Archive | January, 2013

Dear SWAL 3.0

31 Jan


Welcome back to Dear SWAL…our monthly installment of where Marty fwds me her Customer Service woes and I answer them the way we would all want to, if it wouldn’t get us fired by doing so. For last month’s episode, click here. For the rest of us, let’s move on to a review of a common problem: Blatant Customer Stupidity, or BCS.

…A lot of us who deal with BCS on a daily basis, have figured out a variety of trouble shooting exercises and go-tos that can help, when their common sense has all but failed them. But sometimes, you’ll get someone in such an advanced stage of BCS that even the tried-and-true tricks of the trade are beyond their capabilities. And sometimes those people aren’t even customers really, their whole purpose is to review your product and write about it. These people are called just plain BS’s. (Conveniently this abbreviation works for both the placeholder of what they are AND what they DO, for a living.) And this is Marty’s exchange (in edit form) with them.

…SWAL’S comments are bolded for your convenience.


BS: I’d be interested in checking out a review copy of “X” so at least I’d know how to promote your new book…I doubt I’ll make it to your top ten list on this promotion. Since I haven’t started a list of my own yet. But, I do get over 1,800 visitors a day…so, I may be able to sell a few.

Thank you for the heads up about this


Marty: The first link is for the sign up and the second is to an affiliate copy of the program

(Link 1) (Link 2)

Login: “login”

Password: “password”

~ M


SWAL: …So far, so good…


BS: Oh, you’re such a tease. (SWAL: Uh, what??) If you didn’t want to send me a review copy why did you bother sending me this e-mail? (SWAL: She fucking sent you a link. TO THE COPY.) Clicked your first link and signed up, fine, I went through your first hoop like a trained puppy dog. (SWAL: Ummm…) Second link, put the e-mail and the password in you sent me and NOTHING! NOT-A. A waist of time.

…So, I’ll tell you what. If you’d like for me to get the review copy so I can promote the book then jump through the hoops for me and the download link should end up in my e-mail box. (SWAL: Woa buddy, excuse me?!) Or better yet just send me a download link and not waist each others time with this busy work non productive stuff.

~ BS


SWAL: …Oh HELL no…!


Marty: I am very sorry but when I click on that link and type in the below, I get logged into the program no problem. What problems did you have? There is no need to be rude, I will help you.

login: “login”
password: “password”

~ M

BS: Hey, I apologize, I didn’t mean to sound rude! (SWAL: Coulda fuckin’ fooled me.) I’m just frustrated now. My e-mail address is (“his personal email”) Right? The password you give me was (“password”) Right? It still doesn’t work for me. So, when I click lost password it says there is no such e-mail address in your data base or something along that line.

…I’m really getting tired of playing around with something so simple yet still won’t work for me. (SWAL: **facepalm**) Can you just send me a download link PLEASE? I don’t know what else to do.

~ BS

Marty: I am very sorry for any confusion, but I now see what the problem is. You need to use the login I gave you, as well. The (“login”) login.

login: “login”
password: “password”

~ M


SWAL: Its one thing when you “hear” something and mix it up so can’t follow it properly…but when the fucker is IN TYPE, what is your excuse then??)


BS: I know we are both speaking English here, (SWAL: ARE you though? ARE you?) maybe I’m just too stupid to do this… (SWAL: Well, OBVIOUSLY. Yes.) …but when I click login: and login…It takes me to a screen to write an e-mail. Is that what you want before you send me a download link? An e-mail with the password you gave me? Well here you go: “Account” (SWAL: **Double facepalm**)

…Now, it may be on my end (SWAL: Yuh think?!) …but, we are having a really bad misunderstanding of each other here. (SWAL: Only YOU, buddy, she understands you perfectly. Unfortunately.) All I asked for was a download link for the preview of this book so I could read it to get the jest of this book to know how to promote it without making promises to my readers the book won’t fulfill. Saving us both refunds and hurting our rankings in clickbank. (SWAL: And I believe that is exactly what she did.)

No other marketer has made me jump through this many hoops to promote their book before. (SWAL: What is with the fucking “hoops” crap?!) I’m confused and frustrated now. Skip the password stuff and PLEASE just send me a download link because I’m tired of these games where I’m on the losing end. (SWAL: She can only help your incompetence so far, pal…) …Maybe you’re getting paid to play e-mail tag but, I’m NOT. The time I’ve spent in our correspondence with this issue could have been spent writing a blog post promoting something else. (SWAL: And based on your performance here, no doubt with efficiency and intelligent, educated judgement.)

I’ll tell you what, if you can make your link work for you and the password work for you (which it doesn’t for me) I’ve tried it. Do me a favor and do it with using my e-mail address…
(SWAL: **Triple facepalm.** Have run out of faces and palms and am now borrowing other people’s.) …and I should see the download link in my e-mail box.

…One thing for sure is my blog readers will ask for a refund before they go through this much hassle to get a download. (SWAL: I would hope your blog readers are smarter then this, but then if they follow your blog, we can only hold out so much hope.) … And I’ve never had a return so far and don’t want to start now.

My goal of this e-mail was to be a simple thank you note to express my appreciation to you for even bothering to deal with me (SWAL: As well it SHOULD be.) …and say I got the download link and I was able to read the book now.

…But instead I have to admit I’m a stupid asshole that had to bug you again still without a clue what the heck I’m suppose to do to get a review copy. (SWAL: JUST FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS! ) Oh sure I could have just said still can’t get the book to download for me (but where’s the fun in that?) I never made it to a download page to begin with. (SWAL: HOW?! HOW?! HOW can you STILL not figure it OUT?!) …And I’m not known for short and sweet anyway. I hope I didn’t sound too bitter or offensive with my comments here though.

Your Frustrated Buddy,

~ BS


SWAL: Dear Lord…how does she DEAL with this shit…


Marty: Am very sorry if any of this isn’t clear and will do my best to make it more clear. Apologies

Please click on this link


That link should take you to a page where you are asked to type in a login and password. For the login please type: (“Login.”) For the password please type: (“Password.”) Do not type in your own personal email for the login. Please use the login and password I have given you.

I cannot send you a download of the book to read because we don’t have a direct download link for the book. The book is separated into modules and we do not have a link for all the material that we can give out right now. I hope those instructions are clear.

~ M


…And he was never heard from again.

That concludes this month’s edition of Dear SWAL. Here’s hoping all our retail friends in Customer Service, here and abroad, have less BCS and BS’s in their lives this month. And if not: at least you now know: you ain’t alone.


Two Minutes, & A Title Card

30 Jan


So I’ve an audition next Monday, the day after closing…and its the first time I’ve had to do the full process with a monologue et al, in about forever.

(Working with the same people over and over again, does have more than just one perk, you know.)

