Archive | January, 2013

Dear SWAL 3.0

31 Jan

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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

~BS

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

(“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.

~D

Two Minutes, & A Title Card

30 Jan

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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.

~D

The Teakettle Effect

29 Jan

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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.)

~D
 

Still Hawt, At 200

28 Jan

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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!

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!

LADY POWER UP, FRIENDS!

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.

~D

The Joe, In The Dressing Room

27 Jan

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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.

~D

Broken Faucet

26 Jan

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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.

~D

When Boss Fixes Things

25 Jan

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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.

~D

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