(which might as well be 7’9″ for all that height will mean in our love scenes.) I shall be getting quite familiar with his belly button, in future, I suppose…as looking up that high, without a hair-and-hat land-slide, will be damn near impossible.

Lucky for our ever-so-great grandmothers, they grew the men shorter in those days.

…But even still, they must have had necks of steel by age 30.

…Presumably to match their rib cages.

In Other News: Began second trailer today.

…Which reminded me that I hadn’t shown you the first one yet.

…So, here:

In the meantime, I think I’m off for some hot tea and a bit of a read.

~D

Killing Off The Lead

I’d like to start a petition to kill off Mr. Selfridge from the next season of “Mr. Selfridge,” only they almost never will kill off the lead.  Especially when the whole show is titled for him. And it’s based on history. And he lived into his 90′s.

…I can’t take watching Jeremy Pivin that long.

…I can’t take watching him this long.

I get this horribly overwhelming empathy for every poor bastard he does a scene with, which actually drives me to continually shout at the screen in every scene he is in.  Things like:

“HOW ARE YOU THIS BAD AND STILL EMPLOYED?!”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO YELL EVERY SINGLE FUCKING LINE?!”

“HOW DO YOUR BRITISH CHILDREN AND AUSTRALIAN WIFE ALL SPEAK WITH BETTER AMERICAN ACCENTS THAN YOU?! YOU COME FROM ILLINOIS!”

“I’VE WATCHED TAMPON COMMERCIALS WITH PEOPLE WHO EXPRESS MORE CHARACTER MOTIVATION!”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE THE ONE REPRESENTATIVE AMERICAN…YOU MAKE US ALL LOOK LIKE TOTALLY TALENTLESS, INCOMPETENT, ASSHOLES!”

“I HAVEN’T BEEN THIS PISSED OFF FROM TOTAL WASTE OF CO-ACTORS SCENE-GIFTING, SINCE THE TOM CRUISE CASTING FIASCO IN ‘VALKYRIE’!”

“HOW DO YOU NOT HAVE SEXUAL CHEMISTRY WITH THAT?  HAVE YOU SEEN HER?!?”

…and…

“WHHHHHHY?!?”

…I’ve stuck with it because the critics are right: tons of other characters are totally invested and worth it.  ‘Specially the women. Which just makes him stick out worse.  My old favorites are acting perfectly up to speed of my expectations of their excellence, and new ones have been found to join them in the ranks.  It is often delightful, always eye-candy, the wigs make me breathless, (and the Frenchman), I’m appropriately in love with everyone I’m supposed to be, and hate the ones I’ve been taught to…except for the leading character…which is just totally screwing up the whole balance of everything.

…He was bedridden for one episode and it was one of the best parts of my day. Cuz he slept through about 85% of it.

…Then the bastard woke up again.

…And I yelled at the screen some more.

Meantime, I feel I should clarify that this is not merely a matter of a “character” I happen to dislike, (as one frequently does in BBC drama…and usually for well plotted and planned out reasons, as supplied by the writers.)  I am saying that the character would be ideal if played as written…by a seductive, charismatic, likable human, with some shred of sexual chemistry, and the ability to deliver a line without yelling it in a monotone manner at whomever he happens to be facing at the the time. 

…And yes, I have to say “yelling AT” because he has yet (7 episodes in) to have an actual “conversation” with anyone.

…And I have to say “facing” because that is all he does.

…And I have to say “lack of any sexual chemistry” as he (apparently) fucks everything that moves, and yet every times he goes to kiss one of the poor women I actually, physically wince for them.

If one was looking for someone to “SHARE” a scene, or converse appropriately, or conduct some sparks with: Joe American Entourage King, sure as hell ain’t it.

…He ain’t.

…And isn’t.

…And I’ve been festing this now across some days.  

…So I feel like I’ve certainly given him more than a fair share of opportunity to prove me wrong.

…But he didn’t.

…And he won’t.

…And I know there is a second season coming.

…And because I’m a history geek, I know that bastard is gonna live forever.

…And I’m sorta really bummed out about it, frankly.

…(And that Lady Mae didn’t re-sign. Cuz she’s one of my most delicious character favorites.)

Oh, the woe that is my LIFE!

…Good thing I’m back to rehearsals tomorrow.  My artistic frustration needs a good blowout.  Obviously, yelling at the TV isn’t quite cutting it.

~D

Fam Time

It’s been a week of Cuz-time, from CA, today’s new arrival from Portland, and half of the Washington ones, all meeting up in one way or another. 

A lot of coffee, a little antiquing, hit up Pt. Defiance, toured Stadium, drove Ruston, a quick run through Olympia, crashed a dance fundraiser, visited over BBQ, walked the farm trails,  killed time at three different houses, watched movies, ate two roasts, a pizza, french toast, and heaping salads, and still managed to go to work, process payroll, run reports, learn lines and hit rehearsals in between.

…And yet, I kept wondering all day long, why I was so tired.

No amount of coffee seemed to quite counteract it.

…Idiot.

Am now in bed, post-introducing the CA fam to “Galaxy Quest”…while the Portland one fought off a migraine with massive drugs and a red, satin, sleepy-eye mask.

Am writing my blog now, as quickly as I can…without a super-ton-alot of guilt, as the Portland Cuz is now sleeping under a mound of blankets, on the futon in my living room, and will be wanting to hit the road early with Bro (and his girl) in hand, a few hours from now.

So, this is it, friends.

Must catch the winks while I can.

Night-all.

~D