…Anyway, I’m having to start from absolute scratch on this, as my go-to dramatic piece has now been disqualified for use, by the happy circumstance that I am currently performing it on a stage at the moment.  And once you’ve done a role, it is faux pas to ever air it in an audition setting again.

Back when I started working at my first Union House and home theatre, I began primarily in Tech. The thing was: I loved theatre…LOVED it…and though I always knew I wanted to be an Actor…I didn’t want to be one of those hopeless ones who couldn’t so much as change a light bulb. I had this crazy idea that to train in all aspects of it, was to pay honor to it…to gain respect and understanding of all the jobs and respect and understanding from my peers. But what I DIDN’T know (at the time) was how much about my end-game craft, I would be learning along the way.

…I have very distinct memories, like a reel of home movies, with moments all strung together on one loooooong piece of celluloid, that I still play in my brain, to this day, which are the lessons I learned while being granted a behind-the-scenes peek at the world of what it is to be an actor.

For instance…when else would a 14 year-old be granted access to watch professional actors from all over the country (and sometimes world), undertake their process from first table read to final performance? How many hours of rehearsal, to be on book with just you, the SM, the Director and Actors as they work out bit-by-bit what this moment and meaning is really all about…and the fact that it is important to justify and work your actions and reactions and talk about “feelings” and fearlessly throw your emotions out there for just everyone to see?

…By 16, I was joining them on stage…only in bit parts and cross-overs, as I was still very much Teching my way through the jungle…but with notice in my level of dedication…and so was given even more responsibilities…with smaller casts…and more dramatic shows.

It was then, I was contracted to work with the biggest theatrical idol I’d ever had…a woman I’d seen work there years before, who as a child, I’d remembered as the person I wanted most to be when I grew up.

She was (and is) a devastating performer, whose work was so palpable it would make your hair stand on-end. A woman whose command of her vocal instrument could manipulate any characterization, her body movements meeting it with precise measure. A woman who would end a monologue to a pin drop, and a play in such silence…you’d forget to breathe, or clap. She was the kind of performer who would disappear five seconds after touching the stage, and not return back again until curtain call…so real was she in this other being that she was now living in front of you. And all I wanted my whole life (up to that point and for the rest of it beyond now) was to be like her. To hold THAT kind of power on a stage, to practice the art of Acting at THAT level.

…And I was going to be her crew now. It was almost too much goodness to be true.

It was a one-woman show, written expressly for her, and I was to work all of backstage…from cues, calls, light patches and any other incidentals. And with that, I was also given leave to sit in on evening and weekend rehearsals…(being in classes during her day-calls.) This, though not the norm for my crew station — until further into the rehearsal process — was granted me, I suppose, as by now the powers-that-be knew me, and how serious about all this I was…and what a hugely educational thing it would be.

…So of course I did…

…In the back. In the shadows. So as not to disturb, or accidentally fall in her sight line during expressly difficult moments.

And like with other rehearsals I sat in on, I would listen to the invaluable give and take between the Director and his Actor…their conversations and debates…the working and isolation of each specific moment…the dialing in on the emotions…the endless, endless futzing at this one line interpretation, or that movement there, or the emotional stakes at hand. She would beat herself up mercilessly…aggravated at what she considered a sub-par interpretation or presentation that only looked like perfection to my eyes (and I’d swear, anyone elses.) And she was often difficult because of it…because she WANTED to find it…and NEEDED to realize the moment, and other people’s assurances were not enough…not to fight the precise gauge of truth that she held herself up against to the point of sometime absolute, roaring, frustration.

…I learned a lot about “process” from that show, and even more about how much of an athlete a good Actor must be. You must stretch, and prep, and lift, and lift, and lift, and lift, and run, and jump, and dive, and lift and lift again. Emotions. Body. Mind. That woman did no less work than an Olympian, a Therapist, and a Theorist all rolled into one, in order to give an Opening Night performance, that shut everyone down and up…just before nearly tearing the entire fucking theatre to the ground with ovation-appreciation.

…And I had been given the opportunity to watch it all happen.

…Which (fast forward), graduated and grew with my roles on the stage, as I moved from Tech to one of the Chorus, to Supporting Characters.

By the time I left my home state (and my home theatre as well), I was 20 years old, and aside from Talent Shows and School Productions, had never done anything but Professional Theatre for seven years. I’d Stage Managed, been offered (and turned down) a Union Card, and won the respect of the the people I respected most…in prob’ly the whole damn world.

…And in that time I learned prob’ly a zillion-million little tricks of the trade. Sitting in on auditions from SF, LA and NY…the “trends” that Actors adopt that makes for mind-melting sameness in audition, after audition, after audition…the “shock value” every woman assumes will make them memorable by dropping the F-bomb as frequently as possible, or sobbing endlessly about being raped or having an abortion. The men that will come in and just scream at you, thinking that this somehow shows a visceral-animal rage. Ill chosen pieces based on age, or body type, or sex (believe it or not)…and a whole collection of other incidentals that one never really might think of as important but in the end, turns out to be all but essential.

I may have never attended University for this Acting thing…but I didn’t emerge into the world totally without training. It wasn’t until later…moving here, seeing how big the world was, how lucky a steady paycheck is, how snobby (on accident) I’d become to the other types of theatre, that I was slapped with a few stings and had to learn this whole other lesson about what REALLY makes you a professional and serious artist…then try to marry all these worlds together to figure out how to use what I’d been given and worked for, to work for me.

…And the fun (or not-so…depending on how you see it) thing is that Acting is an evolution-art. It never stays still, you can never “win” it or “conquer” it…even the greatest people who do it…ESPECIALLY the greatest people who do it…are forever learning how to evolve and push themselves into new directions with it…through the only way you can: good, hard, work. And no matter how many years you’ve been at it, this doesn’t change. Not if you want to move forward.

…And I do.

…So here I am: flipping through plays like a maniac…trying to remember all the little unspoken “dos” and “don’ts” I learned about a million years ago…to choose a new companion…a new friend…to join me in study and on a stage for a two-minute audition, while my old one joins me on stage in that one part in Act three for three more performances…before I say goodbye to her forever.

…’Cept in my heart…where she’ll always have a special place.

…Which is the longest way to go about saying: “I need a new monologue…and I’m having a hell of a time finding it. Cuz I know it’s not good enough to be ‘good’ for what I’m going for…it needs to be ‘The One.’ And that ain’t as easy to find as you’d think.”

That’s all.


The Teakettle Effect

29 Jan


Sometimes you just need to blow off steam.

…Funny how something with no “physical” presence can take up so much space in your mind and irk you to such astronomical levels, that all you wanna do is find an outlet…just a blip…just a fart of relief even…from all that build-up.

…And today’s ripping belch is about being a woman.

Today, after being “pacified” by Boss (with blatant eyerolling), and doubted my own intelligence in my own selling field, by a customer requesting to, “speak to a man”…then getting in reports of Ma being talked down to by the Car Shop, regarding her still unworking car ($5,000 later), and the asshole taking the phone away from her while she was trying to stick her point…so the two dudes could belittle the cause amongst one another, as if she wasn’t just fucking standing right there…which in turn meant I was therefore gonna have to step in again…I had fucking HAD IT.

Had it with the assumptions.

Had it with the belittling.

Had it with the blatant head-patting.

Had it with the entire fucking thing.

Look, I dunno why days like this seem to bulk up the way they do, but it happens all the time to me.  Like some kind of “uuber test”…I seem to get “themed shit days.”  You prob’ly get them too.  It’s not just bad enough to have a crappy scenario.  It needs to be several…and needs to be of the same family of aggravations so that it continues to wear on that same little already compromised nerve and just ride that fucker like a bucking bronco.

I dunno what exactly the point of it is. 

…If it is a “test” of some sort…what is the “good score” versus the “bad”?  Is it the ability NOT to lose your shit with impatience? Or is it the point where you finally arrive at “enough is enough” and start standing up for yourself?

I choose to think it is the second thing. 

…Cuz I am not built to be slapped around. 

Nor belittled for ANY reason. 

Nor to turn the other cheek. 

Fuck that noise. 

…You smack me, I smack you back! Any sonofabitch who feels obliged to give it a “go,” should just know that right now.  And I feel like I conduct myself in such a way on a personal basis day-to-day, that this is certainly no secret.

…Which means: ya’ll have been warned!  All you bastard people who feel like making misery of my life and other people’s around me who are m’friends and family. 

…Also, I’m very unforgiving.

So add one to twelve, and that is the kind of frustration and retribution that was just lived through about fifty second before I started this blog for the day.  The point being: I already blew off the steam…at the appropriate humans who had earned it…and now with the final haze of excess smoke still in the air…I’m trying to talk myself into putting the top back on, and going on with m’day. 

…Cuz I’m only about half way through it, and still have shit to do.

And you do too.

…But I just thought: if you were having a day of frustration like I am…and if it might also be themed along the same lines as mine: find solace.  I won some shit back for the lady-sex today.  Not that it’s always about that.  But today it sure as hell seems to be. 

I got this, friends.

(And dude readers: thanks for not being assholes, like lots of the other guys.  We super appreciate it.)


Still Hawt, At 200

28 Jan


There’s this man I know…well, a lot of us do. 

…He’s all sexy, and moody, and opinionated, and strangely prefers women with a brain in their head, and the occasional bout of reason and thinking. 

…He’s excellent to argue with: a fitting bite to his tongue and such a frustrating air to his assured “rightness,” that you just wanna punch him sometimes, all the while knowing it’ll end up turning into just the greatest make-up-sex EVER.

…He’s been a guest star in many a fantasy,  in many a genre…hell, even the Zombies can’t keep away.  His passport has been stamped by every country, where he’s been taught to speak in every language across the world, making him a legitimate International Playboy on a level that Hugh Hefner only WISHES he could attain. And though he managed to live comfortably, naughtily, seductively in our pretty little heads for generation upon generation…they finally managed to find his actual physical perfection of representation in mortal form, only within the last several decades…(which the Queen later wisely knighted.)

Then, as now, he lives on…in our hearts and before our eyeballs, sending massive ‘uuts’ shivers down our spine and within our nether regions…whilest book clubs continue to worship him, and Lit Majors continue to reason with him, women continue to pine for him, and men continue to be compared to him as one — if not THE — most romantically fierce and frustratingly sexy piece of man-meat (with fortune and title), ever to walk the earth.

And today, he turns 200.


200 and still spanking our emotions and desires harder than whoever-the-fuck is number one right now in ticket sales…(and who will soon be completely obsolete and forgotten.)

Two Centuries of popularity that has only grown wider. Think about that, friends, and drool your way through the rest of the day…as I know I won’t be the ONLY one pulling out a well-loved BBC version of “P & P” tonight, to pay undieing honor to The Man…and the Woman BEHIND him: that deliciously devilish, Miss Jane Austen.

…As a lesser artist, (but an artist, none-the-less), I have an aching curiosity about what she might be thinking were the Austenian founder, here with us today.

How could you possibly perceive that your novel would go on to become such a living, breathing, growing thing. A thing taught in Colleges, studied by scholars. A thing used in historical references and self-help love-books? A thing that Hollywood (whatever the hell that will one day be) is constantly grabbing at as a “sure thing” win in an industry where NOTHING is “sure” at all…ever. A thing that brings honor to your home country, and ridiculous horror spin-offs from others. A thing which created whole new genres of fiction-spin-offs and fan-fictions. A thing which everyone has heard of, even if they have never read or seen it.

…A thing that can secretly fix any heartbreak, and which is your automatic go-to on a sick day, a rainy day, and prob’ly (if you could swing it) every day in between.

Look what you MADE, Jane Austen! When-your-first-edition-started-selling-two-hundred-freakin-years-ago-to-this-very-day!


Tonight is Mr. Darcy night!

…Let us all pour out a delicious glass of our favorite “something,” and either join up via bubble bath and book, or eat him up with our eyes on film…giving thanks to the creation of a favorite lady-author, and that little book called, “Pride & Prejudice!”

Here’s to making it a world-wide fetish evening that puts Valentine’s Day to shame.

…Dunno ’bout you, but I’m in.


The Joe, In The Dressing Room

27 Jan


So there are only two dressing rooms at this current theatre: an upstairs loft where all the young ladies reside, and the lower dressing room where all the adults are stationed. 

…Out of the entire show we have one Man and a “Grocery Boy” (who doubles as our ASM.)  Our “Grocery Boy” changes elsewhere due to cue-duties…which leaves our “Joe” as the sole representative of his sex, backstage. 

I think anyone would agree, it takes some serious balls to be willing to be that one guy. (No pun intended.)

It cannot possibly be fun for him…and is prob’ly more often than not, a hugely terrifying position to be in.  Because, God knows, we don’t make it easy. A gaggle of women, routinely stripping and re-dressing, is NOT as hot as some people might like to think it is. 

…First of all: this is a “period” show. That means nylons and “foundation garments.” And as Marty put it yesterday, “If men ever saw what it REALLY looks like to put all this shit on, they would never look at women’s lingerie the same way again.”

…And she’s right. 

There is absolutely nothing at all seductive about the way a REAL person pulls and wiggles on a pair of nylons, carefully yanking at all the bits at the ankles, and bowing the legs in a barrel-squat to keep the crotch from sagging half way down your fucking knees. 

…Add to that the reinforcement of foundation garments with cinches built in a variety of locations, none of which seem to do much of anything other than squeeze all your excess fat into rolls halfway up your back, and all but cut off the circulation in your lower thighs.

…Then the bras…in any number of fashions, but all having to do with the fact of what it does to the boob-cupping and cleavage specifically…which you are then required to reach in and adjust accordingly.

Next, there’s the slips and dresses and sweaters and coats…for days and days and days…all of which are constantly being hiked up or pulled down in order to try and retrieve the SUPER-WEDGE of underwear caught under your 5 layers of clothing, or cram your muffin-top fat rolls back into the foundation garment, or take it all off and start all over again…because you forgot to fucking go pee first.

Every day in the dressing room is a major production number. And you should know right now that none of it is “pretty.”

…And this is, by no means, ALL that our “Joe” must face on a day-to-day basis.

No, that would be too easy.

…There is also a large selection of women’s topics that get aired as freely as our Vodka-sprayed costume pieces. And being of “theatre,” we have zero compunction about how totally inappropriate or uncomfortable the topics might get for the man over in the corner.

It has always been a well documented fact that women’s dressing room conversations could make the burliest man of all men blush with our total and complete lack of subtlety and taste…which is certainly not ABOUT to change just because a single penis has entered the room.

The case-in-point being, for instance, a small sampling of our current production’s conversational topics:

1. To douche or not to douche…that is the question:

Lady 1: …And then I said, “No, you aren’t supposed to douche. Not ever. They told all of us that specifically. They don’t even sell it in drugstores anymore.”

Lady 2: Not even a vinegar?

Lady 3: Nope. Cuz it kills all the “good” stuff with all the bad.

Lady 4: But that is a very “generational” thing. It’s new. Back when I was younger, we douched all the time.

Lady 5: …Yeah, I remember my Mom had this weird kinda one in the shower. With this hose-thing?

Lady 4: –Sorta like an enema. But different?

Lady 5: Yeah…

2. The Pee Discussion:

Lady 1: …So I said to my husband, “Now that you’ve delivered both the boys, is it okay if I pee in front of you when you’re using the bathroom. I mean, you’ve seen all there is to see by now, right?”

Lady 2: I’d like to think, if they’ve seen you up and shit across the room while birthing a human, a little pee while they’re shaving wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

Lady 1: Oh. I didn’t shit during my labors.

Lady 3: …I did…

3. The truth about shaving:

Lady 1: (While scratching at the panty line region) Sonofabitch. I shaved today and now with the nylons and all…it just itches like hell. Shoulda just left well enough alone!

Lady 2: I never shave in winter.

Lady 3: I have to. Or I’d have sideburns down to my knees by mid-December.

Lady 4: I just got it lasered, so never have to deal with it.

Lady 3: God. That’d be nice. Never accidentally knick yourself again. That’s only just the worst. And then, when you pee…you just wanna scream and punch somebody.

4. When bad sex happens to good people:

Lady 1: Two. Two pumps. Two.

Lady 2: He only got two thrusts in?

Lady 1: Two. And it sucked because we like broke a table while making out before hand, so I thought it would be awesome!

Lady 3: How totally anticlimatic. In a number of ways…

Lady 1: …But the worst part is it took longer for me and my gay BFF to shave my legs in prep.

Lady 2: Your gay BFF actually helped shave your legs for sex?

Lady 1: Yep. He took a leg. I took a leg. And then after the crap-sex, I came out and he was all, ” Wait. What? You can’t be done already?!” And when I nodded and said, “Two thrusts,” he said, “Oh, honey…” and got up to make me a drink…

5. PMS warning signs:

Lady 1: I’ve never been surprised by a period in my entire life. I have about a week-and-a-half of phantom warnings that go off regularly, as reminders.

Lady 2: Yep. Me too. (While poking boobs.) Like, “Oh, my boobs are all tender. Must be m’period next week.”

Lady 3: –Or they get like double the size and become porn-boobs–

Lady 5: …I love porn-boob time…

Lady 4: Hot flashes.

Lady 3: –The worst!

Lady 2: (While still poking boobs.) …Wait. My boobs ARE all tender. Is it my period next week? Wait your period was first of our cycles, when are you due?

Lady 5: Next week.

Lady 2: Are you relocating my schedule?

Lady 5: I dunno. I did, hers.

Lady 4: Yep.

Lady 3: Are we ALL gonna be on our periods for closing?

(A cough comes from the corner. It is our “Joe.” We burst out laughing. He turns red, looking really busy, while pulling on his sock.)

…This only scratches the surface, really…but I feel it gives a good representation of what that poor bastard has been having to live with for the past month. And yet, he can still (somehow) manage to have enough respect for us, that he can look us in the eye onstage…every performance…and do and say the things of love and support that he needs to. No matter what kind of sicko-perverted-vaginal-diseased topic of conversation we’ve decided to abuse him with in the dressing room that night.

…And THAT, ladies and gentleman, takes a MAN.

Cheers, Joe. We love yuh.

…In our own little freak-creep ways.


Broken Faucet

26 Jan


Late night with guests…a particularly emotional show. Ma was in the audience…and tomorrow is 36 seats away from selling out.

…Grateful for good friends, and supportive Stage Managers, and a warm place to rest my head till show time.

Night, kids.


When Boss Fixes Things

25 Jan


Another Road Show opened today, on the other side of the mountain. 

…Twenty minutes before the doors opened, we were notified by our client that our display product (which had arrived yesterday) was all shot to shit.  Dents, scrapes, chipped paint, missing trim…and worst of all…no sales literature to be found.

…Now, I had just paid a Contractor this morning (over $500) to ship, set up, and prep this same said product, with zero update notations on his work order.  According to him: the job was done.  And so as calls from Client Corporate and OUR Corporate started streaming in on a tsunami-wave, we were just a little-bit-lot confused.

Me: I just paid that dude half-a-grand for one day of work.  Are you flippin’ KIDDING ME?!

Boss: No. 

Me:  What exactly DID he do for four hours, if it wasn’t prep, clean and set-up?

Boss: Pick his nose and get drunk? How the hell should I know?

Me: And we don’t even have sales lit out there?

Boss: We gotta find someone to go over the mountain.  Now.  Who we got?

(WHS Pimp and I list off names. We make the calls.  No one will do it.)

Boss: Well, fuck.  I suppose now I have to do it.

(WHS Pimp and I blink at one another.  It is quiet a moment.)

WHS Pimp: But. Um. There are repairs that are needed too.  Not just brochures and order forms.

Boss: Well, I guess I’ll have to do that too.

(WHS Pimp and I blink at one another.  Again.)

WHS Pimp:  Oooookaaaaay…

Me: What he means is – How?

Boss:  I can “fix” things.  I’m not completely useless, you know…

(WHS pimp and I try not to look at one another.)

Boss: …I’ll just need some supplies. Paint and rollers and…I dunno…hammer? “Stuff.”

WHS Pimp: I’ll…I’ll go get you some. “Stuff.”

(WHS Pimp leaves. It is just Boss n’ I alone now.)

Me: You know, there will be people there. Customers, I mean. Watching.

Boss: Yep.

Me: Watching you. “Fixing” things.

Boss: Uh huh.

Me: …And as far as they know — you’re one of our Contractors…

Boss: Yeah.

Me: …Who actually, like, shows up to build their stuff. That they are buying. From us. On that floor.

Boss: Right.

Me: …So…um…have you like ever actually built or painted anything. At all. Ever. In your whole life?

Boss: I’ll figure it out.

Me: …Okay.

Boss: And listen — I need you to help put the fire out. Fax this to their sales department so they have “something” out there, and tell them I’m on my way.

(He exits. I take a second to contemplate the ruin that will surely come upon us. I go to his office to use the fax. I face a box with brochures in it as WHS Pimp re-enters.)

Me: He forgot the lit.

WHS Pimp: He almost drove off without the paint.

Me: Will you flag him down and give him these, please?

WHS Pimp: Yup.

(As he sails out the door…)

Me: We are fucking doomed.

WHS Pimp: So, that must mean its “Friday” then…


And now Boss has just called.

…He’s about to go over the pass and be lost to all communication for at least the next hour.

It is only 12:30.

The WHS Pimp has three site-visit fires to put out, and Corporate is screaming about some completion forms we’re holding paychecks ransom for, from the Contractors.

…But: I have me a dark-roast from the nearly-naked-ladies Barista stand down the road (very popular with the fellas here, so I always let them go get it for me)…and the sun just came out.

That means I’ve got at least two hours before Boss will be able to bother me again.

…With some new earth-shattering problem.

…Like, how to use a paintbrush or something.


The Fifty Yardline & Sock Puppets

24 Jan


With tonight, we come to the halfway marker of “The Children’s Hour”…with high hopes to, (for heartfelt reasons) totally sell out tonight’s house.

…Because it is Actor’s Benefit Night.

…And we are poor. 

Did you know?

Meanwhile: A couple of line runs this week to keep it fresh has kept me in contact with the material. And missing it.  Along with Marty, we have become straight-up ridiculous whiners about NOT doing the show on the few nights off we have a week.

…She’s one-upped me though. 

I won’t say alcohol didn’t ALSO have something to do with it..but boredom and sentiment are very powerful forces to be reckoned with.  Don’t believe me? Here is what I woke up to on my phone: (Karen as a Sock puppet)

…She looks like she’s inebriated, with one of her creator’s notorious trademark Kool-Aid smiles. Which is entirely possible, as everyone knows: Karen’s had a hard time of it. It actually makes me shutter to think of what the Martha Sock Puppet would look like.

Prob’ly something like this:


…It is true: we are not winning points for attractiveness in this one. There is a lot of freedom that comes with it though…if you ain’t too proud to let it.

Actors do lots of things in front of hundreds of people that they would NEVER do in their real lives. Which is weird, but true. And playing a role without giving a shit HOW disgusting it looks to do the things you need to do, is one of ’em.

…Which even makes US laugh…

…When (for instance), the Production Manager sits in on one of the earlier rehearsals, then pulls us aside afterwards and says:

“Um….I don’t really know how much help it would be…but would you like handkerchiefs from Props Department?”

Us: “No. No…I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue, thanks.”

She: “But its so…everywhere…”

Us: “Yep. And everyone’s gonna have to just deal with it.”

…Because that is the point.

It is a smattering of ugly moments, raw moments, REAL moments…and how often, while YOUR life is coming completely unglued and you are in the absolute depths of despair, do you stop for or even think of something to clean it all up with?


…That’s the answer.

It’s just bad-times.


…But we are having GOOD times making them on stage.

…So if you’re in the area, you should totally join us tonight.

…And help pay for our drinks, after.

It’s all in the ticket price, friends!

And that’s a good cause!!!


So, That’s Done

23 Jan


We have completed now (one hopes) the remainder of the car drama.

Harriet was picked up yesterday (per schedule)…paid for with an uber loan check, tabs were updated today, and she’s got some new oil and good gas is in her belly.  After a gutting like that, I’m sure she’s happy to be home and huddled with her friends in the neighborhood, tucked into the curb all safe and sound.

…And about damn time.

…And just IN time for one night off without worries before launching back into the shows again.  Which are NOT a “worry,” only the part about how I get to and from there.

So things are looking up.

…And yes, I know I sound like a broken record.  But this is called “trying”…so bare with me, huh.

In the meantime, Corporate is back again…so that brought everyone but Boss in bright and early.  Contracts keep rolling in, though the bulk of the build dates have been pushed by customers deep into Spring.  We already don’t have enough spaces on the calendar to accommodate that…which means that 3-4 months from now when they want their stuff by “next Tuesday” it sooooo ain’t gonna happen. 

…I’ll just Scarlet O’Hara that away for another day.  I’ve got enough crap to worry about.

…But not tonight. 

Tonight I will keep playing this stupid “Draw Something” game that I am secretly now addicted to…and watch some Telly, and check on The BFF, and give Niles and Daphne a long-awaited bath.

…And then I will change my pillow case.

…And then I will go to bed.

The end.

Until next time…

…With the Further UnAdventures of SWAL.

(check your local listings for show times)


33 Contracts & Active

22 Jan


Spent the morning busily paperworking…which is an excellent thing to keep your brain occupied…not as free to go gallivanting across the countryside looking for more things to worry about.

…A ream of paper, and 33 contracts later, (after two Corporate Reports, and booking calls, and schedule updates, and reminders sent out), I am ready to face the world again for about ten or fifteen minutes before launching into the next thing.

So here we are: at posting time.

First thing that immediately grabs my attention is that I still have a residual life-hangover left over from yesterday. Which frankly surprises me.  This is different from an “actual” hangover only in the way that your entire body aches and you have to firmly fight the sensation to burst into tears all of a sudden…though you managed to never once have even the slightest inclination to yesterday, while in the midst of all the shit-storm.

…Which I suppose means I “won” somehow.

I dunno.

But either way, I feel the hits those punches made. All over m’damn body, today.

Leaning back in my swivel chair, hands rubbing at the rock mountains that are my neck and shoulders, I can’t help but think how amazing it is…the amount of physical exhaustion, that ’emotional havoc’ can be on a body.


And “tense.”

…It ain’t over yet. It’s only begun.  But it isn’t my fault, nor am I one of the starring players involved.  That means that, even in the thick of it, I can still sorta retreat a bit. 

As Marty says, “only two more sleeps” till we all getta meet up and play again…taking the prime opportunity to air and redirect some of this life-shit into a more positive, creative outlet.

…Meanwhile…I’m regretting all those days in childhood where nap times were cavalierly thrown about, without the realization of how awesome they were, and how much I would one day wish for almost nothing more in my whole life than four quiet hours with my head on a pillow by 1:30 p.m..


…What do they know?

A little over two hours left to go.

Harriet will be done by four tonight…I made sure of it.

…Part of yesterday’s grand eventness was bringing down the law on the Manager of the shop where she currently resides…mid-week THREE of her stay, when she was promised to be done two weeks ago. As I’d been too busy opening and running shows here and there since, Ma had been the only mode of contact he’d had in that time…until yesterday.

…He outweighed me by two bodies, and looked like something out of a prison movie with all those tats, and a monster Harley Biker beard, so I could see he was rather surprised at my stance and the words immediately coming out of my face toward him, the second he walked in the door.

Me: “You Joe?”

Joe: “Yeah.”

Me: “That’s my PT. Cruiser on the block right there.”

Joe: “Okay.”

Me: “You have $3000 of my money. It was supposed to be done two weeks ago. Both cars in the family are sitting here in your shop, with their guts out, and we are on our second contract for another rental cuz you promised twice that the jobs would be done. I’ll be here after work tomorrow at 4 p.m. My car will be fixed, off that block, and with an extended Warranty — not some two-month nonsense like the last time you DIDN’T fix it — for my trouble.”

Joe: “For parts or–”

Me: “–Top-to-toe, Joe. That means it hiccups in the cold or shutters at a stoplight and YOU fix it. Free. Got it. I’m done now. Have it ready by tomorrow. That’s all.”

…I was already halfway through my day-of-shit by that point, so there was very little in the way of womanly grace remaining by that point. And he could see that, and wisely kept his damn mouth shut.

…So much could not be said for all the assholes I had to deal with yesterday…but I suppose when you are put into multiple fight scenarios — like those good ol’ Mortal Kombat days — you can’t expect to combo-K.O. it out every damn time. Pert near did though. And I never once lost my cool while doing it. Which is so much more aggravating in an opponent, I find.

I shall not be dissuaded.

…Yesterday was apparently the one where you pay five times over the price for a “vacation day.”

…Where by the half-way point, you realize you should have just sucked it up, gone into work, and dealt with the exhaustion and incessant phone rings and paperwork mess.

But you didn’t.

…And nothing comes for “free.”

…Silly me and my assumptions.



21 Jan


For the first time in 6 months, I missed a blog post.

…Have done them while sick, while exhausted, while eating, while riding in a car, while in parking lots, while backstage during a performance, while at work, while out with friends, and to the detriment of sleep. Frequently. But I missed doing one yesterday.

…THAT’S how shitty the day was.

…And I’ll not bore you with the details outside of the blanket statement that: things can always get worse. Especially when you start to get proud about how you’ve handled yourself in the crap circumstances before this.

It’s a lesson no one has to teach you.

I’m sure you are already aware of it.

So now I’m backdating this fucker to yesterday…because I FEEL LIKE IT.

…And I’m going to work.


She Needed A Weekend Off, After The Weekend

20 Jan


Here’s the deal: you know how you get off on Friday night, heave a sigh of relief, and go have a beer (or 8) while hanging out and just “being” for two days…then Monday comes around and you grumble, as you get ready for work?

…Actors don’t get, “weekends.” 

We don’t really get “Holidays” even. 

…When the normal humans of the world are just starting to launch into a little well-earned R &R, WE are just starting the second part of the rest of our work week.

Rehearsals. Techs. Performances. Fight calls. Show prep. Hairdressing. Makeup. Warm-ups. Line-runs. Prop-checks. Bathroom share negotiations. Smoke-breaks. Nerve-shakes.

…Then add in a super-special-secret-awesome-BFF surprise…and you subtract even more sleep automatically…which is 3000% totally worth it…plus Sunday talk-backs, and post-show de-funks…then remind yourself that you promised a blog of some decent amount after two days of side-burnering it…and you have me: bleary-eyed, punching at my keyboard with little (if any) thought filter left at all.

I am tired.  To put it bluntly. 

I took all the “life ” that was offered to me this weekend, and used the flying fuck out of it.  Down to the absolute last drop.  And now I’m sitting here at 9:30 p.m., in my PJ’s, with a body and brain that is insisting it is actually 6 in the morning tomorrow already…because I am so not looking forward to the anti-energy I have to face that moment, that I’m already regretting it.

…Does that make sense to anyone?

…The insomniacs will get it, if no one else does.

…Anyway, with all that does come the satisfaction of a hard job, well done.

Our tickets sold 15% above projections this week, we’ve nearly broken even on full production cost with two weeks of performances left, word-of-mouth is super solid, we’ve four stellar reviews from the critics, and we already can’t wait to hit the ground running again, come Thursday.

It’s weird to miss performing a show as disturbing as this. But we do.

…Which means it matters, and is satisfying work, and is punctuated with a sense of accomplishment at the end.

Everyone should be as lucky with their work and art.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to tell myself that it’s okay to be in bed right now…even as my house has post-party residuals peppered all over the place in every single room.

The pick-up can wait.

I’ve earned a rest…an early feel of pillow at my cheek, and lights out, while maybe Netflixing something easy and happy and good until I conk out completely.

…Which will prob’ly be within the next five minutes.

I’ve earned these seconds of quiet, restful, peace.

…And so have my partners in crime.

Love you guys.

Happy end-of-weekend to you, friends.


More Later

19 Jan


I know the yous understand another short post…as The BFF leaves tomorrow, and this is a last playdate post-show with the family.

…Plenty of reporting about it later 😉


Shut Up! What?!

18 Jan


Lost m’damn shit in the lobby.

…Cuz I walked out, post show, to a line up of faces grinning at me, in my hotmessness and then out pops this person I know.

…I know her gooder than anyone.

…It’s The BFF, from L.A…kept a secret the entire show.

…In fact, since Thursday.

…So we hot-mess all over one another all over again…

…And then everyone Coom-By-Yas over to Applebees.

To drink.

In celebration.

…And now, (my mind still blown) I am home to wash and sleep…and wake up tomorrow, and be able to (for the first time since Thanksgiving…just like I always used to), text The BFF in the morning: “coffee and breakfast?”

…And she can say, “Yep. Gimme ten minutes.”

And it’s real.

And it happens.

Just like that.

…Thank you Fella, and friends 🙂

A happy, happy Martha bids you: goodnight.


The Parable

17 Jan


I’ll not write what this is really about…instead it’ll be an exercise in restraint, specificity and coded themes.

…How can one mix such an oxymoronic cocktail?

I dunno.  But people seem to frequently, so lets see if I can keep up.

(And, I can.)

…I’m actually getting better at this all the time. 

The power of print is a heady beast.  Ask anyone who has it, or takes it, or prostitutes it at will.

As bloggers, we all do.  In some way. 

A point of view struck in type is just our slant on the world, coded in html text, and slapped on a server.  Used to be more of a “to-do” than that, requiring physical paper and ink…and (for a readership,) usually an editor and some kind of talent.

But not anymore. 

…Even with the editor and paper and ink, the written word often seems a dieing artform. Any idiot with a computer or cell phone can vomit words on a “page” now, with nearly limitless readership…for instance: case in point:

I have a blog.

And you are reading it.


Now, some will take what I say as fact.

Some will not.

Some will agree with what I say.

Some will claim that I am full of shit.

…But I suppose what I find most interesting about all this (in fact “interesting” is not quite the correct word, I suppose “annoyingly irritating” comes as a two-part substitution), is when words are put to politicking use, where there was absolutely no reason to, in the least.

…Like all those annoying FB updates belching extremism all over the place.  Cuz THAT is what you wanna scroll through on your finally achieved coffee break, or while slamming a sandwich at lunch.

…And add to that, the “hipster” craze of ridiculousness, and really…sometimes my stream makes me want to just close the account and walk away forever. Only I can’t. Cuz I’m a fucking human. But that doesn’t change the fact of how goddamn irritating it is, that it’s a “fad” now for people to quote principles they don’t necessarily believe in, or go against the agreed-upon plan or opinion, just because it is the different, non-mainstream thing to do.

It is fucking asinine to me. 


…You can’t like your favorite band now, because other people have actually heard of them at this point? 

…You’ll vote against that one dude just because they are the current establishment? 

…You hate that brand, movie, actor, car, restaurant…because other people actually enjoy them? 

…Because it makes you smarter than them to not have partaken of the Kool-Aid (or some shit), and everyone in power now is always wrong, and every choice was poorly made because you weren’t the one to make it, and now your frustrated little poser heart, (which unfathomably seems to get-off on taking the opposite opinion view, just because its “different”)…can secretly orgasm with delight tonight (alone, of course, because no one is good enough to actually sleep with you…and if they were, you wouldn’t want them anyway…)

…Or maybe not.

…Maybe I’m misjudging them, like they do to the us’s.

Is it “fair” that I should get to, if my gripe is all about them doing it first?

Do two wrongs make a right?

This is me: trying to understand what it really means…the frustration that I feel…why I feel it…as well as using the best of my conscious ability to see it from all (even the asinine) points of view.

Which is more than most people will give you.

…And you know what? It STILL pisses me off and is wrong.

…But that’s just my own humble opinion.

Only let me tell you this one thing. As my own little “case in point.” And then I’ll shut it down.

For now.

…A kind of parable if you will:

A woman walks into the ER, and after showing her ID, is taken into the IC ward. There is a young person laying there, face beat to shit, bones broken, bruises everywhere, blood seeping through the sutured wounds.

“That’s my son,” she says as she looks on in horror.

“Are you sure?” the Doctor says, bringing her closer to the bed. “He had no ID on him at the time of the accident…and he’s severely wounded.”

“I know my son,” the woman says, reaching her hand out to grasp the one on the hospital bed. “I’d know him anywhere. By smell, by feel, the way his eyelashes fall..that freckle by his left ear…I know the way he breathes when he sleeps, like he’s doing right now. There’s nobody can tell me different. I carried that boy inside of me for months. My whole body labored for him. I’ve nurtured him, cried with him, laughed with him…I know him better than anyone else in the world…because it was my job to. And no manner of beatings or broken bones or bruises could ever disguise what I know to be true. Nothing anybody says or does, will ever change that.”

“I’d guess you’d know best,” the Doctor then agrees, with a scribble on the chart before him. “Can’t argue with the woman who gave birth to him, now can I?”

“Well, you could, Doctor,” the woman comments from her station beside the bed, “but you’d look like a damn fool if you did.”


Oh, Hello

16 Jan


This day is trudging by like slugs on salted pavement.

I dunno why, but our paperwork for all the Road Shows come in clumps or not at all…and after a first part of the week with “coming,” I’m in the “not at all” phase.  This makes me sit here for hours and hours, building show trailers and catching up on my TV shows.  Which sounds like an awesome gig…and prob’ly is…but I can’t appreciate it much, cuz I’m restless and need to keep getting up to pace the lobby.

…This seems an opportune time to run my lines, I think.

…Also: all my favorite shows right now have coinciding bummer endings this week, which makes me feel bad. 

I think I take my TV character arcs a little too personally.  For instance, here is Marty’s post from last night, while mid-way ‘tween viewings.

Meanwhile: Am listening to my “Karen/Martha Mixtape” and missing the show like crazy right now.  Who’d have thunk you could miss puking out your guts?  And it is actually the “performance” that I miss…not just the people and being at the theatre.  (Though I like them too…only don’t tell ’em.) 

…Maybe cuz a it takes work, and I feel like a total slacker right now. 

Or maybe I just like it. 

…Or both.

Harriet is still in the shop, for what now feels like going on infinity (in real-time, week two.) 

…In that amount of time, “Joe’s” car accidentally kicked into “JM’s,” leaving bumper dimples and a totalled light, Marty’s car has died and been brought back from the grave so many times, I’ve lost count, while Ma’s is now in the same shop as mine, with an even bigger price tag on the repair list. 

The Fella has called it, “The Great Car-Death of 2013.”

…And I feel bad about that too.  As I seem to be the one linking factor to it all.”

I am the “X” in the car-crap formula.

…So you should stay away from me, maybe.

…And never give me a ride.

I’ll understand.

…Am now being chauffeured by Ma’s rental until “whenever they get that one part back from the grinder.” 

I dunno what that means. 

I don’t fucking speak “car.”

…All I know is: it ain’t done yet, and is highly inconvenient. To me and everyone else whose given me a ride lately and thus paid for it by karmic damage as a risidual of it.      

All I can say is: “I’m sorry.  And I’ll buy you a drink. Someday.  When I’m done paying for all this shit.  So like in ten years.  If you’re around, totally look me up.  I’m good for it.”


Rogue Cracker

15 Jan


I am speaking about a Ritz on two books in my bedroom, which has nothing at all to do with race relations, so just chill out.

…Periods make me do weird things. 

I blame the hormones. 

…And also, the badly timed cramps. 

Inevitably, they have me up anywhere from 3 to 5 a.m. trolling the cupboards for easy nibbles so I can take pills for the pain, then roll around the mattress with a heating pad, trying to gain some kind of relief.  Put that together with chocolate and salt cravings and it explains why once a month, my house looks like the Easter Bunny hid a bunch of shit all over the place and bolted.  I have chocolate Digestives in the living room.  The kitchen is sporting scones. The bar has some kinda nuts (“various.”) And my bedroom has a single Ritz cracker…resting between Elizabeth Gaskell’s “North and South,” and “Sylvia’s Lovers”…which is directly next to the Jane Austen twins of “Persuasion” and ”P & P.”

…I just thought you should know.

…There isn’t room on my bedside table for it (apparently) as that is where the giant tub of Pamprin, and fuzzy water lives (together with an antique framed pic of Gram, a writing book void of all script, my alarm clock, an antique Tiffany lamp with duel pull chains, and a bud vase…with no bud in it.) 

…Also in the general region, just to the side, a stack of books (in case I get brain starved in the night?), on a small shelf…including those I am borrowing at the time and have yet to get around to ever reading.  Some I’ve started, and just never finished.  All: I have sworn to “hurry up and read” at some point in the not-so-distant past.

…Really, all I have to do is look at the stack of them and I get overwhelmed.

Here is the list:

A Kate Hepburn Bio (On loan from L.M.)
“The Mists of Avalon” (1/3rd in, by demand of Marty)
“The World of Downton Abbey” (Last BD gift from JM. It was delightful, you should pick one up)
“Complete Novels of the Bronte Sisters” (Christmas 2011, from Ma, mostly as a joke, it weighs in at roughly 11 tons)
Ken Follet’s “Fall of Giants” (1/4th in, and can’t remember a damn thing…but the last one I read was courtesty MK and I liked it)
“The Collected Stories of Noel Coward” (Delicious.  Both times.)
“Allen Ginsberg Selected Poems, 1947 -1995” (Good lord, do I still have that book?? I need to get it back to S!)
“Beat Collection” (Ditto)
“The Moonstone,” by Wilkie Collins (I actually can’t remember if I finally read it or just watched the movie, which was why I wanted to read it)
“Three,” the Lillian Hellman triplet autobios (they’ve recently come much in handy again 😉 )
“Salt Dancer” by Ursula Hegi, (Another MK read, daddy- issue novella…liked it)
“Oscar Wilde and the Game Called Murder” (Gyles Brandreth does a brilliant mash-up of Holmes and Wilde solving cases to grinning delight)
“The Irish R.M.” (Because I miss it sometimes)
Ken Follet’s “The Key to Rebecca” (Any time you wanna build on Du Maurier…be my guest)
“Charlotte Gray” (Espionage and WWII?  Why yes, and thank you)
“Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey” (Cuz I’m not obsessed or anything)
“The Fry Chronicles,” by Stephen Fry (Which should come with a Thesaurus and serviceable Oxford dictionary, though delightfully fun to read out loud and giggle at)

…And that, my friends, is only the one at the head of my bed.  I still have clumps all about the room separately.  Cuz I’m an addict.

…With a very obvious eclectic taste.

…Which further explains the craving for strawberry ice cream, Tillamook cheddar, and salamie I’m having right now.

But, instead of ALL of that, I’m gonna go catch up with “Downton” episode 2, at last…and see what Edith is up to.


Crib Of Books

14 Jan


Am watching “Person of Interest,”  with the same enthusiasm as a chain smoker sporting a carton of Marlboro’s. 

It’s a little ridiculous.  

…Crushing hard on the writing and plots and formulas and quirks.  The actors ain’t bad either 😉

Currently being killed by the “baby” episode, where two suits change diapers, build a crib out of books, take her on stake-outs in a snuggle-buddy, accidentally lose her and find her playing with smoke grenades, then bicker like a married couple about it.

It’s only like, the best thing ever, is all.

…The other “best thing ever” is catching up with The BFF via IM, while trading episode quotes with JM about the show, and wearing sweats, with m’feet up for the first night in…well…a long while.

No rehearsal. No tech. No lines to learn. Nowhere I need to be.

…I’m not crazy about all that as a full-time gig, but I’ll happily take it every once in a while. A rest is good. For my brains. And at some point, I need to get back into the Yoga regime again. Actually: tonight. Tonight, I’m gonna get back into the Yoga regime. A good 30 minute session before bed, I think. Sweat out all the past week worth of residual emo “stuffs” that DIDN’T get all snotted out…take a long shower, and start getting some better sleep.

Not great lately, to be truthful. But I blame car and financial stress at least as much as the show.

It’ll be good to get more centered again.

So here’s to that.


Onto The Second

13 Jan


First weekend of performances are in the can, along with all the Critic viewings.  Hopefully this will feed lots of good press to the masses and bring more butts in the seats for the coming weeks. 

…Intimate Sunday audience today, first of the four talk-backs to follow the show. People seem to be interested in the show’s history, and the fact that a nearly 80-year-old play has so much to offer in today’s contemporary world.  In short: people don’t change.  It works for Shakespeare…it works for Hellman…it’ll work 100 years from now. 

…Meanwhile, we’ve three weeks left to explore and work together before we scatter once more to the winds. And, I intend on enjoying the hell out of it…sweating, snotting, and crying all over the Dobie-Wright School For Girls.

Thanks to the peeps who chose to visit us this week and help teach us more about the timing and impact of the words we say…and the words we don’t. With each moan of sympathy, inhale of surprise, whisper of accusation, and spit of rage we hear coming from the yous, it feeds us even more and fuels the fire to burn even brighter.

So thanks for that.

…And thanks ahead of time to the audiences that follow.

Class dismissed, til Thursday.

Hope to see you ’round, after that 🙂


Real Time

12 Jan


Ladies and gentlemen, we are now in hour 1.52 of celebratory Opening Us-ness, post-performance.  Including dance parties via butts (so as not to piss off the downstairs  neighbors.) God.  We need to have a legit cast party at an actual house where we can lose our shit and jump around like assholes.

…We are such good examples of humanity to the youth of our cast. 

Guess what, though?

…Tonight is just grown-up time…with four almost grown-ups.  The Joe, a Marty, The Fella, and Me.

I’m restricted cuz of period pain pills. 

The limitation pisses me off. 

But we still managed to kill an entire magnum of Champagne in an over-sized Wine glass the size that God drinks out of…while playing “Thunder Struck”…which was new to me, cuz I never went to a Big-Ten college.

Then the Kracken and Coke and Vino were busted out…and the dance party got all yay-er.

…Also, we have a matinee tomorrow…or rather “today”…and there are Cheetoes in front of me.

…I dunno that this random stream-of-consciousness is gonna be as awesome when I read it in retrospect tomorrow…something like fifty seconds after the alarm goes off and I have to be in the shower. In fact, it prob’ly won’t…but at least I can say I fulfilled my blogging obligations for the day.

I am a responsible adult, dammit!

…Gotta go. We are apparently watching Katy Perry videos now.


%d bloggers like this: